Chapter Four
Wren stood in front of the full-length mirror in her rooms and gazed critically at her reflection.
The gown the designer had made for her was the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned in her life.
It was made of silvery blue silk, draped and swathed around her, leaving one shoulder bare while cupping her breasts to perfection, and the fall of the silk over her stomach discreetly hid her little bump.
She’d attended a lot of balls and events while working for the Valdoran royal family, and usually wore gowns on loan from various designers, but she’d never had anything that had been made specifically for her.
She’d have truly loved it, if the gown had been for one of those events, and not for her engagement ball with the King.
The by now familiar ball of ice sat in her stomach, an anxiety that she couldn’t get rid of.
For the past couple of weeks while she’d been confined to the palace, she’d taken to sitting in the small library near her own rooms, compulsively checking news and gossip websites.
Isandro had sent out the press release a couple of days after their breakfast together and, as predicted, the media, both in Valdora and internationally, were having a field day.
The press release had placed Isandro squarely in the line of fire with trumpeting headlines calling him ‘The King of Sin’.
He’d taken the blame for it, but she hated how it sounded as if she was merely a simple fool seduced and dazzled by the man she was working for.
There were comments about power imbalances and privilege, and her own naivety.
As if she’d had no say and no choice, when it had been the opposite.
And if the media didn’t treat her like a child, then they bandied her mother’s name about—because, of course, her background was now in the media, too—and slut-shamed her.
Making comments about how she was sleeping her way to the top, just like her mother.
She knew she shouldn’t read any of the articles and especially not look at the comments, but it was automatic for her. She wanted to know what was being said so she could figure out how to respond.
The palace, however, wasn’t answering questions, and she did wonder at the wisdom of that, since it was hardly controlling the narrative. Then again, Isandro had always believed that it was better to deprive a fire of oxygen and let it burn out on its own.
Since that awful, tense breakfast, he’d kept his distance, and she’d done the same. He’d frightened her that day, first when fury had sparked in his eyes after she’d told him that their marriage wouldn’t be a physical one, and then when he’d suddenly done a complete about-face, and accepted it.
She wasn’t frightened that he’d force her into something she didn’t want to do, because he’d never been that kind of man. She was frightened he’d call her bluff and that she wouldn’t be strong enough emotionally to stop him.
The bare fact was that she did want him. She wanted him fiercely. But she couldn’t confess to him the real truth, that a physical relationship only would tear her apart, because she couldn’t bear the thought of him telling her that he didn’t feel the same. And that frightened her, too.
She hadn’t been loved before. Her mother had cared more about her father, leaving Wren behind so she could be with him, because he hadn’t wanted her.
And her grandparents had been nothing but impatient with her.
They hadn’t been loving people, and had made no secret of the fact that they’d resented having to look after her.
Living with them had been a cold and lonely existence, especially when she’d entered her teenage years.
They’d told her that she had her mother’s weaknesses, and so it was imperative that she obey all their rules or else she’d ruin herself as her mother had.
The seed of doubt they’d planted had carried her through university and into adulthood, and by now it was second nature to stick to the rules.
To make sure she never put a foot out of line.
Which made it ironic that she’d ended up having to be Isandro’s fixer for his wife’s indiscretions.
She’d always hoped that one day she’d find someone, though. Someone who loved her as much as she loved him, and that they’d raise a family together. She just hadn’t thought that the man she wanted to do that with would be married and the king of an entire country.
So no, she couldn’t tell him what she felt for him.
Her heart wouldn’t be able to bear the rejection if he refused her, so all she could say to him was that she didn’t want him.
He, of course, took that as a challenge, as she’d known he would.
He didn’t like being refused, and also, he could tell when she was lying.
Using her body as a weapon felt wrong, but she had no other power, except for the fact that she was carrying his child, and she’d never use their baby as a weapon or a bargaining chip, she just wouldn’t.
He’d insisted that they pretend to be a loving couple, and she hadn’t argued with him about that. It was the best way to garner public sympathy. But she knew he’d use that to get to her, to remind her of their intense physical chemistry in an effort to undermine her ‘no sex’ rule.
She couldn’t blame him. Carlotta had held him at arm’s length for years and that had been torture for him.
That’s why you ended up on his desk, remember? So do you really want to do the same thing Carlotta did, and push him into someone else’s arms?
Pain twisted inside her. She didn’t think he’d do that, but then again, who knew? How far could you push a man like Isandro?
She had no answer to that. All she could do was try her best to put some boundaries around herself and her heart, and try not to crack under the pressure as Carlotta had.
The maid who was helping her dress laid a collar of pale, icy blue diamonds around her neck.
It was another family heirloom of Isandro’s that he’d insisted she wear tonight, and matched the engagement ring that he’d also insisted she wear.
The collar felt cold and sharp against her skin, but Wren had to admit that she looked the part.
Especially when the maid then placed a tiara on her carefully arranged pale curls, with yet more diamonds glittering.
She would be like the diamond, she thought, staring at the pale, sparkling woman in the mirror. Pretty and glittery on the outside, while remaining cold and hard inside. Untouchable and unbreakable. The perfect queen-to-be.
The maid helped her with the finishing touches, and then it was time to go.
A guard arrived to escort her from her rooms to the little antechamber near the ballroom where she’d meet Isandro.
He wanted them to enter the ballroom together, and she hadn’t protested.
It was what a normally engaged royal couple would do, after all.
Isandro was already in the antechamber when she arrived, standing with his hands behind his back, staring down at the unlit hearth with grave intensity.
He looked up as she entered, and the minute his gaze met hers, something leapt in his dark blue eyes. Something hot and fierce, and something equally hot and equally fierce inside her responded.
It might have been at least a couple of weeks since he saw you, but he still wants you.
She took a sharp breath, realising all of a sudden that a small kernel of doubt had stuck inside her. He’d been keeping his distance and some part of her had wondered if it meant that he didn’t want her any more. If his desire had changed.
But it hadn’t, that seemed clear. She shouldn’t feel so relieved about it, since she wasn’t going to do anything about it anyway, yet still.
‘Wren,’ he said, an almost caressing note in his deep voice. ‘You look…beautiful.’
The appreciation was there in his eyes, too, and her cheeks heated. She was going to have to be careful about her own responses, she knew that already, especially when he looked like…that.
He was in formal black evening wear, and, since he hated ostentatiousness in any form, he wasn’t wearing a crown. He only did so for ceremonial occasions anyway. Tonight, the only sign of his position was the small gold de Monteveras crest.
It suited him, though, this lack of sparkle. He didn’t need it, not when his eyes glittered like dark sapphires and the lines of his face were so precise and pure. He was the jewel in his own crown, and he looked it.
Helplessly, her mouth dried at the sight of him, and her skin tightened, and she wondered, with a certain despair, if she wasn’t setting herself up for failure by determinedly acting the part of his loving fiancée.
It was going to be so difficult to be close to him, to act as though she was in love with him, when none of it would be an act, not for her. It would all be real.
So why not take what you can? Enjoy it while it lasts?
Perhaps she should. God knew that hiding her feelings for the past few years had been awful. Pretending that she felt nothing for him, that she didn’t want him with her every breath, that all he was to her was her boss…
She didn’t have to do that tonight, did she? Tonight, in public, she could finally allow the truth of her feelings to come out in front of everyone. They’d all believe it, but him? He’d think it was an act, and she was, after all, so very good at acting.
It was pathetic, but a thrill of anticipation went through her. Yes, why not embrace her feelings for him tonight? Why not fully live the part? Especially when he’d never guess the actual truth.
The dread inside her relaxed at the thought, and she gave him a formal curtsy, as befitting his station, watching him from beneath her lashes as she did so. His expression tightened. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ he said roughly. ‘As you’ve pointed out many times, I’m not your king.’
‘I know,’ she said calmly, straightening again. ‘But you’re not my boss any longer, are you?’
The blue of his eyes darkened. ‘Wren.’