Читать книгу The Dare Collection September 2018 - Stefanie London - Страница 21

CHAPTER TWELVE

Damien

SINCE HER DEATH, I have spoken to no one of my affair with Victoria. Yet I cannot seem to say no to the would-be Nightgardin queen—my wife.

“When it happened,” I start, “my father would hear nothing from me other than the admission that it was true—that I had not only caused the death of another, but that I had planned to steal her away from my brother.”

We lie naked in one of the tiny beds, I on my back and Juliet along my side, her soft breasts pressed against my healing ribs. This way I do not have to see her expression as I reveal the worst of myself.

“Because of jealousy?” she asks, caressing the skin on my chest with the featherlight touch of her fingers.

“No,” I say with mild force. “It wasn’t that at all. Yes, I was envious of Nikolai. He had everything. It was all just handed to him—the looks, the charm, the women. He could have had anyone he wanted. Anyone. But when my father married Victoria’s mother, Adele, and the two came to live at the palace? He suddenly had eyes for no one other than her.”

Juliet clears her throat, and her soothing touch ceases. “But—she was your stepsister.”

I nod. “That was no matter. Once Adele saw that the prince—the heir, no less—had taken a liking to her daughter, it took her no time to convince Father of the match. After all, if Adele was queen, what better way to strengthen the Edenvale bloodlines but to have a second generation match as well?”

I twirl a long damp strand of Juliet’s hair around my finger, but it does nothing to distract me. I know that I am here with her, in this strange place I still cannot believe exists. Yet at the same time I’m taken back six years to when I thought anything was possible. Now, of course, I know what a fool I was.

“Queen Adele,” Juliet says softly. “She is the one who imprisoned Kate and tried to force your brother to marry that baroness from Rosegate.”

“Yes. The family believes it wasn’t just her attempt at revenge on Nikolai—whom she blames for not keeping Victoria safe. Father, my brothers and X all believe it is somehow connected to your country’s attempt at infiltrating the palace.”

I feel her muscles constrict at the accusation.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and she relaxes against me. “I did not mean to—”

“Just get on with the story,” she says with trepidation. “Before I lose my nerve.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” I say. “When Victoria was betrothed to Nikolai, she was devastated. She thought him handsome, yes. And charming as fuck. But where he found himself infatuated with her, she found herself asked to play a part she did not want to play. By her own mother, of course.”

I do not want to speak these final words to the fucking ceiling. So I slide to my side, stopping only when my eyes meet Juliet’s.

“To this day, Nikolai will not hear me out, so promise me that if anything ever happens to me that you will tell him all of this.”

She breathes in a shaky breath but nods.

“Victoria had no allies in the palace. No friends. No one she could talk to. When the betrothal was made official, she needed a place to go where she could let her true feelings be known. She wasn’t coming to me. I happened to be in the garden maze when she showed up, weeping.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to fall for her, but it happened. For both of us. I wouldn’t have tried to run if she hadn’t asked. I wouldn’t have turned from my brother like that if I didn’t think that the first time I fell in love would be the only time. Christ, Juliet. I was a kid—a teenager. I thought I had all the answers and that as long as she and I loved each other, we were invincible. Haven’t you ever done something so fucking stupid all in the name of love?”

I don’t wait for her to answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to lock away the memory of Victoria looking to me for solace—to make everything better.

But I don’t see my first love in my mind’s eyes. Instead, I see a broken shoe. An injured knee.

“Damien?” Juliet sounds worried, but I can’t open my eyes. I won’t—not until the vision becomes clear. Because this vision feels more like a memory.

“Damien!” she says again, this time with more force. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Oh God, did—did I break something when I—”

The vision fades, and I’m forced back to the here and now.

I open my eyes to find hers wide with worry. She searches my still-bruised face—runs soft fingers over my healing ribs, and I grab her wrist.

“I’m okay,” I say, and I feel a weight lift. Or maybe something in the air shifts.

“Then what was that?” she asks. “What the hell happened?”

“I loved her,” I say plainly, and I can see Juliet try to shutter an emotion, but fear is hard to hide. “But it’s not her I see behind closed lids. Not anymore.”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

I return to my memory, the one that hovers elusive and out of reach. “Did you...on the night we met...were you—injured?”

She sucks in a breath, and a tear streaks down her cheek.

“The heel of my shoe broke, and I’d fallen and skinned my knee. My stupid palms, too. I swear I was like a toddler playing dress-up that night, and I—” She gasps again. “Damien...how did you know that?”

I grin—not because I think I’ve found closure with at least my own feelings about my first love, even though I’m pretty sure I finally have.

I grin and kiss my wife, because when I closed my eyes, I saw her.

It’s nothing more than a snippet of the time that was stolen from me, but it’s something. It means I’m getting close.

“I believe you,” I say. “I can’t remember anything more than a broken shoe and your injured leg, but I believe you.”

She forces a smile, and I understand.

I remember a sliver of that first night. But I don’t remember her like she wants me to. I don’t remember what I felt that possessed me to make love to her like I’d only ever done with my own brother’s intended. I don’t remember falling in love.

But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe letting go of Victoria means I can fall all over again.

For now there are no right words, so she lets me kiss her until both our eyes fall heavy. And for the first night since I’ve been home, I sleep without waking from dreams or guilt—my beautiful, patient, pregnant wife’s limbs entwined with mine.

Juliet

We wake to a knock at the door.

“Are you two decent?” It’s X.

I fly to my feet, grabbing my scattered clothes in a pell-mell motion before dressing as if in a race. Damien doesn’t stir. It seems cruel to wake him when he is so peaceful. Even as I’m struggling into my bra, I take the time to study his face. The way his full lips part in slumber. The impossibly long length of his lashes.

Despite the tattoos and scars, I don’t see a bad boy. I see a lost man. Someone who has been starved of love and affection and cursed, hated and feared. A man who never complained, never cracked, who made himself as hard as granite to face an even harder world.

And as ridiculous as it seems, given the strength of all those cut muscles, one thought rises above all others.

“I will protect you,” I whisper.

He’s been hurt so many times. I won’t hurt him again.

I crack open the door. X is alone. He is polite enough not to swing his eyes in the direction of the bed. I wonder if he knows what happened in here. If the power of our passion tattooed the very air.

“Can we talk?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Alone? I don’t want to wake the prince.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.” His enigmatic eyes give nothing away. Not for the first time I wonder, Who is this man?

With regret I slide from the sanctuary of our sparse yet somehow perfect bedroom, quietly closing the door.

As we head down the hall, X gives me a sidelong glance. “I understand you were quite...passionate last night.”

I dig in my heels, refusing to take another step. “You said there were no cameras.”

“There were not. And the room is soundproofed. Or so we had assumed. Either I need to write a sternly worded letter to the door company or you two are more powerful than some of the most state-of-the-art security equipment.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks.

“No one minds around here,” X answers. “I think in truth, everyone was a little jealous.”

“Why?”

“We aren’t a monastic order. Nor do we prize virginity. But working in The Hole takes single-minded commitment and mission focus. This means that when our operatives are stationed here they agree to celibacy for the duration. Keeps things simple. So I’m sure many were biting their knuckles last night.”

He chuckles, something that seems so not X. But then again, he is a man of mystery. Everything about him surprises me.

“You’re—celibate?” I blurt, not able to believe a man so virile would deny himself physical release.

“Me?” That earns an honest peal of laughter. “I’m not assigned to The Hole. I’ve been in the field for years...which allows me to play the field.”

“But there isn’t anyone special?”

His unexpected mirth fades. “In my line of work, it is strongly discouraged to get close to anyone. It’s not safe, for others or for us.”

“Can you be reassigned to The Hole?”

He shrugs. “Sure. If I piss off the right person. Luckily I have a very influential friend who makes sure I don’t.”

“Who’s that?”

He presses his hand against a screen, and sliding doors open.

“Just wait.”

I enter a meeting room empty but for a massive table surrounded by twelve chairs.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Hello, Juliet,” a woman purrs in my ear.

I turn, startled, swearing no one had been there a moment before. Now an attractive middle-aged woman sizes me up with intelligent eyes. Eyes that are a brilliant, stunning green. Eyes that I’ve only ever seen on the faces of the three princes of Edenvale.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” the woman says, moving to a seat at the head of the table. She wears black knee-high boots; the stiletto heels are at least five inches and thin as toothpicks.

She exudes power, arrogance and brains.

I feel like a naive schoolgirl in comparison.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“That’s an interesting question,” she says, crossing her legs. “X, bring our guest a mug of Belgian hot chocolate, light on the whipped cream. That’s the way you like it, yes?”

X bows once and is on his way.

“How did you know my favorite drink?”

“Another interesting question.” The woman trails a finger over her lower lip. I don’t know what she’s hoping to learn from my features, but it’s as if she’s memorizing every detail. “I propose a trade. Every time you answer three of my questions, I answer one of yours.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“No,” she says, sighing. “But life’s not fair, is it?”

I narrow my gaze. If she does indeed know who I am, then she should treat me with the reverence fit for a future queen. “Very well. What do you want to know?”

“Did you want to rule Nightgardin?”

The way she pronounces the name of my kingdom, it’s with a native-born tongue. She’s one of my subjects, if I could call her that. I get the sense she answers to nobody and no one.

“I did,” I respond. “But not as my parents intended—kept by a man for whom I cared nothing and who himself cared no more for me than as a means to an end.”

She leans closer. “Did you ever get the sense that your life was in danger? Were you exposed to any strange accidents? Especially in the past five years?”

“Accidents?” I frown. “There was a fire at our summer estate. And once when I was riding my horse on a mountain trail a large boulder was dislodged from above.”

She steeples her fingers. “Did you ever wonder if these...accidents were intentional?”

“Not until now,” I say curtly. “That’s three questions. Here’s mine. Who are you?”

“No one.”

“That’s not an answer,” I scoff.

She arches a brow. “It’s the truth. I am a woman without a country. Without a name. Without a claim to anything or anyone.”

“Why?”

She bites the corner of her lower lip. “That’s another question. You owe me three. Did your parents ever mention anything to you about a spring?”

My brows furrow. “Spring? Like in the woods? Or something mechanical?”

She doesn’t crack a smile.

“Why would they mention springs to me?” Nothing this woman says makes any sense. “They didn’t speak to me unless it was to remind me to know my place. To stay out of sight. To not bring undue attention to myself.”

“And you never wondered why they insisted on keeping you from your subjects?”

“That was the custom.”

“It never used to be.” The woman’s smile is cold.

“What are you trying to say?” I fly to my feet, voice shaking. “My parents weren’t the best. They didn’t show me love in the usual way. But they aren’t murderers. They weren’t plotting to burn me to death or crush me with a boulder.”

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside. I hear X’s voice.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”

“Like hell you’ll keep me from her,” Damien snarls. “Juliet. Juliet!” I can hear his panic and imagine how he must have felt waking up alone. Not knowing if I was taken.

“So dramatic, that one,” the woman says with something approaching affection.

“Damien!” I call out. “I’m in here. I’m safe.”

The doors open and he rushes in. “Thank God. I had a dream—no, a fucking nightmare.” He pulls me to him, presses his lips to my forehead. “But you’re safe.”

“I am. But not if you listen to her.” I jerk my thumb to the head of the table, but when we both turn around, the woman is gone.