she wanted it to be. His gaze seared into hers, and she was afraid, suddenly, of the things he might see there.
“But are you?” he asked.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS a question her own mother echoed a week later when Kiara was back at the winery, trying to handle her responsibilities in one part of her life so she could go to Khatan and do her duty in the other part.
She’d assured Azrin she was ready and willing to do it. Eager, even. She’d been so earnest she’d nearly convinced herself.
Nearly.
“Are you honestly prepared to be a queen, Kiara?” her mother asked coolly, as if she’d looked inside and managed to articulate all the dark and unpleasant things Kiara was pretending she didn’t feel. “This isn’t a game, you know. Khatan’s monarchy is not ornamental.”
Kiara forced herself to silently count to ten, sitting there in her mother’s pretty office with the breathtaking view out across the Frederick vineyards, green and healthy-looking in the afternoon light—not that she could concentrate on that now, though the view usually calmed her down. She had to keep herself from succumbing to the temper she knew her mother would view as a weakness. And, worse, as a confirmation.
Besides, she was all too aware that the temper was just a camouflage for the guilt that lay beneath. A lifetime of guilt, because she knew she was the reason her mother had dedicated her life to this place, these vineyards, after Kiara’s father had died. Without Kiara, who knew what Diana might have done with her life?
Was it any wonder that Kiara was in no rush to have any babies herself?
One, two, three …
She eyed her mother across the wide expanse of Diana’s always-neat desk, seeing far too much of herself in the older woman. As ever. It was like looking into some version of her future, much as she preferred to deny it to herself. The same narrow shoulders and long-legged frame. The same way of holding themselves, though Kiara knew she would never have her mother’s innate elegance. That was all Diana.
Kiara was the only one who had seen beneath her mother’s polished exterior. She was the only one who knew what it had cost Diana to give up so much for this place. For Kiara. For the legacy she thought Kiara’s father would have wanted to give her himself, if he could have done.
Five, six, seven …
Diana had taken over the Frederick wine business with more determination than skill after her husband’s early death, and had ushered it into its current state of prominence by the force of her will alone. She’d hardly been around at all during Kiara’s formative years, leaving the day to day raising of her daughter to Kiara’s late grandmother, Diana’s mother-in-law. And yet none of that prevented Diana from being far too opinionated about the choices she thought Kiara should have made. And judgmental about the ones Kiara actually had made.
Meaning, her mother did not approve of Azrin. At all. Of what he represented, as she liked to put it. She thought that Kiara should have married that nice Harry Thompson who’d been her first boyfriend, whose family was also deeply entrenched in the Barossa Valley—and who could, she had always maintained, understand Kiara in a way Azrin never would.
And somewhere deep inside, where guilt and obligation mixed into something sharp-edged and prickly, a part of Kiara had always wondered if Diana was right. She wondered it even more today, as she prepared for a role she and Azrin had never discussed in any detail, both assuming it was too far off in the future to bother worrying about.
Was she prepared to be his queen?
She couldn’t forgive Diana for asking the question she didn’t dare ask herself.
Eight, nine …
“Why wouldn’t I be prepared, Mother?” she asked, aware that her voice was more strained than it should have been, clearly indicating that the question had got under her skin. She felt as if she’d lost points before she’d started—an all-too familiar feeling where her mother was concerned. She willed herself to exude the kind of cool poise that she was known for everywhere else but here. “I knew who Azrin was when I married him.”
She’d known who he was the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Too powerful. Too dangerous. Too overwhelming and much too ruthless. She might have fallen in love with him, but that didn’t change the basic facts about who he was. She’d never lost sight of that. Had she?
“When you married him he was a financier who happened to be a prince, and he was perfectly happy to traipse about the globe with you,” Diana said in that seemingly nonchalant way of hers that immediately put Kiara’s back up. Nothing about Diana was nonchalant. Not ever. “Now he will be a king, which is not the same thing at all, is it?”
“He was always going to be a king.” Kiara’s voice was much too cross, and she had to work to produce some approximation of a serene smile to counterbalance it. “A good one, I think. I hope.”
“But what kind of queen can you expect to be?” Diana asked, her brows arching high as if astonished Kiara had not raised this issue herself. “You were raised to know about oenology and viticulture, not royal intrigue and matters of state.”
“Your faith in me is touching,” Kiara said, her smile growing hard to maintain. She stood up then, desperate, suddenly, to avoid getting any deeper into this with her mother. She was afraid of what she might uncover inside herself that she didn’t want to know.
Diana only shrugged. “It’s not a question of faith,” she said. “I talked quite a bit with Queen Madihah at your wedding, you know. She was very open about having been trained to be the king’s perfect companion since before she could walk.”
Again her dark brows rose. She didn’t have to say anything further—it lay there between them as if she’d shouted it.
You are not queen material.
Kiara gathered up her things with as much control as possible, determined not to show Diana how unerring her aim had been, nor how hard she’d managed to strike her target. How did her mother manage to see straight into the heart of her, where she hid her worst fears?
“I don’t have time for this,” she said as calmly as she could. Which was perhaps not very calm at all. “I have to leave for Khatan early tomorrow. If there’s anything else?” She knew her smile was too brittle. “About the business, Mother. Not about my marriage. Please.”
“I would just like you to be realistic about this, Kiara,” Diana said, her flashing brown gaze showing the first hint of emotion Kiara could remember seeing in years. It made her stomach twist, guilt and obligation and something else.
“No, you wouldn’t,” she replied, temper boiling inside her, rushing in to cover the rest of the things she didn’t want to feel. Temper was easier. Cleaner. “You would like me to see things your way. You would like me to do things your way.”
“Do you imagine that you are the only girl to ever be swept away in some kind of fantasy romance?” Diana retorted. She rose, too, and waved a hand at the window, as if to encompass the vines stretching off toward the hills, the chateau, the whole of their family, their lives, their history. “I was starry-eyed when I met your father, but that hardly prepared me for
