CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I T RAINED AND it rained, so that as they sat down to a simple yet luxurious lunch of grilled just-caught fish and boiled, salted crabs, they had to halfway shout to hear one another. But despite how she fought it, there was something about the rain, its ancient reliability perhaps, the fact that like the oceans and the skies, the passage of time did nothing to change it, that got under her skin. As they sat and talked about things that were unimportant but not uninteresting, like their childhoods, the schools they’d attended and friends they’d cherished, and where they’d gone on holidays and what those experiences had been like, she had the strangest sense that the rain was almost washing clean their history and renewing it with moments like these. She wouldn’t let it change what she wanted from this marriage, but it was impossible not to enjoy it.
She found herself smiling, and laughing, more than she’d ever thought she would when alone with her husband, and somehow, without the usual passage of the sun through the sky, time became strangely amorphous, so when Rosie happened to glance at the clock and saw it was nearly six, she gasped. ‘It’s so late,’ she said, staring at the scraps of their lunch and aghast to realise they’d been sitting for hours while the storm raged.
‘Got some place you need to be?’ he responded, arching a brow.
Heat flushed her cheeks. ‘Well, no, not for a few days, I suppose.’ But she frowned then, because her clarity had only hardened during this week, and there was no longer any doubt left in her mind. ‘But I should tell you, I don’t think we need to take that long.’
He began to clear the plates. Such a routine gesture, and yet his back was ramrod straight and there was a tension to his shoulders that made her wonder if he was as casual about this as he was evidently trying to be. ‘Oh yeah? Why is that?’
‘Because I know you’re going to be a great dad, and I know we can make this work.’ She toyed with her fingers, ignoring the icy fear that stole through her, the idea of being fated to a life like her mother’s. For as long as she could remember that idea had stalked her, the belief that if she were ever to get greedy and hope for children of her own, she’d be similarly cursed. It had been one of the points in favour of her previous engagement—her ex-fiancé had despised the idea of having children and swore he’d never change his mind. He would never have asked her for a baby. He had been focused on his career and his career alone. Nothing on earth would have induced Rosie to have children with him anyway. But Sebastian was different. The whole situation was different. What she also knew, but didn’t say, was that if her worst fears came to pass, she trusted Sebastian to remember her to their child. She trusted him to do what was right. Conceiving a child was still terrifying, but it was no longer something she dreaded, as one might the prospect of stepping off an abyss into a shark-infested ocean.
‘Are you saying you’ll do this?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’
‘And this is your choice, Rosalind? I will not have our baby be something you regret.’
‘I told you, I don’t regret our marriage.’
‘You should.’
Something sparked inside of her. ‘Don’t ruin this moment,’ she said quietly.
He placed the dishes in the sink, then turned back to face her. ‘I need to be sure.’ He strode across the room, catching her wrists and lifting her hands between them. ‘You were pressured into marrying me. You might not regret it, you might think the reasons you cling to for accepting the deal matter, but that doesn’t change the fact you were pressured. I would not ever want you to say the same thing about this baby.’
She nodded and wished she wasn’t feeling the sting of tears in her eyes.
‘This has to be a decision you are making for the right reasons.’
Her heart twisted over. His concern for her was well beyond what she’d expected, given how important this child was to his claim to the throne.
‘It is,’ she promised him. And it was. This baby would be a gift to all of them, and she knew that no matter what, even if it meant her worst fears came true, that the safe delivery of their child would be worth any sacrifice she might make.
How was it possible that she already loved a baby which was very much just a concept? There was still so much to happen before then.
Lightning cracked, close to the house, and she jumped a little. A frisson of something ran the length of her spine. Adrenalin? Fear? Courage? Exuberance?
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted, and God knew that was the truth. ‘But that’s a normal way to feel with anything new, especially something like this. I want this, Sebastian. I really do.’ She could just imagine their baby, whether a boy or girl, with his soulful dark eyes and swarthy skin. Perhaps the baby would be like her mother, too? The thought was instantly mollifying. Wasn’t that how this was supposed to work? Descendants were a living testament to those who went before them, a way to always remember.
‘Then when the time is right for you, we will start trying.’ His eyes ran over her face, as if looking for something, or wanting to say something. She didn’t know which, and she was concentrating on calendar maths anyway.
‘Actually,’ she murmured, her heart speeding up. ‘The time now is perfect.’
He laughed softly. ‘I meant for conception, but if you’re suggesting we take this to the bedroom for other reasons, then I’m fine with that.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘I mean the same thing. This, right now, would be a good time for us to try.’
He sobered. ‘Now?’
She nodded. ‘If I remember my tenth-grade biology classes.’
He was serious. ‘And, you’re sure?’
She laughed. ‘God, Sebastian, next minute you’ll be making me beg.’
He gave her a rueful look. ‘I could not live with myself, cara , if such a monumental decision was not your own.’
‘You know me better now too, don’t you? Do you seriously imagine I’d have a baby if I wasn’t completely sure it was right?’
He tilted his head a little as he contemplated that, and then shook it once. ‘No. You’re too smart for that.’
His compliment pulled at her heart, but was he prevaricating on purpose? Was he now having doubts? ‘We don’t have to try this month,’ she said quickly, to give him an easy way out. ‘If you’d prefer to wait, we can.’
‘No. Believe me when I tell you, I don’t want to wait another moment.’ His voice was so deep and raw that her whole body seemed to ache in response. When he scooped down and lifted her up, he carried her over one shoulder to his bedroom, and as they crossed the threshold, it was with a shared intention not to leave it again for many, many days.
Rosie loved her country, her king, and she loved her life, but when Sebastian’s private jet touched down in Cavalonia, she didn’t feel a rush of relief or gladness to be back. Not even a little.
She felt...regret.
The word sprang to mind easily, perhaps because of their conversations on the island. How could she fail to regret being back, though?
The island had been wonderful.
There, she felt as though so many things had happened, it was as if she was fundamentally changed in some way, and despite her every effort to keep him at arm’s length, she felt as if Sebastian had become a physical part of her. They’d spent almost every moment together for a week and a day, and the last four of those had been spent almost completely in his bedroom, and absolutely naked.
Coming back had necessitated a shift.
They’d both dressed, for a start, but it wasn’t just the requirement for clothes, so much as the type of clothes. Sebastian wore a suit, and Rosalind a tailored dress with high heels—the sort of thing she wore often in her role as princess. Her phone had pinged with many emails and texts, including one from the king telling her he was looking forward to seeing her.
They had sat separately on the plane, neither really looking at the other. Rosie didn’t need to look at Sebastian; he was burned into her memory banks. Not touching him when they disembarked was a form of torture, but she was aware of the way he held back a little, so there was no need for either to brush hands, nor for him to put a solicitous hand in the small of her back.
And on the tarmac, two cars were waiting. It was a starkly visual reminder of their separate lives. One car was to take her back to the palace, and another to take him to his home.
She hesitated a little, midway between the steps of the plane and her car, and Sebastian was then beside her, looking at her quizzically.
‘You’re okay?’
She nodded, but frowned, and knew that she wasn’t. But how could she explain it to him? She refused to ask when she’d see him again. She refused to do anything so desperate and needy, and thus confirm that she was every bit as vulnerable to handsome, suave men as her father’s girlfriends had been.
‘And you’ll let me know about our project as soon as you know?’
It would be about a week before she could do even the most sensitive pregnancy tests. Was he planning not to see her for that whole time?
Her heart dropped to her toes. She wouldn’t ask that either. She wouldn’t say anything that might sound as if she was begging him to come to her. She’d hold it together, show him that she was strong and independent, even when she didn’t feel it.
‘Of course.’ Her voice was brittle, her smile just a shadow. ‘Well, goodbye then,’ she murmured, turning to walk to her car. She took small, deliberate steps, as a nice woman from the protocol office had shown her for the wedding. Now it was because it physically hurt to walk away from him. When she was near the car, one of the security teams opened the rear door for her. She almost allowed herself to look back before sliding in, before reminding herself that she was stronger than that, and she simply took her seat, staring straight ahead, as if the week with Sebastian had just been a fun little getaway that was now behind her.
As if he wasn’t integral to her body’s functioning, and maybe even her ability to breathe.
Sebastian stared at her car for a long time, part of him wanting to go to her, even when he knew he wouldn’t.
From the moment she’d put on that damned dress, he’d been forced to remember who she was.
Who she worked for.
Who she served.
Who she loved.
She would always put the king first.
She had married Sebastian at the king’s behest, and despite Sebastian’s numerous questions, he half feared she had agreed to this plan because a baby would put the king’s mind at ease.
And he hated that.
He hated that the king was the last man on earth to deserve such loyalty, and he particularly hated that the king had it from Rosalind. Rosalind who should have known better, who should have valued herself more than to become embroiled in any of this. Rosalind who should have known her worth.
Rosalind who should have believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters, just as her poor mother wanted for her.
Instead, she was living in a drama that was almost guaranteed not to have a happy ending.
Nothing good could come from going after her.
It would simply be prolonging the inevitable.
Their week together had blown every single one of Sebastian’s expectations out of the water, but so what? It didn’t change anything.
When the king called, she would always go. Her loyalty would always be to him, and Sebastian couldn’t live with that. He couldn’t live with the thought of growing close to someone who didn’t see things as he did, who didn’t agree with him. He couldn’t ever really allow someone into his life who defended the man who’d made his mother so miserable, who had exiled him as a young boy.
On the island, they’d formed a truce. An agreement not to discuss the king. It was too inflammatory, too dangerous for them. But here? Here the king was everywhere, and they couldn’t continue to act as though he didn’t exist.
If Sebastian went after Rosie, if he asked her to come to his bed that night, he knew she’d agree. But in exchange, he’d want more. He’d want her to switch allegiance, to agree with him that the king was awful, to admit that his hatred was warranted.
She’d never do that, and he wouldn’t ask. He watched her drive away, knowing it was the right decision but wishing like hell he could stop time and take her back to the island, just for a little while longer.
Procuring a pregnancy test when you were a princess was not exactly as simple as popping down to the local pharmacy and simply buying one. In order to get the thing, she’d had to ask someone she trusted to buy one for her, which meant opening up to Laurena about the possibility of a baby, at least.
Laurena, who like the rest of the world, had no idea about the cause of Rosie’s mother malaise, had shrieked with excitement before Rosie had shushed her. ‘It’s just in case,’ she’d promised. ‘It will probably be negative,’ she said, keeping her fingers crossed that it was positive. Lord knew they’d given a baby every opportunity to exist with their days of dedicated trying.
And she so desperately wanted the baby to have been conceived on the island. There was just something so magical about the place, but more than that, there was something magical about who they’d been when they were there. Just two people, getting to know one another, without all of the impediments and constraints that existed here.
Laurena had taken almost two hours, because she’d explained when she returned, she’d driven to the other side of the city to shop in a place that was unlikely to have any paparazzi lurking. Rosie was grateful for her discretion.
Her fingers shook as she removed the test and read the instructions carefully, and when she took it, her breath burned in her lungs, and she found she almost couldn’t bear to look. Her excitement and hope were at such a zenith level that she knew if it was negative, she’d be crushed.
Or maybe she wouldn’t? Negative meant more trying, after all... Just the thought of that sent her heart into a frenzy. She glanced at the test. Nothing.
But it had only been a minute. She waited some more, and some more, and still there was no second line where one would be if she’d conceived.
Despite the consolation of more time with Sebastian, her heart felt as though it had been smashed into oblivion.
She wasn’t pregnant.
‘Oh,’ she whispered, wrapping the test in toilet paper and shoving it back into the box. ‘That’s that, then.’
She told herself it was okay. That it was to be expected. But a single tear rolled down her cheek as she stepped out into her bedroom and looked around. Laurena had tactfully left, and Rosie was grateful. She didn’t want to have to tell her aid, yet, that she was not pregnant after all.
But there was Sebastian. She’d promised to let him know. Should she do so immediately? It seemed wrong for her to have this information, and for him not to, and yet they were scheduled to see one another the following night at the ball to commemorate the closing of parliament for the holidays.
Should she wait until then?
And risk the moment being overheard or photographed?
No, she would tell him now, and she would keep it just as brusque and businesslike as befitted their relationship. Not the relationship they’d shared on the island. There, she’d have walked straight up to him and let him wrap his big, strong arms around her, holding her tight while she gave into a flood of disappointed tears. But here, they were not like that, and it was obviously how he wanted things to stay.
So much for new beginnings.
She picked up her phone and loaded a text message box. She began to type before she could reconsider the wisdom of this.
Hi.
She considered what to add. His phone was private, but there was always a risk, when putting things in writing, and so she wrote:
I said I’d let you know about our project. The answer is no.
She re-read it, hoping it was both cryptic but informative, and then sent it. And cried, because it made it all the more real.
She’d gone from desperately not wanting to ever conceive to suddenly feeling as though it were her purpose in life. She stamped her foot and stared up at the ceiling for a long time, waiting for the feeling to ease, but it didn’t. A strange, heavy grief was pressing down on her. She knew it was irrational. They’d only tried for one month, and of course these things could take much, much longer. But she’d wanted, with all her heart, she’d wanted...
She lay down on her bed, glad she was alone, glad she could just stare up at the ceiling and alternate between utter silence and gentle sobs. She pressed a hand to her flat stomach, and tried to imagine it growing round, feeling all the things her mother had, once upon a time. An hour later, sometime near dusk, her door burst open in a manner that was totally surprising—no one ever simply burst into her apartment. On the contrary, one of her private secretaries always knocked first and announced visitors, in case Rosie wasn’t available. But this was not an ordinary visitor. Sebastian stood just inside the door, an out of breath Laurena behind him, mouthing apologies.
Neither Sebastian nor Rosie noticed Laurena, and she backed away, closing the door behind her.
Rosie scrambled to sitting and then stood, straightening her outfit and mentally bemoaning her appearance. She must look dreadful.
But Sebastian was staring at her in a way that made everything all scrambled and confusing, just as he always did.
‘I didn’t see your message immediately,’ he said with a voice that was a little different than normal. ‘I came as soon as I read it.’
Her heart turned over. ‘You didn’t need to come here.’ She was trying to be professional, to be reserved, just like she always had been with her husband, before the island.
He frowned. ‘You’re upset.’
A sound strangled inside her throat. ‘Yes.’ Why deny it?
His eyes lashed her face. She wanted to hide.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, striding towards her, and stopping just short, not touching her.
‘Why? What for?’
He frowned, as though he didn’t know. ‘We’ll try again.’
She knew they would, but it would be different. She’d somehow fooled herself into thinking, on the island, that they’d been doing more than trying for a baby. That she’d meant more to him. This week had proved how wrong she’d been. How little he cared. How little she meant. The pain of that truth was instantly familiar. No one cared about her. Only the king, and even then...
She tilted her chin in an angle of defiance. ‘I know that.’
‘We can go back to the island, in a few weeks.’
She shook her head. Not the island. It was too magical. Too beautiful. On the island, she forgot. She forgot all the reasons she had for keeping him at arm’s length, everything that could go wrong if she let herself want more from him than he’d ever give.
‘We don’t have to do that.’
His eyes flecked with something; she didn’t bother trying to understand. Her heart was tattered.
‘This might take months. Maybe even a year. We can’t fly to the island every time we try.’
‘Who says?’
Was it an attempt at a joke? If so, she wasn’t laughing.
‘I’ll let you know when the timing is right, and our teams can sync our schedules.’
His eyes narrowed, as if with anger. As if she’d said the exact opposite of what he wanted. ‘Excellent, and perhaps my private secretary can offer tips on our performance? Maybe there’s a position we should be trying that we missed.’
‘You’re seriously snapping at me?’ she asked, her tone rife with hauteur.
A muscle jerked at the base of his jaw. ‘Yes, but I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting this.’
She realised then, with compunction, that she wasn’t the only one who was grieving. This was the baby he’d been hoping for too. She glanced away, her heart breaking for a whole other reason now.
She didn’t know how to do any of this, but she had to cling onto the boundaries they’d established. The island had made everything complicated, and though it had fundamentally changed her, it hadn’t changed them. They were too different, and this marriage was only ever going to be this: a ruse.
Why fight that?
‘We’ll try again next month,’ she said softly, swallowing past a lump in her throat.
‘Yes.’ He reached for her then, but she flinched away. Not because she didn’t want him to touch her, but because she wanted it so, so badly, more than she could ever express, and she knew it would never be enough. One touch, one kiss, even if they were to fall backwards into her bed, it wouldn’t be enough, because it didn’t mean anything. Not to him, anyway. And to her?
She moved towards her bedroom door. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow night.’
He nodded, but his expression showed distraction. ‘You’re disappointed. You really wanted this.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I’m sure it will happen. We’ll just keep trying.’
‘Right.’ He hovered though, as if he wanted to say something else, but she needed him to go now. Her grief was all-consuming and if he lingered, she suspected he’d see it, and maybe see more than she wanted him to. Everything was such a mess.
He strode towards the door but stopped, just inside of it. ‘Will you call me if you need anything, wife?’
Wife.
What a joke.
She used to think he was being ironic when he used the label—after all, they were hardly spouses in the traditional sense—but she’d never really felt the irony like she did now. It was like being taunted with something she wanted and could never have. The realisation of just how badly she wanted it all to be real was like an enormous rock boulder being dropped into a placid lake. Ripples emerged in every direction of Rosie’s soul, leaving her bereft by how alone she was. Just like she’d always thought she wanted—just as she’d always been.
When had that happened?
She’d worked so hard on the island to remind herself that their marriage was just a means to an end, that the baby would be too. She’d told herself again and again that this was all just an arrangement for the good of the kingdom. When had she started to want the kinds of things she’d always told herself were off limits?
Her loneliness was a deep, soul-aching pain, because she’d glimpsed an alternative. For one brief week, she’d lived something else, and she’d never be the same again. Panic slicked her insides; she swallowed hard, paling imperceptibly. She recognised who she’d become: one of her father’s girlfriends. Was this the desperation they had felt?
She straightened her spine. While she couldn’t deny her feelings, she could certainly try to hide them from him. ‘I won’t need anything.’ Her voice emerged pleasingly clear. ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’
She didn’t look at him again; it had taken every ounce of effort she had left to dismiss him with such apparent coldness. If he stayed a moment longer, she was terrified she’d beg him to stay.