CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘W HEN EXACTLY ARE you two planning to do the test, Rene? Because we want to make sure we’re still ahead of the story if Miss Taylor turns out to be carrying your heir.’
Rene frowned at the computer screen, and the pragmatic look on his PR manager’s face on Teams. He’d known Jack Kendall since college, so they didn’t tend to stand on ceremony. But right now, he wished the guy wasn’t quite so damn blunt.
Rene shrugged. ‘I guess we can do it tomorrow morning,’ he offered, ‘without risking a false negative result.’
He’d been prevaricating for days now. Because he knew, whatever the result, once they had done the test, their time in Mermaid Cay would be over. They couldn’t stay here indefinitely, however much he might want to.
But he’d also been holding off because Melody hadn’t pushed. And somehow that bothered him more.
He’d set the parameters he’d needed to set a week ago and she’d seemed happy with that. But as each day passed—while they spent the hours snorkelling, swimming, taking lazy lunches by the pool and sitting out each night on the terrace to devour another of Jevon’s meals in between bouts of devouring each other—he could sense how dependent he was becoming on having her not just in his bed but also in his life.
Her forthright, open nature and her sharp wit had made it impossible for him to fob her off with the irresponsible playboy persona he had cultivated over the years for everyone else, even with Jack on occasion. She took him and his work seriously. And had figured out exactly how much he wanted his country to succeed, and that he cared deeply about his subjects and his responsibilities. She’d even taken to giving him advice on how to handle the official duties he had always considered himself so unsuitable for, thanks to his father’s bullying. In fact, her emotional intelligence and her astute understanding of the pressures and duty of monarchy had finally made him realise why Isabelle had hired her in the first place.
Like an arrogant, entitled ass he’d always assumed the Androvian Queen had simply wanted a companion, and had generously given her best friend the job. But he understood now, Melody had always had the sort of skills which would make her a major asset to Isabelle and her monarchy. And also, he thought now, as a consort to Saltzaland’s ruling Prince.
Of course, they hadn’t spoken about the possibility of marriage—because Melody seemed convinced that she wasn’t pregnant. The problem was, he was becoming certain, after spending the last week with her, that he would want to marry her now even if she wasn’t carrying his child.
He’d spent so much of his life hiding all his flaws and weaknesses, and the ugly truth about his relationship with his father, behind a mask of cynicism and indifference. But he hadn’t realised how lonely his life had been until this week. Until he had someone who understood him, who could see all those flaws and weaknesses, who knew about the darkness in his past and still had faith in his abilities.
But how the hell did he tell Mel he wanted to marry her, without exposing himself more? Or worse, exploiting the soft light he saw in her eyes now every time she looked at him? He knew enough about Mel—her strength of character, her courage and empathy—to know she would want him to love her before she would agree to marry him, whether she was pregnant or not.
But to him, love had always been just a word that people used to compel obedience or to expose vulnerabilities—after all, hadn’t his father pretended to love him while ‘disciplining’ him so harshly for every minor infraction?
He admired Melody, he enjoyed her company—she excited him and challenged him and delighted him, in bed as well as out—and he wanted to be able to protect her, but he could never love her. Not the way she probably wanted to be loved—fully and without compromise.
He was already in too deep to pull out. Enough that marriage seemed like a good compromise when it never would have before. But how did he get her to let go of all her romantic dreams without destroying her spirit and her confidence, the way he had several times before?
‘That’s great. Get in touch with the result as soon as you have it.’ Jack perked up. ‘Let me know how you want to proceed, then we can figure out how best to spin the result either way,’ he continued, making Rene’s head start to hurt. Jack had always been a shark when it came to creating narratives that would ensure Rene’s screw-ups—and his steadfast refusal to engage with the press—didn’t rebound on Saltzaland. That was why he’d hired the guy when they’d both graduated. But he was beginning to see the drawback with Jack’s methods now, because he was talking about Melody like a commodity instead of a person, the cold calculation in his expression repulsive.
‘The engagement announcement was a stroke of genius, by the way,’ Jack added. ‘You were right about that, and I was wrong. It’s worked a treat to switch the public perception of those photos from sleazy to romantic,’ he continued, his crude reasoning threatening Rene’s gag reflex.
The engagement announcement had been made on the spur of the moment to protect Melody from the fallout from those photos—and because he’d felt hideously guilty about the events of that first night when he had finally remembered all the details.
It had never been intended as a ploy, though, to push a favourable narrative for the Saltzaland monarchy.
‘All the press can talk about now is your whirlwind snowbound romance, and where the hell you are. FYI, looks like the press may have guessed you’re in the Caribbean, so probably best to clear out of the love shack in the next couple of days and return to Europe.’
Rene tensed. ‘Jack, I’m not enjoying the sarcasm,’ he said stiffly.
Jack simply laughed, not used to Rene taking exception to his caustic comments about his personal life. Probably because Rene had never taken his personal life that seriously either until now.
‘The point is, we don’t want an accidental pregnancy messing with the “true lurve” narrative,’ Jack said, doing sarcastic air quotes. ‘So, if you did hit the jackpot we should probably hold off on the news until we’ve set a wedding date. And got lots of shots of you two looking cute together. We don’t want the press thinking this is a shotgun wedding, ’cos that would be bad.’
Rene’s temper kicked in. What the hell? Did Jack think he intended to turn his own marriage into a publicity stunt?
‘Whatever,’ he snarled, needing to end the conversation before he lost what was left of his cool with the guy. ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow,’ he said and clicked the ‘leave meeting’ button.
The only thing he’d be telling Jack tomorrow was that he was fired.
He’d give the man a generous severance package and good references, because they’d been friends for a long time. And Jack had been a useful buffer back in the bad old days, when Rene had been drinking to excess and trying to fill the empty spaces inside him with meaningless sex. Jack had been a necessary evil who had once stopped him from having to deal with the consequences of his own dumb decisions—but he was a part of his past now.
The Playboy Prince had been dead for four years—and Melody had shown him he did not need to hide his ambitions for his monarchy behind that facade a moment longer.
Shutting the laptop with a snap, he took several deep breaths to calm his temper. The morning sunlight glimmered on the translucent blue and the thought of Melody—waiting for him in the master bedroom—helped to untangle the knots in his gut.
He’d left her fast asleep, her pert bottom peeking out from under the sheet. Because he’d exhausted her during the night. Again .
Thank God, he hadn’t woken her when the nightmares—which had begun to chase him again after their heart-to-heart a week ago—had jerked him awake just before dawn, the sweat cooling on his body and making him feel clammy and unclean.
He tugged open the desk drawer and lifted out the box one of his assistants had handed him before he’d left Saltzaland. It felt heavy in his palm, which was ridiculous because it couldn’t weigh more than a few ounces.
They should probably do the test tomorrow, so he could start getting Melody on board with what needed to happen next. He had always known that eventually he would have to take a wife. But there had never been anyone he’d considered right for the role, until now. Melody was perfect in so many ways. Not only was she a modern working woman who understood the business of monarchy, she was also smart and beautiful and he found her endlessly fascinating and exciting. So there was no chance of him getting bored.
But, despite the pragmatic assessment, regret pushed against his chest. Because, for once in his life, he had no desire to return to the real world.
He wanted one more day, so he could see the fierce joy in her eyes one more time before he told her the whole truth: that he couldn’t offer her the happy ever after he suspected she wanted—but that they would make a strong team, if he could pry her away from Isabelle.
As he went to place the box back into the drawer, a throat cleared behind him.
He swung around to find Melody standing in the study doorway, her hair damp from a shower, her delicious curves covered by the silk kimono he’d tugged off her in the past week more times than he could count.
Disappointment engulfed him, his plan to wake her up—by caressing her in all the places he knew would make her beg—ruined.
‘You’re awake?’ he said inanely, but then he noticed the strange look in her eyes—part sadness, part confusion—and his disappointment became sharp and jagged.
How much had she overheard? Because he didn’t want Jack’s callous assessment of their situation freaking her out.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I just… I wondered where you were,’ she said.
Relief rushed through him, even though she still seemed wary and unsure. She couldn’t have overheard his conversation with Jack, or she would have had words with him about it. One thing Melody never did was back down from an argument. Or shy away from tough conversations, unlike him.
‘Sorry,’ she said, her face flushing with colour. ‘That sounded clingy.’
Huh?
He frowned, unsettled by the defensive tone. Since when had Mel ever considered herself less than his equal? But then he found himself smiling at her wary expression. No wonder she had captivated him so comprehensively. Her reactions were as unpredictable as they were unique.
‘Not a problem. I love it when you cling,’ he teased, determined to lighten the mood. And maybe seduce her back into bed.
But, instead of taking the bait, her expression remained serious as she dipped her head. ‘I think we should be safe to do that now, and not risk an incorrect result.’
It was only then he realised he still had the pregnancy test kit in his hand. He stared down at it, wishing he could shove it back in the drawer and forget about it for another day.
But how could he do that without giving away the fact he didn’t want their time alone here to end? Then an odd bubble of hope expanded under his breastbone.
He hadn’t given a lot of thought to the result, but if she was pregnant he would have a much stronger case for insisting on marriage. So there was that.
Standing, he lobbed the box to her.
‘Good idea,’ he said, as she caught it one-handed.
‘Why don’t you do it while I figure out breakfast?’ He glanced at his watch, trying for a nonchalance he didn’t remotely feel. ‘How about we eat at the guest house round the point? The cleaning crew will be finishing up there now and then they can do this place.’
She nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said.
But, as she tucked the box under her arm, the strange formality in her tone had him reaching for her arm.
‘Hey,’ he said, stopping her in mid-stride.
She turned towards him, her eyes shadowed. Something wasn’t right and it was starting to bother him.
He tucked a knuckle under her chin. ‘You know the result doesn’t matter, right?’ he said, forced to expose himself. After all, the chances of a positive result were slim. And he probably couldn’t rely on it to get him what he wanted, even if she was carrying his child.
‘I’ll still want you. Whether you’re pregnant or not.’ He pressed a kiss to her lips.
Her shudder of reaction was like a gunshot to his gut, triggering the familiar arousal, but also making the knot in his stomach return. He forced himself to draw back—not to take more. Not yet, anyway.
‘We make a good team,’ he added, deciding it was time he started laying the groundwork for the proposal he planned to make to her when they returned to Saltzaland.
She nodded. ‘Yes, we do.’
‘I think we should consider making our engagement real, whatever the result,’ he blurted out.
Her brows rose, her face flushing with colour. ‘But… Really ?’
She sounded so astonished he was a little taken aback. Surely, she must have realised this was where they had been heading all along? But then he noticed the naked hope in her eyes, that flash of vulnerability and fierce tenderness, and the knot in his gut cinched tighter.
‘Rene, I need to tell you something…’ she began, the emotion in her voice so thick that the fear—she was about to say something she would soon regret—blindsided him.
‘Don’t… Not yet,’ he said, swiftly cutting off whatever she had been about to say as his panic increased. He cradled her cheek, brushed her damp hair behind her ear, the well of affection for her terrifying, too. ‘Let’s discuss the practicalities over breakfast.’ He had to start managing her expectations now if he was going to make this a commitment he was comfortable with. ‘The truth is, though, marriage is the logical next step for me,’ he continued. ‘I need an heir, although not necessarily right away,’ he continued, starting to babble as he watched the joy in her eyes fade and the hope dim. ‘And you have all the assets I want in a wife. Professionally as well as personally. Frankly, it’s a win-win.’
The last of the joy in her eyes died.
He steeled himself against the impulse to pull her into his arms, to apologise for hurting her again. He had to be cruel now, to be kind. He didn’t want to give her false hope—and he didn’t want to lie to her again.
She nodded. But as she walked away from him the empty, uneasy feeling in his gut refused to settle.
He headed over to the guest cottage, to rustle up something for breakfast from the supplies Jevon had left them. But once he got there his hands started to shake—as the uneasy feeling grew.
Because he couldn’t forget the blank look in her eyes, or rationalise the thought that he had just destroyed something infinitely precious without intending to.
* * *
Mel stared down at the one pink line on the pregnancy test kit. And waited, and waited… But no other line appeared. The result was negative.
Her stomach plummeted the rest of the way into her toes.
This was a good thing, and what she had always expected. So why did she feel even more gutted now than she had twenty minutes ago when she’d been about to tell Rene how much she loved him, and he’d stopped her?
She dropped the plastic stick in the bathroom bin, then washed her hands. But as the crater in her stomach grew, she knew why. Somehow or other, without ever consciously admitting it to herself, she had hoped desperately that she might be pregnant with Rene’s baby. So she would have an excuse not to confront the regret—and fear—in his eyes, not to have to interpret what that pragmatic proposal really meant.
‘You idiot,’ she murmured to her reflection, the heartache in her expression only confirming her worst suspicions.
That she had wanted to find a reason to justify allowing herself to fall hopelessly and completely in love with him.
She pressed a shaky hand to her belly. Her empty, unpregnant belly.
To be fair, though, falling in love with Rene had never been a conscious decision so much as an organic development. How could she not fall in love with him, when in some corner of her heart she had always known her feelings for him had never been rational, never been safe or pragmatic, and had always been about so much more than physical attraction.
In the past week, riding on the crest of a wave of his approval and attention, the fierce joy had always been tempered by the knowledge that he didn’t love her in return. She’d told herself that didn’t matter, that it didn’t have to be immediate, that love could always grow, and from the things he’d told her about his traumatic relationship with his father it was no wonder he was so cautious.
But every time they made love—the passion between them only becoming more incendiary and unquenchable—every time she saw his spontaneous smile when she said something he considered witty, every time he challenged and provoked her, every time he asked her advice and listened to her answer intently, she had fallen deeper and deeper into the delusion that somehow she would be the one to break down all those barriers he had been forced to put around his heart long ago.
‘…we don’t want an accidental pregnancy messing with the “true lurve” narrative… We don’t want the press thinking this is a shotgun wedding, ’cos that would be bad…’
The conversation she’d overheard echoed in her head.
She knew Rene wasn’t planning to use her to create a ‘lurve narrative’ for the media, the way his PR guy had implied. She’d heard the sharp disgust in his voice when he’d ended the conversation. And she knew him well enough now to know he did care about her because of the affection in his eyes when he smiled at her, because of the fierce passion when they made love, because of all those moments when he made her feel cherished and important. She also knew he didn’t care enough about his media image to ever propose marriage simply to sell a false narrative to the press.
But the cynicism of the discussion had made her realise how delusional she had allowed herself to become. And how na?ve she had always been without ever realising it. Because she had believed with increasing conviction over the past week—every time she lay in his arms sated with afterglow, every time they laughed or joked together, every time he respected her advice and considered her opinions so carefully—that if she told him how she felt he would welcome the news. And even if he couldn’t love her yet, he would be more than willing to give love a chance to grow.
But instead, he had guessed what she was about to say and shut her down.
He was a much better man than he believed himself to be. And an exceptionally good prince. But she knew now that an offer of marriage from him would always have been based on pragmatism and practicalities. However much he enjoyed her company, however much he wanted her sexually, for him marriage would always have been a business proposition.
The foolish wish for an unplanned pregnancy had been her subconscious longing to provide her with a reason to accept such an offer. To drop even further down the rabbit hole of believing theirs could be some kind of fairy tale romance—when Rene had never been allowed the luxury of that innocence and hope, even as a boy.
She could end up spending the rest of her life hoping for something that was never going to happen. And she couldn’t bear to risk that, because it would remind her far too forcefully of that little girl who had kidded herself for so long that her father would return one day, would welcome her with open arms, would tell her the divorce had never been her fault and that he loved her unconditionally.
Waiting, hoping and eventually discovering she wasn’t enough had nearly broken her then. But she had eventually survived and prospered—thanks to her mum’s support, and Isabelle’s, and because she’d discovered a purpose and a job she loved.
Until Rene .
Until those days in the cabin, when she’d finally admitted to herself how obsessed she had always been with him—and this week, when she had come to realise he was a much more complex man than she had ever believed.
Discovering that man had been wonderful, but also terrifying. Because while she had made herself so vulnerable to love, he had been careful to keep a large portion of himself back.
He had offered her scraps—delicious, beautiful, wonderful insights into the man he might have been if his childhood had not been so broken, and he hadn’t been forced to protect himself. But she could see now that was all he would ever have to offer her.
She dressed hastily and packed the small bag she had arrived with, what felt like several lifetimes ago. She wrote a goodbye note for Rene, folded it into an envelope and placed it carefully on the dresser with trembling fingers, then walked quickly along the wooden walkway in the opposite direction from the guest cottage where Rene was making breakfast for them both—probably badly, she thought, the choking sensation in her throat becoming painful.
When she arrived at the island’s small dock the cleaning crew were busy loading up the speedboat they had arrived in, which was docked next to the power catamaran she and Rene had used to head out for a snorkel safari on the reef only the day before.
Grief and sadness pushed against her chest, but her flight instinct spurred her on.
The boat’s captain agreed to give her a lift back to St Thomas, looking nonplussed. Thankfully, though, he didn’t question her further as she sat on the small bench seat beside the cleaners.
The boat puttered away from the quay, then reared in the water to speed towards the horizon. She forced her gaze forward and refused to look back.
The last week had been a heartbreakingly beautiful dream full of so many possibilities, but she had to face a future without Rene in it. She could have made him a good wife, because he was right, they did make a great team… But she would always want so much more than that. And he had made it clear, in all the ways that counted, that he didn’t.