Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  And for once, she didn’t wait for him to say please.

  * * *

  It was dark and all she could feel was a heavy oppressive weight pinning her down. She tried to move, but couldn’t. There was hot breath on her face. A grasping cruel hand on her breast. She tried to scream but a meaty palm covered her mouth, pressing down so hard she could barely breath.

  Then pain, searing burning pain.

  “Ottavia! Wake up, it’s all right, it’s only a dream.”

  Light flooded the room as Ottavia sat bolt upright, her heart racing and her body bathed in perspiration. Her breathing ragged. Rocco loomed over her and she instinctively shied from him. He moved away swiftly, but reached out a hand to touch her cheek and to wipe away a tear.

  Only a dream, he’d said. It had been a nightmare then and it was a nightmare now. It had been years since she’d had one as bad as this. Normally she managed to pull herself awake, but this time she’d been locked in the past. Reliving every moment. She shuddered again.

  “Are you all right?” Rocco asked carefully, still keeping his distance. “Can I get you something?”

  Ottavia shook her head. Nothing could change what had happened. Not running away, not counseling, not taking charge of her life. She’d had days, months, where she’d wondered if she’d ever be all right again. But she was nothing if not a survivor. She’d get through this, and the clawing miserable aftermath of reliving her nightmare, as she had so often before. Breath by breath, day by day.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Rocco pressed.

  “Not really,” she answered. “I get bad dreams sometimes. Doesn’t everyone?”

  She shrugged as if it wasn’t of any consequence but she could see that she hadn’t fooled him.

  “You were terrified.”

  “Like I said, bad dream. What time is it?”

  “Four a.m.”

  She nodded. “I won’t get back to sleep now. If you don’t mind, I’ll just get up and go read in the sitting room.”

  “I’ll make you some tea,” he answered swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

  She knew she should try to convince him to go back to sleep, but a part of her craved the company. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

  Ottavia picked her nightgown up from the bedroom floor and went through to the sitting room, while Rocco pulled on a pair of trousers. She watched as he went into the kitchen and filled the kettle and set it to boil. She was so used to coping—well, living through—these episodes on her own that it felt foreign to have company.

  Even in the early days, after she’d run away from her mother and had eventually been put into a foster home, she’d simply coped as best she could whenever something triggered a flashback. Feeling Rocco’s powerful and solid presence so nearby was an unexpected support. There had only ever been one other such supportive person in her life. Her first client. The man, in fact, who had trained her.

  She’d been working as a chambermaid in a hotel and he’d returned to his room early one day and caught her reading one of his books. Rather than reprimand her, he’d invited her to discuss what she’d gleaned from its pages. When he’d offered her a job working for him as his companion, she’d initially refused—thinking he expected far more than she was willing to give. After her attack she’d been wary of all men, but he’d eventually earned her trust by gently mentoring her and encouraging her to expand her education and lift her horizons.

  And now a king brewed her a pot of tea. Her mentor would have been proud.

  “Better?” he asked, concern still evident in the lines on his brow and the expression in his warm eyes as he brought out a tray set with a teapot and two mugs.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He sat beside her and poured, then offered Ottavia a steaming mug.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  She hesitated then silently castigated herself. Hadn’t she just spent the night sharing the deepest intimacy possible with this man? Hadn’t he woken with her, stayed by her, made her tea—all without question? Moreover, she had promised to be this man’s wife, the mother of his children. He deserved to know. Somehow, she had to find the words to tell him.

  She shivered, the malevolence of her nightmare still clinging to her mind. She didn’t know if she could handle putting her experience into words.

  Rocco interrupted her thoughts. “It’ll be all right, Ottavia. You’re quite safe with me. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

  It wasn’t fair. After the pleasure they’d shared they should at least be allowed to enjoy the closeness of honesty now, shouldn’t they? Anger toward her attacker formed a dark and vicious cloud in the back of her mind. He’d already stolen so much from her. She would not allow him to taint this, as well.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” she said firmly.

  Rocco held his mug with one hand and reached out with the other to gently massage her neck. “Are you okay with this touch?” he asked, watching her carefully.

  She didn’t know how to handle this side of him. She was far happier dealing with the absolute ruler, the haughty, authoritative man who commanded and whom people obeyed. Not this man who now treated her with such gentleness and care. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her and she fought back the bloom of tenderness that rose in her chest. Control—she had to maintain control at all times. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

  His fingers were strong as they worked the remnants of tension away.

  “If you ever tire of being king of Erminia, you could always get work as a masseur,” Ottavia commented wryly.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said with a chuckle.

  Twelve

  It was good to hear her sound more like herself, Rocco thought as he felt her muscles begin to soften.

  He thought of how frightened she’d been when he’d woken her. No, he thought, frightened was too weak a word for the horror and revulsion that had lingered on her face in the seconds after her eyes had opened. He’d wanted to press her for answers, to find out exactly what it was that had painted the stark lines of terror on her face, but instinct had warned him to tread carefully.

  He might be her king, but she had made it abundantly clear she was not his to command unilaterally. It didn’t stop him wanting to know what lingered in her past, though. Something had happened between them last night that had forged an inexplicable bond. A bond he did not want broken.

  He looked at a clock on the wall. It was getting close to five. Almost time for him to start his day. For the first time in his life he resented his responsibilities. All he wanted was to be with her. To spend more time getting to understand this complex woman who was slowly but surely finding her way into his heart.

  “Rocco?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You should know why...”

  “Ottavia, if you’re ready to share it with me, I would be honored to listen.” He cupped her face gently. “But only if it won’t hurt you to speak of it.”

  “No, you need to know,” she answered.

  She kept her eyes forward, her body rigid again as if what she was about to share was so painful she needed to brace herself before even speaking of it. He took one of her hands and folded it in his, giving her his quiet assurance. Then, he quietly waited.

  “When I was fourteen, I was attacked,” she eventually began, her voice faltering as she fought to find the words—as if saying it out loud made it all too real for her again.

  Rocco fought the urge to rise to his feet—to smash something with a curled fist as rage boiled inside him. Attacked? Did she mean—

  “He was a friend of my mother’s. A very...close friend. Apparently his attraction for her was on the wane and he was casting around for something—someone—younger.”

  She hesit
ated and Rocco tightened his fingers around hers. “You don’t have to tell me what happened if it’s too much.”

  “No, I need to—for me. For us.” She drew in another deep breath. “It was late. I’d already gone to bed, fallen asleep. When I left my mother and her lover were listening to music and dancing in the salon of our house. He’d been watching me all night. Every time he’d pour my mother another glass of wine, he’d make eye contact with me and wink. It made me extremely uncomfortable so I made my excuses and went to bed.

  “I had locked my bedroom door, as I always did, but I didn’t know he had the keys to the whole house. I woke to his hand over my mouth, his voice in my ear telling me not to bother screaming because no one would help me. No one would even believe that I hadn’t been asking for it. He told me that he’d seen the way I looked at him all night, all the enticing glances I’d given him. He squeezed my breasts, hurting me. I was too shocked, too scared to do anything. When he pushed up my nightgown I struggled, tried to scream. He punched me on the side of the head. It rendered me semiconscious—and then...” She took in another deep breath. “Then he raped me.”

  Rocco made a sound that came out somewhere between a roar and a growl. “I wish you had never had to endure such brutality. What happened after that? Did you tell your mother?”

  “I w-wasn’t going to because he told me she’d never believe me, but in the morning, as I tried to wash my nightgown, my sheets, my mother found me and demanded to know what had happened. I broke down and told her. I kept saying I was sorry. I felt so defiled, so dirty. Had it been my fault? Had I been coming on to him as he’d said? After all, hadn’t we made eye contact several times that night?”

  Rocco waved one hand in a dismissive movement. “Never! How could it be your fault? You were an innocent.”

  “I know that now.”

  “Did your mother report him to the authorities?”

  “She started to. I heard them arguing in her room, afterward. She was bargaining with him.”

  Rocco’s blood ran cold. “Bargaining?”

  “She wanted payment from him for taking my virginity. She said she wouldn’t press charges if he paid up. I got the impression that if he paid enough...she’d let him have access to me again.”

  She said the words so simply but he felt their weight as if it was crushing him. That she’d had to go through that—having the very person who should have been her advocate abuse her trust and attempt to use her that way—horrified him.

  “I didn’t stick around to wait and see what agreement they came to. I went to my room, grabbed my schoolbag, threw in some clothes and left. I never went back.”

  Rocco stood, unable to sit still a moment longer. If he didn’t move he’d smash something and probably terrify Ottavia in the bargain. Ottavia watched him pace but he doubted she really saw him. She was locked in the memory of her childhood.

  “I did what I had to do to survive. I wasn’t on the streets more than a couple of nights before child services found me. I refused to tell them who I was, where I was from. They found out, of course—my mother had reported me missing by then. She—she told them that I’d hit on her boyfriend and when he turned me down I’d run away like the brat I’d always been. She was extremely convincing, apparently. They believed her. They tried to return me to her but I made a huge fuss—even threatened to kill myself. Eventually they placed me with a foster family.”

  “What happened to your mother?” he demanded frostily, wanting no more than to track the woman down and see her get her just deserts—and that boyfriend of hers, too.

  “She’s gone now.” Ottavia’s voice was distant but he could hear the betrayal and loss that still clung to her memories. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters,” he ground out through a clenched jaw.

  Rocco had never felt so helpless in all his life. He was used to meeting things head-on—to solving problems, even if it took every single ounce of ingenuity in his possession. But even he could not turn back time. Could not wipe clean the awful slate of Ottavia’s past.

  He cleared his throat of the obstruction that had formed there. “What happened then?”

  “The foster home was okay. They mostly left me alone. I went to school, but after all I’d been through I struggled with my classes at first, and had to repeat the year. When I turned eighteen, I aged out of foster care. I had a year left of school, but no home and no income so I had to find work. I got a job in a hotel as a chambermaid.”

  He thought back to her friendliness with his staff. To her compassion and understanding to everyone from the maids who changed his sheets daily through to the head of his household staff. No wonder she related to them so easily. She’d lived their life, done their chores. Lived in their shoes. She should never have had to do that on her own.

  “Through my work I met a man.”

  Rocco bristled instantly. “What kind of man?”

  “An older gentleman. He offered me work. Not as his mistress, but as his companion.” She let out a small laugh. “I guess you could say I was his Galatea. He saw to my education in so many ways, excluding the bedroom of course. I made it clear from the start that my body was not for anyone else. But he sent me to university, counseled me through getting my degree, supporting all my efforts to better myself. After he died I decided that I could continue doing what he’d taught me. Providing companionship, hostess duties, advice when required. I’d met several of his friends over the course of our relationship—wealthy men who knew what I had to offer—and it was easy to engage new clients. I’ve been in charge of my own destiny since.”

  Rocco’s emotions threatened to overwhelm him. She’d overcome so much. And yet still a part of him ached for the teenager who’d had her virtue so cruelly torn from her. Her trust abused. Another thought dawned on him.

  “Had you been with any other man since...?” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to speak of the ugliness that had been forced upon her.

  “No.”

  “Then I—”

  “Yes.”

  Rocco drew in a long breath and let it go again as he processed what she’d just said.

  “Rocco, I never believed I would ever want to make love with a man, especially not a man who could wield as much power over me as you do.”

  “Power you ignore, I might add,” he injected ruefully.

  “Of course I do.” She laughed but her laughter was short-lived. “I thought I was healed of that time in my life. I’ve had counseling. I’ve made my own decisions. Chosen to be around the people I felt safe with.”

  “And you feel safe with me?”

  She looked as if she was carefully considering his question and then his heart skipped a beat as a beautiful smile spread across her lips.

  “I do, especially now. Until we made love, I don’t think I’d ever truly felt less a victim and more a survivor.”

  He walked to the window and stared out into the dark. Sunrise would not be far off. As he stared at the changing sky he promised himself that one day he would find out who it was that had attacked her and if her attacker was unlucky enough to still be alive, he would make certain that the man paid dearly for his violence.

  The sound of someone knocking at the main door to his chambers made him utter a string of curses. Was it too much to ask that they be left alone? With great reluctance, Rocco went to open the door. Sonja Novak—who else? he thought with a grimace.

  “The media has gotten wind of the incident yesterday,” she said brushing past him to enter the room.

  “It was only to be expected,” Rocco replied.

  “Not of the failure of the boat,” she said in clipped tones. Sonja lifted the paper in her hands and read from it. “‘While the country remains in turmoil King Rocco flirts on his private lake with well-known courtesan, Ottavia Romolo. Is th
is really appropriate behavior for our head of state?’” She snapped the paper down onto the chaise in disgust to expose the enlarged photo of Rocco standing behind Ottavia at the helm of the boat. It was clear that he was kissing the side of her neck. “You do not help your cause, Sire.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Where did that picture come from?”

  “Does it matter anymore?” Sonja pursed her lips in disapproval. “It can only have been taken by someone on the estate.”

  Ottavia lifted the paper. “This looks like an aerial shot.”

  Rocco rubbed his face. “The only helicopters that came over this airspace were my own, ferrying the princesses to the airport.”

  Which meant the photo had been taken by someone close to him. Someone he trusted. Rocco felt the slow boil of anger turn into something hot and furious inside him. Whoever did this would regret their treachery. In the meantime, he had fires to put out in the capitol. He had to show his people he was still very much in control of his country.

  “Find out who was responsible for this and deal with it. They do not belong on my staff,” he said.

  “And in the meantime?” Sonja asked.

  “I will return to the capitol and do what I can to extinguish this particular fire.”

  “You may not find that so simple. There are rumors—”

  “There are always rumors. I deal only in facts. Arrange for my helicopter to be readied. I will fly myself.”

  Sonja smiled in response. “Certainly, and Ms. Romolo? Will she be joining you?”

  Ottavia said rose to her feet. “I’d like to come with you, if you want me to, that is. Perhaps it would help if we could make a formal announcement regarding our enga—”

  “No, we’ll talk about that when you get back. You will stay here,” he said more curtly than he meant to.

  Ottavia looked surprised. She recovered quickly but he sensed she was hurt beneath it. “Of course. Whatever you say.”

  “I shall alert the flight crew and advise the capitol palace staff to expect you,” Sonja said smoothly and she let herself out.