Royally Screwed Part 25

"So Misha," Anastasia started the minute the first course was set down in front of them, "you look familiar to me. Where do you work dear?"

"I report the weather on the morning news."

"The weather," the princess repeated with that accessing stare she had. Kat remembered when it had been directed at her and was thankful to no longer be the prey hunted.

"I also do, how do you say, special interest stories. Sometimes I cover the palace."

"The palace?"

"Da. Last week I talked about the garden. Next week we're exploring whether the treasures would be better served in the national museum where countrymen can better appreciate them. You know, how you say, fluff."

Anastasia's eyes held a hint of respect. She smiled and speared a piece of lettuce. Kat felt both satisfaction and a sinking deflation that she couldn't explain.

The conversation flowed from English to Sezynian and Kat just listened to everyone around her, the lilting tone of the accents a soothing sound even if she couldn't understand them. Misha must be very funny because the table kept breaking out in laughter. On the third time, Anastasia leaned over to whisper. "She thinks she's being funny. Not sure how long I can keep pretending to agree."

"Are we boring you?" Sebastian inquired next. His breath against her ear made her jump just a bit.

"No. The food is quite good."

"You haven't said much all night."

"I haven't understood much all night."

"How rude of us," he said. He looked to get his father's attention but she leaned over and grabbed the hand he made to wave in the air.

"If it's not me then it's your grandmother. Really, it's fine. I am in a foreign land after all."

"And how are you enjoying our foreign land?" His voice was low as he asked it. He still hadn't released her fingers.

"It has its good and bad." He quirked an eyebrow at her and she couldn't resist the urge to elaborate. "Beautiful countryside, beautiful language, but that Prince of theirs, ooh, what a troublemaker."

"I think he has some redeeming qualities." A grin started to unfurl across his face, so close, so s.e.xy he could probably feel her temperature rise, prompting her to finally pull away her hand. Why was he holding her hand? What kind of game was he playing?

"Maybe a few," she acquiesced, unable to resist that smile but needing to look away.

"Oh, enlighten me then."

Kat strove for a hint of chiding in her voice. "Shouldn't you be paying attention to your betrothed over there?"

His voice got hard. "She's not my betrothed," he said to his plate.

"Yet."

"Yet," he agreed in a rather resigned voice. Kat couldn't resist patting his knee under the table. It was supposed to be a bland, comforting gesture, something she used to rea.s.sure her brother hundreds of times, a reflex she wasn't even in control of. But a tension burst to life the minute she touched him and Sebastian reacted immediately. The tips of his fingers ran ever so lightly across the back of her hand, a caress so reverent she scarcely would have believed it had come from him. She didn't dare look at him as the palm of his hand traced the route in reverse, threading their fingers together. Didn't want him to see how much the quiet contact moved her.

"Sebastian?" a voice questioned. Kat almost jumped out of her seat at the stark reminder they weren't alone. The Princess gave her a searching look but Kat just smiled wanly. She s.n.a.t.c.hed back her hand under the table and could feel the reluctance in his grip.

"Yes?" His voice was smooth, perfectly composed, and Kat couldn't help but curse him for being so unaffected. This isn't a fairytale; it's all just fanciful musings in your head. Why do you keep letting yourself forget that?

Everyone at the table laughed. "Where is your head at Sebi? Weren't you listening to a word being said?"

He smiled broadly to cover, showing every one of his teeth. "Come now Ana, you know I never miss a thing. I'm the best listener that ever was." That sent the laughter to a true boil, such a comment from the Prince that lived in the headmaster's office for never paying attention.

"I should have known I'd have to repeat myself," his mother said with a good-natured grin. "I was asking when you and your sister would be taking your Vozgat photos." Ahh, coronation portraits, lovely.

Sebastian waved that away. "Ask Sergei." The Queen raised an eyebrow at her son and he realized the flippancy of that reply. "I mean, Your Highness, I'm sure that they have been scheduled and will be taken care of well in advance of their necessity. You needn't worry." His mother continued to stare at him and he turned pleading eyes to his sister. "Stasia?"

The Princess came to his rescue. "Two days. The photographer will be here at two o'clock."

Queen Anya smiled. "Thank you dear. Your sister managed to remember her obligations when called upon. Don't forget to dress complete, please."

"That's a very leading comment Mother. What did I forget I had to do?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually dear." She turned to Baba, the conversation over.

Sebastian glanced at his sister for help. Her elbows were on the table, very unlike her, as she idly turned the wedding ring on her finger. Their eyes met and meaning flashed between them.

Conversation continued around him but he hardly noticed. They wanted him to take her hand, right here, right now, in front of Baba before dinner was over. It was time to stop saying 'yet' following 'betrothed.'

Misha's hand slipped across his knee under the table. Unlike Kat's hers felt wrong skimming across the fabric of his slacks. He slipped his hand over hers and, again, she felt too frail for his liking. She squeezed his thigh in response; he didn't like it. But he didn't push her away, resigned to the fact that he had to get used to his wife touching him.

He'd decided to propose earlier as he'd recalled Violetta's deception. He had lost his best friend, his brother, to the pixie's machinations and wasn't about to let her succeed. His prior indifference to the t.i.tle, his refusal to wed, his infatuation with an American waitress, they all paled in comparison to one simple, burning truth he could not let her win.

Sergei had retrieved the engagement ring from the tower before dinner. Sebastian wouldn't be surprised if his mother had people checking every half hour since he'd arrived home so she'd know when it was claimed. He met his mother's eyes across the table and saw sadness there, clinging to the edges. He thought she'd be happier.

Sebastian removed Misha's touch from his knee and slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the bulky ring box. He held it for a moment, for two, knowing when he took it out his life would be drastically changed. He'd skated along the edge of duty and commitment long enough it was time he leapt and faced the jagged rocks below.

The ring was in his hand, halfway out of his pocket, when Sergei entered the room. He felt an immediate surge of affection for the man Sergei was surely coming to his rescue again. He could have screamed in relief. But it wasn't the Prince he approached, but Kat beside him.

The whole table watched as she brought the phone to her ear and offered a tentative greeting. Watched the color drain from her face and worry lines crease her forehead. Watched as she put her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair.

"How bad is it?" Kat asked, reaching a hand out, not for Sebastian but for Sergei. "Okay. Okay. No, it's fine. I'm on my way. Tell him I'm on my way." She hung up and had eyes only for Sergei. "How quickly can you get me back to America?"

"Kisa, what is wrong?" Sebastian asked, following her as she rose from the table.

"Blaze. Blaze is hurt. Something happened, he's in the hospital." She turned to the rest of the table and gave them a wan smile. "I'm sorry but I have to go. Thank you for your hospitality." Anastasia squeezed her hand as she walked by.

They were in the empty drawing room when he reached for her but she skirted away from his touch. "What happened?"

"I don't know. It was a bad connection. My phone's upstairs. I have to go get my phone; I shouldn't have left my phone." She knew it; she knew something bad would happen. Bad things always happened; she was like a magnet for unfortunate circ.u.mstances, Sebastian and their foolish relationship just something else to add to the growing list of poor decisions. She never should have deviated from her plan.

"Breathe," he murmured, watching her blink away the threat of tears.

"Dear G.o.d, Blaze is hurt. I shouldn't have left him. I shouldn't have come here. I should leave, I have to leave." This had all been one foolishly big mistake. She didn't think being impulsive and daring would have been so bad. But look what had happened she'd let him and his unpredictability get too close and Blaze had been hurt! Why had she spent the night with him so many weeks ago? Why? Why had she let his spontaneity run over all of her careful plans?

Sebastian couldn't stand the look on her face and pulled her into his arms. He felt her sigh for a moment before relaxing into him. He thought the tears would come, was ready to make comforting shushing noises, but he'd underestimated her.

Kat closed her eyes, plans of action running through her head. Yes, she'd let him get way too close and Blaze was hurt but the fact that she wouldn't go back and change a thing unsettled her. This was just too much. She had to go, now. She knew what she had to do but took just one extra moment in his arms, knowing she'd never be this close to him again, breathing in his scent so she could always remember. "I have to go," she said stepping out of his arms and running through the castle to her room, getting lost not once.

She was back down in the foyer less than ten minutes later. All signs of the girl that walked among royalty were gone. The dress she'd worn to the ball was laid out across the bed upstairs she didn't need it, she would go back to serving canapes. The untraditional tumeric sat beside it no place she'd ever wear it, no need to remember what it had felt like when Sebastian had seen her in it. The only thing she took with her was the bottle of Roman's wine; she knew it would be the only thing getting her through the plane ride home.

"I have made the arrangements," Sergei said, as she came down the sweeping staircase. He looked at the silent Prince beside him. "Call when you are ready to go," he said before beating a hasty retreat from the entryway.

Sebastian stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. He seemed in no hurry to speak so Kat did. "This is not how I wanted to say goodbye."

"Don't go," he said. The words seemed to surprise him too.

"I have to go. I can't stay anymore. My life is calling."

"Just until tomorrow. First thing in the morning. I can come with you."

"No. You can't come with me Sebastian. You're needed here. This is goodbye." She gave him just a hint of a smile, the most she could manage at the moment, and turned to leave.

He put a hand out and stopped her from retreating again. "I need you," he said, that bravado smile he was certain no woman could resist.

"Blaze needs me, Sebastian. You use me." He opened his mouth to protest but she spoke again, her eyes softening. "I never said I didn't let you."

A look pa.s.sed between them. He looked as if he might protest again but she stepped away, out of his reach. "Sergei," she called and then suddenly he was walking towards her. "Could you take me to the airstrip? It's time I go."

Chapter 24.

"How are you my son?" Sebastian didn't even look up as she entered the darkened room. He just kept staring at his scotch on the table, thumb running across the lip of the gla.s.s.

"Just perfect Mother. Why do you ask?" There was no hint of humor in his voice and he made no move to sit up straight and stop slouching in his chair. The fact that she did not admonish him for this spoke volumes.

The Queen sat down beside him and placed a hand over his, squeezing ever so gently. He still did not look her way. "If you are upset that I did not ask for Misha's hand, do not worry, I will do it tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. It will be done."

"I worry about you. You seem troubled." Sebastian wanted to laugh at that it was the understatement of the century.

"No trouble," he said, bringing the gla.s.s up to his lips and emptying it. "I am ready to serve the duty of my country."

"Your cousin "

"Do not talk to me about that swine." The edge in his voice matched the steel cut of his jaw.

"Come now," his mother said with a sigh, "I remember a time when you would have leveled anyone who said such things about him."

"Times change." He brought the gla.s.s up to his lips and drank. "Did you really come to talk to me of nostalgia?"

"Anton is no nostalgia, he is family."

"Only in the most clinical of terms. He stopped being my family when he let himself be swayed by duty and love and conniving blondes with innocent eyes." His hand tightened around the gla.s.s. He had enough anger to break it, shatter it into a thousand pieces, but he doubted the blood or scar would make him feel any better. If anything, ever, would make him feel better.

"Is that not what you're doing? Being blinded by duty?"

"That's different and you know it." The rueful smirk consumed his face. "I am Sezynia's humble servant whatever she asks I must answer." He hadn't said that for years and now that he understood it, had never said it with such disdain.

"You think you know what she asks of you?" his mother chided ever so gently.

"What she asks of us all to change." Sebastian had spent his whole life pretending, constructing ident.i.ties for the fun of it. Very few people got to see the truth of him knew that he paid more attention than he pretended to, read more than the sports scores in the paper, understood the realities laid out in front of him better than he cared to. Kat did though. She'd see him reading the paper and just smile, accepting all of his contradictions and need to pretend. Would anyone else?

"Tell me about her."

Trust the Queen to follow the thoughts left unsaid. He shrugged a shoulder. "She is gone there is nothing to tell."

She slapped the back of his hand lightly. "That cannot be true. There was enough to bring her here."

He finally glanced up at his mother. He didn't want to think about Kat but he knew that look. She would not quit until she was appeased. "She was unlike anyone I'd ever met, resistant to my charm, said whatever was on her mind with little caution or care. I liked spending time with her."

He poured himself another drink and continued. "I knew Ana would like her. They're both headstrong and quick, so sharp. I liked riling her up, getting under her skin. But she wasn't a pushover. I got as good as I gave. And she's smart, always thinking, always planning. The tenacity, the way she attacked my absurd request, I couldn't help but respect her. Not to mention, well, she was gorgeous. She wasn't so bad to look at, at night or the next morning. She made me smile; made me think I never wanted to stop."

"Have you ever been in love Sebi?"

"No," he replied with a smirk. "Love is a philosophical whim."

"How do you know this isn't it?"

He let out a bitter chuckle at that. "It was an infatuation Dragotsennya. I had not had my fill yet but they always dry up, thirst always quenched. I will ask for Misha's hand in a few days, I will be married, I will be King. We will live happily ever after . . . Whatever she asks I must answer."

"Go talk to your son, Viktor."

"What?" the King asked, his eyes rising from the papers on his desk.

"The room please," the Queen said, dismissing some of the most important men in the country with nary a glance. They listened without objection.

"What is it Anya?" The King looked at her with worried eyes she never interrupted him in his office.

"Go talk to your son."

"What is wrong?"

"He is hurting."

The look of worry clouded over for a moment, replaced with one of slight annoyance. "You interrupt me for this? To have a talk with my lovesick son?"

Anya's eyes flashed and he was taken aback for a moment at the fire there. "Your son is at a crossroads, one you may well remember. He needs to talk to his father, not his King. And he needs it now, before he finds the bottom of a bottle of scotch."

"What would you have me tell him? That he should forget her or run after her?"

"I will not pretend to have the answer to that question. And I don't want you to tell him anything. Do not lecture him or scold him. Talk to him."