Page 6 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed
When nothing could be further from the truth.
Because this was the secret she hadn’t told even Faith. That there wasn’t a single part of her, inside or out, that did not wish to marry this man. And he could have been anyone. It had nothing to do with kings or crowns, thrones or settlements. She didn’t care about any of that.
She would have married Gianluca San Felice no matter who he was.
Because when he looked at her, her entire body blazed into life. When he took her hand in his, she felt thick and wet between her legs, and silly straight through. He made her breasts ache. He made her want to press herself against him, again and again, and try out the things she’d only read in books.
Her cousin might not have approved of this marriage, but Helene had known that it was what she wanted back on the first day she’d met Gianluca. It felt like an inevitability, something necessary—not a choice. A lightning bolt from above and she had no choice but to meet it head-on or let it burn her to ash.
Though this felt a lot like both.
After an eternity, her father delivered her to the head of the aisle, passing off his daughter to this king who claimed her.
Gianluca took her hand and everything in her ignited, the way it always did. That hum became a roar, and wound itself into a delirious tangle everywhere it touched.
And then everything became that tangle. That rush of heat and wonder.
That glorious future dancing before her, stars and his smile, the things that would be only theirs when they were finally alone together.
That humming within her only expanded as the ceremony began, until it was her turn to speak and she could not simply shout out her joy at this union the way she wanted to do. She had to sound elegant enough for a king. Sophisticated enough to become his queen.
She repeated what the bishop said, and then, finally, it was time. Gianluca slid a ring on her finger to match the diamond solitaire he’d put there a few months before. His mouth so stern, his dark eyes so deep.
And there were only two words to say, but Helene meant them with every part of her aching, needy body, and the whole of her soul.
“I do,” she whispered.
Then he lifted the veil and kissed her for the very first time, making her his wife.
And teaching her how precious little she knew about fire.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS NOT until Gianluca, the King of Fiammetta whether he liked it or not, sat at the high table set aside for the royal couple’s use while the spectacularly elegant reception went on all around him, that he allowed himself to think about anything save his duty.
In any detail, that was.
Because he needed to think only of his duty and that had proven surprisingly difficult when Helene—now his wife—was around.
He found he was deeply wary of precisely how difficult it had become, even today, when his marriage had always been an inevitability. It had only been a question of when and who and he had never tried, like some men in his position, to shirk his responsibilities in that area. On the contrary, Gianluca had been attempting to find the perfect queen for his kingdom ever since his father’s death some ten years before had catapulted the matter of Gianluca’s marriage from a hypothetical someone, someday to a priority.
But despite his attention to the task, the proper wife—and queen—had remained outside his grasp. Until now.
Until Helene, who was not afraid of the dirt or of saying things to him others would not dare. Until Helene, who had a certain earthy appeal that had him very nearly ready to toss this whole party out the front doors of the palace so he could explore it all he liked—
Yet that was one of the details he was not going to think about. Not quite yet.
Because unlike his parents, he had taken his time seeking out the right woman for the job—and he had no illusions on that score. He might flatter himself that being his wife might be a position any woman would aspire to, but being Queen of Fiammetta was a job. A thankless career, in many ways, with no promotions and no deviations, though there were a few perks along the way. He needed to make certain that he knew what he was getting into with any woman put forward for the position. He had studied the hopefuls who had been trotted out for his approval and he had only made this choice after digging, deep, into all there was to know about Helene Archibald—now Her Majesty the Queen of Fiammetta, for good or ill.
She was out there in the sea of people before him, talking with that cousin of hers while all the self-important people in his kingdom studied her, looking for flaws—when there were none. Helene was as poised as she was beautiful, gracious to all who came to bestow their well wishes upon her even when it was clear that they were poking around for gossip fodder, and kept sliding looks in his direction.
Always fully cognizant of precisely where he was in the ballroom at any given time.
He was inclined to think this marriage might be more than good. It might just be the best decision he’d made yet.
But he did not gaze at her the way he wished to do. Because he did not intend to make his marriage the talking point of his reign, as his father had done, not even tonight. He would not allow it.
Gianluca had long practice in hiding his true thoughts behind a neutral expression, and he was glad of it now. Because he didn’t like to think about his parents too much. Not if it could be avoided. There were the darker, private moments he had half convinced himself were merely nightmares he’d had as a child—but he did not permit himself to dig into that. What he did not care for, and what offended him still, was the stain that their overly publicized antics had left on this kingdom. And because of that stain, the weight he felt upon him at all times to prove himself nothing like the pair of them.