Chapter 2 – Rowan #2
She puffs out a breath and twists a piece of her long, dark hair, glancing out into the room, at all the people around us, before returning to me. “Oh hell. It’s just for tonight, right? Fuck it.”
A laugh bursts from my chest. “I’m good with that. Do you think we can risk more dancing?”
“Sure.” She finishes off her drink in two large gulps. “Let’s dance, Your Highness.”
“Rowan,” I correct as I finish off my drink, take her glass, and set them on a nearby table before I retake her hand. This time it’s a traditional waltz, and I twirl us around in perfect step. She keeps up easily, a sweet smile on her face for the first time all night.
Her head moves around, studying the crowd on the dance floor until she stops on the far side, her head swiveling around so she can continue to watch Sebastian and Bellamy talk quietly with each other, laughing and touching the way they always do.
Their mutual obsession has only gotten stronger now that she’s pregnant with twins.
A frown tugs down her lips. “They look happy,” she notes.
I glance over and smile, especially when Zayer climbs onto Bellamy’s lap and tucks against her, more than a little exhausted at the late hour and the long day. She kisses his chubby cheeks and rubs his back. It makes my heart swell.
“They are happy. Happy to be together. Happy to be a family again. Happy to be alive.”
She returns to me, her brows furrowed. “You mean after what happened with the prime minister?”
“It was brutal,” I admit, a shiver racing up my spine as I think back to that night. “I’ve had some pretty rough moments in my life, but that’s right up there with losing my father.”
I can’t believe I just said that aloud. I don’t know this woman, and I’m saying too much, alcohol loosening my lips.
Her hand touches my cheek, forcing me back to her. “Your family has endured a lot, as have the people of Messalina. I’ll admit, we’re in a bit of turmoil after the attack. Strange how such a beloved prime minister could turn out of nowhere on the king and his fiancée.”
I search her eyes. “People aren’t always who you imagine them to be. What you see isn’t always what you get. A lot of hatred and evil lived in his heart.”
“Particularly toward the king, it seems. It’s just difficult to wrap my head around it.
Samil Batorini always seemed so kind. So fun-loving and full of life with a deep sense of honor for his country, whereas the king was cold and distant.
A beast king. Isn’t that what they called him?
” She licks her lips and looks back over at them.
“In any event, I’m relieved the king and his new bride are well, and that we’re able to celebrate them and this wonderful occasion. ”
The soft chime of a bell tinkles through the clatter and causes the orchestral music, along with our dancing, to come to a halt.
“Your Majesties.” The master of ceremonies bows at Sebastian and Bellamy before addressing the rest of the room.
“Honored guests. Dinner is served. We ask that you kindly join us in the dining room.”
Everyone starts to shuffle their way toward the entrance, but if we go in there, I’ll lose her.
That’ll be it. She’ll sit at whatever table she’s supposed to sit at, and I’ll be at the head table with Sebastian, Bellamy, Althea, and the children.
And while I was looking forward to that earlier this evening, now it feels like the last place I want to be.
Before she can take so much as a step, I lean into her and whisper, “Come upstairs with me.”
A breath catches in her lungs, but she meets my eyes, even as hers are pinched in confusion. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” My knuckles drag along her soft cheek. “I don’t want to go to dinner. I don’t want lobster or chateaubriand or whatever they’re serving. I want you. Come upstairs with me.”
My blood is thrumming through my veins nearly to the point of pain as I watch her deliberate my offer. I’m desperate for her to say yes. Desperate in a way I’m not sure I’ve been where a woman is concerned.
It’s insane. I know this. It makes no sense, and I can’t make heads or tails of it. I just met her, and I don’t know anything about her. Not her last name or even which part of my country she comes from, or who she came with, since she seems so different from everyone here.
She doesn’t seem interested in me beyond tonight, and that should be a red flag, because everyone wants to fuck and marry a prince, even if they don’t give two shits about who I actually am beyond that.
Months ago, when I came home to Messalina and watched Sebastian fall in love, I quickly realized fucking my way from one woman to the next had lost its appeal.
Then there’s the not-so-small issue that I’m expected to be the next to marry.
That’s how this works in our world. In our country.
Especially now that the curse has been broken.
It’s why every woman was hot on my heels all night.
So I shouldn’t be doing this.
But I fucking want her.
When she still hasn’t given me an answer, my hand slips up along her cheek, and I adjust her face until I have her the way I want her.
Without warning or even giving a shit about who sees this and who doesn’t, I lean in and press my lips to hers.
I rest them there, waiting for her to push me away.
And when she doesn’t, when her large, dark eyes are bold and wide and locked on mine, I repeat myself for a third time.
“Come upstairs with me, Ella.”