Bastian Read online

  We returned to the city three hours later and as I landed, I noticed she had fallen asleep. Her head lolled to the side, facing me. And the smallest smile played on her features, and I knew I’d sleep like a king knowing I was the one that put it there.

  Chapter 6

  Alana

  Four days had passed since our date. Our magical date. I’d never experienced anything on that scale. Sending a driver, following directions on a mysterious letter only to have the treasure map end at Bastian sexily leaning against a helicopter…and if that wasn’t enough, we went to his ancestral home where he had the most beautiful dinner planned.

  It definitely wasn’t your average date, but the details and grandeur aside, our conversation had been enlightening, stimulating and of course, flirtatious.

  Bastian was multi-dimensional, surprising me every time he’d open his mouth. Proclaiming I was worth the effort and worth fighting for…telling me he was indeed real before he grabbed me like he was staking claim though there wasn’t a soul around…and then when his lips landed on mine…

  His actions were one thing, but his words, his promises were what attracted me to him. When I had put a stop to our kissing, telling him I wasn’t sure I could give us what we both wanted, he reassured me he wasn’t going anywhere. And that was what I was afraid of, why I had pulled back.

  Had I wanted to surrender to everything he was giving me and everything that was an unspoken promise in the waning light of evening? Unyielding pleasure, giving and taking, lusty greed. I wanted to so bad, yet I stopped.

  I was scared. Scared of what we were becoming. I knew when I had asked, Bastian would be respectful, never wanting to push me, but what scared me was how bad I wanted it, how bad I was willing to give myself over to him.

  I turned into a wanton, lust filled woman whenever I was around him. His thoughtfulness and attention to detail was a straight shot to my ovaries, and I was afraid if I had let things progress, I’d say something so irrational like ‘Please put the seeds of your offspring in me now.”

  It was ridiculous and magnificent all at once, which made no sense whatsoever to me. I was walking around on a cloud, and I didn’t know whether that was from the newness you experience at the beginning of any relationship or the simple fact that my thoughts were convoluted and indeed in outer space.

  Bastian and I fell into a routine over the last few days. Each chance he got, he’d meet me at the coffee shop on my lunch hour and before bed we’d text until sleep threatened to take us to a place of serenity; but each night we both fought it, an unspoken need to stay in the peacefulness we had created together. It was intimate. It was special. It was our time, and in it was where we found each other. Truths, hopes, dreams, wants and desires were all revealed.

  What had started out as a narrow angle, being able to see only one aspect of the image, was now revealed through a wide-angle lens. And oh, how it was bright, big and beautiful.

  Things were in focus, clear as day, and there was nothing hidden. Gone were my insecurities and doubt, and what was left was raw, pure honesty where our relationship was able to bloom and grow with the nurturing care from the two of us.

  It was unlike anything I had ever ventured into, not having any past relationship come close to what Bastian and I shared. And we hadn’t even slept together yet. But that would change soon.

  I wanted nothing more than to give myself over to him, to completely commit myself to someone, to give him pleasure, comfort, and a safe place. I wanted to be sought, because every time he’d come looking, I’d be there. I wanted to be his stability in his chaotic, unpredictable and small world.

  I couldn’t pretend to understand the pressure he carried with him like a badge, but I could empathize with all that I had. Because at the end of the day, empathy was what made us connect, gave us a human quality, and if we couldn’t offer that freely, then what was the point?

  And as willing as I was to give empathy, evidently so was Bastian, as I’d soon find out.

  Today I had taken a personal day from work; it was the anniversary of my grandmother’s passing. For the last two years I had taken the day off, along with the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing.

  Leaving my house, I passed by the rose bushes that my grandmother had planted and turned into insanely beautiful flowers. But nothing had quite started blooming yet, but I appreciated the greenery all the same, thinking fondly of her when I tended to them.

  The cemetery was on a hillside, overlooking the river that eventually snaked its way through Slaždin. It was well manicured and serene, and I was happy they had such a beautiful final resting place.

  I respectfully walked amongst the headstones, some modest, where others were impressive mausoleums that housed entire families.

  For most, cemeteries were a dreaded place, where ghosts and ghouls ran rampant, but for me, it was the opposite.

  Though I carried them so ardently in my heart, visiting them here was when I felt the closest, where I had the deepest connection.

  There was a thin veil, and as strange as it sounded, I felt them. Perhaps not in the physical sense, but more as a sensation, like a comforting presence surrounded me.

  I knelt at their joint headstone, a beautiful quartz engraved stone, and placed the spring blooms I brought atop its gentle curve.

  “I’ve missed you two,” I said. I felt sadness and sorrow, knowing I’d never feel their embrace again, but just as strongly I felt hope.

  One-way conversations were awkward at the best of times, but nobody was around, so I continued to speak to them. “I think about you both every day; I’ve kept the house and the yard up and the rose garden is just as pristine as when you left it, grandmother.” She had a green thumb that rivaled any professional gardener and it had been a point of pride for her. I inherited their old stone cottage as well. I was a bit of a neat freak, so the outside was maintained just as well as the interior.

  I took pride in it, my little corner of the world. I loved the home; it was something that my grandfather had purchased over fifty years ago, and together, they had added modern conveniences to its otherwise archaic bones.

  “I also wanted to let you know,” I began, “that I met someone. He’s a good man, this I know. We’re still only in the new stage, but I have a feeling about him, you know?” My question floated away with the breeze with no one to answer it.

  “I also wanted to thank you both for being shining examples of love. The devotion you showed one another was astounding and I now know that not only do I want that, but I deserve it. And Bastian can give it to me. That’s his name, by the way,” I said as an afterthought. “Actually, his full name is Crown Prince Bastian of Devmont…”

  A wave of relief washed over me, cleansing and cathartic like sunshine after a storm. Besides Zara and Mathis who knew about my current dating situation simply because we worked side by side, this was the first time I verbalized it.

  It felt good to say it, freeing and liberating, though it fell on deaf ears.

  “I know from watching you both that love doesn’t come easy or without costs, but I’m trying to stamp the doubt.” I voiced my apprehensions that had threatened to stop Bastian and I before we even had a chance to begin—all thanks to me.

  “I feel I might be in over my head, and it’s scary but thrilling all at once, and I’m confused. I’m confused that I won’t be good enough for him, or too good and he’ll break my heart in the process.” I sighed, the sound falling flat. “What do I do? Do I risk everything and jump with both feet first, or do I protect myself?” I sighed, weighing the options I had put out in the universe. I looked above, into the grey sky and asked, “Can you give me a sign?”

  The air had grown still, a buzz of energy slowly filling the void. I waited, sensing something would make itself known or felt, but it never came. Minutes passed. Birdsong began again. And I had no sign.

  Sighing once more, I smiled at their names on the stone, tracing each letter methodically. “Well, I guess
I should be going. Thanks for listening,” I said. “And don’t worry about the sign; I’ll know if it’s right or not. Love you both.” I placed a kiss above their names, the quartz cool and smooth beneath my lips.

  I was thoughtful on my way home. Like earlier, there were a myriad of feelings, thoughts, scenarios and emotions that were spiraling, and when they promised to subside, another thought would kick it back up and by the time I returned home, it had turned into a full-blown tornado.

  My grandmother’s rose garden was in the front yard of the cottage, each bush carefully spaced and planted behind the stone wall that lined the perimeter of the yard. It was positively English in its appearance.

  My favorite feature was a simple lattice arch over the stone pavers that led to the front door. Over ten years ago, my grandmother had planted a climbing rose bush, and now, it was hearty and healthy, dominating the structure.

  Something had caught my eye as I passed under it, and it gave me pause. On the inside edge of the arch was a small red bud that had opened partially, the deep crimson of the rose catching my eye.

  It was peculiar; usually the bushes didn’t bloom until mid-summer, yet this small little bud was standing out amongst the shiny green of its leaves.

  Then everything came flooding back to me. I was young when grandmother planted this, bending the delicate but malleable stems around the lattice.

  “What’s this one going to look and smell like, grandmother?” I had asked her, appreciating that every rose, like a thumbprint was unique in their shape, color and fragrance.

  “This one will be a deep red, with a delicate scent.” She gazed at her work, pleased with it as much as the new bush. “Perfectly named if you ask me, darling.”

  “Oh?” I had asked, also enjoying the creative names in which roses were called. “What’s its name?”

  “Love Knot,” she replied.

  And there it was.

  The sign I had been looking for.

  Thank you, I said.

  Chapter 7

  Bastian

  Slaždin, like many European cities had great museums, theaters, and hospitals. I was wrapping up my time at the Slaždin Central Children’s Hospital where I participated in a jointly run program bringing art activities to the children.

  Since I was in the capital, I planned on surprising Alana at work. Cliché perhaps, but she was worth it as I had vehemently expressed to her. Our conversations had grown deeper and certainly more flirtatious. More and more, I was finding the desire to court her, old fashioned or not.

  I had Henri park around the back of the Archives building.

  “Becoming quite the habit, no?” I chuckled to him.

  He merely nodded in agreement, the quiet type whose grunts and nods were his style of communicating that he’d agree with me because he was on my payroll.

  I retraced my steps down the corridor I dubbed as ‘our hall’, and led myself to Alana’s office. I peeked my head in and saw her two assistants, but not her.

  “Oh. Ohhh, hello,” the female one with pretty features said in greeting.

  The other, a man, stood and leaned against the edge of the desk and folded his arms. So, one was defensive and the other was tumbling over her words.

  “Hello,” I said with a smile. “I’m looking for Alana, if that wasn’t obvious.” My attempt at an ice-breaking joke wasn’t as well received as I’d hoped. I was met with owl eyes from both.

  I extended my hand in greeting. “We haven’t been formally introduced, I’m afraid,” my manners getting the best of me. “I’m Bastian.”

  The woman shook my hand, holding it a little longer than necessary. After she had introduced herself as Zara and relinquished my hand, the man gave me a firm handshake, not shy about sizing me up with a solid look.

  “Mathis,” he said simply. “So, you’re dating Lana?” It wasn’t a question but more of an observation.

  I nodded. Still not knowing where she was, I continued. “Is she around?” I asked, still getting the stare down from them. I was used to stares, gawking and whistles. This was different. It felt like I was on trial and being wrongly accused.

  “And what are your plans with her, Prince Bastian?” Zara asked, a slight sneer to the last syllable of my name.

  Ah, so, I was being interrogated by her coworkers who seemed very protective of her. I could easily give them a glossy, interview-worthy answer, but decided against it.

  “I care for her,” I stated. I scratched the back of my neck, the eyes of scrutiny upon me. “A great deal, actually.”

  “How much?” That came from Zara.

  Not sure if she wanted a verbal answer or for me to stretch my arms out like I was measuring a record fish. Putting my childish thought aside, I gave her the truth.

  “You know when you meet someone and even though you’re strangers, there’s an instant connection like a spark that threatens to consume you, but at the same time that spark excites you and draws you to the flame like a moth and you don’t care if it burns you? In fact, you welcome it because nothing else matters all of a sudden. The world around you blurs, yet everything becomes focused. And after you have that first conversation, the first connection with them, you suddenly can’t remember your life without them in it?” I hadn’t meant to get on my soapbox, but by the look that Mathis and Zara gave me, I was a victim of what I believed Americans called ‘verbal diarrhea’.

  Mathis nodded, a contemplative look on his face. “Alright then.” He gave me a nod that men have perfected over time that meant we’re cool.

  Zara was a little more animated. “It’s a shame you’re taken, but I’m happy for her—for you both. She deserves nothing but the best, and I think just maybe you can give it to her.” Her hands were working a mile a minute, fluttering in time to her words. “But let me make this clear, Your Highness,” the sneer one hundred percent evident this time, “you have us to answer to if you hurt her.” At that exclamation, she crossed her arms in a show of toughness. I was glad the arbitrary items in the office were blunt; she was convincing and I wouldn’t doubt her skill if she had a shank hidden somewhere.

  “Dually noted, Zara…I appreciate friends that are fiercely loyal.” I still wasn’t any wiser as to where she was, but perhaps we’d get there soon.

  Mathis was quiet, but he was perceptive. “To answer your question from earlier,” he said, reading my mind, “she’s off today.”

  “Yeah, it’s been two years since her grandmother passed,” Zara explained, then quickly closed her mouth, fearing she had revealed too much.

  “She’s told me about them,” I shared, hoping to ease her fear of disloyalty. “She’ll be at home then?”

  “I’d imagine.” Mathis shook my hand again. “Good to meet you, Prince Bastian,” he said.

  “Please, just Bastian. And it was a pleasure meeting both of you. She’s a lucky girl,” I commented, meaning it.

  “You have no idea,” Zara said cheekily.

  I liked them, and respected their protective nature.

  Henri drove me to Alana’s house. I wasn’t proud of this one, but finding her address was something I actually used my resources for.

  Alana lived twenty minutes out of the city where the roads and landscape melted into charming ruralness. I’m not sure what I had expected, but as we turned up the hill to her house, the quaintness of it suited her.

  A crumbling stone wall framed the entire property, but as much as it was dilapidated, everything else in contrast was pristine. The yard was perfectly kept with many plants and bushes pruned and trimmed, and there were even freshly painted green shutters on the front windows that matched the front door.

  I imagined a decent garden in the back, perhaps with a small bistro table and chairs where she might enjoy her morning breakfast, weather permitting.

  I followed the stone walk until I was at the door. Things seemed rather quiet inside and I had a thought that I had the misfortune of missing her. Was she running errands, gone to the cemetery, or the
thought crossed my mind that maybe she wanted to simply be alone?

  A clamminess had settled over my palms, and I found myself nervous. I knocked and waited.

  “Just a minute,” she called.

  She was home.

  The door opened inward and Alana stood there, surprised but happy. “Bastian? What are you doing here?” She was wearing a buttoned blouse in a beautiful shade of red and it complimented the rising flush of her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back and off her neck, her eyes framed by a pair of incredibly sexy vintage inspired glasses.

  I explained my plan to surprise her at work and how I ended up here.

  “Come in.” She motioned for me to follow, taking a seat on the sofa.

  Her place was decorated in a darker, rich palette with pops of color here and there. Cream colored built ins, which looked original to the house were stuffed with books, binders and papers. The walls were covered in a thick, delicately patterned wall paper; the dark green color, coupled with the books gave the home an absolute scholarly appeal.

  Twin wingback chairs sat on a Sherpa rug, the only piece in the room that looked modern.

  “Can I get you anything?” her voice carried from the adjoining room. “I was about to put the kettle on for some tea.”

  “Got anything stronger?” I asked, never having acquired the taste for tea.

  “A lush so early in the afternoon?” she asked, waltzing in.

  “Or just a man who knows what he wants,” I countered.

  “I see.” Her mouth was pert, reading me. She left once more, this time returning with a shot glass filled with clear liquid—vodka no doubt—and a dainty tea cup.

  Sitting beside me she said, “So, you met Mathis and Zara, then?”

  “I did indeed.” When I didn’t elaborate, she did.

  “Zara is a drama queen, but she’s my drama queen. She’s amazing at what she does and she means well. Mathis is a solid rock, reliable and loyal. I adore them both.” Alana took a small sip and deciding it was still too hot, placed it on the coffee table.