Chapter Five #3
‘I don’t rely on anyone,’ he corrected, so quickly she knew it was a sore point. ‘But he makes my life run more smoothly.’
She tilted her head to the side, contemplating that. ‘You don’t want to rely on him.’
His eyes held hers for a long time, glittering with the strength of his will. It was a will she understood. ‘I prefer to know I am, and have, everything I need. A fully-stocked kitchen is nice, but I could survive without it.’
She made a noise of agreement.
‘I suspect you are similarly siloed, in your world, Your Majesty.’
She’d never thought of it like that, but she supposed in many ways she was a silo. A totem pole or monument to the expectations of others, solitary but not independent. Not like Javier. When he spoke of his life, she got a sense of his freedom, his ability to be wherever and whomever he wanted.
‘Why do you say that?’ she prevaricated, rather than admit how accurate his observation was.
His mocking smile though showed he understood. ‘You are lonely.’
‘I’m alone, that’s not the same thing.’
He nodded once. ‘Quite true. You like being alone?’
She opened her mouth to agree but out of nowhere, that memory of cooking with her mother came back to her, only this time, she remembered her brother and father behind them, at the kitchen counter, playing chess.
They’d all been obsessed with the game and took turns trying to beat the queen, who was the far superior player.
Astrid’s mother never went easy on any of them.
You’ll never learn if you don’t try your hardest.
Astrid hadn’t played since the accident.
But she hadn’t been lonely then. She’d been surrounded by family and love, happiness and hearth. Her eyes stung and she blinked quickly.
‘It’s my life,’ she said, then glanced around the beautiful art-gallery-esque room quickly. ‘How come there’s no Christmas tree, Javier?’ Would she ever get over how delicious his name felt in her mouth?
‘I won’t be here for Christmas.’
‘But you’re here now.’
‘Not for long.’
‘You can’t wait to leave?’
‘I’m more tempted to stay than I was.’
Her heart tripped but she tamped down on it. She denied even the possibility of his staying, particularly because of what had happened between them. ‘Where will you spend Christmas?’
‘I haven’t thought about it.’
She pulled a face. Even after losing her family, Christmas was the one time of year when she felt—anything. A connection to history, culture, tradition. A sense that she was a necessary part of the fabric of this country.
‘That offends you.’
She laughed softly, then belatedly recalled the paella he’d made.
She lifted her fork and scooped some rice, taking a moment to taste it, aware of his eyes on her the whole time.
He was not an insecure man and he didn’t need her praise.
While it might have been the convention, it was purely driven by honesty that she said, ‘This is so delicious.’
He dipped his head in silent recognition of that.
‘I suppose Christmas is such a meaningful time of year for me, I find it hard to believe anyone else doesn’t feel the same. In fact, the whole country sort of stops for the next two weeks. It is beautiful and moving. A time of true unity.’
‘I remember.’
‘You must have some traditions you follow. You grew up here, after all.’
His expression shifted ever so slightly, yet she was somehow minutely attuned to him and noticed. The tightening of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes, the way his fingers seemed to grip the fork a little tighter.
‘None that I wish to remember,’ he replied.
She thought about that as she had a little more paella. ‘You weren’t happy here.’
His eyes roamed her face. ‘No, Astrid. I wasn’t.’
She couldn’t say why, but she had a sense that it meant a lot for him to have confided that to her. ‘Why not?’
A muscle jerked at the base of his jaw. Her eyes fell to it, then scraped across to his lips, heat flushing her as she remembered the way they’d felt when they’d tasted her sex.
Her insides twisted sharply and she stifled a gasp.
She’d never really been curious about sex before.
She’d thought of it as a part of marriage, as something she’d do to procure an heir.
She’d never imagined she might have the opportunity to explore this side of herself beforehand.
For one night only.
Something dangerous slipped through her.
Temptation.
A desire for more.
More than one night of Javier. She twisted the fork between her fingertips, rejecting that, knowing it was a risk she couldn’t take. Logistically, but also, emotionally.
She wouldn’t let herself want, wouldn’t need. Wouldn’t risk the flipside of that, having known the kind of loss she had.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, reaching out and putting a hand on his, ignoring the sparks that flooded through her. Ignoring everything except the fact she needed to leave. ‘We don’t have to do the whole heart-to-heart thing. I was just making conversation.’
Heart to heart was a misnomer, anyway. She was pretty sure they were two people who adamantly kept that organ well and truly locked away and always would.