CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
N OT ONCE IN the five months since marrying the heir to the throne of Cavalonia had Rosie come close to considering it a love match. Nor, however, had she realised quite how much she would hate her husband, perhaps for the chief reason that Rosie had never hated anyone before in her entire life. And yet here she was, married to a man she couldn’t stand, walking a constant tightrope of faking affection as necessary for the public, and barely looking at him when they were alone—which was rarely ever. After all, if she hated His Royal Highness Sebastian al Morova with every fibre of her being, then the same could surely be said of his feelings for her.
‘You wished to be informed when His Highness arrived?’ Laurena, Rosie’s most trusted aid and advisor spoke softly into the large and elaborately furnished office Rosie had claimed upon becoming the princess of this small yet wealthy and respected kingdom.
‘He’s here?’ Her voice, usually poised and calm, took on a thicker quality.
‘Yes, ma’am. He arrived ten minutes ago. On the bike.’
Rosie gritted her teeth. There were many things she’d attempted to explain to her husband since their engagement was formalised—after all, a large part of their marriage was based on her supposed ability to reform his ways and turn him into a suitable heir to the throne—but the damned motorbike was apparently non-negotiable. In fact, despite her efforts, most things in Sebastian’s life had turned out to be. He had an infuriating habit of listening as Rosie calmly and thoroughly explained why things were done a certain way, his expression always blank, impossible for her to interpret or understand, then smirking. Just the smallest lift of one side of his mouth, barely a flicker, really, but enough to convey not only his disdain for her and her advice, but also their marriage.
She expelled a rough sigh, her nostrils flaring with a hint of frustration. If he would only listen to her, she knew she could help him be more successful with the people of the country, could help him be welcomed, regardless of his husky American drawl and years of estrangement from the king.
‘He’s on his way to me?’
‘No, ma’am. He’s going to see the king first.’
‘Of course he is.’ She squeezed the fingers of one hand into a fist. Rosie had planned to tell Sebastian about the king’s episode herself. Though there was no love lost between them, informing Sebastian of his grandfather’s health scare seemed to fall into the box of duties a wife might be expected to fulfil. The king would have wanted her to break it to Sebastian.
Not that theirs was a love match either.
Sebastian was tolerated by the king—allowed his unwelcome but necessary return to the country and palace after the unexpected death of the king’s younger child.
While Fabrizio lived, the king had been confident the erstwhile royal would marry and settle down, one day producing the babies necessary to continue their line. Fabrizio, though, had been on a downward spiral for many years, and had wrapped his sports car around a tree in the early hours of the morning after partying all night. Though exiled from Cavalonia, an exception had been made for Sebastian and his mother, Maria—the king’s only surviving child—to attend the funeral, and directly after, Sebastian had struck.
You need an heir: well, now you have one. All it will take for me to walk away from my life in the States and take up my place in Cavalonia is the assurance that my mother will be free to return to this country, that her exile will be permanently revoked.
The king could have accepted then and there. Sebastian held many cards, but the king had understood how badly he wanted to bring his mother home, and so he’d wielded a bargaining chip of his own, demanding that in order for Sebastian to be named Prince of Cavalonia, he would first need to marry a bride of the king’s choosing. He was not going to risk history repeating itself—losing Fabrizio in such a manner had made the king cautious, and even more determined to exercise control. Control he exerted over everyone in his sphere, even Rosie.
But that wasn’t entirely fair. This loveless marriage of convenience had appealed to her too, even as she’d decided that her husband was as unlikable as he was drop-dead gorgeous. The sheer fact she found his personality repellent had assured her the marriage would be a safe haven. No risk of caring for someone like him, no risk of letting his physical charms overwhelm her. No risk of being like one of her father’s mistresses, stupid in lust, discarded when it suited him. No. There was no risk of attachment here: She had married for the kingdom, for the good she could do it, and she’d leave on her terms, when she’d achieved what she wanted, and was confident Sebastian was ready to rule in his own right.
Rosie drew her clear gaze back to Laurena’s face. ‘He knows I asked him to come?’
‘Yes.’
She sighed again, softly this time. ‘Then he’s been informed by someone else.’
‘The palace leaks,’ Laurena confirmed.
‘Even to him?’
‘I suspect especially to him. He is, after all, next in line to rule. There are many who would seek to curry favour with him by proving their loyalty at every turn—particularly when the king’s health is—’ Laurena tapered off, wincing sympathetically. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Rosie had been with the king since the early hours of the morning, when his chief advisor had called to let her know he had required defibrillation to deal with another incidence of arrhythmia. He’d suffered from this for years, but since Fabrizio’s death, he seemed to have lost the ability to fight. Or the will.
Rosie’s blue eyes glittered like the stunning Adriatic Sea just visible in the distance, beyond the thriving capital city. Laurena was, as always, right. ‘Fine,’ Rosie tamped down on her impatience and employed a voice with as much calm authority as she could muster. ‘Please have him come to me as soon as he’s finished.’
‘Of course.’ Laurena dipped her head slightly in a deferential bow as she left the room.
It was an hour later when the heavy oak door to her office pushed inwards. She didn’t turn around to confirm it was Sebastian; she didn’t need to. There wasn’t a single soul on earth besides her husband who would be presumptuous enough to invade her private space without waiting for an invitation. The shock of their first meeting, shortly after the king had implored her to marry Sebastian, had also made her senses hyperaware, and everything about the man had been imprinted on her. She’d been struck by his size—so tall with broad shoulders that had been filled out by his years on the rowing squad of the elite Ivy League college he’d attended on an academic scholarship; he looked like the kind of man that could fell ancient trees with his bare hands. And for all he’d been raised in America, there was no mistaking his Cavalonian heritage: He had a deep caramel tan, black eyes, thick lashes and bore the same cheekbones as the king—high and angular, as if carved by a master craftsman. His obvious physical appeal had set her on edge; she wasn’t prepared to marry a man she was at risk of being attracted to. But then he’d spoken, and he’d been so arrogant and rude, so dismissive of the king, she’d realised there was no risk here, and never would be.
Dislike frothed in her belly, the sensation familiar. She didn’t bother to conceal the enmity from her features as she turned to face him, lifting one slim hand to check her blond hair was still neatly tucked into a low bun. Her stomach clenched, the same dislike churning in a way that made her wonder just how long she could keep this up.
They hadn’t agreed on a time limit for their marriage. For Rosie, she’d been handed, almost literally, the keys to the kingdom. In exchange for marrying Sebastian, she had been granted an enormous amount of latitude to spend time and money working on her key charities and projects. It was everything she’d wanted. But having to pretend to be in a relationship with this man was already starting to wear thin...
‘Wife,’ he said, in that horrible way he had, the way he used the term just to irritate her.
She tried not to rise to the bait, but on this day, of all days, her usual composure deserted her. ‘I’m not in the mood,’ she responded, lifting her fingers to her temple and pressing there lightly. ‘I take it you’ve seen the king?’
Sebastian’s eyes were as dark as the night sky that now draped the kingdom. They gave nothing away when they locked to hers. ‘Yes.’
‘How is he?’
‘As usual.’
‘Oh, good!’ Her enthusiasm and relief were genuine, and so consuming that she missed the way something like displeasure sparked in Sebastian’s eyes. ‘I’m so glad. He was very pale when I left him to nap this afternoon.’
Sebastian’s jaw was naturally square, almost as if chiselled from the marble that formed the cliffs to the east of the country, dropping away down to the ocean in parts. But in this moment, it was particularly geometric, as though he was holding it that way on purpose.
‘He was not pale. In fact, he was rather lucid. Full of interesting ideas. I presume he has already discussed them with you?’ Something curled in Sebastian’s voice, something that might have set off alarm bells if Rosie weren’t so intent on hearing this good news about the king.
‘I presume,’ Sebastian continued, ‘because you and he discuss practically everything. It’s hard to imagine my grandfather coming up with a single idea that you hadn’t planted as a seed in his mind.’
That accusation, though not new, got her attention. ‘That’s doing a disservice to him, me and our relationship.’
Sebastian stood very still, his whole body held as tight as his jaw. He wore a suit, jet black with a snow-white shirt and a stiff collar, and yet, he didn’t look remotely formal. He never looked as though the fabric contained him; not as it was supposed to, anyhow. He was too big for that, his physique kept in shape by a love of the outdoors. She couldn’t open a newspaper without seeing a paparazzi photograph of him sprinting through one of the nature reserves in the capital city, and those same newspapers delighted in commenting on his prowess as an athlete—they surely exaggerated how far he ran each morning.
‘Is it?’
She’d been thinking about his body to the point she’d lost focus on their conversation. Her cheeks felt warm as she forced herself to concentrate.
‘I must admit, I was surprised by his suggestion. You were the one who insisted children would not form part of our marriage.’
The world seemed to grind to a halt. She was conscious of the pulse in her veins, thready and weak, then far too fast and overpowering. She could hear blood washing through the fine capillaries of her ears, like a terrifying drum. ‘Children,’ she repeated, eyes wide, struggling to compute his statement.
‘I clearly remember the paragraph you inserted into our agreement. In terms of the line of succession, no children, but you would divorce me in due course, allowing me to marry someone else and beget however many heirs I desired. Or words to that effect,’ he drawled.
Rosie’s skin paled. It had been a bone of some serious contention with the king. He hadn’t wanted another scandal, another divorce, but Rosie had been adamant. She wasn’t going to risk pregnancy, nor was she going to risk any kind of emotional attachment to her husband. This was a clean and simple arrangement, a practical marriage she had agreed to enter into purely because of how important it was to the king, and how it would benefit the kingdom. She had some boundaries though, and this was one of them. The king had reluctantly agreed, Sebastian hadn’t seemed concerned, and Rosie had taken it as a victory. ‘You’re only twenty-nine—you have plenty of time.’
‘But the king is sick.’
She shook her head, refusing to listen to that argument. ‘He’s getting better.’
‘In fact, he is far worse than I realised. He has been for a long time.’ Something tightened in Sebastian’s features. ‘And even then, he didn’t think to bring my mother home. To bring me home.’
Rosie toyed with her wedding ring. She felt her husband’s anger, and she could even understand it. What she didn’t appreciate was that anger being channelled at her. As if she would call the king’s wayward, exiled daughter and grandson to inform them of his declining health without the express consent of the king!
‘He wants us to have a child.’ Sebastian tamed whatever emotions were running riot inside of him with apparent ease, offering Rosie a look that was rapier sharp. ‘And soon.’
She gasped as panic surged in her body. ‘It’s...it’s not possible.’
Curiosity sparked in Sebastian’s gaze, and then something else, something that surprised her for how human it was: sympathy. His voice even took a gentler tone as he enquired, ‘You can’t conceive?’
Rosie hadn’t expected him to possess anything like a ‘gentle’ tone. She blinked, clearing away the strange feeling his apparent kindness had invoked and tried to concentrate. ‘I don’t mean that. I presume I can.’ That was true. There was no reason to believe what had happened to Juliet Marrone would happen to Rosie, but somehow, Rosie had just always known that they were alike in this way. Her mother’s stroke, so soon after giving birth, had rendered her in a vegetative state that had persisted for Rosie’s entire life. She bit down on her lip. ‘I just—don’t want to. Especially not with you.’
‘Your husband?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean. This isn’t a real marriage—we’re not a real couple.’
‘How true.’
‘How could we possibly have a baby together? We hate one another.’
‘I don’t hate you, Rosalind.’
Her eyes widened. ‘No need to lie to protect my feelings,’ she said with a firm shake of her head. ‘We both know what this marriage is.’
‘I hate that you agreed to this,’ he contradicted, gesturing around the room. ‘I hate that you do whatever the king asks. And I hate that he chose you for me.’
She flinched a little.
‘I am curious as to your feelings, however. Why should you hate me?’
Her stomach churned uncomfortably. It was a question she’d never asked herself and certainly hadn’t expected him to ask. She settled on the first answer she could think of that made sense, and convinced herself that it was right. ‘Because you openly despise the king, a man I love.’
Sebastian’s lips formed a tight line. ‘And unless that changes, you will always hate me?’
‘Of course,’ she spat. ‘So, you see, even if I wanted children—and I really don’t—I know how important it would be to give them a happy home. A loving home. That’s not what we are, and you’ve just said we never will be!’ she added triumphantly.
‘Strangely,’ he drawled, ‘this might be the first time we’re in agreement.’
Relief flooded her as she exhaled. ‘Then we’ll tell him “no”.’
Silence rolled around the room. Her nerves stretched taut. Sebastian drew a hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘Unfortunately, I am also in agreement with the king. The country needs an heir. If he were to die—and he might at any point—I am not considered to be a trusted pair of hands.’
Her mouth felt unnaturally dry. ‘You will be.’
‘In time, yes. But for now, I’m an outsider, courtesy of my grandfather exiling my mother and me twenty-five years ago.’
‘You never miss a chance to blame him for that, do you?’
‘Who else is to blame?’
Rosie kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to go into the ancient history of their family drama.
‘A child, born here, to someone like you, will calm the people and the parliament. It will legitimise my place.’
‘Your place is legitimate. You were born to a princess of Cavalonia...’
‘You and I both know that’s not true. If it were ,’ he continued, moving a step closer, ‘I would not have needed to marry you.’
She flinched a little at the insult inherent in his statement. But he was right. The king had insisted on their marriage because she was already a recognisable and beloved figure in the royal palace, having been accompanying the king for years as his aide, and because the king knew she would work hard to groom Sebastian for the shoes he was expected to fill.
‘I have no interest in forcing you to do something you are set against. Deciding to have children is a deeply personal matter—the decision is yours.’
Her eyes widened at this unexpected show of reason. ‘Then my answer is no.’
‘I understand.’
She couldn’t believe how reasonable he was being! ‘Thank you.’
‘Unfortunately,’ he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘It means I will have to start the ball rolling on our divorce. It’s not ideal—and there’ll be a PR disaster to clean up given the brevity of our marriage—but I’m sure the palace machinery will know how to handle it.’
‘A divorce?’
Her back straightened. Her first thought was of the schools she was midway through developing in the least financially prosperous regions of the country—schools that would herald amazing opportunities for students who might otherwise be condemned to live out their lives in the same straitened circumstances as their parents. Who would complete them if she were not princess? Would the funding be withdrawn? The schools were her pet project; she’d fought for them, tooth and nail. Sending billions of dollars into low-tax areas hadn’t been particularly popular with the parliament, but Rosie had been determined. How quickly would the plans be scuttled if she were not at the helm?
‘We’re not getting divorced.’
For the briefest moment, sympathy softened Sebastian’s autocratic face. ‘We are caught between a rock and a hard place. This has nothing to do with the king’s wishes and everything to do with the sense of his suggestion. It’s abundantly clear an heir is needed. But I have no interest in forcing you to be the mother of my child. So, what do we do, wife?’
‘I just can’t see why this has become such an urgent issue. We discussed all this at the time of formalising our engagement. The contracts—’
‘I did not perceive the urgency of the king’s health,’ Sebastian interrupted, a spark of irritation in his voice. ‘Had I known how ongoing and serious his health matters were, I would have thought more about the question of children.’
‘You think I should have told you?’
Something tightened in his face. ‘I think he should have told me.’
It was yet another nail in the coffin, Rosie thought sadly. Their relationship had suffered so many—could it endure any more betrayals?
‘Your king would like a great-grandchild. Losing my uncle as he did, and now facing his own mortality, naturally he fears his time is coming to an end. This is an issue he wants resolved as a matter of priority.’
She shuddered. The thought of the king’s death was impossible for Rosie to contemplate. Even that morning, when she’d seen him so ashen and weak, she’d been sure he’d recover. He had to. He was King Renee, capable of everything—and at seventy-four, he was far too young to die.
‘He’ll be around for decades,’ she said with false bravado.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue the point. ‘If you don’t wish to have a baby—and of course that’s your prerogative—I’ll need to marry someone who does. You must see that.’
Rosie glanced sideways, towards the window. The city glittered. It was one of her favourite views, the sparkly buildings a mix of old—delightful, ancient homes and churches—combined with the very new and impressive—huge high-rises that seemed to reach right into the sky. Now it brought her no comfort, nor joy. Her heart was sinking, panic making her palms sweat. She thought of her mother, always asleep, unanimated, all because of Rosie’s birth.
‘I can’t,’ she moaned softly, turning back to face him.
‘Then you have a decision to make.’ His voice was emotionless, as though he didn’t care either way. And that, she supposed, was true. ‘Either we deliver my grandfather the heir he desperately wants to see—the heir our country needs—or we end this marriage.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
His eyes locked to hers and the air between them seemed to spark. She ignored it, just as she had the first moment she’d laid eyes on him and was hit with how handsome he was. She drew strength from the anger coursing through her and from the impotence of her position, from the betrayal that the king had discussed this with Sebastian before talking to Rosie. If Renee had come to her with this idea, she could have talked him around, gently guided him away from the necessity of considering a child just yet.
‘This marriage was not my idea,’ he pointed out. Then, after a beat, his eyes shuttered, revealing nothing. ‘But we are married, Rosalind. You are my wife. We said our vows in front of thousands of people, not even half a year ago. It would be my preference to maintain the appearance of this farce. My grandfather’s too.’
‘You discussed the possibility of divorce?’
‘If you were not amenable to falling pregnant, I suggested it might be necessary.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He agreed.’
Rosie sucked in a sharp breath.
‘You’re surprised?’ Sebastian said with a short, harsh laugh. ‘Do you feel betrayed by the old man?’
She hated it when he called the king that; it reeked of disrespect.
‘Need I remind you that he exiled his own daughter ?’
Rosie played with the necklace she wore, a fine platinum chain with a string of diamonds in the centre.
‘For that man, nothing matters more than his will being obeyed, and right now, he wants us to have a baby.’
Rosie’s eyes squeezed shut. ‘I can’t believe it.’
She loved Renee. She had worked for him for five years, worked closely, on a great many projects. She thought it was mutual. She believed he loved her too.
‘Relax, wife,’ Sebastian ground out, and when Rosie opened her eyes, it was to see Sebastian had crossed the room and was standing right in front of her, so close she could see the handful of freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose. They were tiny, not noticeable unless you were up close like this, because his tan all but concealed them. They’d reminded Rosie, the first day she’d noticed them, of stars in the heavens, as if a constellation had been plucked down and scattered across his face. ‘He told me the last thing he wants is for us to separate—the choice, he insisted, was to be yours, and I agree with him.’
She dropped her head forward, a thousand thoughts running through her mind, scattered and chaotic, totally unlike Rosie’s usually clear and precise approach to problem solving. On the one hand, she’d worked for the king for a long time. She could go back to her old job, couldn’t she? Perhaps continue with her pet projects in that capacity?
But no.
If Sebastian were to remarry—and he would do so swiftly, she had no doubt—then the new princess wouldn’t want Rosie hanging around the palace, never mind that their marriage had been strictly business.
Whatever funds she needed for her work would surely be allocated to that princess, and not to her.
She shook her head at the impossible situation she found herself in, and chose, rather than answering, to go on the attack. To push Sebastian to face his own doubts, rather than needling her about her own.
‘You don’t want this, surely?’
‘To have a baby with you?’
She nodded quickly.
‘I want my birthright,’ he responded, each word a staccato pulse, and for one of the first times since knowing him, she felt his regal bloodlines reverberate around the room. No, that wasn’t quite right. Prior to returning home to Cavalonia and negotiating the terms for his exiled mother’s readmission to the royal family, Sebastian had established himself as a king amongst men—in the business world, at least. Far from wasting his life lamenting his expulsion from this country, he’d made his first billion before he was twenty-three years old and had since gone from strength to strength. But this was different. When he spoke now of birthright, she felt it. The justness of his claim on this palace, this life. She felt the importance of his place here, and his duty to this country.
She felt her own duty too.
She loved Cavalonia. She loved the people, the history, the culture; she was immensely patriotic. She’d worked tirelessly for the king, had even walked away from a serious relationship because her fiancé had expected her to stop working, once they were married. She’d sacrificed everything to be where she was. Was she willing, even, to sacrifice her life? And what then of her baby? What of her work? Was there a way she could do this and ensure her child would be cared for, no matter what? Having grown up without the presence of a mother, and with a father who had become increasingly less reliable, she knew she couldn’t bring a child into the world without certain guarantees. But could Prince Sebastian give her those assurances? Would he promise to love their baby enough for two parents?
‘I need to think,’ she said, quietly, not meeting his eyes.
She was surprised when he reached out and touched her chin, his strong, commanding fingers tilting her face towards his, forcing her to face him head-on. His voice, though, was low and soft, as if he understood the magnitude of this decision. Not just for himself, but for Rosie too. ‘Think fast, wife. The king will not wait long for our answer.’