Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,9
at each corner with gauzy netting looping through gold painted iron scrollwork overhead. Whimsical bedding fit for a King looked plush, expensive and comfortable.
The bathroom, as large as her apartment back in Seattle, was a private affair with a huge walk in closet, shoe shelves and built in drawers that pulled out of the wall. A tub that looked more like a jacuzzi dominated the center, with a tall walk in shower, extensive cabinets and double sinks in marble adding to the appeal.
She wondered what in the world the King and Queen's bedrooms must look like if the guest suites were this lavish. Living here for the next four months would be no hardship.
Drawn to double french doors in the main room, she stepped out onto a private balcony overlooking the back bailey, another gate and the acreage beyond. It stretched as far as the eye could see.
More buildings and what had to be the stable sat off to the right past the bailey gate. Horses meandered in fenced pastures, though Chey saw no one riding. Just the stable hands grooming, walking and training.
Anxious to explore, she unpacked all her luggage and changed from the pink skirt suit into jeans, a thin sweater of turquoise with sleeves pushed to the elbow, and hiking style boots. Grabbing a smaller camera from her bag, she departed her room.
Urmas had been explicit in his instructions about where in the castle she was, and was not, allowed. The entire third floor was off limits. Home to the Royal family, only they, their staff and the guards had availability. Two different rooms on the main floor had been barred, as well as a walled garden and a specific dining room.
But the rest of the castle and the grounds she was free to roam. The guards all knew who she was, and what her purpose was, so she could expect to be given hassle free passage.
She spent an hour on the second floor, beginning to snap pictures of some of the fine detail. The corner of a painting with half the person in the portrait visible. A long shot down a hallway with light spilling in a round stained glass window.
There were literally thousands of shots to take like this.
What she tried to capture this time around were the vantages normal people might never see. Angles of Royalty, of the money and power that made the family who they were.
Walking backwards away from a doorway leading to a huge library, camera up at eye level, she bumped into a body behind her.
Startled, she stopped and whirled, an apology already on her lips. Expecting a guard, Chey found herself face to face with Mattias. Leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, still in his suit from the photo shoot, he smiled. It was a temperate smile, not unlike a wolf walking into a sheep's pen might wear.
“My apologies, I didn't--” she began, before Mattias cut her off.
“Why are you apologizing? I put myself in your path,” he said, sliding his gaze down to her camera and back again. “I believe we have not been properly introduced. I'm Mattias Ahtissari.”
Chey let the camera come to rest against her chest, confident the strap around her neck would hold. She searched his face, his eyes, unsure what to do, exactly. Her mind went on the fritz when the reality hit that she was sharing space with Royalty.
“You have no name?” Amusement flashed through his dark gaze. “Or has the cat got your tongue?”
“No, no—I mean yes, of course I have a name. Chey. I'm Chey Sinclair.” Remembering about the curtsy, she performed an awkward one.
He laughed, brows arching when she dipped. “Well, Miss Sinclair. Someone has been giving you instruction. I didn't think Americans went for all that pomp and circumstance.” He straightened from the wall and held out a well manicured, long fingered hand.
Licking her lips, she glanced down at his hand, then around at the hallway, positive it was a trick of some kind and the guards would rain hell down around her head for thinking to touch him.
He rumbled another laugh, still holding his hand out. “I don't bite, if that's what you're worried about. And if it's the guards—don't worry about that, either. I choose who I greet and who I do not.”
Caught out, she looked back and slid her hand into his. Chey shook with meaning, with purpose, grip firm. “We usually don't. Well, I usually don't. It's nice to meet you.”
Just