§ § § -- July 8, 1996

When she was ready she returned downstairs, where Roarke had arrived while she was dressing and applying makeup. "Did Mr. Schmidt's fantasy go okay?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe he is quite satisfied," said Roarke, reading through phone messages as he spoke, "and I understand that he and his wife have been having several heart-to-heart discussions this weekend. And Ms. Blaisdell is—" At that exact moment he looked up and cut himself off at sight of her. "You're dressed for an evening out!"

Leslie nodded. "I'm having dinner with Christian."

Roarke stared at her, very surprised. "Indeed!"

She sighed gently. "Father, it's just a dinner date. I like him, and I think he'd be a very good friend."

Roarke nodded slowly, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, as though he didn't quite believe her. "Well, you do seem to get along well," he observed after a moment. He smiled then. "I wish you an enjoyable evening."

"Thank you," she said and returned his smile. "I won't be late."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that," Roarke replied warmly. "Just have a good time, sweetheart. You need not let me know you're back if you arrive home late."

"Well enough," she agreed. "See you later on." She exited the room and had just crossed to the top of the veranda steps when Christian pulled up in a rover that Roarke had put at his disposal for the duration of his stay on the island. He stopped and got out, coming to meet her on the steps and extending a hand to her, unable to take his eyes off her.

"You're lovely, Leslie," he said, wide-eyed, taking in her teal-blue sheath and the rainbow-gem bracelet that encircled her wrist, her shining hair, her face with its embarrassed smile. "Truly lovely. I'll be the envy of every other man in the restaurant."

"Oh, stop," she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I'm not that pretty."

"Shush," he scolded gently and slipped a finger under her chin to tilt her head back till she had to look at him. "You are to me, and that's all that matters. Come on."

She couldn't quite remember the ride to the restaurant; her mind kept replaying his quiet compliments, as if she had never received any such in her life before. When some corner of her memory pointedly presented the fact that Teppo had often complimented her that way, she determinedly shoved it aside. Teppo wasn't here, and Christian deserved her full attention. Besides, she really did like him. Prince he might be, but he was so far removed from her image of royalty that she always felt at ease with him, and she realized she didn't want him to regret having asked for her company this evening.

They were seated and given menus, and Christian peered impishly at her over the top of his. "What do you recommend here?"

"Anything you've never tried before," she replied whimsically.

"That would be everything on the menu," he retorted, and she snickered, making him laugh. "What a sweet sight, seeing you smile! Truly, do you have a favorite dish here?"

Leslie nodded. "The ginger pancakes with crab meat has always been my indulgence whenever I eat here. Someone clued me in on it years ago, and I didn't think I'd like it, but one bite and I got hooked. But if you aren't quite sure, I can give you a bite of mine and you can see if you like it."

Christian's expression grew comically insulted. "Are you suggesting I am afraid to try something new?"

Leslie shrugged with overdone innocence. "If the shoe fits…"

They gave each other playfully narrow-eyed glares across the tops of their menus; then both began laughing at the same moment. "I'll try it," Christian declared. "In fact, it sounds intriguing. And I see this place has only the very best of vintage wines. Herregud, there is even Dom Perignon! Don't tell me, you have that every evening."

"I've had it once in my entire life," Leslie said. "Father insisted on serving it at Tattoo's wedding. I had just turned eighteen and I remember being thrilled at having a full glass all to myself. Haven't tasted it since then, though."

Christian grinned. "Then you'll taste it again this evening, and you can have all the full glasses you like until there's none left in the bottle. And while you're having that with your exotic ginger pancakes and crab, you can tell me about Tattoo. I know of him only as an artist. Was he a friend of your father?"

"That and much more," Leslie said reminiscently. "He was Father's assistant for more than twenty years, and he's the nearest thing I ever had to an uncle. When he got married, he took his wife back to Paris and started forging his art career there. I guess he was more successful than even he had hoped to be. He gained such fame with his paintings that many people, especially in Europe, have no idea he was Father's assistant for so long." She smiled sadly. "When he died last year, it felt as though I'd lost another piece of my family."

At that point the waiter arrived and they put in their orders; when he was gone, Christian turned back to Leslie and nodded solemnly. "I noticed his headstone in the cemetery yesterday. I'm sorry, Leslie. I can see you were very close to him."

"I visited him a little less than two years before he passed on," she said. "The house just bowled me over, it's so beautiful. As a matter of fact, he was the second of three stops I made on a month-long trip. I was in Arcolos before that, and after I left Tattoo's, I spent a little time on Lilla Jordsö. I have a friend who turned out to have been born there."

Christian sat up with excited interest. "You have been to my home island, and somehow I missed meeting you?" he exclaimed with a grin, and she rolled her eyes, making him laugh again. "What brought you there, seriously?"

Leslie told him about her grandmother's trip there and, when he persisted, went on to regale him with the story of how she had stumbled serendipitously across Frida's birth family. He knew, of course, about the Liljefors clan, and his interest grew more animated than ever when she told him Frida was one of theirs. "I always believed they got more than their share of persecution," Christian commented, "but they have always kept so much to themselves that I believe they were suspicious of anyone and everyone. I'm afraid even I had trouble sorting out rumors from truth. I'm glad you could help them along with your friend. Their inn is doing quite a business now, and they are no longer so feared and despised, so that they need not live in the shadows." He stopped, frowned slightly and then focused on her again. "But if you were so caught up in uncovering your friend's origins, and then left as soon as you had all your information, you must have seen very little of my country."

Leslie blushed. "I plead guilty, your honor. Why don't you do the talking now and tell me about some of the things I missed?"

They chatted amiably over dinner, one topic running easily into the next, growing very much at ease and discovering new things about each other. They lingered long after the food and wine were gone, still talking. Finally Leslie noticed something odd and looked around, then gasped. They were the only ones left in the restaurant now, and some of the waiters were in the entryway, clearly getting ready to go home for the night.

"I think we'd better give those poor slobs the night off," she said sheepishly and got to her feet; Christian swiftly followed suit, pulling out his wallet and making sure to leave a very generous tip. They both apologized to the staff on their way out the door and made a hasty exit, their sheepish laughter melting into the night.

"Did we really do that to those poor people?" Christian groaned, grinning. "I feel terrible. But I just couldn't stop talking. I don't think I've ever had such a wonderful time with anyone else."

"I had a fabulous time myself," Leslie agreed. "I hope the staff doesn't complain to Father later. I can't believe how much we talked!"

"I hate to stop," Christian said, navigating the Ring Road back towards the main house. "It seems to me as if you and I were just getting started."

Leslie giggled. "Maybe it was the Dom Perignon, but my sense of time just vanished completely. It can't be all that late."

Christian glanced at his watch as they passed under a street lamp. "I don't like to be the bearer of bad news, but it's well after midnight. I guess I had better take you directly home, so that your father doesn't decide to hire a different website designer."

"No, he told me not to worry about what time I got back," Leslie assured him. "And I'm glad he didn't…it's been an absolutely wonderful evening."

Christian pulled into the lane and around the bend. "So it has." He stopped the rover beside the fountain, parked and got out, and came around to help her out of the vehicle and walk her to the door. They were suddenly quiet then, both reluctant to end the evening even though they were beginning to feel distinctly tired and sleepy.

They faced each other a little self-consciously; but before Leslie could clear her throat in a nervous gesture, Christian folded her hands in his. "May I see you again?"

"Of course," she managed in a half-croak, half-whisper, and had to clear her throat after all. "Yes, I really would like that. Father and I have to see our guests off in the morning, but we're always back here by nine."

"I should be around by ten then, so that we can put the final site design in place and I can begin to set things up," he mused. "That will be a good start. However, I want to see you outside work conditions, if you think you'll have any spare time."

"Monday's mostly cleanup day from the weekend," Leslie said. "I usually have afternoons free, and that's most often the time I catch up with my friends."

"Then what time can I call for you? I thought you and I might see some of the island together," he said.

"Oh, just come over. I don't have any plans at all for tomorrow." In spite of herself she yawned and then ducked her head in embarrassment. "That's not a reflection on you!"

Christian burst into quiet laughter. "Perhaps not, but I can certainly take a hint! I guess I've kept you awake past your bedtime, so I should say good night."

Leslie looked up, peeking at him through her bangs and smiling almost shyly. "Sleep well, Christian, and thank you so much for the evening…I enjoyed every second."

"I as well," he said softly, but lingered there, still holding her hands, studying her face. She felt those butterflies flap their way into life again in her stomach, as though some sixth sense had kicked in; then he lifted their joined hands, pressed hers against his chest right over his heart, leaned slowly forward and kissed her. It was no chaste kiss either, but one with clear intent, one that told her in no uncertain terms that he was strongly attracted to her and hoped to take this relationship further.

Leslie might have been scared off by the blatant message his kiss sent her, but the wine had apparently gone to her head just enough to silence her mental warning bells, and she returned his kiss in almost equal measure. It lasted longer than either of them had quite planned it to, and when at last he drew back, her head was spinning.

Christian seemed a little dazed as well. After a moment he blinked and gave his head one quick, hard shake, as though to clear it. "It's either you or the wine, and I'd much prefer to think it's you," he murmured. "I'll not sleep all night now." He couldn't seem to resist placing one soft, swift kiss on her lips before releasing her. "Go inside, quickly."

She smiled. "Good night." And she slipped into the house, closing the door quietly, knowing she wasn't likely to sleep either. Unwilling to turn on a light in the dark house and dispel the magic of the moment, she picked her way across the study and up the stairs to her own room, where she changed clothes in the dark and slipped under the covers, reliving that kiss till she finally did fall asleep in spite of herself.