Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 99

CHAPTER SIX

LIANA STIRRED SLOWLY to wakefulness as morning sunshine poured into the room like liquid gold. It had taken her hours to get to sleep last night, hours of lying tense and angry and afraid, because this was so not what she’d expected from her marriage. What she’d wanted.

Yet it seemed it was what she’d wanted, after all, for with every gentle stroke of Sandro’s fingers she felt something in her soften. Yearn. And even though her body still thrummed with tension, the desire to curl into the heat and strength of him, to feel safe in an entirely new way, grew steadily like a flame at her core.

And yet she resisted. She fought, because fear was a powerful thing. And her mind raced, recalling their conversations, Sandro’s awful questions.

Were you abused? Raped?

He wasn’t even close, and yet she was hiding something. Too many things. Guilt and grief and what felt like the loss of her own soul, all in the matter of a moment when she’d failed to act. When she’d shown just what kind of person she really was. He’d seen that, even if he didn’t understand the source, and she could never tell him.

Could she? Could she change that much? She didn’t know if she could, or how she would begin. With each stroke of Sandro’s fingers she felt the answer. Slowly. Slowly.

And eventually she felt her body relax of its own accord, and her breath came out in a slow sigh of surrender. She didn’t curl into him or move at all, but she did sleep.

And she woke with Sandro’s hand curved round her waist, his fingers splayed across her belly. Nothing sexual about the touch, but it still felt unbearably intimate. She still felt a plunging desire for him to move his hand, higher or lower, it didn’t matter which, just touch her.

And then Sandro stirred, and everything in her tensed once more. He rose on one elbow, brushed the hair from her eyes, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

‘Good morning.’

She nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘Sleep well?’ Sandro asked, and she heard that hint of humour in his voice that had surprised her last night. She’d seen this man cold and angry and resentful, but she hadn’t seen him smile too much. Had only heard him laugh once.

And when he softened like this, it made her soften too, and she didn’t know what would happen then.

‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat, inched away from him. ‘Eventually.’

‘I slept remarkably well.’ He brushed another tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering.

Liana resisted the urge to lean into that little caress. ‘What are we going to do today?’

‘We have a few engagements.’ Smiling, Sandro sat up in bed, raking his hair with his hands, so even though she was trying to avoid looking at him Liana found her gaze drawn irresistibly to his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles, the taut curve of his biceps. Her husband was beautiful—and fit.

‘What engagements?’ she asked, forcing her brain back into gear.

‘A brunch with my delightful mother as well as my sister and my brother and his wife. An appearance on the balcony for the adoring crowds.’

He spoke with a cynicism she didn’t really understand, although she could probably guess at. ‘You don’t like being royal,’ she said, ‘do you?’

He sighed and dropped his hands. ‘Not particularly. But hadn’t you already figured that out, since I shirked my royal duty for fifteen years?’ His gaze met hers then, and instead of anger she saw recrimination. She recognised it, because she’d felt it so often herself.

‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why, Liana.’ He touched her chin with his fingers, tilting her face so their gazes met once more. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever apologised to me before. Not sincerely.’

‘I am sorry,’ she answered. Her chin tingled where he touched her. ‘I was just trying to hurt you, so I said the first thing that came to mind.’

‘Well, there was truth in it, wasn’t there?’ His voice came out bitter and he dropped his hand from her face. ‘I did shirk my duty. I ran away.’

And she knew all too well how guilt over a mistake, a wrong choice, ate and ate at you until there was nothing left. Until your only recourse was to cut yourself off from everything because numbness was better than pain. Was that how Sandro felt? Did they actually have something—something so fundamental to their selves—in common?

‘But you came back,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve made it better.’

‘Trying to.’ He threw off the covers and rose from the bed. ‘But we should get ready. We have a full day ahead of us.’

He was pulling away from her, she knew. They’d had a surprising moment of closeness there, a closeness that had intrigued her rather than frightened her. And now it was Sandro was who shuttering his expression, and she felt a frustration that was foreign to her because she was usually the one who was pulling away. Hiding herself.

So maybe this was why Sandro had been feeling so frustrated. It was hard to be on the receiving end of someone’s reticence—especially when you actually wanted something else. Something more.

‘Where are we meant to get ready?’ she asked. ‘I’ve only got my wedding dress or this nightgown here.’

Sandro pushed a discreet button hidden in the woodwork of the wall. ‘One of your staff will show you to your room,’ he said and turned away.

A few minutes later a shy young woman named Maria came to the honeymoon suite and showed Liana her own bedroom, a room, judging from its frilly, feminine décor, Sandro clearly wouldn’t share.

So this was what a marriage of convenience looked like, Liana thought, and wondered why she didn’t feel happier. Safer. She’d have her own space. Sandro would leave her alone. All things she’d wanted.

Yet in that moment, standing amidst the fussy little tables and pink canopied bed, she wasn’t quite so sure she wanted them anymore. They didn’t feel as comforting as she’d expected.

Maybe she was just tired. Feeling more vulnerable from everything she and Sandro had said and shared last night. The memory of his hands gently stroking her from shoulder to thigh still had the power to make her quiver.

Enough. It was time to do the work she’d come here to do, to be queen. To remember her duty to her parents, to her sister, to everything she’d made her life about.

And not think about Sandro, and the confusion of her marriage.

An hour later she was showered and dressed in a modest dress of lavender silk, high necked and belted at the waist. She’d pulled her hair back into its usual tight chignon and then frowned at her reflection, remembering what Sandro had said.

I would like to see you with your hair cascading over your shoulders. Your lips rosy and parted, your face flushed.

For a second she thought about undoing her hair. Putting some blusher on her cheeks. Then her frown deepened and she turned away from the mirror. She looked fine.

Downstairs, the royal family had assembled in an opulent dining room for the official brunch. And it felt official, far from a family meal. A dozen footmen were stationed around the room, and the dishes were all gold plate.

The queen dowager glided into the room, her eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed, everything about her haughty and distant.

Was that how Sandro saw her? Icy and remote, even arrogant? Liana felt herself inwardly cringe. She’d never considered how others saw her; she’d just not wanted to be seen. Really seen. The woman underneath the ice. The girl still trying to make herself invisible, to apologise for her existence.

Sophia went to the head of the table and Sandro moved to the other end. A footman showed Liana her place, on the side, and for a second she hesitated.

As queen, her place was where Sophia now sat, eyeing everyone coldly. Clearly the queen dowager did not want to give up her rights and privileges as monarch, and Liana wasn’t about to make a fuss about where she sat at the table. She never made a fuss.

And yet somehow it hurt, because she realised she wanted Sandro to notice where she sat. Notice her, and put her in her rightful place.

He didn’t even look at her, and Liana didn’t think she was imagining the triumph glittering in her mother-in-law’s eyes as she sat down.

Sandro excused himself directly after the brunch, and Liana hadn’t had so much as two words of conversation with him. They were meant to appear on the palace balcony at four o’clock, and she had a meeting with her secretary—someone already appointed and whom she hadn’t met—at three.

And until then? She’d wander around the palace and wonder yet again just what she was doing here. What had brought her to this place.

Most of the palace’s ground floor was made up of formal receiving rooms much like the one she’d first met Sandro in. Liana wandered through them, sunlight dappling the marble floors. As she stood in the centre of one room, feeling as lost and lonely as she ever had and annoyed that she did, she heard a voice from behind her.

‘Hello.’

She turned to see Alyse standing in the doorway, looking lovely and vibrant and full of purpose. She’d changed from her more formal outfit for brunch, and now wore a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater in bright pink. Liana suddenly felt absurd and matronly in her high-necked dress and tightly coiled hair. She fiddled with the pearls at her throat, managed a smile.

‘Hello.’

‘Did you have a good night?’ A blush touched Alyse’s cheeks. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that— Well.’ She laughed and stepped into the room. ‘I was only asking if you’d slept well.’

‘Very well, thank you,’ Liana answered automatically, and Alyse cocked her head.

‘You look tired,’ she said, her voice filled with sympathy. ‘It’s so overwhelming, isn’t it—marrying into royalty?’

‘It’s been a lot to take in,’ Liana answered carefully. She didn’t want to admit just how overwhelming it had been, and how uncertain and unfulfilled she felt now.

‘At least you don’t have the press to deal with,’ Alyse said with a little laugh. ‘That was the hardest part for me. All those cameras, all those reporters looking for a hole in our story, and of course they found one.’

‘Was that very hard?’

Alyse made a face. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t like facing down all those sneering reporters, but the hardest part was how it affected Leo and me.’

Curious now, Liana took an inadvertent step towards her sister-in-law. ‘And how did it?’

‘Not well. Everything was so fragile between us then. It wasn’t ready to be tested in such a way.’ She gave Liana a smile. ‘Fortunately we survived it.’

‘And you love each other now.’ Alyse’s smile was radiant, the joy in her voice audible, and Liana felt a sharp shaft of jealousy. She’d never wanted what Alyse and Leo had before, never let herself want it. Yet now the yearning that had been skirting her soul seemed to swamp it completely.

She swallowed past the huge lump that had formed in her throat and forced a smile. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ And she was, even if she was also jealous. Even if she was realising she wanted something more than she could ever expect from Sandro, or even herself.

‘It might not be for me to say this,’ Alyse said quietly, laying a hand on Liana’s arm, ‘but Leo and Sandro—they haven’t had easy lives, royal though they may be.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Their relationship with their parents...’ Alyse sighed and shook her head. ‘It wasn’t healthy or loving. Far from it.’

Liana just nodded. She couldn’t exactly say her relationship with her parents was healthy, even if she loved them. She wasn’t sure if they loved her. If they could, anymore, and she could hardly blame them.

‘Sophia doesn’t seem like the most cuddly person I’ve ever met,’ she said, and Alyse gave a wry smile back.

‘No, and neither was the king. And yet I think both Leo and Sandro wanted their love, even if they wouldn’t admit it. They might not trust love, they might even be afraid of it, but they want it.’

‘Leo did,’ Liana corrected.

‘And I think Sandro does too. Give him a chance, Liana. That’s all I’m really saying.’

And again Liana could just nod. Sandro might want love, but he didn’t want her love. Did he? Or could he change? Could she?

She still didn’t know if she wanted to change, much less whether she had the courage to try. She’d entered this marriage for a lot of reasons, and none of them had been love. She’d never even let herself think about love.

She’d been skating on the surface of her life, and now the ice below was starting to crack—and what was beneath it? What would happen when it shattered and she fell? She couldn’t bear to find out, and yet she had a horrible feeling she would whether she wanted to or not.

But would Sandro be there to catch her? Would he even want to?

‘Thank you for telling me all this,’ she said, turning back to Alyse. ‘It’s very helpful.’

‘Of course. And you must come have dinner with us one night, you and Sandro. Escape from the palace for a bit.’

After Alyse had gone she went to meet her private secretary, an efficient young woman named Christina. Liana sat and listened while Christina outlined all her potential engagements: cutting ribbons at openings of hospitals and schools, attending events and galas, choosing a wardrobe created by Maldinian fashion designers.

‘Are there many?’ she asked. ‘Maldinia is a small country, after all.’

‘A few,’ Christina said confidently. ‘But of course, your stylist will go over that with you.’

‘All right.’ Already Liana felt overwhelmed. She hadn’t considered any of this. ‘I’d like to support a charity I’ve been working with for many years,’ she began, and Christina nodded quickly.

‘Of course, Hands To Help. Perhaps a fundraiser in the palace?’

‘Oh, yes, that would be wonderful.’ She felt her heart lighten at the thought. ‘I can contact them—’

‘I believe they’ve already been contacted by King Alessandro,’ Christina said. ‘It was his idea.’

‘It...was?’ Liana blinked in surprise. Sandro had seemed sceptical and even mystified about her charity work, yet he’d thought to arrange a fundraiser? Her heart lightened all the more, so it felt like a balloon on a string, soaring straight up. ‘Where is the king? Do you know?’

Christina glanced at her watch. ‘I imagine he’s getting ready for your appearance together in twenty minutes.’ She pulled out a pager and pressed a few numbers. ‘I’ll page your stylist.’

Just minutes later Liana was primped and made up for the appearance on the balcony. Sandro strode into the room, looking as handsome as ever in his royal dress, but also hassled. Liana’s heart, so light moments ago, began a free fall. She hated that her mood might hinge on his look, that such a small thing—the lack of a greeting or a glance—could affect it.

And yet it did. Despite all her attempts to remain removed, remote, here she was, yearning. Disappointed.

‘Ready?’ he said, barely looking at her, and then with his hand on her lower back they stepped out onto the ornate balcony overlooking the palace courtyard, now filled with joyous Maldinians.

The cheer that rose from the crowd reverberated right through her, made her blink in surprise. She’d never felt so much...approval.

‘I think they want us to kiss,’ Sandro murmured, and belatedly Liana realised they were chanting ‘Baccialo!’

Sandro slid his hand along her jaw, turned her to face him. His fingers wrapped around the nape of her neck, warm and sure, as he drew her unresistingly towards him. His lips brushed hers, soft, hard, warm, cool—she felt it all in that moment as her head fell back and her hands came up to press against his chest.

The roar of the crowd thundered in her ears, matching her galloping pulse as Sandro’s mouth moved over hers and everything inside her cracked open.

She wanted to be kissed like this. Loved like this. She was tired of hiding away, of staying safe.

Sandro stepped away with a smile. ‘That ought to do it.’

Liana blinked the world back into focus and felt everything in her that had cracked open scuttle for shelter. That kiss had been for the crowds, not for her. It hadn’t meant anything.

Their marriage was still as convenient as it ever had been...and she wished it weren’t.

As soon as they left the balcony Sandro disappeared again and Liana went to meet with her stylist and go over her wardrobe choices.

‘A queen should have a certain modest style,’ the stylist explained as she flipped through pages of designs, ‘but also be contemporary. The public should feel you can relate to them.’

Liana glanced down at her chaste, high-necked dress. ‘So what I’m wearing...?’

‘Is beautiful,’ the stylist, Demi, said quickly. ‘So elegant and classic. But perhaps something a little...fresher?’

‘Yes, I suppose I could update my look a little bit,’ Liana said slowly. She’d been dressing, for the most part, like a businesswoman facing menopause, not a young woman in her twenties. A young woman with everything ahead of her.

But she’d never actually felt as if she had anything ahead of her before, and she didn’t know if she did now.

She had a quiet supper in her bedroom, as Sophia was dining out and Alyse and Leo had gone back to their town house. Sandro was working through dinner, and it wasn’t until it was coming on ten o’clock that she finally went to find him.

She had no idea what she’d say, what she wanted to say. He was leaving her alone, just as she’d hoped and wanted. How could she tell him she actually wanted something different now, especially when she wasn’t sure herself what that was?

She wandered through the downstairs, directed by footmen to his private study in the back of the palace. With nerves fluttering in her tummy and her heart starting to thud, she knocked on the door.

‘Come in.’

Liana pushed open the door and stepped into a wood-panelled room with deep leather club chairs and a huge mahogany desk. Sandro sat behind it, one hand driven through his hair as he glanced up from the papers scattered on his desk.

‘Liana—’ Surprise flared silver in his eyes and he straightened, dropping his hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s late. I’ve been trying to clear my desk but it never seems to happen.’

‘A king has a lot of work to do, I suppose,’ she answered with a small smile. Sandro might have avoided his royal duty for most of his adult life, but he was certainly attending to it now.

‘What have you been doing today? You had some appointments?’

She nodded. ‘With my private secretary and stylist. I’ve never had a staff before.’

‘And is it to your liking?’

‘I don’t know whether it is or not. It’s overwhelming, I suppose. My style is meant to be fresher, apparently.’

‘Fresher? It makes you sound like a lettuce.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ She smiled, enjoying this little banter. ‘I know I’ve dressed a bit—conservatively.’

He glanced at the lavender dress she still wore. ‘And why do you think that is?’

‘I suppose I’ve never wanted to draw attention to myself.’

He nodded slowly, accepting, and Liana fiddled with the belt at her waist, uncomfortable with even this little honesty. ‘Are you—are you coming to bed?’

He gazed at her seriously. ‘Do you want me to?’

Yes. And no. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. She’d had such clear purpose in her life...until now. Until she suddenly wanted more, more of him, more of feeling, more of life. Yet she couldn’t articulate all that now to Sandro.

He sat back, his hands laced over his middle as he let his gaze sweep over her. ‘You’re still scared. Of me.’

‘Not of you—’

‘Of marriage. Of—intimacy.’

She swallowed hard, the sound audible. ‘Yes.’ It was more than she’d ever admitted before.

‘Well, you can breathe easy, Liana. We won’t make love tonight.’

Make love. And didn’t that conjure all sorts of images in her head? Images that made her dizzy, desires that dried her throat and made everything inside her ache. ‘When—?’ she asked, her voice only a little shaky, and he smiled.

‘Soon, I think. Perhaps on our honeymoon.’

‘Honeymoon?’ They weren’t meant to have a honeymoon. What was the point, when your marriage was about convenience?

‘Well, honeymoon might be overstating it a bit. I have to go to California, wrap up some business. I want you to go with me.’

Her cheeks warmed, her blood heated. Everything inside her melted. He wanted her. Was it foolish to feel so gratified? So...thrilled?

‘Is that all right?’ Sandro asked quietly. ‘Do you want to go with me, Liana?’

A week ago, a day ago, she would have prevaricated. Protected herself. She’d never admitted want to herself, much less to another person. Now she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I want to go with you.’