The Wrath of the King (27 page)

“There's nothing wrong with my shopping habits. And really,
who
spent four hours fretting over which crib to buy?” Natalia arched her brows at Sander.

The girls cracked up laughing. It had been a running joke the entire summer how Sander kept changing his mind, choosing this crib then that one, growing grumpy over his inability to make a solid decision.

“And then when he bought two hundred outfits all in size zero-to-three months, as if the baby would stay that small for half the year,” Chey added.

“Don't listen to the hens, Elias. Here, I'll give you your first real lesson in life. See, women, women are
tricky.
They say one thing but they really mean another. They're over there teasing me, but what they really want, is for me to cave to the pressure so I'll hand you off, and then I'll be lucky if I see you again before you graduate college. That's their game. And it only gets worse from here.”

The girls groaned, moaned and cackled in protest.

Sander scoffed at the lot of them, picking up a slight rock of his arms while he paced and continued his 'chat' with Elias. “Now, your Grandpa Sinclair, who is up there watching over you with your Grandma Sinclair, would tell you the same thing. I'm sure of it. I have feeling he was a very wise man.”

Chey's protesting laughter ended abruptly when Sander mentioned her mother and father. She'd fought not to display her remorse that her parents weren't here to celebrate, that Elias would never know the joy of his grandparents. But Sander had a way—just like at their wedding—of including them in all things. Compassionate about her loss, he managed to find a way to make them a part of their life.

She knew that he would find a way to make them a part of Elias's life as well.

Chey glanced at Wynn, Natalia and Krislin. The girls, suddenly silent, met her gaze. A tear fell. Then two. Just like that, the women dissolved into a mess of sniffles and damp cheeks. A box of tissues made the rounds.

Sander caught Chey's gaze for a moment and smiled a tender, knowing smile. He
winked, returning his attention to Elias, picking up with his story telling like he'd never paused. His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Now, when a woman starts crying, it's time to hightail it outta there. Unless you're in love with her. She'll use
tears for
everything
and before you know it, you're suckered into flowers, dinner and a diamond ring. Don't fall for it, son. Stand firm. But if she's the
right
one, you'll know it. You'll know when to flee like the devil's on your heels and when to scoop her up and take her home.”

Sander's 'conversation' with Elias was the most touching thing Chey had ever seen. She counted herself as one of the luckiest girls in the world to have found a man who risked it all for his beliefs, yet wasn't afraid to be caring, kind and compassionate. A man secure in himself and his destiny.

Her husband, her King, the love of her life.

. . .

Epilogue

Spring on Pallan Island came early that year. The snow receded into shadowy niches, clinging stubbornly until higher temperatures drove it into extinction. Under the soles of her feet, the sand was nevertheless warm enough to draw a sigh of pleasure from Chey's lips. She strolled along with a shell between her fingers, the layers of her dark hair flying all around her head. A smile swept over her mouth when she spied Sander with Elias near the water, heart melting at the picture they made.

Holding his son's hands, Sander balanced Elias's weight so that the baby's toes dipped into the very edge of a retreating wave. Elias gurgled and squealed with delight, which in turn drew a bark of warm laughter from Sander. Attired in board shorts of blue and a white rash guard shirt that snugged up to his muscles, Sander carefully lifted Elias an inch while another wave rolled in, then dipped his toes again. Predictably, the baby went into a frenzy of excitement, feet kicking, more gurgling laughter splitting the air.

It was the sweetest sound.

From a spread of blankets not far from the father and son, where chairs and bright umbrellas were pitched to provide shade from the sun, the crowd of friends and family cheered. Wynn and Leander, a certified couple for long months now, reclined near one another on beach towels. Natalia, home for the weekend since her boyfriend was away on business, lounged on a chaise in her fashionable one piece and sarong of turquoise blue. Krislin, ready to pop any day, smiled broadly under the brim of a wide, white hat. Gunnar rubbed his hand over her burgeoning belly, pausing now and then when he felt a kick or a roll.

The time since Paavo's attempted coup had been both healing and heartbreaking. Work to fix the damage was never ending, sometimes keeping Sander in far reaches of the country for days at a time. Tireless in his desire to make it right, Sander worked himself to the bone, mending proverbial fences while bringing new jobs from foreign investors. Just before the holiday, the country saw a surge in their economy and the polls reflected the citizen's growing trust in the stability Sander struggled to maintain.

It wasn't easy. But progress
was
happening, and Chey could envision a time in the not too distant future when things righted themselves to almost what they were
before. Almost. Maybe Latvala would never fully heal from the trauma, though the
improvements were promising.

One of the things Chey thought helped more than anything was the unity the Ahtissari siblings presented to their people. They were solid in their support of each other and stood firm on all decisions.

Mattias's return the day after Elias's birth rallied Sander, made him an even better King. The brothers were rocks, an impenetrable barrier against the tsunami of reporter's questions and accusations. No amount of coaxing would coerce either man into a confession of
where
Mattias had been during the crisis and, finally, the public lost interest. 'Official Royal Business' was the only answer either man would give. Even Chey couldn't get Sander to confide in her. Like everyone else, she accepted there were some things in life she just didn't need to know.

Not only was Mattias a constant presence in their life lately, he too had met a special someone. What mattered more than anything was that he seemed immeasurably happy and content, quick to laugh and quicker to tease.

Coming up on her husband, Chey ran a hand down Sander's back, laughing when Elias squirmed to be put down near the water. Insistent, he wriggled and protested his father's firm grip with a squall.

“Told you,” Sander said to Chey. “Impudent.”

“He gets that from you, not me,” she quipped.

Sander snorted but shot her a deviant grin. “He can squall all he likes. I'm not setting him down because the second I do, a big wave will wash his little butt out to sea. I don't think so.”

Chey laughed. Sander defined the term over-protective. He called ten times a day when he had to be gone, wouldn't leave Elias alone with anyone he didn't personally approve of, and hovered like a shadow when the baby tried to pull himself up on the edge of the coffee table, hands there to catch when he fell. Sander would be a wreck, Chey decided, when Elias was cruising furniture learning to walk.

“You're so cute,” Chey said to Sander, kissing his shoulder. She gazed adoringly at Elias, then raspberried his cheek, earning a flurry of giggles from her son.

“Here, it's my turn. Hand him over. For crying out loud, he's not going to know the rest of us at all, ever.” Natalia swooped in to snatch Elias right out of Sander's arms.

Sander, laughing, allowed Natalia to steal Elias. “Five minutes,” Sander joked.

“We'll see about that,” Natalia scoffed, then turned into another person entirely once she gave Elias all her attention. She cooed, crooned, tickled and did all the things Aunts did with their beloved nephews.

Chey, happy to see Natalia at ease and smiling, glanced up at Sander. “It's a good thing Krislin's about to have her own. Then they'll all be jockeying to hoard him.”

“Maybe I'll actually get some time with my son,” Sander retorted, grinning.

“You mean maybe
I'll
get some time with my son!” Chey laughed, pinching Sander in the ribs. “You're a baby hog.”

He laid a possessive hand over the slight swell of her stomach, rubbing a slow circle. “And I will be with our daughter, too.”

“It's another boy,” Chey said, lifting her chin with confidence.

“It's a girl.”

“How do you know?”

“I was right last time, wasn't I?” he retorted, cocky and unrepentant.

Chey exhaled, exasperated. He would never let her live it down. “The only reason
you were right last time was because you
cheated,”
she said, letting the implication that she'd done the same sink in.

Sander's face changed, eyes growing wide when he realized what she was saying. “You cheated?” he bellowed, drawing the gaze of everyone on the beach.

Chey smiled, all sly and secretive.

With a roar, Sander swept her up into his arms, startling a squeak and a laugh out of her.

“Watch Elias for a little bit. I'm about to teach my cheating wife a lesson,” Sander called to the group. He headed for the beach house not far from the splay of blankets rather than trek all the way back to the castle.

Laughing hysterically, Chey wrapped her arms around Sander's neck, content to let him storm and stomp around before admitting that she had no earthly idea what gender their new baby was. It was too fun to tease him.

“Wait, wait! Sander, Chey.” Leander peeled himself off the beach towel and got to his feet.

Sander stopped long enough to glance questioningly at Leander.

“Chey will want to watch this.” He cut Sander a wild grin, then bent to pick Wynn up off the ground as if he meant to dart to the water and toss her in.

Chey swung her attention to the couple, laughing. “She deserves a good dunk!”

“Chey!” Wynn, laughing along with everyone else, squirmed to get down.

Leander, clad only in swim trunks, twirled Wynn around twice and set her on her feet long before he got near the water. The crowd broke into applause at his gentlemanly maneuver. Wynn straightened her white shorts and plaid tank top out, then dipped the onlookers a ridiculous curtsy, serving to add another spark of humor to the crowd.

While she was busy posing and teasing, Leander lowered to one knee.

Chey sucked in a surprised breath, wondering what he was up to. He didn't look prepared to pick Wynn up again and dip her in the ocean.

“Uh oh,” Sander muttered.

“I'm not going to pretty this up with a bunch of flowery words,” Leander said, producing a black velvet box between his fingers.

Wynn cut a look back over her shoulder, the playful antics brought to a sudden end. “What...
what
? Leander...”

“I'm not a Prince or a King,” he slipped Sander a sly, teasing glance, then looked up at Wynn. “But I can promise I'll make a good husband if you'll have me.”

Sander snorted a laugh, too low to interrupt the proceedings.

Chey made a few excited noises before covering her mouth with her fingers. Leander had been right, she wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Wearing a disbelieving, shocked expression, Wynn broke into a dance of glee and happiness, then bent to throw her arms around Leander's shoulders. Laughing, he caught her and swung her around in a slower circle.

“I guess that means yes,” he said.

“It means
yes!
Chey, I'm engaged! Can I borrow your castle for a ceremony?” Wynn asked, laughing with delight.

“I thought we could run off to Vegas and do the drive through thing,” Leander countered.

“Blasphemy! I want a
huge
wedding, with gauzy netting and tons of flowers and
chairs overflowing with guests!” Wynn smiled down into Leander's face, pushing
damp locks of hair back from his brow.

Leander grunted like he might begin a lengthy debate.

“My first gift to you, Leander, is this: learn the words '
Yes, Dear.'
It makes everything a whole lot easier. Then, when she's mollified, do what you want anyway,” Sander said with a devil's grin.

“Sander! That never works for you, stop giving him false advice.” Chey smiled wide enough to press dimples into her cheeks.

On cue, Sander turned to continue his way to the beach house. In a voice ripe with amusement, he said, “
Yes Dear.”

. . .

About the Author

Born and raised in Corona California, Danielle now resides in Texas with her husband and two sons. She has been writing for as long as she can remember, penning works in a number of genres. To date, she has published seventeen novels and nine short stories. Her interests vary wildly: reading, traveling, photography, graphic art and baking, among others.

There is a black cat named Sheba involved who thinks Danielle's laptop is her personal grooming station.

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www.daniellebourdon.com

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