CHAPTER TWO

 

 

She was reading on her Kindle, tucked into a cozy nook in the apartment she shared with her father, listening to the rain beating against the window, when Cassandra’s phone dinged. She had to dig around in the nest of pillows she’d piled around herself, but eventually found it and clicked the “text” icon.

It was from her boss at the spa. After realizing Dad didn’t need her all those months ago, she’d gone looking for a job. Turned out, her American massage therapy license applied over here, so she’d gotten the same kind of job she’d taken to work through grad school. Bonus: it was almost as much fun as studying history.

She thumbed the message open.

Hey Cass, any chance you’re available to take some shifts? Gunnar had some bad shellfish and we’re scrambling.

Her heart began to pound in excitement. Not because she was desperate to go into work on her day off—although since it was a part-time gig, it wasn’t like she was swamped to begin with—but because of the name. Gunnar had plenty of clients, sure, but he also happened to be the massage therapist on call at the palace.

Still, she figured she should play it cool. Probably nothing.

There’s such a thing as bad shellfish in Aegiria? she managed to type with shaking fingers. Then, because she was desperate to know if Gunnar’s cancelled shifts were at the palace—and who the client was!—she hurried to type, Kidding. What’s the gig?

Her boss’s reply was quick.

Ha. And FYI, I had to look up what “gig” meant. You Americans…

Anyhow, Gunnar had his standing appointment at the palace today with one of the princes. We can cancel, of course. But I figured I’d ask you, since you’re the only other MT with security clearance up there.

“One of the princes,” she whispered as her gaze went to the large bay window with the rain beating against it. Normally there was a beautiful view of the bay on the other side of it, and this window seat was her all-time favorite spot in Aegiria. From here—on a clear day—she could see the ships and pleasure boats zipping in and out of the harbor…she’d miss it when she and Dad moved up to the palace. For now, the rivulets of water didn’t offer any insight to the excitement she was feeling, and she forced herself to focus on what her boss was asking.

One of the princes. Which one? Did it matter?

Well, yeah, obviously it mattered. These guys were about to become her step-brothers. Because having biological brothers apparently isn’t punishment enough. She didn’t need to think of any of them as anything other than her soon-to-be stepmother’s sons.

But there was one she wanted to think of as much more than that.

Still, even if the appointment wasn’t for Kristoff, she could be professional about this. Heck, if it was for Kristoff, she’d have to be even more professional. Her boss was right; there were a limited number of massage therapists in Aegiria to begin with, and she and Gunnar were the only ones with palace clearance.

Besides, she had to be at the palace tonight anyhow for that “family dinner” Dad had suggested… Might as well pack her outfit and hair supplies and just get changed at the gym there.

Cassandra took a deep breath and touched the keyboard on her phone to wake it up again.

I’ll do it.

 

 

Dangling three stories above the gym floor by one hand probably wasn’t the best place for introspection, but it had always worked for Kristoff. The fancy belaying system meant he could climb alone whenever he wanted…whenever he needed to sort out a particularly complicated problem. Physical exertion focused his mind in a way nothing else did; whether it was swimming or climbing or battling against the wind out on the bay or even just running.

He loved to free climb, but after a particularly nasty fall as a teenager—and hadn’t that been a miserable summer, stuck inside wearing a cast?—Mom had insisted he take more precautions. Still, he would’ve been out on the cliffs today, had his weather app and Ivan not pointed out cliff-climbing in the rain was dumb.

Rain or not, he needed to be moving, climbing. Pitting himself against something bigger and grander, something changing and tricky and fun. It was the only way to think.

He’d been the one to pay for and install the climbing wall in the gym—there were benefits to being a wealthy prince—and he had a crew who would sometimes come in and change things up for him. It’d been a few months since he’d tried out the far left face, and it had proved just the challenge his body needed to focus on the muddle going on in his head.

He wasn’t a businessman. In any sense of the word. Which is why no one knew about his involvement in the charity which was so near and dear to his heart. The last thing he wanted was for his investment to become well-known, and everyone to start clamoring for him to become the public face of Enriching Children.

I’d rather break my leg again.

But unless he could figure out a way to get them the money they needed, he was going to have to donate it directly, and then everyone would start calling him noble and generous and all that B.S., instead of leaving him alone to sail. Or climb.

Breathing heavily, he swung to another hold, reveling in the burn of the muscles across his upper back. Here was where he belonged, not smooth-talking for some charity.

He’d become involved accidentally about six years ago, when one of Enriching Children’s spokeswomen had requested a meeting. Lady Marcia Lindqvist had gone on to be almost-engaged to Kristoff’s oldest brother briefly, but back then she was just the quiet, bookish younger daughter of one of Aegiria’s last nobles, Earl Lindqvist. And it turned out, she was quite passionate about making sure each child in their small island nation had access to books.

Kristoff was not, which is why he’d laughed when she’d suggested he join the Board of Directors.

Enriching Children had started out to endow public school libraries, but had grown to encompass not just private schools, but libraries in private homes now. Thanks to Lady Marcia and a few other tireless workers, each child born in Aegiria was eligible to receive a box at birth containing a collection of children’s books ranging from toddler to school-aged, and could sign up to receive even more.

It was a noble cause, and utterly foreign to Kristoff, who hadn’t read a book since his last tutor finally declared him done with schooling, and who had a hard enough time with emails.

With a grunt of concentration, he swung from his one-handed hold to the next, the slap of skin against the grip releasing that satisfying little puff of chalk dust. Books. Ha. Why would people choose to read?

Better figure out how to get down. That was part of the fun, after all, and Kristoff knew himself well enough to know there was danger here too. He tended to hurry on the way down, so he forced himself to breathe deeply as he scanned for the next hold. It was unconscious on his part, this looking for the next step, the way to solve the problem. He could do this in his sleep…and it allowed him to focus on his bigger problem.

How to get Enriching Children the funding Lady Marcia needed, without donating directly and thus associating himself with them?

When Marcia had first approached him, she requested he consider Enriching Children as the beneficiary to that year’s annual Mid-Summer Regatta. Kristoff was on the planning board for that—well, of course he was, it involved boats, didn’t it?—and he was happy to promise his vote for that particular charity. It had happened that Enriching Children had been chosen, and it began the tradition of donating half the proceeds of the annual Regatta to a worthwhile charity—microlenders in South America, food provisions in Africa, and even a few smaller, closer-to-home charities. And it had all started because of Marcia’s suggestion to donate half the proceeds to charity.

But out of that meeting had been born the coolest part of the charity; now Enriching Children wasn’t just focused on books, but stuff Kristoff actually cared about: boating, swimming, even climbing. The charity had enough funding to sponsor programs to introduce Aegirian children to all the stuff he loved too.

And a few months ago, dangling one-handed from this same climbing wall, he’d had a brilliant idea: what about a camp? Someplace up around Mt. Viskan where he used to go with his family every summer…someplace where kids from all over the kingdom could go and learn to canoe and hike and sail on the little Sunfishes and poke at frogs and lizards? All the cool stuff he’d loved growing up.

The board of Enriching Children had loved the idea too, but after proposals, the price tag had been hefty. Kristoff thought about the letter with the final number he’d opened that morning. It was a lot of money.

Swinging down a few handholds, he had to grin. He was a prince, and he was rich. Not, like, filthy rich, but he could definitely endow the charity with enough money to build the camp. Man, those kids would enjoy it so much.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want the media to get wind of his involvement. He didn’t want to be bombarded with requests and interviews and—God forbid—accolades. He just wanted to be left alone to climb. And sail. And maybe sneak away to help some random kids poke at lizards. Lizards were cool.

So…how to make sure the kids got their camp, but without publicly donating the money himself?

Still six feet above the ground, Kristoff kicked off and dropped down to the mat, flexing to nearly a squat to absorb the impact. He straightened and rolled his neck, shaking out his arms and fingers.

“Whew!” He pulled the band off which had been holding his blonde hair up in a topknot, and shook his head wildly to let it fall down around his ears so he wouldn’t get a headache.

He needed to sit in the sauna, then take a shower. His muscles had been used well today, and he was glad he had his session with Gunnar scheduled for the afternoon. He would need it. And maybe Gunnar could help him talk through the problem of Enriching Children.

Kristoff scooped his towel up off the ground and headed for the locker room.

 

 

Cassandra tried to calm her frantic heartbeat with deep, even breaths and a few meditative mantras. It almost worked, too. She bounced a little on the balls of her bare feet—she preferred to massage without shoes, so she could better connect with the energy around her—and shook out her hands.

In, out, one-two-three. In, one-two-three-four, out, one-two-three-four-five. In…

With her eyes squeezed shut, she finally felt ready. Calm. Prepared to step into that room off the locker room and inhale the lavender mist and exhale the negativity and put her hands on skin and muscles to work out the knots.

And whom those muscles belonged to definitely didn’t matter. Nope, nope.

Regardless off the fact that—Ohmigod! Ohmigod!—it was Kristoff in there.

No, no. Calm, Cassandra. Caaaaaaaalm.

Taking one last cleansing—calming, remember—breath, Cass pushed the door open and stepped into the little wood-paneled haven of serenity. And there was Kristoff, lying butt-naked facedown on the bed.

Caaaaaaalllllmmmm.

She exhaled, slow and steady, and forced her raging libido into check. I’m a professional. I can do this.

First things first. She stepped over to the table and draped a cloth over Kristoff’s butt. For her own sanity. Then she turned back to the door and reached for the switch to dim the lights even more. In doing so she knocked against a small table and the salt lamp teetered, but she made a grab for it, righting it before doing any damage. Unfortunately, the back of her hand caught the bowl of coconut oil and it skittered towards the edge of the table.

She caught it before it hit the floor, but not before spilling some on her arm, and cursing out loud.

“Gunnar?” Kristoff asked in a relaxed voice, like he’d been half-asleep before her clumsiness disturbed him.

Wait, did no one tell him she was a replacement? Of course, it wasn’t like this was one of her usual massages—Kristoff just had a standing appointment and Gunnar met him here in the palace.

Oh, shoot.

“Um, no…Your Highness.” She wondered if she should tell him who she was. Would that be super-awkward, or just unethical? “Gunnar is ill, and I was sent as his replacement.”

Kristoff made a sort of drowsy agreement noise, and settled back down with his head turned towards his shoulder, his arms stretched out on the table to either side of his head. “If Gunnar approves, I approve,” he murmured.

Cassandra swallowed. Kristoff was sexy, sure. Sleepy Kristoff was even sexier. Naked sleepy Kristoff?

God help me.

Caaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllmmmmmmmm.

She did her usual deep-breathing exercises to prepare herself to lay hands on, then scraped a bit of the oil to warm between her palms. When she placed her hands on his back—one up at the base of his neck, one at the base of his spine, he sighed in contentment…and she almost echoed him.

“Had a good workout today. I think my shoulders are the worst.”

She forced herself to swallow so she could answer. “Gotcha.” She went to work on the muscles of his upper back. Later, she’d focus on his shoulders and his neck, but this position was best for the tight muscles on either side of his spine. It was heavenly to let her hands glide over his firm skin, and to listen to his little sighs of pleasure.

“You’re pretty good at this.”

She smiled in the dark. “Thanks.” She’d gotten her massage certification in grad school, to pay the bills while she studied her true passion, history. But she’d always been good at massage, and loved making people feel good. Her love language was definitely “touch” and she liked sharing that love with others.

“Sound familiar, too,” he said sleepily.

She managed not to choke on her noncommittal, “Oh, really?” She and Kristoff hadn’t had more than a few conversations together, and most of those had been her blushing outrageously and staring at the ground between them, terrified of doing something stupid to make her look even dumber.

He doesn’t remember you, don’t worry.

Kristoff sighed mightily when she began working on the muscles along his flanks, and rolled his head to the opposite side. She smiled again, loving how relaxed he was.

“Usually Gunnar and I talk. Feels weird to sit here in silence.”

She mentally shrugged. “Every client is different—some like silence, some are energized by the conversation. I have one lady who wants silence when she’s on her stomach because that’s when she does her best brainstorming, but then we chat when she rolls over.”

“I think I’m the former. Although I was almost asleep, lying here waiting on you.”

“Sorry.” She hadn’t realized she was so late. “What do you normally talk about?” she hurried to change the subject.

He snorted slightly. “Gunnar’s latest romantic conquests, usually. Probably inappropriate now, though.”

You have no idea.

He continued, “But he helps me work through problems sometimes, too. And I had a doozy today.”

Kristoff was the third son. As far as Cassandra knew—and she’d done her best to read every article and magazine interview he’d ever done—his passions were sport-related. He was toned and perfect—and she had the proof of that under her oily hands right now!—thanks to his years of climbing, swimming, boating, running, and God knew what else. As far as anyone knew, those things were his life, and he was brilliant at them. It was hard to imagine him having any problems, much less one which could be described as a “doozy”.

“Well, I’m here, and I promise not to share any secrets, if you want to bounce ideas off me.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, then sighed again. “I guess you’ve got clearance, right?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t even asked her name. What would she tell him if he did?

“I know everyone thinks I’m pretty shallow and useless, and I’m okay with that.”

She wanted to interrupt him, to tell him not everyone thought he was useless, but she didn’t. A lot of people probably did. Dad didn’t have a lot of positive things to say about Kristoff, that was for sure. But it made sense—to someone like Dad, who would always be a nerd, Kristoff represented all the jocks who used to bully him in school. Cassandra herself, with a master’s degree and an academic tradition as long as her arm, probably should be thinking about Kristoff as shallow and useless too.

So why hadn’t she? How come, from the moment she met her soon-to-be-stepbrothers, she’d been drawn to him?

I’ve always had a thing for Vikings, that’s why.

He continued. “Some of my brothers have more responsibility than I’d ever want. But I’m not…well, I do do other stuff. I just don’t like the media or too many people finding out.”

“Like what?” She’d reached his lower back, and was rolling her palms across his skin to stimulate circulation, wondering how far down under that towel she could reach and still keep her sanity.

“I’m on the board for this charity, see? But they’ve promised to keep my name out of things, and I don’t openly donate to them. I want it to stay a secret. But I need a way to get them a huge chunk of money.”

“Without donating it directly to them?”

He grunted in agreement. Or maybe pleasure, as she walked her fingers up the muscles on either side of his spine. “That info would be publicly available, and we’ve got some pretty sneaky journalists in this country. Especially now that Mom’s getting re-married.”

To my Dad.

“Does it have to be your money?”

“Not necessarily, although we’ve got enough of it lying around. But I was thinking about doing something with the Mid-Summer Regatta. I could convince the board to choose this charity—one is chosen each year to get half the concession and ticket sales— but even the proceeds from that wouldn’t cover the amount they need for the— Well, it doesn’t matter.”

That was a good idea. She’d been hearing about the Regatta for months now—it was one of the highlights of the Aegirian summer, and Dad had told her Queen Viktoria was already planning a party on the royal yacht to celebrate it. And to give her a chance to show her people that Dad wasn’t a complete dork.

Heh. Good luck with that.

“Hmmm…” She pondered Kristoff’s problem as she kneaded the muscles of his upper back. “If you’re okay fronting the money, I don’t suppose you could just, like, buy four hundred thousand soft pretzels or something, therefore quadrupling the concession take?”

He chuckled against the sheet. “I thought about that, honestly. But what am I supposed to do with all those pretzels? Ship ‘em back to Germany?”

She snorted slightly in agreement. “Good point. Also, it would be pretty wasteful, if you’re talking about charity…”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a few more minutes, as she moved to his upper arms. Touching someone like this gave her the most wonderful combination of calm and reenergizing…and Kristoff was no different. Before she’d entered the room, she figured she’d be too focused on who he was, and would probably freak out and trip over herself or something. But no, if anything, after her initial kerfuffle, she felt more at ease than usual. More centered. More…well, almost like she was exactly where she needed to be.

Which was weird, since this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Kristoff, and his eyes were closed. And it was dark.

She let her hands do their own thing, and focused her mind on his problem. After a few more minutes, she asked, “What’s the prize for the winner?”

“Of the Regatta? The entry pot.”

“So teams pay to enter the race, and then the winner gets that prize?”

“Yeah. Last year I proposed we give half the pot to the charity too, but the rest of the board voted against it, saying it wasn’t fair to the winner.”

“Who usually wins?”

Kristoff was silent. She wondered if he’d suddenly fallen asleep, except his muscles had stiffened slightly, like he was upset.

“Your Highness?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh…me.”

“You what?” She reached his hand, and began massaging the palm and the individual fingers. If he spent the day climbing, which she knew he liked to do on rainy days, this should be nice. But he was still.

“I, uh…I usually win.”

She smiled in the darkness, not expecting anything else. “Usually?”

“Well, there’s been a few years I haven’t entered.”

Cassandra burst into laughter at the sheepish tone in his voice. He lifted his head, as if to confront her, and she didn’t think anything of reaching over and pushing him back against the bed while she continued to work his fingers in her other hand. When had she become so comfortable with him? Probably about the time she started rubbing his naked body…that was enough to make anyone comfortable with anyone else.

She was still smiling when she said, “If you’re planning on winning this year, you can just donate the money to the charity.”

“Yeah, but then I’ll still be in the spotlight.”

“Not if you make it a new rule, before the race. Or maybe not a rule. Maybe like a challenge. Challenge the winner to donate the money to the charity? Or any charity, so it seems less like favoritism?”

Kristoff stiffened again. She was afraid she’d offended him somehow, and slowly placed his hand down beside his head and moved to the other side of the table, to reach his other arm. Would he figure out who she was if he stood up and stormed off?

And potentially how embarrassing would it be, on a scale of one to ten, if her soon-to-be stepbrother realized she’d been the one rubbing him down, and he did it by standing up—still naked—in a dark room and fumbled around for the door while she watched?

Oh, probably like a forty-seven and a half or so.

“That…”

He didn’t say anything for a while, so Cassandra began to breathe normally again and worked on the muscles in his forearm, her every sense carefully attuned to him.

Finally, he spoke again. “That’s actually a really good idea. Not as an official rule. And maybe I shouldn’t be the one to make the challenge. But we could figure out how to make it work…”

He lapsed into silence again, but this time it was thoughtful, as if he was working through it on his own.

She smiled again as she reached his wrist and palm. “Glad I could help, Your Highness,” she whispered, not even sure he could hear her.

And for the next hour, he pondered, she smiled, and as far as she could tell, they both had a thoroughly energizing and—at the same time—relaxing massage experience.