Queen's Winter Wedding Charade, page 15
‘Try me,’ he said, beginning to wonder if she had always thought her feelings, her needs, were less important than her duty to the Androvian throne.
Because it was certainly starting to look that way.
Why else would she have suggested marrying a total stranger? When she’d never even had a proper relationship before now. Never even dated.
Did she have any idea how damn vulnerable she was? Especially to a guy like him.
A man who had spent his whole life taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, without a thought to how it might impact anyone else. Not even his own mom. While she’d subjugated her own desires to assume the burden of a whole country’s expectations when she was only eight. He’d always been proud of how single-minded he was, how he’d always kept his eyes on the prize, his take-no-prisoners approach to everything from his business to his love life. But his drive and ambition were starting to look kind of selfish now, compared with her loyalty and dedication to her subjects and her country and her parents’ legacy.
She gave an impatient huff. ‘Okay, but you must promise you won’t laugh, or think less of me,’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,’ he said. But when she sent him a sceptical look, he crossed his little finger over his heart and kissed the tip. ‘Pinkie swear.’
Her gaze strayed back to the decorated tree across the room. ‘Seeing Christmas trees, all lit up like that...’ She gave a wistful sigh. ‘They’re so festive and bright, but they make me feel so lonely. Which is ridiculous, of course.’
Why was it ridiculous? ‘Do you know the reason why they make you feel that way?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘The reason is even sillier actually. And also very selfish... I used to get terribly upset when I was a child that my parents couldn’t be with me on Christmas Day.’
‘That’s not dumb at all,’ he said, vehemently defending feelings she seemed unable to defend herself. ‘Of course you missed them. I still miss my mom on Christmas Day and she’s been gone for over a decade.’
She turned to him, her cheeks reddening. ‘You misunderstand. This was before they died. Christmas was very important to them as a couple. They loved each other very much and they got so little time to spend together, because they had such busy schedules. My father explained to me the three days over Christmas were very precious—and the only time they could spend together just the two of them—which was why they left me at the palace with the staff on Christmas Eve. But I always cried anyway. He would get annoyed with me, making such an unnecessary scene. And now that’s one of the few memories I have left of him—which is awful really.’
‘You’re not serious?’ he murmured, his voice tight with shock—and anger for that kid who had been gaslighted by her own dad. ‘Who the hell leaves their only kid home alone at Christmas, so he can go off on a three-day booty call with his wife?’
Her eyebrows launched up her forehead, her cheeks darkening, but at least he’d shocked the guilt right out of her eyes.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said, the misplaced loyalty making him hate her father even more. ‘That’s not how it was at all.’
‘The hell it isn’t,’ he said. Because he understood just fine. Not only had her old man left that dumb instruction in his will that had forced her to marry, but he hadn’t even stuck around for Christmas when she was a kid, and he’d taken her mom off with him. Leaving his daughter with nobody but people who were paid to be there. ‘Your father sounds like an even bigger jerk than mine, and that’s saying something.’
‘But you’re wrong,’ she said, although she didn’t sound quite as sure any more. ‘Obviously, he loved me very much,’ she added. ‘And after their death Mel and her mother came into my life and that helped immeasurably. We became such good friends, even though we are quite different. Of course, they couldn’t spend Christmas with me either,’ she added, in that matter-of-fact tone that didn’t dim the sadness in her eyes. ‘Because it was the only time Mel’s mother could take her to visit their family in London. Maybe that is also why Christmas still makes me feel lonely, which is doubly selfish of me.’
‘That’s garbage, Belle,’ he said, getting more annoyed by the second. ‘Maybe Mel and her mom couldn’t stay with you. But your father could have, and so could your mom. What you’re describing isn’t love, it’s neglect. If you love someone, you spend time with them—you make memories that matter with them. My mom worked three jobs, but she never missed a single competition I was in. And we always spent Christmas Day together. Just the two of us.’
The anger twisted in his gut, becoming sour and bitter as it turned inward. And he recalled his mom’s email to him that last Christmas—every word of which he still remembered with crystal clarity.
Travis, honey, will you be able to make it back for the twenty-fifth? I’d love to see you if you can. But don’t sweat it if you can’t. I’ve put the enormous spruce you sent me and all the presents in pride of place in my new lounge. I intend to decorate the tree tomorrow, now I’m finally over the chemo. Knock ’em dead on the half-pipe, that title is already yours.
Love Mom x
The courage and selflessness in that email still sickened him.
Who was he to judge her old man, or his own, when he was just as much of a selfish jerk?
‘Except her last Christmas,’ he blurted out, not sure why he was confessing to her.
But when he saw the misguided sympathy cloud her eyes again, he knew why.
Isabelle’s selflessness—her willingness to blame herself for something that had never been her fault—put his own selfishness into context. Plus, it was way past time he confronted the crappy way he’d behaved back then—to the only woman who had ever made the mistake of loving him.
‘She must have known the cancer was terminal,’ he said, the guilt twisting in his gut, the hideous fear and panic after that initial diagnosis still there after all these years. ‘But I was way too focussed on winning some dumb competition to notice what was right in front of my eyes. I didn’t ask about her prognosis, because I was scared to hear the answer. So, I stayed in France over that whole Christmas, convincing myself I needed the extra time in training to work on my jumps. But the real reason was that I didn’t want to go home and watch her struggle. I didn’t want to have to confront the truth. It was cowardly and mean. And I still regret it. Which is why I’m not much fun to be around at Christmas either.’
Instead of seeing what he was trying to tell her—about what selfishness really looked like—Isabelle’s eyes darkened even more, with a compassion he had no right to.
She reached out and clasped the hand he had resting on the bar. ‘But, Travis, you were just a boy. And she was so important to you. Of course you were terrified,’ she said, the empathy in her voice rich with emotion.
He tugged his hand free to cup her cheek, feeling her tiny shiver of awareness. And wished, if only for a moment, he could be a better man. A man worthy of a woman like her.
Not the queen, but the woman beneath. Her loyalty to the people she loved could never be shaken, even when they didn’t deserve it. She was much stronger than he had ever been.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Belle,’ he said. ‘I don’t deserve it.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but he slid his thumb across her bottom lip to stop her. And felt her delicious shudder.
‘The point is, if your folks had really loved you, if they had deserved you, they wouldn’t have abandoned you like that,’ he said. ‘They would have stuck around to be with you. Especially at Christmas.’
Just as he should have stuck around for his mom.
‘That they didn’t is on them. Not you,’ he finished.
The glitter of tears in her eyes crucified him a little more, especially when she eased out an unsteady breath and nodded. ‘I guess... Yes, perhaps they really shouldn’t have been quite so willing to leave me like that,’ she said. The sadness was still there, but somehow the hopelessness was gone.
He was glad.
‘Ya think?’ he murmured, and she smiled, the bright sweet smile that lit up her whole face.
‘Come on,’ he said, walking round the breakfast bar to grab her arm, suddenly determined to make this Christmas the best she’d ever had—which wasn’t going to be much of a challenge, by the sound of it. After all, it was the least he could do after the crummy way he’d treated her, too.
‘I can’t go nuts today thanks to my bum knee,’ he said. And as much as he would love to, they couldn’t lose themselves in sex either, because she was probably still a little sore. Although he saw no reason not to make the most of this chemistry now they had come to an agreement about what this meant and what it didn’t. ‘But how about I teach you how to snowboard so we can both get through today without any more drama? I’ve got some spare kit you can use.’
Her eyes gleamed, the sparkle of excitement as captivating as it was refreshing. ‘Actually, I think I would like that very much,’ she said.
His own excitement soared. But as he dragged her into the mud room, to get them both tooled up, he could almost feel his mom looking down on them both and hear her voice—her tone loving, and supportive, but also well aware of all his flaws.
About damn time you stopped moping around, Travis. I swear, what are Christmases for but to have fun? You’ve wasted far too many of them since I’ve been gone.
* * *
As they messed about in the snow for the rest of the day, the guilt that had crippled him at Christmas for so long let go its hold on him. Because they ended up creating new memories, full of laughter, while they wrestled together in the snow, and he taught her the basics of boarding while trying to prevent them both from falling on their asses.
But that night, while they stripped off in front of the fire—and he watched her give herself over to the explosive passion they shared—the emotion he still didn’t understand, that surge of protectiveness and possessiveness, blindsided him all over again.
And scared the heck out of him. Again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
One week later
‘HOLD ON, BELLE, don’t go over yet. I want you with me this time...’
Travis’s harsh demand brushed against Isabelle’s ear as his strong arms held her upright, and his driving thrusts impaled her.
‘I can’t... It’s too much.’ She panted, clinging to his shoulders, and tried to prevent the wall of pleasure from barrelling towards her at breakneck speed.
‘Yes, you can,’ he demanded, still thrusting heavily inside her, working all the places he had discovered over the past week that would trigger her release.
Her back thudded softly against the stone of the power shower. She threw her head back, stared up through the room’s glass ceiling, and the sprinkle of snow in the night sky, and tried to focus on holding back, holding on. But the coil drew tighter as the heavy thrusts became faster and more frantic.
Her skin sparkled and glowed, still alive from the steam room, and the cold plunge before they had ended up in the shower... And things had heated up even more.
* * *
But she couldn’t focus on anything but the power of him, stretching her, pushing her, remaking her, caressing that spot inside her that ached for him, always.
Her sex tightened and pulsed, clamping down on his as the unstoppable pleasure crested, bright, beautiful and never-ending, bursting through her body.
She sobbed as the brutal release overwhelmed her.
‘Yes!’ he shouted out, climaxing too, as they flew over together.
The storm of sensation sent her tumbling into the abyss she had become addicted to in the last week and the only thing tethering her to the earth was him.
‘Water off.’ He barked out the command.
She flinched, as she released the still firm erection with difficulty.
‘You good?’ he murmured, as he so often did, while holding her.
Her heart swelled in her chest as she nodded, but she kept her eyes closed, the emotions still swirling inside her—incandescent joy followed by crippling fear.
A reaction she knew she needed to contain—if she didn’t want to lose even more of herself.
Just sex, just endorphins, no biggie.
She tightened her arms around his neck, too wobbly and needy to stand as he carried her out of the shower. She buried her head against his shoulder, waiting to regain her equilibrium, and the sense of self she always seemed to lose in his arms. But as she breathed in the delicious scent of cedar and soap and he held her so securely, so tenderly, her heart grew so big it began to push against her throat.
He put her on her feet beside the vanity to grab them both a towel.
She stumbled and he grasped her arm. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She braced her knees and wrapped a warm towel around her aching body, still too tender. And exposed.
He hooked a towel around his waist as she crossed to the door, needing the safety and security of her own bedroom—the bedroom she’d abandoned a week ago. But before she could make her escape, he grasped her arm.
‘Hey, where are you off to so fast?’ he asked, calmly.
Too calmly, while her heartbeat continued to rabbit in her chest. And scour her throat.
How could he be so collected, so casual, she wondered, when she was always in bits after they made love? And how could their physical connection have become even more intense—for her at least—when she had been trying to wean herself off the endorphin fix for days?
‘I should sleep in my own room tonight,’ she said, taking the coward’s way out, even as the pain in her chest refused to subside. ‘We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I need to pack.’ The thought of which suddenly seemed overwhelming, too.
‘Don’t go,’ he said, tugging her around, his rough palm warm on her cheek. ‘It’s our last night here before we have to return to the circus,’ he murmured, with the sting of bitterness that had begun to disturb her, too.
They’d spoken a few times over the past week about the duties he would need to perform as her consort once they returned to Androvia. But there had been so little time for the practical—in between their hastily prepared meals, the days spent out on the slopes messing about in the snow like carefree children, and the increasingly intense bouts of lovemaking.
She understood his reluctance, of course, because she had been guilty of avoiding those conversations, too—to indulge in all the ways he could make her feel so good.
The sex had been a revelation for her. She had never imagined she would find it so energising and exhausting and yet also so utterly addictive. Every time he looked at her now with that hooded gaze, the desire in his eyes unmistakable, she could feel her body softening as it prepared itself for him...
But as the riot of sensations rippled over her skin again, her body no longer felt like her own.
Why couldn’t she resist him, or the things he could do to her? Or control the increasingly confusing emotions making her ache for so much more than just sex?
Ever since their conversation on Christmas Day, when he had given her an insight into his close relationship with his mother—and made her realise she had never been to blame for her distant relationship with her own parents—the insatiable need to know more about him had grown and grown. Until she had become desperate to know everything.
But when she’d probed, however gently, in the days since, he’d studiously resisted any more personal conversations—making her feel alone even as she lay in his arms, listening to his heart thud against her ear, steeped in afterglow.
Somehow, he had rediscovered that needy little girl, and reawakened the foolish yearning for the closeness her parents had always denied her. But she couldn’t risk threatening their friendship—and the working relationship they would need to establish going forward—so she needed to start resurrecting her boundaries.
‘I thought I’d sling a couple of steaks on the grill and we could watch a movie in the cinema suite tonight. Your pick. And celebrate the New Year together...’
His smile was warm and so inviting, but the distance remained in his eyes, which she had noticed more and more over the last few days, every time they made love...
The distance she should be establishing, too.
Why then did she still feel the vicious dart of disappointment and regret at the thought of saying no to him now? And the dull ache of sadness—because she couldn’t help reading far too much into the casual suggestion.
Is this what love feels like?
The question that had been lurking in her subconscious for days popped out without warning.
Surely, she could not be so foolish? So naïve? This was just the endorphin overload talking too, it had to be.
‘I’m really not hungry,’ she managed, backing away from him. ‘And I think it’s probably best we sleep apart from now on. Plus, I need to contact Mel and thank her,’ she began to babble, the familiar anxiety rising up to tangle with her panic as she headed to the door. ‘I had to ask her to host tonight’s New Year’s Eve ball with Rene, who is not one of her favourite people.’
Rene and she always hosted the Saltzaland New Year’s Eve event together, in a symbolic celebration of the close union between their two countries. Mel never attended because she usually took the opportunity to spend some vacation time away from Androvia over Christmas and New Year —either in London with her mother who was now retired, or elsewhere. It was just one of the many favours Isabelle had been forced to ask of the people close to her, the palace staff and her privy council, to accommodate this honeymoon.
The honeymoon that now felt far too real.
Guilt pushed at her throat—because she hadn’t thought of Mel, or Rene or even of Androvia since Christmas Day, jettisoning all her responsibilities far too easily too.
