‘And how do I like my porridge?’ she blurted out, before she could help herself.
‘Pardon?’ Andreas stared down at her. Everyone was staring at her.
‘Tell the press how I like my porridge,’ she said dangerously, and she knew no good could come of this. She could feel a wave of anger so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. But she was on the wave now and there was no way she could get off until it was ridden to its end.
‘We don’t understand,’ a reporter complained.
‘I mean if I’m asked a question—about me—then maybe I’m the one capable of answering it. I’ll be going back to Australia when I feel like it,’ she snapped. ‘When I decide. I’m not intended for a royal wife? That sounds like I’ve been produced on some breeding programme. I’m sorry, my love,’ she said, and she managed a saccharine smile as Andreas stared at her, astounded. ‘I know. A royal wife shuts up and lets her husband speak for her. But I’m not a royal wife. You’ve just said so. I’m just a wife. I’m just me. Let’s take that as read and move on.’
He was furious. Not just angry but almost impotent with rage. They sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the palace and he stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.
Two could play at that game. She stared right back, furiously defiant.
‘A royal wife stays in the background,’ he snapped.
‘Does she? I wouldn’t know. I’m not a royal wife.’
‘Holly, you don’t understand. It’s imperative that our behaviour is above reproach.’
‘I thought my behaviour was above reproach,’ she said, dangerously quiet. If her father could hear her now maybe he’d warn Andreas. My daughter has a temper. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
But Andreas had no such warning. The political consequences of their actions were first and foremost in his mind and he wasn’t seeing past them.
‘You had a child out of wedlock,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Enough?’
‘For the country to judge you. You need to be demure and quiet and respectful.’
‘Respectful of you.’
‘Of course. I’m your husband.’
‘I thought you were more than that. I thought you were my lover.’
‘On our island, yes. Not here. Here you follow the rules set by my family. You have to be silent, Holly.’
‘I don’t believe,’ she said softly, ‘that silence was in the marriage vows.’
‘You know it’s why I married you.’
‘Sorry?’ She was past angry now, but she wasn’t shouting. Maybe she even sounded reasonable. Softly enquiring of her husband what he meant.
‘If the Calista royals had found you before we did…’
‘Before… we?’
‘My brother and I.’
‘What would the royals of Calista have done?’
‘They would have brought us down. Hell, Holly, I don’t have to tell you this. I’ve never made a secret of it.’
‘No,’ she said, breaking eye contact to give her head a bit of space. She turned and stared out the car window. They were approaching the palace. Huge tree-lined avenues heralded the approach. They’d swept in the main gates but there was still half a mile to travel before they reached the main residence.
The gates had closed behind them. If she got out now…
‘Look, Holly, I don’t know how long Sebastian intends to keep you here…’
She gasped at that, swivelling back to stare at him again. ‘Sebastian. Sebastian! So it’s not up to us, how long our marriage lasts. It’s not even up to you. It’s up to Sebastian!’
‘He’s your future king.’
‘Your future king,’ she snapped.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You can walk away.’
‘When Sebastian says I can.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you?’
‘Holly, this was never a real marriage. You know that. I have royal obligations and you… you can’t even bear to shut up for one press call.’
‘I can’t, can I?’
‘Holly…’ He hesitated, then held out his hand to her in a gesture of entreaty. She stared down at it—a tanned, finely boned hand, complete with a wedding ring.
He was coaxing her to do the right thing. He’d done the right thing—by the nation. For the royal family. He’d married her in all honour. And then he’d bedded her in spectacular fashion—for why waste a perfectly good wife?
Only now the deed was done, normal life must resume. Stay in the background, shut up and wear beige. No, that was the rule she’d heard for the mother of the groom at weddings. Never for the bride.
But she wasn’t a bride; at least not a royal one. Her husband was holding his hand out to her, commanding her to join with him, commanding her to keep up this pretence.
Fine. She would. But pretence it was. She ignored the hand, and grabbed Deefer who’d been sleeping on the seat beside her. She hugged him to her, holding him like a shield.
‘I need to know how long,’ she muttered.
‘How long what?’
‘Before I can go home,’ she answered angrily.
‘Holly, please…’
‘Look, Andreas, let’s agree. The whole situation is irrational. I hadn’t figured it out until now, but finally I have. All right, Andreas, I’ll stand back, shut up and wear beige. But you and Sebastian had better figure out a time frame to let me go, because wearing beige will make me crazy.’
It got worse. The servants were lined up to welcome them ‘home’. It seemed Andreas had his own apartments in one wing of the vast Castle of Aristo. There were no less than fifteen uniformed servants lined up to receive them. Andreas walked down the line shaking hands, receiving congratulations. Holly followed, but the first time she tentatively went to shake a hand herself Andreas stopped her with a sharp little gesture of rebuke. The servant—a middle-aged woman—took a fast step back.
‘This is Mme Pirentas, our housekeeper,’ Andreas said, formally, and then proceeded to introduce each in turn. Valet, butler, footmen, housemaids, gardeners. Each made a formal bow to her, but she’d learned her lesson now and kept her hands to herself. And her tongue.
