Page 24 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed
“You will not have that opportunity.” He looked grim. But also something like...pleased, she thought. As if he wanted the chance to issue these threats. As if that allowed him the control he clearly wanted so badly. “My grandmother cherished her isolation, and thus built herself a small castle halfway to the Italian border, accessible only by helicopter or a very sturdy mule. It has no contact with the outside world. Know, with every part of you that imagined it was wise to lie to me, that I will think nothing of stashing you there if I must. That I will always do whatever I must to protect this kingdom.”
Helene made herself sigh a bit, as if none of this was really affecting her, when that wasn’t at all true. But she suddenly thought that she would rather die than let him see her. “That sounds a lot like a high school reunion, if I’m honest.”
He stared at her for a small eternity. Maybe two. “Do you think this is a joke, Helene? Because let me assure you in the strongest possible terms that it is not.”
“I can see that.”
And then it took her a moment to realize that the reason her throat felt so strange was because there was a lump in it again, larger than before. And her eyes felt scratchy, as if she’d been hollowed out. Worst of all, that knot in her took up its own sort of humming, and it made her want to do something completely out of character.
Like fall to the floor and sob.
We do the hard things the same way we do the easy, she thought.
And then Helene swept forward in her absurdly oversize gown and seated herself at the place set for her at the table—on a diagonal from the table’s head, which it did not take a great chess master to realize was set for the King—and settled herself into place with what she hoped was every appearance of total serenity.
She’d learned that from her mother, too. That when in doubt, simple rituals could carry an awkward moment and were often far more effective than engaging in a scene.
Though as she sat there, her hands folded in her lap, pretending not to sneak glances at him from beneath her demurely lowered eyelids, she had the distinct impression that he might have preferred a scene, after all.
That this was him, throwing one.
There was something in her that wanted to rise to meet it, the way she’d met every touch, every caress, every moan last night.
But everything in her balked at that.
And this wasn’t anything she’d been taught. It was something deeper. Some feminine intuition that was all hers, whispering that if she behaved the wanton in this, too, it would prove his point to him.
More, that Gianluca wanted her to do exactly that.
Helene had no intention whatsoever of doing that work on his behalf.
She was aware of him—too aware of him—but still she sat, engaged in what had been known in the Institut as quiet domestic warfare. The province, according to their teachers, of every powerful woman who could not claim the spotlight herself.
If one must be the power behind the throne, Madame liked to say, it behooves one to know how to wield it to its best effect.
And that almost made Helene smile. For there had been no point in any of her schooling in how to be the most aristocratic of all that it had ever occurred to her that she would end up anywhere near a real throne. Just as she hadn’t anticipated getting on the wrong side of her new husband so quickly. Surely she had to have set some kind of record.
She thought that his glare intensified when he finally took his seat, likely because she had permitted her lips to curve in wry amusement.
She thought he might lay into her then, but he didn’t. Their meal was served with the exquisite perfection that she had come to understand he required in all things. It was not until all the staff withdrew, leaving them to enjoy their food, that he spoke again.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said forbiddingly, and when he looked at her it hurt, “I remain as allergic to even the hint of scandal as ever. There can be no whispers. No rumors. I will know precisely where to look if any appear.”
“Happily,” she said, attacking her first course with gusto as if she was too hungry to pay any attention to him, “I haven’t the slightest idea how to set about starting a rumor. I was taught many things in the course of my schooling, but never that.”
He picked up his fork too, but only fiddled with it, that brooding glare hard on hers. The more he glared, the less it hurt. Or so she told herself. Bracingly.
“You’ve picked up many things indeed,” he said, his insinuation unpleasant. Deliberately, she knew. “And I cannot pretend that I have reached any place of equanimity about the deception you have committed against crown and kingdom.”
“My sins are vast indeed.”
That black gaze of his darkened further, without the faintest hint of starshine. “All I can tell you in the meantime is what we will do to mitigate this crisis.”
She did not ask what that was. Instead she allowed the sound of their cutlery against their plates to make a bit of music.
“If we are to sit in such baleful silence at each meal,” she said after this went on some while, “and assuming that we will be taking our meals together, which I realize isn’t at all certain given your opinion on my character as that would put anyone off their food—”
“This will obviously be viewed as something of a honeymoon phase,” he said darkly, as if Helene was personally responsible for such wedding traditions. To add to her list of sins. “Even though we will not take any sort of holiday, we must behave like newlyweds.” When she only slid a look his way, he set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. “In other words, yes. We will be taking our meals together. We will have a heavy slate of engagements to introduce ourselves as a working couple to the whole of the Kingdom, and assuming you manage to not embarrass yourself or the crown, you may even have your own. But I suggest you remember that it is nothing but a pantomime. You are on borrowed time.”