Marrying His Majesty. Marion Lennox
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‘For what? I’ve done the fairy tale bit. This train is so heavy… ’
‘I need you to help me create stability,’ he said. He took her train from her grasp so he was holding her son and the sheer weight of her gown. He met her look so steadily that she thought for a blind, dumb moment that he was sex on legs and she was married to him for real. She fought a fast internal fight and managed a sensible reply.
‘How can I do that when the islanders hate me?’
‘They don’t hate you. They don’t know you.’
‘Which is fine.’
‘Which would have been fine if I hadn’t seduced you… ’
She gasped. ‘What the… ?’ Whoa. Where was he going with this?
There was no way she was continuing this hike into nowhere if he stayed believing that. ‘If I remember rightly, it was me who seduced you,’ she snapped. ‘Did I not?’
He looked a bit… stunned. ‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted.
‘You said that before. Any minute now you’ll tell me you were drunk.’
‘I wasn’t drunk. I remember every part of that last night.’
‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘It was a truly excellent night. But it wasn’t me playing the pathetic part of Sleeping Beauty, leaving the action solely to my prince. I’m your equal in every way and I have rights. We made love once and we were stupid. We were both stupid. So get over it.’ She grabbed her train, turned and walked on a few steps, then swore, removed her shoes and picked up the pace.
He let her go. She was holding her own train again. She looked… free, he thought and was hit by a stab of pure, unadulterated jealousy. And more…
His bride, running under the dark canopy, looking nothing at all like Mia, nothing at all like any woman he’d ever met.
She was still wearing her veil and her headpiece. She was still a bride. If he wasn’t holding Michales…
She emerged from the tunnel of rhododendrons, angry and confused.
She saw Alex’s house and she forgot angry and confused. She forgot everything.
It was as if a wand had been waved, transforming the world from a dark, threatening place into sheer fantasy. Not fantasy as in the over-the-top royal palace. Fantasy as in sheer delight.
The house had been built into the cliffs. It was a whitewashed villa, built on three levels, with winding steps joining each level. There were rocky ledges between each level, with bench seats and tables so someone could conceivably carry a drink down towards the beach and pause at each bend, to sit and admire the view.
There were flowers everywhere, spilling from every crevice, so the rock face was bursting with colour. Bougainvillea—crimson, pinks and deep, deep burgundy. There were daisies, growing as if birds had dropped their seeds and they’d simply grown where they’d been dropped. A great twisted vine of wisteria seemed to hold the place together, its gnarled, knotted wood adorned with vast sprays of soft, glorious blues.
The house looked deceptively simple, built of stone, weathered to beauty, appearing to be almost part of the cliffs. Tiny balconies protruded from each window, joining the intricate flow of steps down to the beach.
And, below the house, the sea—sapphire, translucent, magic. A tiny cove. A wooden dinghy hauled up on the sand.
There were even a couple of dolphins in the bay.
Lily stopped and stared. It was all she could do not to cry out in delight.
‘The dolphins… ’
‘I pay ’em to do that,’ Alex said, coming up behind her. He smiled. ‘Welcome home.’
‘I… It’s not my home,’ she whispered, awed.
‘You’ve married me. I guess in a sense it is your home.’
‘Does the pre-nup say I get half?’ she said before she could stop herself, and kept right on gazing, eager to convince herself that this was real, that this wasn’t some Cinderella fairy tale. There was no midnight looming here, for fantasy to return this place to mice and pumpkins.
Or maybe there was but she couldn’t think of that right now. This place was seductive in its loveliness.
She could play with Michales on this beach. Maybe she could stay here for the year of their marriage. There’d be no need to juggle work and baby care. The terror in her head was gone.
Here she could be free.
Her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them away fiercely, angrily, but still they came.
Alex was beside her, calmly handing her a handkerchief. She took it and blew her nose. Defiant.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, but he was still smiling and she had to suspect he knew exactly what was wrong.
‘This would have to be the most seductive setting in the known universe,’ she whispered.
‘You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here.’
She sniffed. She looked at him with suspicion over the top of his handkerchief. ‘And that has to be the most seductive line,’ she managed, trying to sound caustic—and failing.
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘Would you trust you?’ She waved his handkerchief at the scene in front of her. ‘Would you trust yourself?’
‘It’s great, isn’t it?’
‘You built this garden?’ She hesitated. ‘Of course you built it. You’re a landscape architect. I read about it. You’ve won prizes.’
‘You build boats. I design gardens.’
‘Here?’
‘Not many,’ he admitted. ‘I mostly work out of Manhattan.’
That was confusing. ‘Are you still working in Manhattan?’
‘When I can. As often as I can get away from here.’
Whoa. Panic! ‘You mean you’re going back to Manhattan?’
‘You don’t want me here, do you?’ He shrugged. ‘I’d assumed you’d stay in the palace, play with Spiros and your boats and your son. I need to put some solid work into rebuilding this economy but if I can manage to get that sorted then I’m free to do what I want.’
Where was the problem with that? She stared down at the cove. Thinking. Or trying to think.
There were factors at play here she hadn’t thought of. She felt as if she were floating in a bubble—she was precariously safe within, but any minute it could burst. What was outside? Who knew?
‘Do you swim?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’ In the midst of confusion, here was something solid.
‘I feel a swim coming on,’ he said, and why did she feel he was changing the subject? ‘We have an hour or so before dusk. Can you bear to take off your wedding dress?’
‘I can’t wait to take off my wedding dress.’ Then, dumbly, she felt herself blushing. ‘I mean… ’
‘I know what you mean,’ he told her. ‘You’ll have a separate apartment here, too.’
Great. It was great. Wasn’t it?
‘But Michales… ’ she managed.
‘He’s almost six months old. Shouldn’t he be surfing by now?’
‘How long can we stay here?’ she asked, staring longingly down at the cove. The dolphins had been joined by friends. They were catching waves, surfing in amazing synchronisation, then performing