owed Andres a fair amount of anger for that. Both of them, really. And yet, he had never been able to muster much of it up. He was only grateful he had discovered Francesca’s duplicity prior to making vows to her. And it had given him a chance to find someone better. To reevaluate what he expected out of marriage.
Women, it turned out, betrayed you eventually.
Well, you, specifically.
He took in a sharp breath, looking out through the living room at the terrace, at the table that was set with dinner for both of them. If she didn’t come down...
He was seized with an image of himself storming back upstairs, flinging the door open, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her down to the dinner table. Failing that, perhaps he would just throw her on the bed and finish what they had started earlier.
He gritted his teeth, battling against the erotic images that were battering against his mind’s eye. Threatening to shatter his control. He had already behaved appallingly where she was concerned, and he would not compound his sins.
Why not? She left you. The one thing she promised she would not do.
He hated this. This feeling of helplessness. She inspired it in him more often than any other human being on the planet. From the first day they had married. He had never felt any hint of awkwardness around her when she was his PA. And he’d been determined to hang on to that relationship. That meeting of the minds, the mutual understanding, that felt so right. It had made her the best assistant he’d ever had. By all rights, a nineteen-year-old from Middle America should never have been able to serve him the way that she had. And yet, for three years, she had been by far the most efficient and hard-working PA he’d ever had.
She’d transcended her circumstances and risen to the occasion. He imagined she would do that as a wife as well.
Though, it was disingenuous to pretend that all of the unforeseen issues fell on her shoulders. Their disastrous wedding night had been his fault.
* * *
He hadn’t satisfied her. He had hurt her. And with his actions, it felt as though he had built a wall between them. Yes, a certain amount of distance was desirable. He didn’t want to become emotionally entangled with her. Not with feelings that went beyond cordial affection.
But when they had entered her suite, and his lips had touched hers for the first time without an audience, something had shifted inside of him. The rock wall he had built up around his control was cracking, crumbling. He had felt...a deep ache that had transcended anything he could remember feeling in recent years. A desire for something that he couldn’t put a name to. Like seeing something familiar, shrouded in fog. Something that called to him, echoed inside of him, but that he couldn’t identify.
Frustrating. Terrifying.
He went into the bathroom, running some hot water. She would probably be sore. He had done his best to make it as painless as possible, since he had known it was her first time, but he knew he had failed, on more than one level.
She didn’t seem happy with him, when he ushered her into the bathroom.
He stood there, watching her as she submerged herself. It was a strange thing, seeing her naked now after so many years of looking at her as nothing more than an employee. Now she was exposed. Uncovered. He had been inside of her body...
He felt his own body stir in response to that memory. He had to go. Until he could get a handle on his response to her, he had to leave.
Unless she asked him to stay.
But he would not force that issue. Not after he had handled their first time so badly.
“I suppose you want some time alone?” he asked.
She shifted beneath the water, drawing her knees up to her chest and looking down. “Yes.”
Her words rebuilt some of the wall inside of him. It was good. It reminded him of why distance was imperative. Why control mattered.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked out of the bathroom and dressed quickly in her room, before leaving and heading to his own quarters. Once he was inside, he stripped his clothing off again, heading straight for the shower. He turned the cold knob as far as it would go, stepping beneath the icy spray, gritting his teeth.
He would not repeat the same mistakes again.
He would not.
* * *
“I’m here.” Tabitha’s voice drew his attention to the top of the stairs. She was there, looking more beautiful than he could ever remember. Was this change happening inside of her beginning to affect her appearance? Her blond hair was loose, bouncing around her shoulders. So different to the usual restrained bun she often chose to wear.
Her dress was also completely unlike anything she would’ve worn back at the palace. But then, the instructions he’d left for the personal shopper tasked with amassing a small wardrobe for her here in the island hadn’t been any more explicit than her size.
The dress had skinny straps and a deep V that made the whole gown appear to be resting precariously over her full breasts. It looked as if the slightest tug would snap those straps and see the dress falling down around her waist, settling on her voluptuous hips. She had applied a bare minimum of makeup, a light pink gloss to her lips, a bit of gold on her eyes. It was a more relaxed look than he was accustomed to seeing.
His body responded with a hunger that was becoming predictable.
“I’m glad you decided to join me.”
“Well, now you won’t need to put a lock on the pantry.”
She began her descent, her delicate hand resting on the banister. His eyes were drawn to her fingers, to her long, elegant fingernails, painted a delicate coral that matched her dress.
“I’m pleased to hear that, agape.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, her tone sharp.
“What?”
“Love. It’s always been a little bit of a farcical endearment, but it just stings all the more at the moment.”
She breezed past him, heading outside to where the table was set for them. He followed after her, trying not to allow that helpless sensation to overtake him again. How did she do this to him? He ruled an entire nation. He was the master of his, and every domain, within its borders. Somehow she made him feel as inept as a schoolboy who didn’t even have dominion over his own bedtime.
“I am sorry, I shall try to endeavor not to call you nice things,” he said through clenched teeth.
She paused, looking over her shoulder, one pale eyebrow raised. “Just don’t call me things you don’t mean.”
It was hard to think of a political response to that. Of course he didn’t love her.
He cared for her, certainly. There was nothing duplicitous about his lack of emotion. He had made that clear when he proposed to her that afternoon in his office after his engagement
