A Royal Wedding(106)
He came back into the room, poured himself a drink and got her a lemonade—this time without enhancement. She sat on the long couch and stared at it. He was treating her like a child again, she supposed, but there were so many things she was trying to fight him on, she decided to take a pass on this one.
She was defying him and she was going to go on defying him. What was he going to do about it? Actually, the answer to that terrified her. He was the scariest man she knew. And yet her soul was filled with a pure, crystal-clear, female anger—the anger of a woman who felt she deserved a little more attention than she had been getting. If he thought he was going to start shooting orders at her and having people confined to their quarters and things like that, he could think again. Those tactics weren’t going to make her change her mind. This wasn’t the old dark ages of the royal world any longer. He couldn’t get away with the Anne Boleyn treatment these days. She had a few rights of her own, and he was going to have to listen to her point of view.
She looked down the couch at where he was sitting. He hadn’t spoken for a long time and he was staring moodily out the darkened window. Dark curls had fallen over his forehead in a very sexy way. He was so handsome. Her anger began to melt away. She knew he was thinking over the situation and that he was trying to decide what to do with her, how to fix this dilemma. She had a sudden surge of sympathy for him.
“Do you remember how we used to play chess?” she asked him.
He looked up and met her gaze. Reluctantly, he gave her a half-smile. “Certainly.”
“And how I used to let you win?” she added mischievously.
“Let me win?” A look of outrage flashed over his face, and then he laughed. It was the first genuine laugh she’d seen from him, and a bubble of happiness burst in her chest. This was the Prince Andre she remembered.
Rising, she moved down and sat very close to him.
“I understand that I’m making waves. I understand that this is a problem that you feel you have to solve. But you know what? You don’t really have to solve it.”
“No?” He searched her eyes as though looking for a hopeful sign.
“No. I’m sure one of my cousins from my uncle’s second marriage would be glad to marry him. And that should fulfill …”
He rose, making a sound of disgust. “Julienne, stop it. Your name is on the treaty. You are the only bride Alphonso will accept. And a marriage between the highest-ranked in our two houses is the only thing the Rubiat will accept. If they don’t see that happen, they’ll feel justified in attacking again.”
“I don’t understand. Why do they care that much?”
“Tradition. You can’t fight it. It’s in their blood.”
She shook her head. “But why do they care so much about Alphonso and me? What do we mean to their lives?”
“The two of you are nothing. It’s the Houses you represent. The royal families. The myths. And their need for power.”
She sat very still, thinking that over, wishing she could pull it apart and find a flaw so that she would attack it properly. But very soon she forgot all about that. She was sitting very close to him, her thigh touching his, and little by little that became the whole focus of her mind, her senses, her emotions. She wanted to turn and touch him with her hand. She wanted to press herself to him. She wanted to taste his mouth, breathe his breath, feel his heartbeat against her skin. Her own heart began to pound so loudly she was sure that he must hear it. Her breathing began to pulse with the beat, faster and faster, and she wanted … she wanted …
He rose, suddenly, and left the room, not saying a word. She turned beet-red where she sat, sure that she’d driven him away with her relentless need for him. It was embarrassing. But it was such a deep part of her she couldn’t really regret it.
She knew she loved him. She always had. The fact that she could never have him was her own private tragedy. Tears welled in her eyes.
And then the elevator dinged and she whirled, watching the doors open. In came an enormous rack full of clothes. Her jaw dropped as she watched it arrive.
“Is this for me?” she asked, stunned.
The older man who was pushing the rack stopped and leaned around to smile at her. “I don’t know if you remember me, Princess. I’m Rolfo, Prince Andre’s assistant. I want you to call on me if you need anything.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the clothes. She went closer, touching one fabric, then another. “What am I to do with all these? I can’t possibly wear them all.”