Chapter Seven
Wren stood on a small platform in her little sitting room as the dress designer and his assistant began pinning the hem of her wedding gown.
She could see herself in the full-length mirror in front of her, a much taller reflection than she was used to seeing.
The dress was absolutely beautiful, she couldn’t deny it, with layers of silver and white tulle skirts falling around her, and a strapless, fitted bodice hand-embroidered with seed pearls and crystals.
There was also a silvery lace veil that dropped down her back, almost to the floor.
The gown fitted beautifully over her bump, not making it obvious, yet not attempting to hide it either, since there wasn’t any point in doing that now.
After the engagement ball, the press had been a little less vicious. The photo of Isandro kissing her on the terrace was making the rounds, as well as various others of her looking up at him with complete adoration.
She didn’t want to look at those pictures, see how obvious her feelings for him were, while his were a lie. It hurt, as did the continued gossip and cruel comments about how she was just like her mother, stealing a married man, etc., etc. Trapping a king by deliberately getting pregnant.
Reading everything they said about her made her feel consumed by shame, because even though her intentions hadn’t been manipulative or mercenary, she’d still slept with a married man. Taken at face value, she really was just like her mother.
In the end, she decided there was no value in keeping track of what people were saying, so why keep looking?
She wasn’t in PR any more, and had other things to think about anyway, such as the wedding that was being organised at what was very late notice, not to mention meetings with the palace staff to go over what duties were going to be expected of her as queen.
The staff had all been very nice to her, which had been a relief.
She was a familiar face, and none of them had enjoyed Carlotta’s presence, being very loyal to Isandro.
Some disapproved of her after they found out about her pregnancy, but even the ones who did kept their thoughts to themselves at least.
Still, it was difficult to pay attention to anything since that night in Isandro’s garden. He hadn’t followed her after she’d run out on him, though she’d half expected him to. And he hadn’t spoken to her the next day, either, or even the day after that.
In fact, it had been two weeks since that night. He’d made some attempts to talk to her, inviting her to eat with him on a number of occasions, but she’d refused his invitations. Yes, she was avoiding him, which was cowardly of her.
But all she could hear was the sound of her own voice, telling him she wanted everything from their marriage. A ‘real marriage’. And the blank look on his face afterwards, as if he didn’t have the first idea of what she was talking about.
She shouldn’t have said it. She’d thought she’d managed to hide her hurt after he’d made it very clear that this was only about sex, nothing more, but he’d known she was hiding something anyway. And he’d tried to get it out of her.
He’d been frustrated and part of her had enjoyed the fact that she could frustrate him, make him angry, when he was normally so good at controlling his emotions.
The only problem with that was then she got angry in response, and she’d been angry with him then.
Angry at his continual pushing, his continual need to know everything about her, to unravel her like a ball of tangled yarn, and also at him for finally wanting to talk about something they should have talked about right at the beginning: their expectations about what kind of marriage they both wanted.
He had been very clear about his wants. In typical male fashion, sex was what mattered to him the most, while she…
Wren bit her lip. She wanted everything and now he knew that. It wasn’t love, that at least she’d managed to keep back, but still, ‘everything’ covered a lot of ground.
You should tell him what you want. You should tell him the truth.
But what would be the point? Either way she was trapped here with him. She couldn’t exactly tell a king that she wasn’t going to marry him, not when she was carrying his heir.
She smoothed her hand over her bump, a sudden rush of love catching her as she thought about their child. She had no idea what kind of mother she’d make—she’d hardly had the best example to follow, after all—but she knew one thing. She wasn’t going to leave her child. She’d never leave her child.
Brave words for such a coward.
Her jaw tightened. Yes, she was a coward. That’s exactly what she was.
‘Your Majesty?’ the designer said in some surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you to join us.’
Wren whipped around and there he was, strolling over to the little platform she was standing on, his inky blue gaze pinned on her.
A dark, sensual thrill pulsed through her at the sight of him, the memories of that night in the garden flooding through her.
The cool of the grass against her bare skin, the heat of his mouth, the scorching flame of his hands on her and then the fierce wildfire of him inside her…
‘Out,’ he ordered tersely, the designer and his assistant quickly leaving the room and closing the door.
Wren didn’t move, her pulse fluttering madly as he came closer. The platform she stood on meant that she was eye level to him, which she hadn’t experienced before. Normally she was the one looking up. It gave her some much-needed courage.
‘What do you want, Isandro?’ she asked, in what she hoped was a regal tone. ‘It’s bad luck to see the bride—’
‘I don’t care,’ he interrupted. ‘I need to see this particular bride. The bride who’s been avoiding me for the past two weeks.’
Tension crawled through her, though she ignored it. ‘You knew where I was.’
‘Yes.’ He gazed at her, paying no apparent attention to the gown she was wearing. ‘I thought you needed some space.’
‘Well, that was thoughtful of you.’ She swallowed. ‘However, I still need space so—’
‘No.’ He came around to face her, his gaze relentless. ‘We will have this talk, Wren, and we will have it now. Before the wedding.’
‘Why?’ she couldn’t help asking. ‘What’s the point? We’ll be getting married regardless of what talk we have.’
He took a step closer, directly in front of the platform she stood on, and her breath caught.
She could smell his familiar scent, feel the heat of his body.
He was in suit trousers again, dark blue this time, and a black business shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, and she could not stop staring at the exposed hollow of his throat.
‘Don’t be so damn passive,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s not like you.’
She lifted her gaze to his, a spark of anger igniting inside her at the words. ‘What do you expect me to do?’ she shot back. ‘I had no say in any of this and—’
‘I asked you what you wanted two weeks ago,’ he snapped, fire flickering in his eyes. ‘But then you ran away and avoided me for two weeks.’
Her throat closed as hurt gripped her, along with a defensive, bitter anger. ‘I told you what I wanted, Isandro,’ she said.
‘Yes. You said you wanted a real marriage. That you wanted “everything”.’ His midnight gaze searched hers. ‘I want to know what you meant by that.’
There’s no escape. You’ll have to tell him. He won’t stop until you do.
No, he wouldn’t, the bastard. He’d keep pushing and pushing until she broke, and, God, she didn’t want to break.
Passive and breakable. Is that really what you want?
The bright, hot kernel of anger glowed deep inside her.
An anger that had been with her for a long time, that she’d choked down and suffocated, because anger didn’t change anything.
Her mother had left her, and she’d been furious, but she’d ignored it even back then, because she thought that if she was good and behaved, perhaps her mother would want her back.
She’d been furious with her grandparents, too, at their ill-concealed resentment, but again, she’d never let it out.
She’d been afraid that if she did, they’d decide they didn’t want her at all.
But what had being afraid changed for her? What about being good and well behaved and biddable? Nothing, that was what. Absolutely nothing. Her mother had still gone and her grandparents had still been cold and distant, so what was the point?
Now Isandro thought she was passive, and she wasn’t.
She’d never been passive, not right down deep inside, where everything was hot and bright and passionate.
She would have a child because she hadn’t been passive that day in his office, a precious life, a baby she’d never thought was a mistake.
She’d kept that baby, too, when she didn’t have to, and that wasn’t passive either.
That was courage, surely?
Well, perhaps she should be courageous now. It was certainly better than drowning in shame and fear.
Wren lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye.
‘You want to know what I meant? I meant this, Isandro. I’m in love with you.
I’ve been in love with you for years, but I never thought we could ever be together, so I pretended I wasn’t.
Then things changed, and now I’m pregnant with your child and you insisted on marrying me.
’ She found herself taking a step, coming to the very edge of the platform so they were almost nose to nose, his inky gaze inches from hers.
‘So what I want is everything. I want to be your wife in every single way there is. I want your heart and your soul, and I want them for ever. That’s what I want, Isandro. That’s what “everything” means.’
Silence fell, a deep and terrible quiet, but she didn’t move. She wasn’t afraid, she realised with sudden insight. No, for the first time in her life, staring into his eyes and telling him the truth, her truth, she felt fierce and strong and braver than she’d ever been.