Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
I F J EMIMA HAD thought she was wholly prepared to be the wife of a Prince of Thalassos—which she had assumed because she had prepared for years for the same role, she was proved completely wrong.
The fact that Prince Adonis was nothing like his brother had become apparent after the public declaration in front of the crown council, making it clear that Jemima was, as his queen-to-be, not just his wife but his political advisor, and his equal partner in all things.
While performative plays and provoking crusty old rich men by bucking tradition were Adonis’s tools, he had proved that he also very much stood by his words.
He hadn’t let her go the entire afternoon, keeping her by his side and busy for hours, knowing her father was dying to take out his volcanic temper on her. By the time Adonis had dismissed her, two armed guards had flanked her wherever she went, having been ordered to never leave her alone. Then there was the relief that her brother was out of her father’s hands literally, for Queen Isadora—with brilliant foresight—had demanded that Jemima send Zayn to a trusted friend’s place in the city for a couple of weeks.
By the same evening, her stuff had been moved to a suite in a different wing, connected to Adonis’s chambers through a small private hallway. The new suite not only denoted a clear upgrade—spacious with high ceilings and large arched windows that overlooked the sapphire waters of the Aegean, but had been done up in cream and light gold walls, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the mythology and rich art history of Thalassos.
She’d learned later, by probing some of the staff and even Queen Isadora who had supplied the information about Jemima’s interests, that the order from Prince Adonis had been to make the space worthy of not just the Thalassan queen, but Jemima Nasar too. As if he were acknowledging that she wasn’t just a placeholder as everyone in her life had always thought her. As if she was an actual person.
So many of her favorite elements had been braided into her new space and every time Jemima walked in, she felt a wellspring of…gratitude and a prickle of shame.
He was giving her everything that came with his word—status, influence, and freedom. Every step she took on the cool marble floors with the gorgeous inlaid patterns of olive branches reminded her that she had thrown the olive branch he had offered her back in his face.
The fact that he had traveled to Monaco the next evening—to take care of his business affairs before the coronation—only made the man and their upcoming wedding even more mythical in her head. All of it felt too good to be true.
Now, as she sat at the vanity table staring at her reflection in a gilded, ornate mirror, readying herself for their first public appearance as a couple, nerves twanged through her as if she had been tuned too tight. Even the gentle breeze from the sea caressing her skin, filling her nostrils with the scent of salt and blooming jasmine, couldn’t calm her restlessness.
And she knew the reason was her appearance. To begin with, at least.
The afternoon sun bathing the suite in a golden hue couldn’t transform her high-necked, shapeless dress in a muddy brown color into anything better. Even her sensible, low-heeled pumps seemed to scream how boring and predictable and dull she had become.
It was as if she’d allowed all the lines her father had drawn around her to become solid walls, boxing her in.
Shooting to her feet, she did a dance kick she’d once been forced to perform as part of some ghastly weight-loss program, and the shoe flew in the direction of the veranda.
The door connecting the hallway between their suites opened just as she raised her other leg.
Dressed impeccably in a hand-tailored dark navy suit, Adonis exuded effortless command and power. Having only seen him in casual clothes so far, Jemima’s breath hitched in her throat.
God, the man looked…magnificent.
Her knees buckled beneath her—forcing her to pull her quivering thigh down, as he casually leaned against the doorframe, biting into an apple. As if he didn’t tempt her entire being into wickedly decadent thoughts just by existing. His lush lips glistened with the juice of the fruit and she so desperately wanted a taste.
“Were you aiming for my door, Princess?”
She shook her head, stupefied into muteness by the twinkle in his eyes.
“I thought maybe after three days, you were missing me and throwing things around to express the displeasure. A great improvement over the placid little smile you show the world, I promise.”
“No, not missing you,” Jemima said, even as she fought the tendril of pleasure that wound around her heart. How was the damned man so perceptive? Did anything she, and the world, assumed about him hold even a whisper of the truth? “But I would like a little notice in the future before you up and leave the country.”
Straightening, he ventured into the vast sitting space, immediately reducing it, sucking all the air out. She huffed through her lips, as if she had been running nonstop, as he continued coming at her.
“Noted,” he said, reaching her. This close, she could see the small cut under his right jaw from the shave and smell that unique woodsy scent of him. God, how did he manage to smell as if he had rolled around in the lush jungles and roaring river rapids of Thalassos? How did he make her want to roll and writhe against him in turn?
“If this king thing fails,” she said, determined to start over, determined to punch through those stupid walls one word and action at a time. She refused to become that cynical creature completely. “You could simply bottle that unique scent you create and sell it for millions. It’s…sure to melt the panties off any woman.”
“Is it melting yours?” the devil shot back at her.
Her core gave a spasm at the silky taunt, not that she would ever admit it. “I thought you weren’t interested in touching me,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the stiff peaks of her nipples. The barest contact of his chest and they were all attention.
“I’m not interested. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to tease and torment you, Jemima. Doesn’t mean I won’t make you melt and writhe and beg for me. After all, I have to feed my monstrous, kingly ego and my wicked reputation.” He snuck his finger under the ruffled collar of her dress, until the tip landed on her fluttering pulse. Distaste speared itself across his lush lips. “Why is it that you hide yourself in these bag-like dresses?”
“I’m not hiding.”
He must have heard the conviction in her voice for he nodded. Though one thick brow raised with lordly majesty, as if to say I’m waiting…elucidate .
“I’m in half-mourning.”
“Not anymore,” he bit out. “You’re my fiancée and I find it insulting that you continue to act as if you’re being led to the sacrificial altar.”
Jemima swallowed at the thin thread of anger in his voice. And beneath it pulsed something more. It was the same shadow that came over his eyes when his father was mentioned. Neither had she missed the fact that he had refused her offer to accompany him during his visits to the King, nor that Queen Isadora actively encouraged him to abstain from visiting his father too often.
Whatever the rift was between them, it hurt this man still. And that in itself was a major puzzle piece to him.
“I did not mean to insult you, Prince Adonis.”
“Then prove it. This is our first public appearance and I refuse to show up with you looking like…that.”
She smacked his arm, pricked by his poking. Which she had a feeling he was doing on purpose. “What is that you would have me do?”
“Open your wardrobe, put on something else.”
She frowned. “My wardrobe only has…”
“Go, Princess. Look inside that antique piece.” His fingers landing on her shoulder and turning her around left her with no choice.
She felt his eyes on every inch of her as she made the trek to the hand-carved wardrobe that she had fawned over ages ago in some wing of the palace. On her shoulder blades, the cinch of her waist, and then lower, on the swells of her bottom.
Heat seared her as if he were tracing a finger over the highs and dips of her flesh.
She opened the antique wardrobe doors with their filigreed handles to find a rack of glittering new outfits. A soft gasp escaped her as she fingered the soft silks and bright colors.
Nothing this man did anymore should surprise her but it did. And she was beginning to think it had to do with her and her low expectations—of him and herself, rather than him.
Over her shoulder, she cast a look at him. “When did you arrange for these?”
“Try one and show me. Hopefully, we’ll get to see more of that smooth, silky honey-gold skin.”
Her core fluttered at the compliment, as if now in tune with his every word and touch. “Is it that important that I should look glamorous next to you?”
“I think it’s important to you too, Jemima, but you don’t want to admit it. Nor do you want to look like you care about it. Intellectual snobbery is also snobbery.”
“I was raised to not make a splash,” she added, her throat tight suddenly. How had he known something she was only now discovering—that she had hidden her true self under layers of camouflage?
“And this is a gentle nudge to remind you that that time is over. If we’re to make a success of this whole stopping the kingdom from burning down into ashes, you need to stop hiding and step up.” Sudden steel entered his tone. “And if your father says or does anything remotely threatening, you will immediately bring it to my notice without hesitation.”
Now, it was tears that clogged her throat.
“I mean it, Jemima. You’re not just his daughter anymore. In fact, it is the most insignificant of your roles now.”
She managed to say yes without letting the sniffle that threatened, out.
“You continue to surprise me,” she said, once her breath was steady again, pulling out a seafoam-green dress in a soft linen blend that was perfect for the sunny day. The rich fabric had a slight sheen to it, elevating it from being too casual for their first outing.
Grabbing the dress and the thin, woven belt in gold that came with it, she ducked behind a hand-painted privacy screen.
His mocking laughter made honey drizzle down her spine as she shrugged off the heavy dress. The lace of her bra felt far too tight against her nipples. It took her two tries to pull the dress over her head, as trembly as she felt.
“Such modesty, Princess? Or is it to hide those melting panties?”
“You wish you knew, Prince,” she retorted, and his laughter deepened.
Her heart thundered with excitement as the dress fell into place, kissing her skin like a whisper of a caress from the man taunting her even now. Without even looking at her reflection, Jemima knew, with the flattering V neckline with a subtle scalloped edge and the tailored bodice highlighting her waist, the dress made the best of her curvy figure. That it had been made for her.
When she stepped out from behind the screen, it was to find Adonis within touching distance. And a pair of elegant gold sandals with intricate straps to wrap around her ankles.
For what felt like eternity, he stared at her, from her hair to her bare feet, and then back up. His eyes gleamed. “You’re beautiful, Princess. You should own it more.”
And when he went to his knees—uncaring of ruining the creases of his trousers or the cut of his jacket, Jemima’s breath whooshed out of her. Her trembling legs would have taken her to the floor if she didn’t lean down and balance herself on his shoulders. His hard thigh muscles clenched under her digging toes.
Every inch of the skin he touched with his nimble fingers sizzled. He made a quick, efficient job of wrapping the gold straps around her ankles.
Something she’d never thought possible released inside of Jemima, breaking all barriers. She pushed her fingers into his thick, stylish waves, giving in to the urge to touch him, to claim some small part of him for herself.
The line of his shoulders stiffened under the jacket, but he said nothing.
“Am I imagining it? Please, Adonis, I need to know.”
His hands moved from her ankles, one to her knee, and one to her thigh, steadying her. “What, Princess?”
She licked her lips, pressing her fingers into his scalp. It was so much easier to ask without those penetrating blue eyes peeling layers off her. “This thing I feel between us, this attraction, do you feel it too? Or am I just projecting my silly fantasies onto you again?”
“I did not realize you had fantasies about me,” he said, pushing back against her hold and meeting her eyes. If she was indulging any ideas that he would simply let her live in delusion land, he told her no with those eyes. Nothing with this man would be easy. Not even her own surrender. “That is the sort of thing you should put in your famous memos for me.”
“Please, can I have the truth for once? Just between you and me.”
Whatever languid humor had been swimming in his eyes seconds ago disappeared in an instant. “And what do I get in return?”
“I’ve already admitted that I’m beyond attracted to you. If your hand sneaks up my thigh any further, you will find the evidence that I’m melting for you.”
For just a second, a feral kind of satisfaction glittered in his eyes, making them sparkle like rare sapphires. In the next second, it was gone. “What is the guarantee that you will believe me if I tell you the truth, Princess?”
With one push and swoop, he was on his feet, his gaze clashing with hers. But he didn’t let go of her, for a second.
His large hands spanned her hips, his thumbs digging into the sharp divot of her waist, as if he meant to leave fingerprints behind. Stamping her with his possession, but refusing to actually claim her.
Frustration gouged through her. “Is it so wrong if I can’t believe in…this? In things being so different from before?”
He didn’t even seem angry at her anymore. Not that he ever was. Instead, she saw the same exhaustion in his eyes that she’d complained of on that first night. “I tire of having to provide proof for everything I say, Princess.”
When he tugged her, she went like a doll. Suddenly, she knew the hurt she had dealt him had been fathoms deep, building on an already festering wound.
“It is a curse I’ve lived with before and I find it extremely…boring,” he said.
She stared at herself in the gilded full-length mirror, her cheeks full of lively color. Her eyes…the black eating out the amber in voracious desire. Even her skin felt different, tingly…as if an electric charge had been fed under it.
Her chest rose on quick breaths as Adonis framed her from behind. Tall and broad, he engulfed her, making her feel like the center of the universe.
The small hairs on her skin stood erect as his fingertips danced over her nape, and his breath coasted over her neck. She stared, fascinated, as his long, dark fingers collared her throat before he clasped a simple, elegant gold necklace with delicate platinum beading and flowers.
Arousal—sharp and sweet—flooded her entire being, and she had to clutch her thighs together for fear of betraying herself.
It’s too late, you fool. You’ve already admitted it , her inner voice said. And he’s not treating it as a weapon, much as you worried that he would.
He bent his head until his chin rested on her shoulder, the rough nap of his cheeks like velvet against her own. His chest against her back was a wall of warmth and hardness. “I think it could be real, this…heat between us. Pity you aren’t that bold girl who could steal life-giving kisses anymore.”
With that, he patted her on her shoulder, told her they were late, and left the chamber with a brisk efficiency she couldn’t emulate.
And Jemima knew, whether she willed it or not, that more of her walls were coming down for this gorgeous man, whose outward beauty was the least interesting thing about him.
Adonis Vasilikos, she was realizing, was capable of feeling with more depth than she’d ever thought possible. More than he would ever allow his mask to betray.
* * *
Adonis looked at the documents on the tablet in his lap, the letters and numbers jumbling in front of him, as usual. Stress only made matters worse and it was all he’d been drinking for more than two weeks now.
At least, the afternoon event at a luncheon auction for a charity that Jemima was on the board of—education for girls from underprivileged backgrounds of course, because his fiancée was a bloody saint—hadn’t involved reading out the shitty draft of a speech someone had written for him, with no attention to his personality or principles.
Meeting the other board members who had been women from all walks of life, giving out awards and announcing scholarships for the new academic year, meeting teenage girls with stars in their eyes—it had been one of the few public outings as the King-to-be that he had thoroughly enjoyed. The afternoon had made him feel like there was a greater purpose to the roller coaster he’d willingly jumped on. Even made his constant doubts that he would not let his father be proved right, worth it.
And he knew most of it was due to the woman he found equally fascinating and frustrating. Fascinating because he had never met anyone so brutally honest with themselves—except himself perhaps, and frustrating because she so easily snuck under his skin.
He hadn’t meant to exact some kind of petty revenge for the distrust she’d shown him. She, and her indirect insults, should fall off like water over rocks, for he had already decided that she meant nothing to him in the grand scheme of things.
And yet he had exacted revenge and thrust his own lance into her—especially when she’d made herself vulnerable to him by admitting to wanting him. She had sounded so adorably baffled by the whole thing even.
He could see too, how much it cost her, how hard she was trying to emerge from the cocoon her father had forcibly wrapped around her.
He didn’t know how to shut off the admiration, for in her case, it led him to feeling and wanting more.
“Thank you for picking the charity gala as our first outing together,” Jemima said, from the opposite seat on the limo. Her fingers clasped in her lap, her face shining with damp sweat, her hair already falling apart from the knot, she looked…good enough to devour. Through the event, she had been in her true element, always ready with a kind word and a helping hand, calling forth a hundred details from that brain at a moment’s notice.
She’d been like a butterfly, flitting from table to table, and all he’d wanted was to catch her for himself.
He could pull her into his lap now, lift that alluring dress, and test for himself what she’d so boldly declared earlier. And then he would plunge his fingers into her waiting sheath and let her see how real and bloody uncommon this kind of pull was.
“No need to thank me, Princess,” he said, burying his fantasy under a bored tone.
“The board members couldn’t believe they got to meet you.” Jemima went on as if he hadn’t sprayed cold water on her enthusiasm. “I think you charmed the pants off Mrs. Skyros, eighty-six years old as she is. Many of them told me it was the thrill of a lifetime to meet you.”
“I didn’t—” Adonis began.
“You did. I checked with both our secretaries and the palace PR team and the media team. They all said it was your choice to make this our first outing. That snooty aide Mr. Kairos even said that he informed you that this charity wasn’t high-profile enough and that you shot them down.”
Damned minx!
“If you want to give me a crown for it, Princess, join the queue.”
A fierce frown pulled her brows together as she scooted forward on her seat, her eyes full of reproach. “I wish you didn’t do that.”
“Do what?” he said, coming to recognize the bloodthirsty glint.
“Make light of what is good about you.” Her words were a soft whisper that nonetheless landed like harsh rocks against his flesh. “Make what you do for others sound like an afterthought or an excuse or a game.”
“If you want relief from the wet panty problem, you could simply ask me, Jemima, and I might oblige. There’s no need to sing my praises.”
Dark pink streaked her high, round cheeks and the tip of her tongue swept over her lip. As if , for just a second, she was actually considering his filthy suggestion. His blood pumped with renewed lust, and something much deeper.
If he wasn’t careful, the perceptive minx would get too close to the pulsing, resentful center of him and then there would be nothing to do but drown her in his pain too. And for some reason, when it came to her and only her, Adonis felt the least destructive he had in his entire life.
“I will admit, the offer is far too tempting.” She gasped, as if the words had come out without her permission. The amber of her eyes glittered with naked want. A sigh lifted her lush breasts. And just like that, she was all seriousness again. “I’m trying to understand you, Prince Adonis.”
“Why?” The question came bursting from the depths of him, for no one had ever tried much less admitted to it.
“How else will I know you? I already made the mistake of thinking you were just your reputation. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Maybe I’m not solely my reputation, but there isn’t much else.”
She settled back into her seat with a nod, but he knew that resolve in her eyes. “This must all feel dreary after…your exciting life.”
“Not sure about excitement but definitely more dangerous,” he said, pulled into the discussion despite his resolve to keep things either polite or sexual between them.
“I’ve always been curious about what pushes you to do all that you do, pitting yourself against nature’s extremes.” When he hesitated, she leaned forward again. “And how is the palace more dangerous than that?”
“Navigating the palace politics is like willingly wading into a lake full of piranhas desperate for a taste of your blood. You know that. While nature, whether jagged mountain cliffs or roaring river rapids, is hard and cruel but not calculating and cunning like people. It doesn’t manipulate you or use you or conspire to harm you. It just stands there, showing neither pity nor mockery when you pit yourself against it. And it doesn’t care whose blood you bear in your veins, or what civilized society considers your flaws. It is constant in its ruthlessness.”
Her eyes wide, she stared at him with an intensity Adonis wasn’t sure he could withstand for too long. And yet, somehow, her curiosity about him was a spark that added fuel to the constant hum of desire in his veins. He wanted to…consume her whole when she looked at him like this. “You’ve never said anything remotely like that in all your interviews.”
“How would you know?”
She colored. “I have watched every bit of media that has ever been released about you. My curiosity about you was a wildfire…even Adamos used to laugh about it.”
A well of longing rose up within Adonis, and not even his brother’s name could curb it. He wanted to tell her the number of times he’d thought of her since their kiss, how he’d been equally fascinated by her. How she had become the ideal woman in his head.
And how, he was realizing, she still could be—a mirage turning into lush curves and keen mind.
But no. He couldn’t give up any more of his secrets to her. While she had wounded him by assuming he was nothing more than his reputation, it had also been a sharp reminder that he couldn’t let anyone close. And definitely not the woman he’d have to live with for the next fifty or so years. He couldn’t bear her disappointment if, no, when he inevitably crushed her hopes or God forbid, hurt her.
“I think you were right—”
“Will you not tell me the reason for the rift between you and the King, Adonis?”
Head jerking up, Adonis stared at her.
She looked half shocked, half startled herself at her daring.
“Do you have a questionnaire from that stuffy aide hidden somewhere, Princess? This is beginning to sound like an interview.”
“Of course not. Like I said—”
This time, he cut her off. “No, Jemima. There is no big hidden secret about our rift. He wanted another perfect son like Adamos. And the last thing I am,” he said, his throat burning as if he were a child again, and all the inadequacy and vulnerability he had felt scratching like thorns again now, “is perfect. By any standard.”
“I want to help with this—”
He laughed and if it was filled with a serrated ache, he didn’t care. “There’s nothing to help me with in this, Jemima. Nothing you can help me see in a new way. But yes, it is a twisted fate that determined that I’m all he and you and Thalassos have now. And if you wish to truly be of use to me, then start working on the things plaguing Thalassos now, instead of worrying that pretty head about my past.”
It was a weight that had become almost unbearable since he returned, this burden of determination and fear, equally driving him. Even reminding himself that only a selfish, power-bloated man like King Aristos could blame an innocent boy for his own mistake, didn’t help rid him of that feeling of unworthiness that was his father’s gift to him.
But damn the whole world if Adonis wouldn’t prove him wrong.