by Kati Wilde
Suddenly dread weighs heavily in my gut. They aren’t planning something. They’re hiding something.
My narrowed gaze lands on the tablet. “What don’t you want me to see?”
“Nothing!” Liz chirps. “I just need to catch up on my—”
“Elizabeth.” I use the same tone that I often had to use after our father died and the twins’ parenting fell onto my shoulders. Then I gentle my voice and add, “We knew this would happen. This is what I was talking about last night.”
I told them all about the betrothal on the ride home, and about the changes that would take place—changes that presented themselves almost immediately, when we were introduced to my security team.
But a security team is only the beginning, and we spoke about that, too. When I arrived at the reception with Maximilian, the gossip sheets must have begun scrambling for information about me. They wouldn’t have had time to conduct interviews with my relatives and friends. So instead they’ll desperately scour the internet for content.
I already know what they’ll find. One silly photo taken during a ski trip, another picture that’s mildly indecent, plenty of information about my father, and references to events that I’ve publicized and attended—which includes my connections to almost every social organization and charity in Kapria. If Maximilian had my background investigated as thoroughly as a future queen can expect hers to be, however, there’s nothing they can dredge up that Maximilian wouldn’t have already seen.
And I didn’t make a single misstep last night, so there won’t be any surprises this morning. In the future, I expect to see plenty of sensational headlines—most of them based on a kernel of truth and then blown out of proportion.
But that’s not new to either Liz or James. As Wilhelm Dietrich’s children, we’ve all ended up in European tabloids and on gossip sites—usually on slow news days, because even Liz at her wildest doesn’t approach ‘scandalous.’ I’m not exposing them to a spotlight that wasn’t already there and that they weren’t already familiar with. That spotlight will simply be brighter for a while.
I join them at the breakfast table, set down my coffee, and hold out my hand for the tablet. “Let me see.”
Looking uneasy, James tries to dissuade me. “Vic, you really don’t—”
“I’ll see it one way or another. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
They share a glance. On a heavy sigh, Liz gives it over and plops back into her chair.
I wake the device and it opens to the article they had been reading. And yes, there are my greatest hits: my butt sticking up out of the snow, my exit from a limo all but flashing the good china. I scroll up to the headline, where they’ve posted a picture of Maximilian and me from last night. In my memory, I never took my gaze from him the entire time, but they caught us at a moment when I was looking off to the side as if distracted, which makes my bright smile appear patently fake—and Maximilian with his jaw clenched and eyes hard. As if he was pissed off but holding in his anger.
I don’t remember him ever looking like that. But then, I was apparently looking in another direction. I think this might have been taken when I noticed the Swedish ambassador coming toward us, but I’m not certain.
It doesn’t matter anyway. This is what the tabloids do: choose an image that fits the story they want to tell, regardless of the actual context. And their headline tells me exactly what that story will be.
A ‘Horrible’ Bride For King Max?
“That’ll get some clicks,” I say mildly and skim past the introduction which describes me arriving with Maximilian and sporting a giant diamond ring. I begin reading aloud when they finally get to the meat. “‘King Maximilian’s own cabinet of ministers has warned him away from the late billionaire’s daughter. “She’s a horrible choice,” Maximilian’s press secretary is reported as saying during a recent meeting to plan his upcoming wedding.’”
His press secretary? Surprised, I pause my reading to comment, “That’s interesting.”
“‘Interesting?’” James echoes. “It’s bullshit!”
Liz looks at me hopefully. “Do you think it’s fake?”
“No. What’s interesting is that I’m certain it’s true,” I say. “Even a rag like this can be sued. So usually they don’t offer direct quotes—they’ll just hint and suggest, using paraphrased statements from unnamed sources. But truth is an absolute defense and the people who run this site know how to cover their asses. They’ll be able to back up the press secretary’s quote.”
“Then who is this press secretary asshole?”
“Jeannette von Hintze,” I say automatically, silently reading on. I’ve never met her but I know of her. By all accounts, she rules her department with an iron fist. If this is a genuine leak and wasn’t deliberately released to generate more publicity, heads are likely going to roll. I just wonder who will get to the source first: Maximilian or Jeannette.
“Well, I hate her. And you’re not horrible,” Liz declares loyally.
I smile. “No, I’m not.”
But I can think of many political and financial reasons his advisors might want Maximilian to marry someone else. After all, Kapria’s already gotten everything it could from my family—and as I skim farther down the page, that history is detailed as well, along with the suggestion that my father’s donation made Maximilian feel obligated to marry me.
No, not just suggested. Said outright, too. “A source close to the king reveals that Maximilian cited ‘duty and obligation’ as his reasons for choosing Wilhelm Dietrich’s daughter.”
But no mention of the betrothal. A strange detail to neglect, except that maybe it doesn’t fit their narrative about me being a horrible choice, and would instead raise the question of why it took him twelve years to fulfill a promise. They have a ready-made answer to that, though. My gaze is drawn back up to Maximilian’s quote.
Duty and obligation.
A sour knot twists in my stomach but I push it—and the tablet—away, shaking my head. “It’s nothing,” I say calmly, cupping my palms around my coffee mug to warm my cold hands. “They needed something to publish and they didn’t have much. Soon they’ll dig up more, have a new narrative to run with, and this will be forgotten.”
“You’re sure?” Liz looks eager to believe it.
“I’m sure.” I haven’t—and I won’t—give the tabloids enough to keep that narrative going. I glance at James, who doesn’t look convinced. “You should run upstairs and get ready.”
He frowns. “Ready?”
“To have brunch with Sophia,” I remind him innocently.
His eyes screw shut and he utters the groan of a dying man. Slowly he begins sliding down in his seat, as if trying to disappear beneath the table.
I glance at Liz, who’s smirking at her twin’s predicament. “Since you don’t have to save me from the evil reporters and this article is all the reading you’ll probably do today, why don’t you save your brother by spending the day doing something together, instead?”
I don’t have to ask them twice. They scarf down a quick breakfast and abandon the table before I even finish my first cup of coffee. In the quiet they leave behind, I open up the tablet again, close out the article and begin my morning ritual of reading the local news. But my mind won’t focus and the knot in my stomach won’t unwind. Instead I keep seeing those words flash behind my eyes.
Duty and obligation.
I can’t figure out why they’re leaving me so unsettled. It’s nothing I didn’t already know. Maximilian is fulfilling a promise he made to me and to my father—that’s an obligation. As king, he needs to marry and produce an heir—that’s his duty.
And I knew that love wouldn’t be the basis of our marriage. Before yesterday, we had only met one time—on one of the worst days of my life. He hardly had an opportunity to fall in love.
That I fell in love with him…well, of course I did. I admired him even before our first meeting, and since then have learned as much about h
im as I could. Yet despite studying his character for years, still he surprised me last night. There’s so much about his private self that I don’t know and can’t possibly love yet.
So I didn’t expect love in this marriage. Unless I’m fooling myself. But rationally, I knew it wouldn’t be a reason he finally married me. And last night, he only spoke of promises and keeping them.
But when he kissed me, I couldn’t mistake his desire or the passion that burned between us. That’s not duty or obligation.
So why won’t this heavy lump of hurt and disappointment vanish from my chest and let me breathe easily again?
But I think I know. I expected duty and obligation. I expected speculation from the gossip sites and to have mud tossed in my direction, and that the people around us—staff, family, friends—might say the wrong thing to the wrong person. I also knew that with one little slip, the media would make me its punching bag, or twist my words to strike at Maximilian. So I was careful.
Maximilian must not have taken the same care while speaking about me. I worked so damn hard not to do or say anything that might one day blow back on him, and I didn’t give anyone much to hit me with.
And so what they managed to get came from Maximilian, instead.
Maximilian
“Anything yet?” I snap at Karl as my driver pulls up in front of the city’s community center.
He shakes his head.
Goddamn it. That article had quotes—with names attached to them. That takes some fucking balls. But the number of people on my staff who could have leaked that shit is so small, they won’t be able to hide for long.
I snarl “Find them” before taking the steps two at a time. I’m not expected at the community center and the location hasn’t been fully secured, but I don’t give a fuck. Victoria’s here. And no doubt she’s seen the headline that called her a horrible bride.
If she has, I’m not letting that stand in her mind a second more than it has to.
The dull roar of a crowd draws me to an open gymnasium. Inside are rows of tables and people lined up in front of them. There’s probably an order to the chaos, but I don’t take time to make sense of it all. Striding into the gym, I begin making my way through the crowd, searching for her. Geoffrey said she’d be here. So she’ll be here.
Knowing that Victoria might have been hurt by that article pisses me off more than knowing that either someone on my staff or one of my advisors spoke to the press. Maybe my priorities are screwed.
They aren’t. The second I spot her, I know they aren’t. My priorities are exactly what they should be—and protecting this woman is as important as anything else I’ll ever do.
Though she doesn’t seem to need much protection at the moment. She’s seated behind one of the tables, smiling and talking easily with the young woman sitting across from her, and entering information into a tablet with a stylus. Which is what’s happening at all of the tables, I realize. Judging by the people lined up behind the young woman, I also realize that I’m going to have to wait my turn to speak with her.
I’m not accustomed to waiting for anything.
“Your Majesty!”
I glance over to see my Minister of Commerce rushing up. With all the bodies crowded in here the room is stifling, so he’s discarded his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“Rashad.” I greet him and then gesture to the crowd. “What is this?”
“A hiring fair. Kapria’s businesses have too many open positions that need filling, and many of the refugees who have settled in the kingdom are skilled workers who need jobs. It’s just a matter of matching them up.”
Kapria’s recent economic boom has served us well, but we have a small population—not enough to fill the new jobs that are being created. So many of the new laborers have been commuting from Switzerland. But this is better, especially if those skilled workers decide to stay in Kapria for the long term.
“A good solution,” I tell him. “Well done.”
“I wish I could claim credit. But it was Dietrich Industries that approached me with the idea.” A wry smile pulls at his mouth. “No doubt at the suggestion of a minor shareholder.”
“Victoria.” Because aside from the one percent of stock that still belongs to the Dietrich family, I am the company’s only shareholder.
He nods. “She also organized the first fair and has volunteered for each of them. This is the fourth in two years, and we’ve placed almost three thousand people. And it’s not just Dietrich Industries hiring out of the pool of applicants now.”
She organized this? Then why the fuck wasn’t it mentioned in her dossier? I’ve gone over her file several times since that meeting—
That goddamn meeting, which is the reason why I’m here. Because someone opened their mouth. And I can’t let myself get distracted.
“I intend to steal her away for a few minutes,” I tell him. “And I need a private room to speak with her in.”
“I’ll see that Your Majesty gets one.”
Rashad turns and raises his arm as if to flag someone down, but I don’t wait for it all to be arranged. The young woman whose application Victoria had been taking is gathering her papers and finishing up. Raising a bottle of water to her full lips, Victoria glances over as I approach—and any hope I have that she hasn’t seen the headline yet is destroyed by the taut expression that flickers across her face. As quickly as it appeared, it’s gone again, but I know what I saw.
Seeing me upset her. Hurt her.
I can’t fucking stand it. I bypass the line at her table. A protest rises behind me and is quickly hushed. That hush spreads a little farther with each step I take, until the loud cacophony of voices around us becomes a low din.
Either they’re falling silent as they recognize me, or my perception is narrowing and discarding everything that isn’t Victoria. She rises to her feet, a lovely vision with her chestnut hair coiled at her nape and exposing the elegant column of her neck. Perspiration curls the fine tendrils near her hairline. In deference to the heat, she’s unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt. A black jacket that matches her loose trousers hangs on the back of her chair.
The coolness of her smile tears at my chest, because I can see the wariness that accompanies it. “Your Majesty.”
“Victoria.” I grasp her left hand and bring her slender fingers to my mouth, lightly brushing the backs of her knuckles with my lips. I graze my thumb over the diamond gracing her finger before releasing her hand. The mere sight of that ring sends relief rushing through me, easing the tension gripping my heart. Quietly I say, “So you didn’t change your mind about marrying me, despite discovering that I’ve got rats in the palace?”
Her brows arch. “You feared I would break it off because of what some gossip rag reported?”
Yes. That was exactly what I feared. Because she’d been near to breaking it off only yesterday—and that was before she saw the headline.
But I only reply, “You shouldn’t read them at all.”
“Then how would I know what Your Majesty is up to?” Her beautiful eyes narrow. “In twelve years, sometimes the only news I had of my betrothed came from those rags.”
That pointed barb hits its mark. Softly I tell her, “I am chastened.”
“I doubt it,” she replies dryly, but I see the warmth return to her eyes. “If I gave much credit to any of those publications, then I would believe in alien probes and chemtrail conspiracies, Your Majesty.”
“Maximilian.”
“Mak-si-mil-yen,” she says, counting the syllables of my name on her fingers. “Maj-uh-stee. It’s faster and easier.”
“I will make my name worth the effort to say…or to scream,” I promise in a low voice, and watch as an enchanting blush spreads across her cheeks. But aware of the audience surrounding us and of Rashad’s approach, I can’t do more than watch. “I’ve secured a room so that we can speak privately.”
Her blush deepens, but there’s no hesitation she hands over her table
t and chair to a volunteer waiting to replace her. “As Your Majesty commands.”
As if my commands make a damn bit of difference to her. “Then I command you to use my name.”
She shoots me a sly glance from beneath her long lashes. “You promised to make it worth the effort.”
So I did. And when I gave her that ring, I vowed that I would always keep my promises to her.
We follow Rashad’s directions, which take us out of the gym and into a short corridor. My guard Stephen stands post outside a door, which tells me that he’s already secured the room beyond. I glance back at Karl as I escort Victoria in, silently conveying a warning that heads will roll if we’re interrupted.
Inside, the air conditioning isn’t losing its battle against the heat of the crowd, and Victoria makes a soft sound of pleasure as we enter the cool room. I’m aware of a conference table surrounded by chairs, but don’t see anything except the woman with me.
She seems smaller today. Yesterday, she wore heels that raised the top of her head on level with my chin—and when she straddled me in the car, the height difference didn’t matter at all. Now she barely reaches my shoulder, and when I pull her closer, she closes her eyes and rises up on her toes as if seeking a kiss, but doesn’t get high enough to reach my mouth.
I could lift her up or bend my head, but I don’t do either. Instead my gaze rests on her full lips…and this has changed, too. When I saw the pictures from her dossier, then saw Victoria standing in front of her home, then sitting across from me in the car—every time I looked at her lips, all I could think about was kissing them. But only one day later, I think about what might make them curve into a smile.
Right now I’d like to do both.
Still unkissed, she opens her sapphire eyes and meets my gaze. The blush has left her skin, replaced by a flush of arousal that she must know is burning just as hotly within me. I’ve got her pressed full-length against my front, my thick cock wedged against the softness of her belly. With her eyes full of need, she appears just as she did yesterday, right before launching herself into my arms. Because she’d wanted to kiss me for years.