Chapter Three #3
‘So,’ he went on, taking control of the conversation once more, ‘I will definitely ask you to play the part of a loving fiancée. Ours might not be a love story in private, but it will have to look like one to the general public.’ He paused. ‘A helpless love, unable to be denied.’
Again, that flicker. Did she find the thought of pretending to be hopelessly in love with him uncomfortable? ‘You don’t like that?’ he asked, watching her face. ‘It’ll be the best way to garner at least a little sympathy.’
Her expression smoothed, becoming the professional mask she so often wore when she was talking to the public. ‘Of course,’ she said coolly. ‘That won’t be a problem.’
It wouldn’t be, not for her. She was used to projecting a certain image, and he had no doubt she’d do the same here.
The thought should have pleased him, but it didn’t.
It was a lie and he hated the thought of lying to his people.
But Carlotta had ensured that he’d done nothing but lie to them for years, so what was the issue with one more?
And it was a lie. He didn’t love Wren. He was sexually obsessed with her, but that wasn’t the same as love—or at least that’s what he surmised.
He’d never loved anyone, not his uninterested parents, not the endless parade of nannies, not any one of his numerous tutors.
It didn’t bother him. Love seemed overrated at the best of times.
Wren’s expression, or, rather, her lack of expression, needled at him for reasons he couldn’t articulate. He should be satisfied now that some things had been decided, but he wasn’t.
‘Good,’ he said crisply, ignoring the feeling.
‘You will, of course, need to look the part, so I will have a designer make you a suitable gown, plus bring up some jewellery from the royal vault.’ He glanced at her hand still clutching her juice glass and was needled still further.
‘You’re not wearing your engagement ring. ’
Another strange expression crossed her face, but then that too vanished. ‘Oh,’ she said, glancing down at her own hand. ‘I must have forgotten.’
She wouldn’t have forgotten, he was sure.
No, she’d left it off intentionally. Perhaps it had been a mistake to force Carlotta’s ring on her, or perhaps in bad taste.
But the ring was an heirloom and historically graced the finger of all Valdoran queens, and for her not to wear it would be remarked upon.
‘I expect you to wear it every day.’ He was probably being unnecessarily insistent, but still, it was important.
She let go of the glass and dropped both hands into her lap, giving him a cool look. ‘Please, don’t tell me what I already know.’
The tension in the air thickened and he was very tempted to see how long she could hold his gaze before looking away. Except that wouldn’t make things any easier between them, so all he said was, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve organised a doctor’s check-up for you and the baby.’
Wren raised a pale brow. ‘And if I do mind?’
‘You’d really object to a health check-up for your child?’
‘Not at all. But perhaps you could consult with me in future about my appointments, since of course I’ll be the one who needs to be present during them.’
Her measured tone slid under his skin no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, ratcheting up the tension inside him. Damn her. Why was he letting her get to him like this? She never had before.
You never screwed her before.
He shifted in his seat, glancing at her still empty plate and frowning. ‘Eat, Wren.’
‘Thank you, but I’m not hungry.’
‘You can be as angry with me as you like, but don’t take it out on the baby.’
Instantly her grey gaze froze into hard chips of arctic ice, and she looked as if she was going to say something. Then, clearly thinking better of it, she reached for a piece of toast and put it on her plate, beginning to butter it.
Another thick silence fell, and she made no attempt to break it, buttering her toast with single-minded determination.
Isandro found himself gripping his espresso cup with slightly more force than necessary. ‘So, did you have any more questions you need to ask?’
Finally she put down her knife, picked up the piece of toast and sank her small white teeth into it before chewing thoughtfully.
It was difficult, he realised, watching her like this and not knowing what she was thinking.
She’d always told him before, always been open with her thoughts and her emotions, but not now.
Her face betrayed nothing, and he could feel the distance opening up between them.
It was as if she were miles and miles away instead of only sitting across the table from him.
‘So, I suppose I have to live here now?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Or is it possible for me to go back to my apartment until the marriage?’
He frowned at her, surprised she’d even ask. ‘Is that a serious question?’
She took another bite of her toast, then chewed and swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Of course you can’t go back to your apartment. Did you really expect that you would?’
That stubborn determination of hers glittered in her gaze. ‘I wanted to see just how autocratic you were going to be, and very seems to be the answer.’
Oh, so she’d decided to push him, had she? Another game he was very good at playing. ‘I am the King,’ he reminded her.
‘So this is a royal decree?’
‘If you’d like it to be, certainly.’
Her jaw tightened, a sure sign that she was losing the battle with her expressionless armour. Good. Maybe he’d push even harder since apparently she had no qualms in doing so. ‘I’d like to go back there to choose some—’
‘No,’ he interrupted, feeling a kind of bitter satisfaction in doing so.
‘You will not go out in public until our engagement ball. It’s for your protection.
I’ll organise for your things to be brought to the Queen’s wing.
’ He watched her face, wanting her to protest, to tell him that she wasn’t going to do that, give him something to push against.
‘I won’t be living in the Queen’s wing,’ she said, and he could hear the will in her voice again. ‘I’ll be in my usual rooms.’
‘That’s not—’
‘I’m not the Queen yet,’ she cut him off crisply. ‘Therefore it’s inappropriate for me to be living there.’
He took a breath and tried for a more conciliatory tone. ‘Wren. Don’t make this even more difficult than it already is. There’s no need for it.’
‘Too late,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ve already made this far more difficult than it needs to be.
I’m just following your cue.’ Then before he could say anything else, she rose to her feet in a smooth movement.
‘Thank you for breakfast, sir.’ She gave him an ironic little curtsy, then left him sitting at the table, even more furious with himself than he had been.