The
two Cassadine bodyguards stood at the far end of the launch to Spoon Island.
It was as though the men did not want to be burned by the heat rising up
off their irate ward. They
occasionally risked a quick glance at the young man and then shared
commiserating glances with one another. There
was no doubt in either guard’s mind that fireworks would quickly commence
within the stone walls of Wyndemere.
Andresj’ Cassadine’s jaw ached from holding it clenched the past five hours. He was as angry as he could ever remember being. Up until several hours ago, he was holed up in a lavish Italian villa enjoying the company of a deliciously wicked older woman eager to teach him all the mysteries of her sex. He had been unceremoniously rousted by his two silent sentries and ordered to accompany them back to Port Charles and his brother, Prince Nikolas. For just a moment Andresj’ considered defying the oversized bodyguards. But one look at their solemn countenances and he realized that they had been ordered to take any measures needed to return him to Port Charles.
Quick,
angry footsteps carried Andresj’ up the stairs from the docks and down the
labyrinth of hallways that filled Wyndemere.
In no time, he reached his destination.
Andresj’
threw open the library’s ornate doors. He
ignored Pavel’s scandalized expression and swept by Nikolas’ personal
secretary before he could even react. Andresj’
paid no mind to the rules of proper protocol he had been drilled in all his
life. He stalked angrily up to his
brother’s desk and slapped his palms down on the polished wood. “What is this about?” Andresj’ railed.
“Why the hell have you dragged me back to Port Charles?”
“Wild
living has made you forget all our father’s teachings,” Nikolas calmly
corrected his younger brother. He
gestured behind Andresj’. “We
have company, little brother.”
Andresj’
bit back the rest of his angry remarks and looked behind him.
A hulking, bearded man with a red face stood menacingly next to a slender
reed of a young woman with beautiful dark eyes.
“Well?”
Nikolas prompted the young woman.
“I-I
don’t understand,” she stammered. “That
is not him. That is not Andresj’ Cassadine.”
Mathieu
Wischard glared at Nikolas. “What
are you trying to do? What kind of
scam are you trying to pull?”
Nikolas
made a calming gesture. “I assure
you, Monsieur Wischard, this is my younger brother Andresj.
I have no other by that name.”
Andresj’
tried in vain to follow their conversation.
“Kolya, what is going on?”
“Mademoiselle
Wischard is pregnant. She named you
as the father,” Nikolas responded simply.
“I
did not!” Jolie Wischard cried. “I
said that Andresj’ Cassadine is the father of my baby!”
She suddenly dug into the small purse she carried and drew forth a
tattered photograph. “He
is my baby’s daddy!” She thrust
the photo into Nikolas’ hand.
Nikolas
froze. His face grew set in stone
and he silently handed the photograph across the desk to his younger brother.
“Yes,” Nikolas said as he watched the realization spread across
Andresj’s face.
“I
must apologize to you and your daughter,” Nikolas grimly addressed Mathieu and
Jolie Wischard. “You have been the victims of a lie.” He motioned for Andresj’ to return the young woman’s
photograph. “Obviously, the man
in the picture is not Andresj’ Cassadine.
He is our cousin Grigori*.”
*Grigori is a cousin to Nikolas and Andresj'. Stefan, in preparing for Nikolas' future as Prince of the Cassadine family, often had distant teenage relatives brought to the mansion in Greece. Such an action guaranteed that Nikolas would have a built-in base of loyal family members when he became an adult. Grigori (and his twin sister Evgeny) were regular summer visitors.