Nicholas's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 27
Lady Louise Spencer adjusted her cashmere scarf as she followed Sonja and Maya through the snowy streets of Gstaad toward the tavern. Behind them, at a careful distance, James maintained his watchful presence—close enough to intervene, if necessary, far enough to give her the illusion of normal socializing. After years of security, she barely noticed it anymore.
“You’re going to love him,” Sonja was saying, her breath forming clouds in the frigid air. “He’s completely unique.”
“You said that about the DJ in Ibiza last summer,” Louise reminded her with a laugh. “And he turned out to be spectacularly ordinary once you got past the hair.”
“Nicholas’s different,” Maya insisted. “Not in a flashy way. The opposite.”
Louise was intrigued despite herself. Her friends weren’t easily impressed, particularly Maya, whose transition to creative direction had only sharpened her already discerning eye. Anyone who had earned their genuine admiration was worth meeting.
As a cousin of Prince William, albeit somewhat removed from the direct line, Louise occupied an unusual social position—close enough to royalty to require security and warrant occasional tabloid attention when she dated, distant enough to pursue a modeling career and maintain relatively normal friendships. At twenty-five, she had spent the past seven years navigating the complex intersection of aristocracy, fashion, and media with a carefully cultivated presence that masked a formidable social intelligence.
She had learned early to evaluate people quickly—to recognize threat, opportunity, authenticity or artifice within moments of meeting someone. It was a survival skill in her world, where genuine connection was rare and ulterior motives were common.
“So he’s a carpenter who used to write philosophy books?” she clarified as they approached the tavern. “And you met him years ago in New York?”
“Before his Pulitzer ceremony,” Sonja confirmed. “We helped him buy a suit. It’s a long story, but trust me, you’ll understand when you meet him.”
Louise nodded, filing away the fragments of information she’d gathered. Pulitzer winner. Philosopher turned craftsman. Someone who had made a powerful impression on her friends years ago and apparently continued to intrigue them. Interesting, but she’d reserve judgment.
James entered the tavern first, performing his standard security sweep disguised as a casual patron looking for a table. After a moment, he caught her eye with the slight nod that signaled all clear. Louise followed her friends inside, grateful for the rush of warmth after the Alpine chill.
The tavern was charmingly authentic—the kind of place that had served the same hearty food and local beer for generations without concerning itself with trends. Louise appreciated establishments that knew exactly what they were and made no apologies for it.
She spotted him immediately.
Even seated at a corner table, the man her friends were approaching stood out—not because he was drawing attention to himself, but because of the peculiar stillness he maintained amidst the tavern’s activity. While others gesticulated, shifted in their seats, constantly checked phones, he remained centered, economical in his movements, attentive to his surroundings without being reactive to them.
It was the quality Louise associated with the most effective protection officers she’d encountered over years of royal events—the capacity to be fully present and aware without transmitting tension or drawing notice.
Interesting.
As they approached, she observed more details. Large, certainly, with the kind of physical presence that registered even in repose. But it wasn’t his size that was most striking—it was the quality of attention he directed toward her friends as they approached. He didn’t perform the standard social rituals of surprise and delight, yet his recognition of them seemed deeper than conventional pleasantries would have conveyed.
He stood as they reached the table, and Louise noted the fluid economy of the movement—no wasted energy, no theatrical flourish, just the necessary adjustment from sitting to standing executed with unconscious precision. There was something almost military in this efficiency.
Introductions were made. “Nicholas, this is our friend Louise,” Maya said. “Louise, this is Nicholas Carter, the one we were telling you about.”
He extended his hand, and Louise took it, noting the calluses, the controlled strength of his grip, and—most interestingly—the way he looked directly at her without the subtle change in demeanor that usually occurred when men recognized her title or appearance.
“Nice to meet you,” he said simply.
As they all took seats around the table, Louise positioned herself where she could observe him most effectively. Years of modeling had taught her the value of good lighting for assessment, and years of navigating royal adjacency had honed her ability to read people without appearing to study them.
What she saw fascinated her.
Nicholas Carter defied easy categorization. His clothes were simple but well-made—quality materials chosen for function rather than fashion. His hands were those of someone who worked physically, yet he handled the delicate glassware with surprising gentleness. His face revealed evidence of past battles, the once-broken nose—alongside the kind of earned composure that couldn’t be faked.
But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Gray and remarkably clear, they possessed a quality of direct seeing that was rare in her experience. Most people she met either avoided direct eye contact (intimidated by her title) or maintained it too intensely (trying to prove they weren’t intimidated). Nicholas’s gaze was neither deferential nor challenging—simply present and attentive.
The conversation began with Maya and Sonja catching Nicholas up on mutual acquaintances, including Valentina’s gymnastics school in Ukraine. Louise contributed occasionally but mostly observed, noting how Nicholas listened with complete attention, asked precise questions that cut to the heart of matters, and responded thoughtfully without dominating the exchange.
“I understand. You’re working on the new Zimmerman lodge?” Louise inquired when there was a natural opening. “The one on the north ridge?”
He turned that clear gaze toward her. “Yes. Our team has been on it for about seven months.”
“I’ve seen it from a distance,” she said. “The proportions are remarkable. So different from the typical overblown chalets in the area.”
Something subtle shifted in his expression—a flicker of genuine interest. “You notice proportions?”
“My father is an architect,” she explained. “I grew up visiting construction sites and hearing about the golden ratio until I could recite it in my sleep.”
This earned a small smile. “The primary structure uses traditional proportional systems. Derived from historical Alpine building methods but adapted for contemporary usage.”
“I’d love to see it properly sometime,” she said, surprising herself with her sincerity. “From the inside.”
“It’s still under construction,” he replied. “But it’s at a stage where the structural elements are visible before being enclosed. That’s actually the most interesting phase.”
The conversation shifted as their food arrived—traditional Swiss dishes served without pretension. Louise noticed how Nicholas ate with the same quality he brought to everything else—attentive, present, neither rushing nor dawdling. There was something almost meditative in his approach to the meal.
As they dined, she gradually introduced questions designed to explore his background without seeming intrusive. Her technique, honed through years of navigating complex social situations, was usually effective at extracting information without the subject realizing the purpose.
With Nicholas, however, her usual methods didn’t seem to work. He wasn’t evasive, he just answered each question precisely, without elaborating. He had none of the social anxiety that usually led people to fill silences with revealing information.
It was like conversing with someone operating from an entirely different social rulebook—not rudely or awkwardly, but with a straightforwardness that defied conventional patterns.
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