Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 102

CHAPTER NINE

LIANA GAZED AT her reflection and tried to still the nervous fluttering in her stomach. They’d been back in Maldinia for a week, and tonight was the fundraiser for Hands To Help.

In the week since they’d returned from California, they’d continued exploring the sexual side of their relationship with joyous abandon. The nights were pleasure-filled, and the days...?

Liana wasn’t so sure about the days. They’d both been busy with royal duties, but there had still been time to spend just with each other—if they had wanted to. Sandro, however, hadn’t sought her out. They certainly hadn’t had any more question-and-answer sessions, and the most honest either of them seemed to be was with their bodies. Not their words. Not their hearts.

It was ironic, really, that she wanted that now. She’d entered this marriage because she’d believed it would be convenient, that it wouldn’t involve her heart. She hadn’t wanted love or intimacy or any of it—and now she did.

Now she did so much, and Sandro was the one pulling away. She’d felt his emotional withdrawal from the moment they’d stepped off the royal jet. At first she’d thought he was just preoccupied with work; he’d spent the entire fourteen-hour flight from LA working in his study on the plane. But after a week of incredible sex and virtually no conversation, she knew work couldn’t be the only reason.

She’d gone over what Sandro had told her about himself many times, yet those few terse sentences hardly gave anything away.

My parents were hypocrites because they only pretended that they loved us when there was a camera or reporter around. When it mattered.

Because I bought into their lies and when I realised that’s what they were I kept it going.

What did it mean, he kept it going? And what, really, did his parents’ lack of love have to do with being king? Unless he simply found the whole atmosphere of the palace too toxic to endure. Liana had to admit she always felt herself tense when the queen dowager was around. But to walk away from everything he’d known and been for fifteen whole years? There had to be more to his story, just as there was more to hers.

And even if she wanted to admit more to Sandro, he didn’t seem willing or interested to hear it. He’d been perfectly polite, of course, even friendly, and at night he made her body sing. But they’d been teetering on the edge of a far deeper intimacy and since returning here Sandro had taken a few definite, determined steps back.

Which shouldn’t, Liana told herself, make her feel restless. Anxious. Why couldn’t she accept what they had and deem it enough? It was more than she’d ever had before, more than she’d ever let herself want.

And yet it wasn’t enough. Not when she’d had a glimpse—a taste—of just how much more they could have.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her thoughts away from such pointless musings and inspected her reflection once more. She wore an emerald-green evening gown, a bold choice for her, and she’d selected it with the help of Demi, her stylist. She wondered what Sandro would think of the asymmetrical cut, with one shoulder left bare. She worn her hair up, but loosely, unlike the more severe chignons she used to favour. To finish the outfit she’d chosen diamond chandelier earrings and a matching necklace that had belonged to her mother.

She took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. The maid, Rosa, who had helped her dress, smiled encouragingly. ‘You look lovely, Your Highness.’

‘Thank you, Rosa.’

Rosa handed her a matching wrap of emerald satin and Liana draped it over one arm before leaving her suite of rooms. The dress whispered against her legs as she walked down the corridor, her heart thudding harder with every step that took her towards Sandro. What would he think of her gown? And what would he think of her? Tonight was such an important night for her, finally bringing more visibility to Hands To Help, and yet in this moment she cared more about what Sandro thought than anything else. She wanted that intimacy back again, that closeness that didn’t come from sex—as amazing as that was—but from simply being with one another. Talking and laughing in a way they hadn’t since returning from California.

Sandro was waiting at the bottom of the palace’s sweeping staircase as Liana came down. He looked dark and dangerous and utterly devastating in black tie, his hair brushed back, his eyes glittering like shards of silver.

He stilled as she approached, his expression going utterly blank as his gaze swept her from head to toe, making Liana wonder just what he thought. It was the first time she’d worn a formal gown since their marriage.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said quietly, and pleasure flared through her at the obvious sincerity of those simple words. ‘That colour suits you.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘You do amazing things to a tuxedo.’

His mouth quirked in a smile and his eyes lightened to the colour of a dawn mist as he took her arm. ‘I’d like to do amazing things to you,’ he whispered as he drew her down the last few steps.

‘And I’d like you to do them,’ she answered back. ‘I have a few amazing things up my sleeve as well.’

Sandro grinned, and even as familiar heat flared inside her Liana knew it wasn’t enough. Sex wasn’t enough, never would be. But now was surely not the time for a heart-to-heart. Perhaps later tonight they would talk again. Learn each other again.

Sandro’s grin faded and Liana stilled, wondering what had changed, when he addressed a member of the palace staff, who came hurrying forward.

‘Your Highness?’

‘Please bring the crown jewels to my study. The emerald parure, I think.’

‘Very good, Your Highness.’

‘The crown jewels?’ Liana repeated, and touched the chandelier necklace around her throat. ‘But—’

‘What you’re wearing is very lovely,’ Sandro said as he led her towards his study, one hand warm and firm on the small of her back. ‘But there is a piece from the royal collection that would suit you—and that dress—perfectly. Do you mind?’

‘Mind?’ She shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Here you are, Your Highness.’ The footman brought in a mahogany case inlaid with ivory, and placed it on the desk before handing Sandro the keys.

‘Thank you,’ Sandro murmured, and the man left as he unlocked the case and lifted the lid. Liana gasped at the sight of the glittering jewels within, and Sandro turned to her with a glint in his eye. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’ he murmured. ‘Supposedly once owned by Napoleon.’

‘For Josephine?’

‘His empress. And you are my queen.’

His queen. Liana thrilled to the words, to their implication. She was his, heart and soul, whether he knew it or not. Whether he wanted it or not. Yet in this moment she felt only happiness as he lifted the heavy necklace from its velvet bed, the diamond-encrusted emeralds catching the light and twinkling as if lit with a fire from within. ‘May I?’ Sandro asked softly, and wordlessly she nodded, holding her breath as she felt his fingers, warm and sure, on the back of her neck.

Goosebumps rose on her flesh as he unclasped her diamond necklace and slid it from her, his fingers brushing the tender skin of her neck, the hollow of her throat. Liana bit her lip to keep a shudder of pure longing from escaping her. He reduced her to want so effortlessly, and yet she felt his own response, the strength of his own need as his fingers rested against her throat, his breath hitching slightly as it fanned the nape of her neck. She eased back against him, leaning against his chest, and his hands came around her shoulders, cradling her. For a perfect moment she felt completely at peace, wonderfully loved. He brushed his lips against her neck and then he steadied her again, before putting the emerald-and-diamond necklace around her throat, the stones heavy against her skin and warm from his hands.

He clasped the necklace and then rested his hands on her shoulders again, his fingers curling around her, seeming to reach right inside. ‘Liana...’ he began, his voice an ache, a caress, and everything in her longed to know what he was thinking. Feeling. And what he was going to say.

But he didn’t say anything, just slid his hands from her shoulders and reached for the other pieces of the parure: earrings, bracelet, and a tiara.

‘I’ve never actually worn a tiara,’ Liana said as he placed it on her loose updo. ‘Does it look ridiculous? As if...as if I’m trying to be a princess?’

‘You’re not a princess,’ Sandro reminded her. ‘You are a queen.’

Liana touched the stones, wanting once again to tell him she loved him. Had he been about to tell her the same thing? She didn’t know whether she dared to hope, and she didn’t say anything, just put on the earrings and bracelet.

‘Thank you,’ she said, when she was wearing all of the jewels. ‘They’re amazing.’

‘You’re amazing. They look beautiful on you. A true queen.’

She met his eyes, smiling, only to have her smile wobble and then slip completely from her face as she saw the frown settle between Sandro’s brows, the darkness steal into his eyes. He might call her a true queen, but she didn’t know then whether he wanted to be her king.

* * *

Sandro watched Liana from across the crowded ballroom where the fundraiser for Hands To Help was being held; she was talking to several dignitaries, a flute of champagne in one slender hand, her body resplendent, like an emerald flame, in that amazing dress, the light from the crystal chandeliers catching the strands of gold and silver in her moon-coloured hair. She looked beautiful, captivating, and every inch the consummate queen.

Sandro saw several men cast her covert, admiring glances, and he felt his insides clench with a potent mix of jealousy, desire, and love.

He loved her. He hadn’t told her, hadn’t even wanted to tell her, not just because he didn’t know if she loved him, but because he didn’t trust his own feelings. His own self.

Hadn’t he been wrong before? And while their time in California had been sweet, and their nights together since then even sweeter, he still didn’t know if it was real.

Well, sex was real. Real and raw and powerful. But love? Could he love her after so short a time? What had happened to the icy, reserved woman he’d first met? Had she really changed—and had he?

Restlessly, Sandro shifted and took a sip of champagne. Watching Liana now, he felt a new and unwelcome realisation sweep over him. Here she was in her element; she was queen. He saw the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about Hands To Help, the regal bearing of her beautiful body. This, he thought, made her come alive in a way he hadn’t seen before, even when she’d been in his arms. This was why she’d agreed to marry him in the first place, what gave her her whole reason for being.

To be queen.

And while that shouldn’t bother him, he knew it did. Because while Liana made a beautiful and perfect queen, he didn’t feel like her match.

He didn’t deserve to be king.

If I could have, I’d have left you to rot in California, or, better yet, in hell.

So many months after his father’s death, his savage nearly last words still had the power to hurt him. To make him question himself, just as he had so many years before. His father hadn’t called him back from California because he’d wanted a reconciliation, as Sandro had so naively believed.

No, his father had asked him because he was desperate. Because the media mess of Leo and Alyse’s marriage had seemed irredeemable. Sandro was the second choice.

He hadn’t realised any of that until his father had died, three weeks after he’d called him in California. The former king had known he was terminally ill, had wanted to get the succession sorted out before his death.

Had really wanted Leo.

Sandro’s gaze moved from his wife to his brother, chatting with a group of IT businessmen, Alyse by his side. Would Leo make a better king than him?

Sandro was sure of it.

And yet from the moment he’d returned Leo hadn’t offered a single word of protest. He’d stepped aside gracefully, had accepted his position as cabinet minister with a nod and a smile. Leo, Sandro had to assume, was relieved. And why shouldn’t he be?

Neither of them had wanted to follow in their father’s footsteps. Neither of them had wanted the awful burden of royal duty.

And yet here they were.

One of the footmen flanking the room rang a bell, and Sandro watched as the crowd fell silent and with a shyly assured smile Liana went to the front of the room. Sandro watched her, felt a surge of admiration and love, and yet washed over it all was desperation. Because she was too good for him. Because he didn’t believe she could really love him, a man who had shirked his duty for so long. A man who was second best.

‘Thank you all so much for coming,’ Liana said, her voice clear and musical. Sandro felt as if he could listen to her for ever. And everyone else must have too because the room went utterly silent as she spoke about Hands To Help’s mission and what it meant to her.

She didn’t, Sandro realised with a flicker of surprise, talk about her sister.

But he could hear the passion in her voice, the utter sincerity, and he knew everyone else could too. And when she was done the room broke out into an applause that was not merely polite, but spontaneous and sincere.

Sandro’s gut twisted. How could this amazing woman love him?

She moved through the crowd, chatting with various guests, but he saw her gaze rove restlessly over the clusters of people and knew she was looking for him.

He came forward, smiling as he took her by the hand. ‘Well done. You spoke beautifully, Liana.’

Pink touched her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. How had he ever thought she was a statue? Or icy and cold? In this moment she looked real, warm, vibrant, and glorious. He almost told her he loved her right then.

Almost.

But he didn’t, because along with his other sins he was a coward. He didn’t want to hear the silence he feared would be the answer back...just as it had been before.

* * *

Liana felt Sandro’s preoccupation as they left the fundraiser and headed for their suite in the private family wing of the palace. It was past midnight and all around them the palace was dark and hushed, only a few sleepy footmen on duty.

‘I think it went well tonight, don’t you?’ Liana said as they turned down the corridor that housed their suite of rooms.

‘Very well.’ His lips curved in a smile but his voice was toneless, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Feeling.

‘Thank you for organising it,’ she said, hating that she felt awkward, even if just a little. ‘It was very thoughtful.’

‘It was the least I could do.’

Sandro opened the door to his bedroom, the bedroom they’d shared since returning from California even though Liana had her own adjoining room.

Uncertainly she stepped in behind him, because she couldn’t decipher his mood at all and she was getting so very tired of wondering. Worrying.

‘Sandro—’

Before she could say another word she was in his arms, her back pressed against the door as he kissed her with a raw, rough intensity she hadn’t felt before. It was a kiss of passion but it felt like grief. Even so it ignited everything inside her and she kissed him back, matching him even though part of her cried out that whatever was wrong between them, it couldn’t be solved by sex.

Maybe Sandro disagreed. Or maybe sex was all he wanted, for he slid his hands down her satin-clad legs before sliding the material up to her hips. Heat flared as he pressed his hand against her, the thin silk of her panties the only barrier between them.

She put her hands on either side of his face, tried to get him to look at her. ‘Sandro, what is it?’ she whispered even as an insistent, pleasurable ache had started between her thighs, urged on by the press of his hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he answered, his voice thick with desire. ‘I just need you, Liana. I want you. Now.’ He hoisted her leg up and wrapped it around his hip, and as he kissed her again Liana closed her eyes, let the sensation wash over her.

She wanted him too, and while she wanted his honesty more, she understood he needed this. Needed her. And maybe that could be enough, at least for now.

He buried his head in the curve of his neck, a shudder racking his body as he moved against her. Liana put her arms around him, drawing him even closer, and then he was inside her, and it felt as deep and overwhelming and as wonderful as always.

She met him thrust for thrust, gasping out his name, her head thrown back against the door, and afterwards as their hearts raced against each other and the sweat cooled on their skin Sandro whispered against her throat.

‘I love you.’

Everything in Liana stilled, and she felt a fragile happiness emerge from the tumult of her emotions like the first bloom of spring, tender and new.

She smoothed his hair away from his face and kissed his lips. ‘I love you too.’

Neither of them spoke, and even as they remained in each other’s arms Liana wondered why that confession of love—something she’d longed for—made her feel sadder than ever.