Chapter Ten
EVERYWHERE HE WENT that day, he saw her.
On every TV, on the front of the papers, was news of Astrid.
Visiting the Royal Children’s Hospital, meeting with the prime minister then addressing the Cabinet, attending a school fete and watching as children sang carols in a snow-covered street, lighting a large Christmas tree in the main square of the city and, finally, attending the Christmas Eve church service.
But while Astrid performed her royal duties with perfection and aplomb, Javier was finally ready to do what he’d come to Norvenheim for.
The shares were officially his. Merry Christmas, Javier. There was nothing left to do but throw his victory in his stepmother’s face.
Strangely, though, there was something about having spent time with Astrid that had pulled away at his desire for revenge. He still felt it, on some level, but not like he once had. It no longer seemed to be his driving force. In fact, it felt almost churlish and juvenile.
He arrived at his stepmother’s home, to find a party in full swing, her monied friends singing Christmas songs and drinking elderflower cocktails, Otto holding forth with a group of men just like him and something inside Javier reasserted itself.
He recognised the tradition, though Carlotta had been incredibly skilful at taking his attendance—which she had barely tolerated—and turning it into a role of servitude.
‘Javier, go and get that tray of quiche from the kitchen and hand them around. Javier, those glasses are unsightly, move them. Javier, the snow has stopped, go and make sure the drive is clear for our guests’ cars.’
He usually spent the whole time being ordered around by her, because she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him socialising with her friends. All the while, Otto was fawned over as the golden boy.
Javier’s spine straightened, his shoulders squared, as he strode into the house he’d grown up in with one objective in mind.
The large television was on in the living room and he caught sight of Astrid there, too, her hair braided in a crown around her head, drawing attention to her delicate features and kind eyes.
His gut rolled. Anticipation burst through him with the knowledge he would see her again soon.
Tonight. A few scant hours, once she’d completed her day’s commitments.
And he’d completed his.
‘What are you doing here?’
Carlotta’s voice, though a hushed whisper, cut through his thoughts.
‘I came to see you, Stepmother.’
‘Why?’ She glanced around the room, with that same sense of desperately not wanting him to be seen by her friends. It was laughable, given what he’d achieved, and who he was in the world. He’d put his fortune on any one of these people being thrilled he was there.
‘There’s a conversation we need to have. It won’t take long. Believe me, I’m as eager as you to get this over with.’
‘I doubt that.’ She compressed her lips. ‘Well? Spit it out.’
He arched a thick brow. ‘I think somewhere more private would suit.’
‘That’s unnecessary. You can have nothing to say to me that requires privacy. You’re no one to me.’
And even though he knew that, even though he’d understood it for a long time, the little boy inside of him still shuddered at her overt cruelty. At the fact that the only maternal figure he could remember could treat him with such disdain.
‘I’m not sure that will continue to be true, after this conversation.’
‘Say what you came here to say, Javier.’
His smile was feral, his eyes rapier sharp. ‘As of three days ago, I control the majority of shares in the Diamandi group. The business that should always have been mine finally is.’
It was a moment he’d dreamed of for many years. He’d imagined saying it, throwing those words at her. He’d imagined her shock, but nothing came close to the reality. She went as white as a sheet, lifting her hands to her lips and shaking her head.
‘You are a liar. That’s not possible. I would know.’
It felt good, but again, not as good as he’d hoped.
The truth was, at some point, maybe he’d started to…
care a little less about this. Perhaps acquiring the company had been more about taking what should have been his, what brought him closer to his father, the one person who’d really loved him.
Who’d seen his value and his gift for business, and wanted to reward that.
‘Otto would have known,’ she said, looking across the room and raising her hand in an urgent, beckoning gesture.
Satisfaction did flicker in his gut then, because Otto was both incompetent and uninterested. The proof of that was in how Javier had been able to see through his acquisition. ‘Would he?’
‘You can’t—This can’t—’
He smiled as though he had not a care in the world. ‘I can, and I did. The Diamandi Group is in my hands, as my father always wanted.’
‘Don’t call him that. God, how I hate you. With every bone in my body, I despise you. Why did he do this to me? Why did he bring you here? It’s bad enough you have his last name—’
But Javier had already turned on his heel and was stalking towards the front door.
He’d done what he came to do and now he had something far more pleasurable on his horizon.
Someone he wanted to see more than he cared about revenge.
But he left with the knowledge that his stepmother no longer had the power to hurt him.
He was finally free of her and he didn’t have to be a genius to know why.
Light had a way of blotting out darkness.
When he was with the queen, he felt a kind of light in his soul that he hadn’t even known existed.
* * *
In truth, she was exhausted, but there was no way she was going to cancel her plans and go straight to bed. At least, not her own bed. All day, she’d been thinking of Javier, of the fact she would get to see him that night, so she’d practically floated through the commitments.
As always, the children’s hospital was the highlight, the point of her day where she felt as though she was capable of doing the most. Her presence really meant something to those patients and their families, and it meant something to Astrid to see the way her being there brightened their smiles.
The rest of the day was magical, exhausting and something she paid little attention to. All day, she thought of him. Imagined him. Walking into his building, her stomach stayed in the carpark basement for several reasons, not just because of the speed of the elevator.
‘Your Majesty.’ He was waiting just inside his palatial home when the doors swept open and she walked straight into his arms, dismissing the sense that she was suddenly right where she was meant to be.
That was a fantasy. This whole thing was.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t just enjoy it for now.
‘Javier.’ She looked up into his face and her heart pounded against her ribs.
‘You’ve been busy.’ He pressed a finger to her chin, tilting her face towards his. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘Yes and no,’ she answered truthfully.
‘Everywhere I went today, you were there,’ he said.
For a moment, her heart sped up dangerously fast, thinking she’d been as much in his thoughts as he’d been in hers.
Except this was different. Today, the media had covered her every move and, unless he’d assumed the life of a hermit, he wouldn’t have been able to escape that.
‘It’s a big event.’ She stifled a yawn.
‘Have you eaten?’
She shook her head. The dinner she’d hosted after the evening church service had been as busy as usual. With cameras filming her every move, she hadn’t wanted to risk being filmed masticating a piece of ham. Anja had prepared a small platter for her to nibble on between events, though.
‘Not much,’ she admitted.
He gestured deeper into the apartment and her pulse wobbled, as her eyes ran over the table that he’d set. Tall red candles, festive gold plates, cut crystal glasses and a comport in the middle, filled with sugar plums.
‘Did you do all this?’
He laughed. ‘No. I had someone do it. Does that make it less impressive?’
‘No. It’s so thoughtful.’ She reached up and took his fingers from her chin, lacing her own through them. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Have a seat, querida. I’ll bring you dinner.’
She moved to the table and sat at one of the settings, fingers templed beneath her chin as she watched him remove things from the oven and begin arranging food. The smell was incredible and when he brought the plates across, she saw several national Christmas staples.
She hadn’t been particularly hungry when she’d arrived, but just the smell of the food was making her stomach twist with need.
He returned to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of champagne, which he opened with a muted pop, then brought to the table, filling both of their glasses.
‘Are we celebrating?’ she asked, softly.
‘I suppose we are.’
‘Christmas? Or something else?’
‘I saw my stepmother today,’ he said, voice impossible to read. Almost as though he was waiting for her reaction before showing his.
Only, she didn’t know how she felt. The childhood he’d described had infuriated her.
The thought of Carlotta treating him like an unwanted boy who’d been foisted upon her, when Javier had done nothing wrong, made her want to cut the woman from any royal event in the future.
But at the same time, she hated the thought of Javier seeking revenge.
Mainly because it spoke of a broken heart, or a wound that still festered.
She wished for him, more than anything, that he could simply move on and leave the past in the past. Then again, who was she to talk?
The past, her loss, still controlled so much of her life.
Her choices were guided by the lessons she’d learned that day.
The knowledge that she never again wanted to know the pain of losing someone you loved. The solution? Never love.