Chapter Five #3
Before he’d married Carlotta, he’d had a little black book with the names of trustworthy women in it.
Women with whom he could have a night or two, who wouldn’t go to the press or be indiscreet.
He’d got rid of that book when he married, believing very strongly in his marriage vows, but now he wished he hadn’t.
After all, he wasn’t married to Wren yet, and she’d made it very clear she wasn’t going to sleep with him, so why couldn’t he call someone else?
Find distraction in someone else’s bed, because, God knew, it had been months since that moment with Wren and fucking years before that.
He was tired of sleeping alone. He wanted a woman, it didn’t matter who.
It does matter who.
But he didn’t want it to matter, that was the point. Ridiculous to pretend otherwise, though, when the woman he really wanted—the only woman he’d ever wanted if he was honest with himself—didn’t want him.
Except she did want him, and they both knew that.
Isandro left his office, stepping out of the door in the hall that led to the private garden. He needed some night air to clear his head and being out in the garden always calmed him.
It was beautiful out there at night, especially a summer night when the air was soft and warm, and scented with the night-blooming jasmine that crept up the stone walls.
His mother hadn’t liked overly planned gardens so there was an element of wildness to this one that he particularly liked.
The over-profusion of roses. Lavender bushes everywhere.
A hidden pool by one wall with golden koi swimming lazily in it.
He sat on the stone bench near the pool, resting his head against the stone wall behind him, and gazing up at the stars. There was so much he needed to do. So many decisions to be made, so many fires to put out, and appointments to keep. Yet all his consciousness was taken up by one woman.
Was this how his father had felt when he went to one of his mistresses?
Had he ever thought of his kingdom and the consequences of his actions?
Isandro suspected not, and there was a part of him that was envious of such obliviousness.
The ability not to care about anything or anyone but yourself.
That wasn’t something he could ever do, and he knew that his father had despised him for it.
A ‘prude’, ‘uptight’, ‘dull’, that’s what his father had called him. All because Isandro had principles.
A sound drew him suddenly from his thoughts. The garden door opening and then closing.
He didn’t move. It wouldn’t be a threat, since the guards would have alerted him, so it was likely to be one of the palace staff. Then again, why would one of the staff be in his private garden? No one was permitted to come here but him.
A small figure appeared in the starlight. A woman, with her hair loose down her back and wearing a long white nightgown.
Every muscle in his body tightened and his breath caught.
Wren.
He had no idea why she’d be out here at this time of night, since he’d thought she was fast asleep in her bed. Nevertheless, here she was.
She moved slowly along the path, before stepping onto the soft green grass in the middle of the garden. Stopping, she tipped her head back to look up at the stars, just as he’d been doing mere seconds earlier, her hair turning into a silvery waterfall in the moonlight.
He couldn’t stand it suddenly, this need for her.
This desperation. It had caused them both so much heartache, and had led them into this impossible situation.
He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake with another woman, and he didn’t want to.
But this want in him, the piece of him that was his father, wouldn’t be denied, which meant he had no other option but to confront her about it.
‘What are you doing here, Wren?’ he asked into the silence.
She jerked, looking sharply over to where he was sitting in the darkness by the pool. ‘Isandro?’
‘Who else would it be? No one else is permitted in my garden.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She turned back to the door. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Wait.’ Slowly, he rose from the bench and walked across the grass to where she stood. ‘What are you doing out here?’
She watched him approach, a wary expression on her face. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d get some air.’
‘In my private garden?’
‘I assumed you’d be asleep.’ She folded her arms across her chest in a defensive movement. ‘This garden is the closest.’
He gazed down at her. ‘No, it isn’t, as you well know.’
‘Well, I like this one.’ She met his stare. ‘You gave me permission to come here, remember?’
He did remember. She’d commented once on how peaceful the garden was, and he’d told her she was welcome to spend time there whenever she liked. She’d smiled at him as if he’d offered her the moon.
‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ He studied her face, limned in silver by the starlight. ‘Can’t sleep because of me?’
She glanced away. ‘No.’
He was reaching out before he could stop himself, taking her chin in his hand the way he had on the terrace earlier that evening, and turning her back to face him. Her gaze came to his in surprise. ‘Why don’t you want to share my bed, little bird? And tell me the truth this time.’