CHAPTER CONTENT WARNING
- death [referenced past event]

Two days had passed since the disastrous dinner. Hans had skipped his routine visit to La Stella Luminosa the previous evening. He needed to make his presence a bit scarcer; otherwise, his intellect, charm, and manners would regularly outshine Pierre's.

Then there was the matter of him being witnessed at the restaurant. Even a one day gap would increase Natalia's doubt about it being Lars she saw, if indeed she suspected him at all. He couldn't stay away too long, though. Natalia considered Lars her best friend, and he needed her to keep that trust if his deal with Pierre was to be successful.

Hans finished his work and made his way to the harbor.

"Good afternoon, Lars!"

The familiar greeting rang out as Hans alighted on the deck, delivered by Leone's enthusiastic voice.

"It's good that you're here!" Leone exclaimed as he approached his friend. "You can join us for dinner at Brogan's!"

"Isn't that rude, inviting an extra guest to someone else's house?"

Leone waved off the concern. "Brogan doesn't mind stuff like that. Besides, the Connolloys invited our whole family."

Hans wordlessly raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look. You are practically family," Leone protested.

Hans shrugged. If you knew my family, you'd realize that's not a good thing.

Hans' response (or lack thereof) seemed to dampen Leone's spirit. "Anyway," Leone continued in a more subdued tone, "it's fine if you come with us. You'd be taking Natalia's place."

"Oh?" Hans acted confused, though he suspected the reason.

"Yeah. That Pierre guy invited her to dinner and the theater tonight," Leone muttered.

"You appear less than thrilled with that fact."

Leone nodded. "As is Natalia."

Hans frowned. "Has she said anything about it?"

"No, but she's obviously not excited."

Hans smirked. "To be fair, her version of excited is very different from yours."

"I know."

The pointed stare that accompanied Leone's declaration made Hans uncomfortable, so he tried to resolve the problem at hand instead.

"Maybe I should go talk to her," he proposed.

"Probably a good idea," Leone agreed, "considering she actually talks to you."

There was a note of regret in his voice. Hans pretended not to notice and walked to the closed door of the smaller cabin.

He knocked twice in succession. "Natalia? May I come in?"

"Yes," she replied flatly.

Hans entered and closed the door behind him. The young woman was sitting on a stool by her dresser. She wore the same blue dress she'd worn two days ago, but her hairstyle was new — a high bun, laced with ribbon and small braids.

"Your hair looks nice," Hans complimented.

"Thank you," she acknowledged sullenly. "Mamma did it for me."

Hans crossed his arms. "Alright, why aren't you looking forward to your night out?"

Natalia's eyes widened for a moment before she closed them with a sigh. "I didn't enjoy the first one."

"Why not?"

"I'm not comfortable around Pierre," she explained. "We don't have anything in common."

"'Anything?'" Hans teased.

"He's an only child from a wealthy family. He likes hunting, fishing, and sporting games," Natalia detailed without humor. "He talks for prolonged periods and then suddenly stops, as though he expects me to talk as much as he just did. He hates to sit still and fidgets when he does. We're nothing alike."

Some of this was new information to Hans, but he didn't doubt her. After all, he hadn't been there for the carriage ride. Pierre had divulged nothing of substance regarding the trip, but Natalia had certainly made a few observations.

"Perhaps he was simply nervous," Hans suggested.

"I've taken that into consideration."

"Is that why you agreed to see him again?"

Natalia nodded. "That, and... Mamma wouldn't accept a decision after just one dinner."

Hans cocked his head. "A decision on what?"

"Courtship." Natalia exhaled slowly. "At least, Mamma believes that's Pierre's intention. Either way, I'd probably have to have at least five outings with him before she'd allow me to decline another one."

"Are you absolutely set on refusing him?" Hans prodded.

Natalia bit her lip. "No. I'm just pretty sure I will."

"Well, you have to keep an open mind," he encouraged. "He must like you, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered finding you again."

"I suppose," Natalia admitted, "though I can't fathom why he'd be interested in me over the thousands of other single women in this city. I'm not beautiful, or engaging, or memorable. My family has no assets except this ship." She paused, weighing some other possibilities. "My parents both come from respectable families, but that doesn't mean much outside their homelands. He wouldn't gain anything from it. The only thing that makes sense is he's looking for a wife whose sole asset is domestic skills."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Hans scolded. "Besides, if his family is wealthy, he can afford housemaids. I doubt he cares about your cleaning abilities."

Natalia rested her chin in her hand as she eyed herself in the mirror. "Perhaps."

Hans sat on the trunk at the end of Natalia's bed. "So, is Pierre taking you to the same restaurant as before?"

"Goodness, no!" Natalia gasped. "I only have this one gown. I made sure we're going somewhere else."

Hans nodded understandingly. It was common knowledge that a high-class lady wouldn't be caught dead wearing the same frock to the same place, especially for two visits in a row. He groaned inwardly at the realization that Pierre was indeed foolish enough to forget this fact. I'll have to make sure he doesn't repeat any outing locations.

"Speaking of your gown—" Hans pointed to the underdress, "—is this the material you used for the lining of my gloves?"

Natalia instinctively looked down. "Oh, yes. I didn't take it from this, though. Our dressmaker gave me the extra silk because it's my favorite color."

Hans furrowed his brow. "'Our dressmaker?'"

Crimson crept into Natalia's features. "Uh, yes... back when we could afford such a thing." She wrung her hands. "That's why I was surprised Mamma kept this. I thought we'd sold everything of value."

Hm. Hans stroked his chin as Natalia focused on her hands. Things are making more sense now. From their first meeting, he'd presumed this was a family of commoners. However, as Natalia had just mentioned, Vincenzo and Mirella both came from "respectable" — upper-class, wealthy — families. This explained why Natalia's grandparents insisted on their grandchildren receiving a proper education. It stood to reason that, at some point, some event had caused the family to lose their wealth; thus they'd had to sell almost all their possessions.

"Natalia, if you don't mind my asking, how old is your dress?"

"Hmmm... over six years old."

He couldn't keep himself from gaping. "You kept that material for six years?! And you used it on my gloves?!"

Her cheeks flushed. "Ah, well, my choices were limited by the small amount of fabric, and I never thought of anything I really wanted to make with it." She smiled at Hans. "Although, it's a good thing I didn't. I'm glad I was able to use silk for the lining instead of cotton."

She's happy she could give me the best she had. He felt a small prick in his abdomen and examined his shirt for a nettle.

Natalia cleared her throat. "Um..."

Hans looked up. "Yes?"

"When I was out to dinner with Pierre, I thought I saw—"

Hans prepared himself for the worst.

"—one of your brothers."

"Oh." He hoped his inflection dissuaded Natalia from pursuing the topic, but he was pleased with her assumption. He'd feared she would think it was Lars she saw, in which case he'd planned to lay the blame on one of Lars' (imaginary) brothers. Thankfully, she'd come to this conclusion on her own.

"Do they still live in Købense?"

"No," Hans answered. "At least, not that I know of. Last I heard, they all married into money and moved away. I suppose it's possible that one of them returned, but, more likely, he was only visiting."

Natalia sighed. "I should have said something to him."

Hans straightened. "What? Why?"

"He enjoyed a lavish meal while you have to work every day and have nothing."

"No, it's good that you didn't talk to him. Even if it was one of my brothers, I'm sure he would have denied any relation." Hans waved his hand dismissively. "Besides, I have a few things." He paused, then added, "Thanks to you and your family."

"Natalia." Leone opened the door as he called. "Pierre is here."

The young woman flashed a weak smile. "Thank you." She stood and faced Hans. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Hans replied without forethought.

Natalia's smile was genuine this time. "Until tomorrow, then."

The Connolloys' estate was rather impressive. It sat on a sprawling parcel of land enclosed with a high fence. There was a large stable toward the northeast corner, and several smaller buildings dotted across the grassy expanse. The main house was as grand as any noble's home; however, its modern construction lacked the classic sophistication of those aristocratic structures.

A servant met the quartet at the gate, escorting them down the cobblestone road and into the main house.

"Welcome!" a booming male voice greeted them. "I'm glad all of you could join us for dinner!" The source of the proclamation was a somewhat chubby man, who eyed Hans with interest. "I take it this is the Lars fellow I've heard so much about?"

"You must be Mr. Connolloy," Hans stated as he extended his hand.

"Call me Brogan," the man insisted with a hefty shake. He released Hans' hand and motioned to the woman beside him. "My wife, Edina."

"Pleased to meet you." Edina curtsied as she spoke.

"The pleasure is mine," Hans replied with a slight bow.

"Ooh, such a gentleman!" Edina tittered.

Brogan gave a bemused chuckle as he started down the hall. "Come. The first course is ready to be served."

Vincenzo and Brogan retreated to Brogan's office after supper, much to Edina's dismay.

"We have company and he can't even take the night off!" she complained. Ushering the two young men into the parlor, she continued her rant. "Really, what kind of host abandons most of his guests? And I'd hoped we could all enjoy tales of your travels before dessert." Mrs. Connolloy gave a small huff before smiling. "Well, I'm sure you boys can entertain yourselves while we wait for the men... or dessert, whichever comes first." She flitted from the room with Mirella in tow. "Come, darling, I must tell you the most salacious rumor I heard this morning..."

Hans observed his surroundings. The room contained a couch, a few chairs, a table, a piano, a free-standing harp, and a small bookshelf.

Leone, clearly no stranger to the parlor, immediately retrieved a wooden box from the bookshelf. He held it out to Hans. "Do you like chess?"

"Yes." Hans pulled a chair up to the table.

Leone plopped the box on the table, cringing when it made a louder THUNK! than expected. He smirked sheepishly as he began to pull the pieces from the box. "Black or white?"

"Doesn't matter," Hans responded. This was a casual game, after all.

Leone placed a white pawn on Hans' side and a black pawn on his own. Hans set his remaining pieces while Leone did the same.

White had the first move, and Hans made his swiftly.

"Wow, no hesitation," Leone chuckled. "I take it you've played a lot."

"I don't know if I would say 'a lot,'" Hans mused, watching Leone make his selection. "Just 'enough.'"

"When did you learn how to play?" Leone queried.

"I think I was six or seven," Hans answered as he shifted a pawn. "You?"

"Same, though I didn't like it until I was a bit older." Leone studied the board with a perplexed grimace. "Sorry, it's been awhile since I played with anyone."

"It's fine. I haven't played in a couple years myself."

Leone flexed his finger over a bishop. "Speaking of years, I've been meaning to ask: how old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Hans replied.

Leone's countenance brightened. "Really? Me too! When's your birthday?"

"June fifteenth." There was no risk in sharing this information. Most of the Southern Isles, let alone the rest of the world, didn't even know there was a thirteenth Westergaard prince (before his little misadventure made him the gossip topic of the month). They certainly didn't know his age, and if anyone knew his date of birth, it was only because they remembered the day the Isles lost their queen.

"Mine's March eighth," Leone offered without prompt. "That makes me a little more than three months older than you."

"So you can do simple arithmetic in your head!" Hans gasped in mock surprise.

"Hey!" Leone whined with a pout. "Since when did I give the impression that I was bad at mathematics?"

"You didn't per se," Hans admitted, "but, overall, you appear to lack the caution necessary for precise calculations."

"Well, I guess we'll never know, since I've never needed to analyze such things," Leone retorted, sticking his tongue out at Hans.

The two sat like that for a moment before Hans broke the silence. "Are you going to make your move?"

Leone returned his tongue to his mouth. "Oh, right!"

"Checkmate," Hans declared as he released his queen from his fingertips.

"That's two out of three!" Leone's giddy voice made it sound like he were the winner instead of Hans. "Should we go to five?"

Hans shook his head. He could tell that Leone had let him win the first and third games. The foreigner was holding back. Hans had a few guesses as to the reason, but there was no need to make a scene about it.

"Well, what do you want to play next?" Leone inquired. "Checkers? Backgammon? Dominoes?"

"I'm not sure." The redhead stood as he scanned the room for another activity. He enjoyed anything that required strategy and skill. However, something that relied on pure luck would give his mind a break, as well as keep Leone from purposely losing. He opened a small case atop the bookshelf. "How about a game of dice?"

"How about something else?" Leone replied tersely.

"Alright," Hans muttered, taken aback. Leone's tone almost made his sentence an order, rather than a question. Hans returned the case and picked up a deck in its place. "Cards?"

"I don't play cards."

Hans couldn't help but gawk at his companion. The note of regret he'd heard earlier had returned, but with a bitter snap to it.

'That's terrible! To be so irresponsible and leave your younger sibling with nothing—'

Hans' eyes widened. "You mean, you don't play cards anymore."

Leone started in surprise, then quickly turned away.

I'm right.

"Your family used to have a significant amount of wealth," Hans expounded, "but they had to sell practically everything, to the point where Natalia was shocked your mother had saved an evening gown for her."

Leone's shoulders hunched as though he could make himself disappear. Hans' brain once again reminded him that exposing secrets was not wise, but he ignored the thought. At this point, he couldn't stop himself until he'd delivered his conclusion.

"It was to pay off your gambling debt, wasn't it?"

Leone flinched. "Something like that," he mumbled, still facing the opposite direction.

Hans was glad Leone hadn't moved. The former prince couldn't suppress the smug satisfaction of a correct deduction. This also put Leone's inadvertent, indirect revelation of fornication in a broader context. After all, vices rarely manifested in only a single area.

The only remaining mystery was precisely how Leone was responsible for Natalia's head injury. There are a dozen possibilities. Perhaps Leone was supposed to be looking after his younger sister but pursued a lady instead. Or perhaps the incident had occurred after the payoff, and thus the family couldn't afford a doctor to properly treat Natalia. Hans thinned his lips as he put a hand to his chin. Although, I suppose the specifics don't matter.

"I think that's part of why Natalia is at ease around you," Leone suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Hans' eyes redirected to the the curled-up man.

"She relates to you. You both lost your normal lives because of selfish older brothers."

Hans frowned. "She doesn't see you like that, Leone."

Leone shrugged. "It's still the truth, though."

"At least you feel remorse," Hans countered. He turned his gaze to the trees outside the window. "Unlike my brothers."

Damian's face came to mind, but Hans pushed it away with a silent scoff. As though anything he said was genuine.

Movement drew Hans' attention back into the room. Leone had his nose in the air and was sniffing like a bloodhound.

"What is it?" Hans questioned, concerned.

Leone grinned. "Dessert! Let's go!" He scampered out the door without waiting for a response.

Hans stared after Leone in bewilderment before a realization dawned on him. The foreigner's happy-go-lucky attitude was almost always authentic, but it had come from years of forcing himself to focus on anything positive in order to keep himself from drowning in guilt.