Chapter Four #2
“The response to our marriage has been overwhelming,” he said, sounding so businesslike that it only made that curl of shame inside her twist harder.
“I still don’t think a honeymoon is the right idea, as we agreed.
But I do think we should combine appearances and ride this wave of goodwill as long as we can. ”
“Combine appearances?” she echoed.
As if she didn’t know what that phrase meant.
He didn’t comment on that, either. He simply answered the question.
“I think we should tour the island as a married couple. This will allow us to cement ourselves into the public consciousness as a couple, not simply two characters in an archaic legal necessity. And we can let this romantic narrative roll out even further.”
She knew this was no romance, so there was no reason her pulse should pick up. He was only presenting a business proposition.
“My only hesitation is that I don’t know what sort of staying power romantic fantasy is meant to have,” she said.
That was a lie. In that it was not her only hesitation here, by any stretch of the imagination. But she managed to maintain the same businesslike tone he’d used, so it felt like a win.
“In most cases I would agree with you.” Kyriakos eyed her from across the table, the light from the setting sun making him glow.
“But this is different, is it not? Everyone knows that we were forced to marry. I think that we have an opportunity here to tell the people a love story that they will be able to hold on to for the remainder of our reign.”
She stopped pretending to eat at the phrase love story. It seemed to take her a moment, though, to set down her cutlery and gaze across the table at him. “You will have to explain what you mean.”
He also dispensed with his utensils. He was lounging back in his seat, dressed in a manner that Aikaterini knew she ought to consider disreputable.
But the trouble was, though that rumpled air about him and his lack of a tie would have sent the courtiers into paroxysms of scandalized gossip, it suited him.
She might like to tell herself that she couldn’t remember all the details of what had happened between them in that bedchamber, but she did remember this.
She did remember her new, unwelcome understanding of this man’s body.
What it did. What it was for. What it was like to behold him up close and taste him—
But none of this was at all helpful just now.
At all.
“The country mourned your loss with you and considered your sacrifice for your duty an act that elevated you above all other women,” Kyriakos was saying.
“The country also knows that there are immovable ancient laws in place and that ours was a marriage arranged without the faintest regard for our personal preferences or desires. But this presents us with an opportunity.”
She couldn’t seem to speak, and it was as if he understood that at a glance, because he nodded.
“I think that we are at a critical point. If we are seen to do too well together, too quickly, the gossips will kick into gear. They will inevitably claim that our relationship started before your mourning was done. This is the way of such things.”
When she made a soft noise of shock at that, he shook his head. “It is inevitable. But having watched clips of your appearances over the last two weeks, I believe we have another option.”
She didn’t like that she felt as if she was on tenterhooks, and she tried to make herself relax in her chair. “I can’t think what you mean.”
“We give them a love story,” he said, using that phrase again. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if he, this immovable wall of a man, really spent his time thinking about love stories of any kind.
Or maybe it was that she did not wish to think of him starring in said love stories. It made her too—
It was that spiral again, twisting around and around like an arrow aimed straight down into the core of her.
She felt a kind of heavy heat low in her belly, and she felt soft between her legs, and these things felt shameful.
And embarrassing. And like some kind of huge betrayal of the woman she thought she was before their wedding night.
“Are you suggesting that we put on some kind of theatrical performance?” she asked, and it was hard not to let too much ice creep into her tone.
“Because I must inform you that I find my role as Princess to be challenging enough. I’m not certain I have it in me to tread the boards in aid of creating some kind of mass delusion. ”
“No need.” He didn’t laugh, though there was something gleaming in his gaze, then, that made her feel as if he had. It wasn’t an improvement. “No board treading required. I told you already. We have chemistry. We will simply let that play out in front of the cameras.”
She blew out a breath. “I think this is a terrible idea.”
He considered her for a moment. “Why? Surely it can only enhance your connection to your role in your country if you spend more time with its reigning Prince. I would have thought you would jump at that chance.” She found herself frowning at him and that was when he smiled.
Slightly. Still with that gleaming aimed right at her. “For Zaccaria, of course.”
“Of course,” she said.
And that was how, just when she had decided that her routine was the only thing that would get her through this, Aikaterini found herself instead thrown into her new, distracting husband’s company. Constantly.
She and Venediktos had been the very best of friends, they had deeply enjoyed each other, and they had not spent this much time together.
It was a challenge.
And it started early every morning, when Kyriakos insisted that they have breakfast together so that the staff could give them a briefing on the day’s events.
Then it was off to dress for their busy schedules, glance at any remarks they might have to make, and then find themselves in the back of a vehicle together for the duration.
They spent hours upon hours in the back of vehicles, crisscrossing the island, from one event to the next.
Aikaterini learned more about Kyriakos in the weeks that followed—simply by being in his presence day in and day out—than she ever could have by searching for mention of him on the internet.
She learned that he not only had those friends of his, but that he spoke to them, and often. All of them, daily. King Vesuvius of Liandero as well as his highest ranking, noble-blooded minister, Saviero Cimarosa. And sometimes, King Vesuvius’s younger sister Cesca, as well.
“I didn’t realize you were friends with the whole family,” she said once, after listening to a conversation between the stern and occasionally gruff Kyriakos and a very animated Princess Cesca on the other end.
“Cesca likes to be provoking,” was all he said in return. “She thinks it’s cute. It’s not.”
But he always took her calls. He took all of their calls.
Aikaterini spent a lot of time wondering what she’d missed.
All of these intertwining relationships.
The way they laughed with each other. The way they did not seem to be catching up on each other’s lives so much as sharing them.
Sometimes it seemed to her that they called Kyriakos simply to exchange amusing anecdotes and nothing more.
No news. No important announcements. Just…to say hello.
It had her thinking about her life in a different way and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
She had always had one very good friend, that was true.
But the two of them had been isolated. Even in crowded rooms, there had always been a separation between the two of them and everyone else, and they had accepted that.
It was the way it had to be, everyone knew that.
But what if it didn’t have to be that way? she found herself thinking. What if she had accepted it because she’d never known anything different?
Yet that kind of thinking felt like another sort of betrayal. It settled in her uneasily and, worse, made every single thing around her feel precarious.
Then again, that might have had something to do with all of these joint appearances.
It was not until a solid six weeks of these appearances had occurred that she understood what was going on. And why Kyriakos had insisted upon this endless tour of theirs, making themselves available and visible.
Blessing every corner of the island with their newlywed charm, one paper had gushed.
She was in her office in the palace one day in the beginning of November, handling correspondence, when her staff emailed her one of the usual roundups. They were typically an overview of press and other forms of media, tracking how the Princess of Zaccaria was being received on any given day.
But this one was longer. They’d stitched together a whole movie for her to watch, which was unusual. Typically it was a selection of clips and articles.
When she pressed play, Aikaterini felt herself go still.
Because it was a compilation of all of her appearances with Kyriakos over the past six weeks. He had told her repeatedly that no acting was required. That all she had to do was her job, and that would deliver the result they wanted.
She had privately thought that he was more than a little bit mad.
But now she saw that he was nothing of the sort. That when he’d told her that their chemistry would do the heavy lifting, and that they would build a love story from these rote appearances, he had known exactly what he was talking about.
She was used to watching herself on film, but this didn’t feel run-of-the-mill.
It felt as if she was watching someone else play the role that she usually did.
That she was watching other people—and not people who were simply out there dutifully conducting an arranged marriage of pure convenience on the national stage.
Aikaterini watched it twice through. Then again, aware that her heart was pounding at the walls of her chest and her cheeks felt bright and hot.
She couldn’t tell what on earth her breath was doing.