Chapter 16
16
Kirill
A s soon as I can, I guide Fiona out of the arena and toward the royal suite. She doesn't say anything, and neither do I. The dim, barely lit hallway seems to go on forever as I beat myself up.
Why did I forget my flaws?
When I asked her if she was ready to go home, the look on her face told me everything she was feeling.
Why did I allow myself to think it could be any different?
My heart pounds harder against my chest cavity. The air in my lungs stales. I swallow down emotions, telling myself nothing has changed. I'm the same person, and she's a woman, just like all the rest.
She's not, though. She's exceptional.
And she doesn't want to be married to me.
The door finally comes into view. A bit of relief fills me. I open it and motion for her to go inside.
"Is this where you live?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No. It's the royal quarters for the arena."
"Oh. And where exactly are we? The flight was long," she notes, not going inside.
"Pompeii. Please. Go inside. The hallway is not somewhere to have discussions," I advise.
She glances behind us, then rises on her tiptoes and whispers, "Is someone watching us?" Her lips twitch.
"Hallways are public. Many people use them. They are monitored," I inform her, then point inside.
"I see. And the royal quarters. Is that monitored too?" she prods, still not moving.
I nod. "Tonight, yes. The Omni revoked my privacy privileges until I completed my vows. After we leave, the cameras will be dismantled and the rooms returned to private."
She wiggles her eyebrows, puts her fingers on my chest, and teases, "So I shouldn't do anything I don't want others to see?"
My cock hardens, and electricity sparks between us. I glance at her pouty lips, deciding I'm addicted to them.
Sean booms, "Fiona! Are you okay?"
Her face falls. She tears her gaze off me and steps inside. "I'm not discussing anything with you, Sean," she says angrily.
Sean scowls, accusing, "What did you do to her?"
I shut the door and warn, "You will show the queen respect."
He narrows his gaze.
"I'm waiting."
He looks at Fiona, then steps before her and bows, grumbling, "Your Majesty."
Fiona arches her eyebrows, glancing at me .
I point at Zara. "You too."
She crosses the room and stands next to Sean, then curtsies. "Yes. Of course. Your Majesty."
Fiona's lips twitch.
I lean down and murmur, "You can allow them to rise or let them stay like that all night."
She puts her hand over her mouth and stifles a giggle, then asks, "What do I say to them?"
"I normally say thank you, but whatever you want. You're the queen." I wink.
Her smile widens. She stares at them and then offers a "Thank you."
They rise.
Sean repeats, "Are you okay?"
She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. "Of course I am. No thanks to you."
Guilt floods his expression.
Zara's gaze darts between Fiona and me. Then it flickers with amusement. She taunts, "Did you have fun?"
"Eh. Don't, Zara," Sean warns.
She scoffs. "What? I had fun on my initiation night. Well, minus a few things..." Her face darkens.
I inform her, "Fiona's coronation wasn't like your initiation. Nothing like that happened."
"Nothing like what?" Fiona asks.
Relief crosses Zara's face. She shakes her head with a smile, stating, "Nothing. "
Fiona's eyes turn to slits. "No. Tell me what you're referring to."
Zara swallows hard. She glances at Sean.
He stands taller, clenching his jaw.
I announce, "Zara killed several people."
"Kirill!" Zara explodes.
The blood drains from Fiona's cheeks and she gapes.
Zara blinks hard and looks away.
Fiona lowers her voice. "Zara? Is this true?"
She meets Fiona's gaze. "Yes."
Fiona's mouth drops open again.
"Thanks, Kirill," Zara grumbles.
I cross my arms, stating, "My queen has the right to know everything. She will not be kept in the dark any longer. If she asks a question, you will tell her the truth, no matter how hard it is for you. Do I make myself clear?"
Zara takes a deep breath and then nods.
"Sean?" I question.
He glares daggers at me, but says, "Yeah. I got it."
"Good." I turn toward my bride. "Is there anything else you want to know right now?"
Her greens widen. She glances between all of us, then says, "Yes."
"Go on," I urge.
She swallows hard, then directs her question to Sean. "How will I explain to Mom that I'm married to a Petrov?"
He grinds his molars .
"Well? You've known about this little fact longer than I have. Explain the solution to me," she orders.
He shakes his head. "I'm not sure."
She huffs. "You have no answer for me?"
He closes his eyes and then tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling.
I bark, "Don't look away from the queen! Show some respect!"
He jerks his gaze back to her.
"Well?" she asks.
Zara steps forward and puts her hand on Fiona's arm. "We're working on the best way to tell her. I promise."
Fiona sighs and shakes her head. She turns toward me. "How long do we have to stay here?"
"We don't. Are you ready to go?" I ask.
"Yes."
I don't hesitate. I slide my arm around her waist, telling them, "Have a good trip back."
"Thank you," Zara replies.
Sean's scowl returns.
Fiona points, snapping, "Don't look at the king like that!"
I still, pleasantly surprised by her defending me.
"Seriously?" Sean mutters.
Her voice turns sterner. "Yes, I'm serious. You will show respect toward him not just because he's king but because he's now my husband. And don't make me warn you again, Sean."
He forces himself to put on a neutral expression .
"Apologize," she demands.
Sean shifts on his feet. He takes a deep breath and locks eyes with me. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. My apologies."
Fiona needs us to get along.
I fight my urge to gloat and quickly reply, "We're good." I refocus on my bride. "Are you ready?"
She smiles, making the blood in my veins heat again. "Yes."
Zara interjects, "Can I at least give you a hug?"
Fiona tenses, then steps forward.
"Can I say congratulations?" Zara asks, hugging her hard.
Fiona retreats. "Yes. Thank you."
Zara pins her smile on me. "And congratulations to you too. We have a wedding gift. Can you wait a moment while I retrieve it?"
"You do?" Fiona asks, shock and excitement in her voice.
Zara beams. "Of course."
"We can wait," I state, happy to see Fiona's expression.
"Just a minute," Zara says, disappearing out of the suite.
Tension builds in the air.
Sean steps in front of his sister. "You can't stay mad at me forever."
"Watch me."
"Fiona—"
"I'm not getting into this right now. You don't get my forgiveness for putting me through months of stress and everything that's to come until I'm ready," she states.
My gut flips .
She doesn't want to be married to me.
Of course she doesn't.
I silently curse myself again.
"I didn't know what would happen," he claims.
"But yet you agreed to it, as if you owned me," she seethes, her cheeks reddening.
He argues, "You don't know what happened!"
"And how many times did I ask for you to explain?" she scolds.
He bursts out, "I couldn't tell you!"
"Whatever, Sean," she snarls.
Sean glances at me, begging, "Help me out."
My chest tightens. I clear my throat, declaring, "Fiona, I will tell you what happened to have caused you to be in this position when you're ready to hear it. Is that moment now?"
She takes deep breaths, her gaze darting between us, then shakes her head. "No. I'm tired."
Sean grabs her arm. "Fiona?—"
"She isn't ready. Respect her wishes," I caution.
He shuts his mouth, and misery overtakes his sharp features.
I ask, "Perhaps you'd like to hug your sister before we leave?"
His expression softens. He nods, admitting, "Yeah, I would."
"Fine," she grumbles, then steps forward.
They hug.
Zara enters the room, chirping, "Aw. That's a nice sight."
Fiona pulls back .
Zara holds a black velvet box with a silver bow. She says, "I hope you love it."
"What is it?" Fiona asks.
Zara laughs. "Open it and find out!"
Excitement builds again in Fiona's expression. She glances at me, asking, "Do you want to open it?"
"I'd like you to," I state, loving the look on her face, and step closer to her.
Zara suggests, "Why don't you hold it for her." She holds the box out in front of me.
I take it.
Fiona tugs at the bow and then lifts the lid. Her eyes widen in shock. She removes the silver and black bottle from the box and gasps, "This is a Louis XIII de Remy Martin Black Pearl Grande Champagne Cognac!"
Zara claps her hands. "I know!"
Fiona peers closer at the intricate details, gushing, "This is $150,000 a bottle!"
"Tell me about it," Sean mutters.
Zara nudges him in the chest. "Behave!"
"Ouch!"
Fiona holds it in front of me. "Look at this!"
"It's a really nice gift. Thank you," I offer.
Zara's face lights further. "I knew you'd love it!"
"I do!" Fiona admits.
"Yay!" Zara cheers .
Fiona puts it back in the box. "Thank you." She hugs Zara and then her brother.
I set the box on the table, then hug Zara and kiss her cheek. "Thank you. Very thoughtful of you."
"Enjoy," she says.
I grin. "We will." I hold my hand to Sean, offering, "Thank you."
He takes it and nods. "You're welcome. It was Zara's idea. I didn't know what to get you."
"Well, it's a great gift," I acknowledge, then ask Fiona, "Are you ready to go?"
She smiles. "Sure. But do we need to change?" She glances at her robe.
"No. We're okay." I pick up the box and reach for her hand.
She wraps her fingers around mine and waves. "See you later."
"Bye," they say, and I guide her out of the suite, down the hallways, and stop at a door. My nerves reignite. I hesitate.
"Are we going through mystery door number seven?" she teases.
"Seven?"
"We've passed seven doors. I don't know how you know where to go. This place is a maze," she declares.
I chuckle. "You'll learn it quickly."
"Will we come here often?"
"Often enough."
She stares at me. "So... Are we going through this door?"
Anxiety flares in my gut as I say, "That's up to you."
She arches her eyebrows .
I continue, "There's something I thought you might enjoy, but if you don't want to do it, we don't have to."
"Like a surprise?" She bites on her smile.
I laugh again, and it sounds strange. I scold myself and release a nervous breath, revealing, "You can choose option one or option two. If you choose the latter, we walk through door eight, get on a plane, and return to Chicago."
Her greens light up. "And option one is…?"
My stomach flops faster. "We can go through door seven and return home on the royal yacht."
Her jaw drops.
I wait, holding my breath.
"We have a yacht?"
"Yes."
"And we can go home in it?"
Amused, I affirm, "Yes. Actually, we can go on it anytime and anywhere you want."
She tilts her head. "So if I wanted to make stops at places I've always wanted to visit, could we do that?"
My anxiety disappears, and a grin explodes across my face. "Name the place, and I'll tell the captain."
She leans closer, tilting her head, teasing, "Am I going to like the perks of marrying the king?"
"I do believe so, my queen."
She reaches for the knob, taunting, "So if I turn this, we walk through this door, and the yacht is waiting for us?"
"Not quite. "
"No?"
Amusement overpowers my fears. "We have to get into the elevator, go to the roof, and get on the helicopter. Then it has to take us to the Mediterranean, where the yacht is waiting."
Excitement bursts on her face. She blurts out, "You're kidding me."
"Nope."
"So I just have to choose door seven?"
"Yep."
"Great. Done!" she chirps, then turns the knob and pushes the door open. She lunges through the doorway and hits the button on the wall.
I chuckle, following.
The lift opens. We get in it, and I put my palm on the screen. The doors shut, and the elevator rises.
"This is insane," Fiona mutters.
"I'm glad you wanted to take the yacht," I admit.
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Why wouldn't I?"
I shrug. "I try not to assume things."
She studies me. The doors open, and she softly states, "I like that about you."
"Yeah?"
She nods. "Definitely."
My heart thumps harder. I motion for her to go first.
She steps onto the roof. Dawn is approaching, but it's still dark.
I put my arm around her waist, turn the corner, and the wind from the chopper blades hits us. I shield her with my body, and shout, "I forgot to bring a pair of sunglasses for you. Keep your eyes shut so nothing flies in them."
She obeys.
I put my head down, quickly lead her to the helicopter, help her in, then slide beside her. We buckle our seat belts, and I remove her tiara. I hand her a helmet. "Put this on."
She slides it on her head and takes the box.
I put mine on, grip the tiara, and the chopper lifts off the ground.
She stares out the window in awe at the city's lights, declaring, "I've never been to Pompeii before now."
"Next trip, I'll show you around. It's full of history, and I think you'll appreciate it," I tell her.
Approval fills her expression.
It doesn't take long before we land on the yacht. I help Fiona out, the chopper takes off, and I lead her toward the staff.
They're lined up in a row. The men bow, and the women curtsy.
"Your Majesties," they offer in unison.
"Thank you," I reply.
Sergio, the head manager, steps forward. "Sir. It's wonderful to see you again. And, ma'am, it is a great honor to meet you. Myself and the rest of the staff look forward to serving you."
Fiona takes a deep breath. "Thank you."
I tug her closer, remembering how overwhelming it was when I first became king. I hold out the tiara. "Sergio, this needs to go into the safe."
"Yes, sir. I will do it right away," he replies .
"Thank you." I take the box from Fiona, adding, "And please put this on ice. I believe my bride would like a glass at some point today?" I arch my eyebrows at her.
She grins. "Yes!"
I chuckle.
"Will do. Maria," Sergio calls out.
A woman steps forward. She curtsies in front of Fiona, gushing, "Such an honor, my queen."
Fiona fidgets in discomfort, forcing a smile. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you. All of you," she adds, glancing at the entire staff, one by one.
That's my queen.
They're going to love her.
I put my hand on her back. "Shall we go to our room and change into something more appropriate?"
She glances at her robe, and a flush crawls up her cheeks. "Oh. Yes. Sorry. Forgot about our attire."
"See you soon," I say, guiding Fiona through the ship.
She takes everything in, commenting on different rooms as we enter and exit them. We get to our suite and I open the door, stating, "I'm glad you seem to approve of everything."
She stops in the doorway and scoffs. "How could I not?"
"Everyone has their own likes and dislikes," I claim.
"True, but you have good taste," she comments.
"I do?"
"Umm...yeah."
"Good to know," I say, happy with her approval .
She peers at me.
My mouth turns dry. "Something wrong?"
She studies me closer, then asks, "You honestly had doubts about whether I'd love this ship?"
My nerves reappear. "As I stated, I try not to make assumptions."
She doesn't take her gaze off me.
She's staring at my scar.
My anxiety skyrockets. I open my mouth and then shut it.
She prods, "Why'd you write me those letters?"
A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it, thinking about how to answer her question, and then blurt out, "I knew you'd never want to marry me if you weren't put in the position you were in. But I didn't want you to be more uncomfortable than I assumed you would be. And selfishly, I guess I didn't want you to hate me forever."
"But you knew it was me you were marrying?"
"Yes."
She pins her eyebrows together and blinks hard.
My pulse races so fast that a wave of dizziness hits me.
She lowers her voice. "Is that what you really thought?"
I look at her in question.
"You thought I'd hate you?"
My stomach quivers harder, and pain shoots through my chest. I reply, "I didn't want you to, but I didn't see how you couldn't."
She takes several breaths, then steps forward. She puts her hand on my cheek, running her thumb over my scar .
I close my eyes, fighting emotions I despise, and then force myself to look at her.
She continues to caress my scar, announcing, "For someone who tries not to assume things, you got that one wrong."
My insides shake harder, maybe from relief but also from something else I can't decipher. I stay quiet, not trusting my voice.
She adds, "Do you remember the night I met you?"
I find my voice, carefully asking, "At the club?"
"Yes."
I nod. "Of course I do."
"How much time passed before I ran into you in the coffee shop?" she prods.
"A little over a year."
She hesitates, then says, "Ask me how many of those days in between I thought about you."
I hold my breath, unsure where she's going with this.
"Ask me," she demands.
I find a way to fill my lungs with oxygen, and inquire, "How many days?"
She doesn't hesitate, revealing, "Every single day."
Shock fills me. My heart pounds faster.
"Not a day went by that I didn't think about you, wondering who you were and if I'd ever run into you again."
Still surprised, I stay quiet.
Her voice is laced with vulnerability when she asks, "Did you think about me? "
I don't have to think. I quickly answer, "Yes. Every single day. Multiple times a day."
A soft smile plays on her lips. "Then I guess you don't hate me, and I don't hate you." She releases my face, walks into the bedroom, and looks around.
I stay frozen, trying to process what she confessed.
She unties her belt, shrugs her robe off, and tosses it on the couch. She announces, "I'm tired. I'm going to take a nap." She saunters over to the bedroom door, then turns her head, smirking at me. She asks, "Are you coming?"