Chapter Eleven #2
I tug the diamond monstrosity off her finger and release her hand as I tuck it in my pocket. I pull out the blue velvet box and flip open the lid. Three sapphires wink up at us from a silver band, surrounded by an oval of gleaming seed pearls.
Sophaya’s eyes widen. “Dominic.”
I take her hand again. A small tremble passes through her as I slide the ring onto her finger. Possessiveness ripples through me. I like seeing my ring on her finger. Like the way her body responds to me. The last few days have been jammed with too much for me to think about intimacy.
But I’m thinking about it now.
Neither of us are getting everything we want out of this marriage. It’s a compromise for both of us. But there are things that connect us beyond the baby.
And the thought of another man touching her makes me want to go berserk.
“Where did you get it?”
“A jewelry store in Ardavela.”
Her lips part. “Ardavela?”
“‘A hidden gem set in the valley below the Urkiza Peaks,’” I recite. “And the same town where your perfume is made.” I nod at the ring. “The sapphires are imported from Italy. But the seed pearls were harvested in the Monteloure River.”
“Dominic.” She splays her fingers, stares down at the ring as if she can scarcely believe it’s real. When she looks up at me with shining eyes, I feel like a god. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“There you are.” The queen appears at my side, her chin lifted and her lips pressed into a thin line. “They’re ready for you.” Her gaze drops down to the ring, and she frowns. “What is that?”
Sophaya’s face smooths out into an expressionless mask. “My engagement ring, Mother.”
“But your outfit—”
“Looks elegant, as requested.” Sophaya folds her hands together. “I’m wearing Dominic’s ring.”
Satisfaction curls through me. So does pride as Sophaya stands up to her mother.
The queen looks down at the ring, then suddenly looks at me. Wistfulness flickers in her eyes. “All right.” She hesitates. “It’s a beautiful ring, Sophaya.”
Sophaya’s eyes widen a fraction. “Thank you.” She looks down and tilts the ring so the sunlight glints off the sapphire. “He bought it in Ardavela.”
Her voice is soft, almost shy. When she looks up, there’s an innocent hope in her eyes that makes me want to sit the king and queen down and have a long conversation about all the ways they failed their daughter.
But now is not the time, especially when the queen reaches out and lays a gentle hand on Sophaya’s shoulder.
I don’t know if this is a genuine display of affection or if there’s an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface.
Right now, however, Sophaya is happy, and that’s all that matters in the moment.
The queen leads us down the stairs and across the lawn to the fountain.
The photographers greet us and immediately set about arranging us in various poses.
Most of them are formal, stiff, us standing next to each other, Sophaya just in front of me.
Staff drift in and out of the shots, adjusting her hair, brushing imaginary lint off my lapels, whispering words of encouragement to take a damn photo.
“Posed shots are done!” My relief is short-lived as the photographer smiles. “Could I get a couple candid shots, Your Highnesses?”
Sophaya glances up at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Out of the corners of my eyes, I can see the crowds of people milling around, watching our photoshoot.
Dozens of eyes trained on us. Some are happy for their princess.
Some are excited about a royal wedding. But I see the narrow-eyed gazes, the alertness of others as they watch, analyze.
Just like the early years when I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, could barely move without my parents watching, criticizing, yelling.
Just like that year in foster care when my life was controlled by people who masked abuse as doing good.
Yet another reason why I took on the short-term assignments for Hawke Security, even as we grew and contracted longer jobs for high-profile clients.
Far less attention is paid to a bodyguard who shows up for one night or a few days compared to one consistently at the side of the latest movie star, singer or politician.
“I’m used to blending in, not being the center of attention.”
“We can stop.”
I shake my head slightly. “I made a commitment.”
She tenses in my arms before slowly relaxing. I mentally curse. She doesn’t like this kind of attention either.
I place a hand on her waist and turn her toward me. My fingers brush her stomach, tense for a moment. Her eyes widen as my hand slides down to her hip and I pull her close so I don’t inadvertently give away our secret.
I never once thought about what it would be like to have kids. But as the days pass and reality sinks in, it’s becoming easier to imagine her stomach round, a baby fluttering beneath my hand. And I’ll do anything I can to protect it.
Sophaya gazes up at me. Slowly, her face softens, her lips curving into a knowing smile. I saw the way her hand moved to her stomach when she first told me, how her fingers rested on her belly when I walked into the family room that first day. She feels it, too.
The cameras click.
“That’s perfect, Your Highnesses,” one of the photographers says excitedly. “Keep looking at each other like that.”
Sophaya blinks, like she’s coming out of a dream. We stare at each other, the warmth of our moment gone as we hold onto each other. Her body is pressed against me, her hands looped around my neck.
But her arms are tense, her jaw tight. My body is coiled, my senses on alert as we force ourselves to stand still while the cameras click on.