found a handy can of marinara sauce or even tomato paste, she’d improvised by smashing fresh tomatoes into a rudimentary sauce. She’d added a mishmash of chopped mystery meat she’d found in the fridge with whatever spices she could find in the kitchen, and hoped for the best.
All right, so she wasn’t always the best cook—except where candy was concerned—but even she couldn’t ruin something as simple as spaghetti, she hoped.
She took a bite, and discovered she was wrong.
It was awful. And cold, in the bargain. She nearly choked it out, then covered up her gag reflex with a cough before she managed to swallow it down. “Wow,” she managed to say.
Xerxes took a bite and blanched. Standing up, he threw the napkin back on the table. “I don’t know if the housekeeper was drunk in the kitchen, or if this is a joke, but I’m going to register a complaint—”
“No!” Rose grabbed his wrist, looking up at him pleadingly. “It’s not her fault. It’s mine!”
He looked down at her with a frown. “What?”
“I sent Mrs. Vadi home. I told her I’d make dinner and you wouldn’t know the difference.” Rose shook her head tearfully. “Don’t tell her manager she left. If they knew, they might fire her and it’s not her fault I botched dinner so badly!”
He slowly sat down, staring at her. “You sent her home? Why?”
“We got to talking and…her husband died recently and her little girl was sick at home alone. She needed help,” she said, “so I helped her.”
He gaped at her. “You—got to talking?” he said faintly. “I have employees who’ve worked for me for ten years and I don’t know anything about their personal lives.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I like it that way.” He blinked, still looking bewildered. “But why you would volunteer to do her work, when you could have just relaxed on the beach? It’s her job. Her responsibility. Not yours.”
Rose looked out into the growing shadows of night, listening to the roar of the ocean waves. “I had to help her be with her little girl,” she whispered, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “Because all I want to do is talk to my own mother.”
Silence fell between them.
“I can’t risk it,” he said quietly. “If you talk to your mother, she might contact U.S. authorities. A kidnapped young bride is just the sort of sensational story that would be splashed all over the international news.”
“What if I gave you my word she wouldn’t tell?” she said desperately.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She stared down at her plate. “Anyway, I had to let Mrs. Vadi go home and be with her family tonight. Because I can’t.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Don’t you have a family?”
He blinked. “Not the way you mean.”
“No siblings?”
“I was raised an only child.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
“Your father?”
“No.”
“That’s dreadful,” Rose said softly, her heart breaking. Looking at his profile in the darkening twilight, she tightened her fingers over his. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he pulled his hand away. “Let me guess,” he said sardonically. “You lived in a big old house, your mother baked cookies when you came home from school and your father taught you how to ride your bike.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Of course.” He looked away. “You had the fairy tale.”
She stared at him. The fairy tale?
Standing up abruptly, he reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “This time, I’ll make dinner.”
The full moon had risen low over the horizon as they walked along the deserted beach to the honeymoon cottage. Pulling her into the modern kitchen, he turned on a light.
“I can help,” she offered weakly.
“Absolutely not.” He used the chopping knife in his hand to point at the kitchen table. “Sit there.”
As she watched, he swiftly made two large turkey sandwiches, served with slices of ripe mango. He set both plates down on the kitchen table and sat beside her.
He popped open a small bottle of Indian beer and handed it to her, then clinked his bottle against hers with a grin. “Bon appétit.”
The sandwich and fruit were delicious. As she ate, Rose looked at him in the sleek, dimly lit kitchen. His words still echoed through her mind.
You had the fairy tale.
She’d once thought marrying a handsome baron in a castle was the amazing dream. The truth was that she’d had the fairy tale all along.
She’d had family and friends she loved. She had a small apartment of her own, with her childhood home just an hour away. She’d had enough money to pay her bills. So what if she’d had to hold down more than one job to make ends meet? So what if her car didn’t always work well, or she had to jump-start it half the time to get to her night classes? She’d had a happy childhood. She’d had a happy life.
She’d been lucky beyond words.
“You’re right,” she said over the lump in her throat. “With my family, I mean. I guess I did have the fairy tale.”
Finishing his sandwich, Xerxes took a sip of beer and looked at her. “You’ll have it again.” Moonlight from the window frosted his body, making him appear otherworldly, like a dark angel, as he leaned toward her. “A woman like you was born to have a happy life.”
Her breathing quickened as his gaze fell to her mouth. He was going to kiss her. She could feel it. He stroked her cheek, tilting her head up toward his, and she could barely hear the roar of the ocean over the rapid beat of her heart.
“I’ve never met a woman like you before,” he said softly, his black eyes searching hers as he stroked her bare forearm lightly with his fingertips. “You…amaze me.”
This honeymoon cottage, so remote in the middle of a wide, distant ocean, seemed like their own distant world. His handsome, rugged face, the powerful curve of his body as he leaned toward her, the light feeling of his touch against her skin, made her brain stop working. She trembled, licking her lips. Would she fall into his arms when he kissed her? Would she fall into his bed?
He glanced down at her half-empty plate.
