He turned and marched back into the lodge and to his office where, on his secure line, he placed a call.
“King Rocco,” he said as he was put through. “I regret to inform you that I can no longer marry your sister. The wedding is off.”
Fifteen
Mila paced the floor of her bedroom. Back and forth like a caged animal. She’d known the minute she crossed the border and a palace guard had stepped out of the customs building, followed by her brother’s head of palace security, that her ruse had been discovered. From the moment she’d been returned to the castle yesterday she’d been a virtual prisoner in her own rooms.
Not permitted to make or receive calls, her computer confiscated, her television disconnected—she was adrift from the rest of the world. Worse, she was actually locked in. She began to have a new appreciation for how Ottavia Romolo must have felt during her captivity. Although, it seemed, that the courtesan’s incarceration had lasted only a matter of days. Somehow, the woman had managed to escape and warn Mila’s brother of what she’d been up to—hence the welcoming committee when Mila returned across the border.
Mila hated waiting. Worse, she hated not knowing what she could expect when she was eventually brought before her brother to face the music. And through it all was the fear and the worry that what she’d done had destroyed any chance of her and Thierry having their happy ending after all. She’d been a fool, going off half cocked and driven by emotion.
Hadn’t she been raised to know better than that? Emotion couldn’t be the main driving force in the life of a royal. Duty came before everything else. If she’d ever thought she knew that lesson before it was nothing on how she’d come to understand it now. She should have waited until her wedding. Allowed their relationship to grow and blossom the way it could have done under normal circumstances.
She should have trusted Thierry, even when she’d heard that he’d hired a courtesan. Should have believed he would never do anything to dishonor his commitment to her.
And there lay the crux of the problem. She hadn’t trusted him. And in her insecurity, she’d set out to willfully deceive him. Her behavior had reaped the result she should have been doing everything she could to avoid. Whatever came next, she deserved it.
The aching hollow that had developed in her chest from the moment Thierry had sent her away grew even deeper. She doubted the pain of it would ever leave her.
There was a perfunctory knock at the door to her room which then opened, revealing General Andrej Novak, Rocco’s head of the armed forces—the man who had escorted her home from the border yesterday.
“Your Royal Highness, please come with me.”
So, Rocco had sent his top guy rather than one of the usual palace guards or even a general staff member. Clearly he wasn’t taking any of this lightly at all. Unease knotted in her stomach as, wordlessly, she did as she’d been asked.
“He’s furious with me, isn’t he?” she asked the tall, forbidding-looking man at her side.
“It’s not my place to say, ma’am.”
She continued through the palace corridors until they arrived at her brother’s office. The head of security tapped on the door and then opened it for her, gesturing for her to go inside. The sun beat in through the office windows, throwing the man seated in the chair at his desk into relief and putting Mila at a distinct disadvantage. If only she could see her brother’s face, gauge his mood. Who was she kidding? Seeing his face wouldn’t change a thing—he was undoubtedly furious with her, again. She sank into a curtsy. Her legs began to burn as she waited for his command to rise.
“Good of you to return home,” her brother said in icy tones from behind his desk. He made a sound that sounded like a growl. “Get up, Mila, your subservience is too little, too late.”
She rose and faced him, her eyes raking his face—searching for any sign of compassion. There was none. Banked fury lit his sherry-colored eyes and deep lines bracketed the sides of his mouth.
“Do you have the slightest idea what you’ve done?” he bit out. When she remained silent he continued, his voice lethally level and controlled. “Your impetuosity has destroyed any chance of a union between Erminia and Sylvain. King Thierry has called off the wedding.”
“No!” Mila gasped in pain and shock. Her legs wobbled and she reached for the chair beside her to steady herself.
“Peace between our nations will now be impossible.” Rocco rose from his chair and turned to face the windows, presenting her with his broad back.
“Surely not impossible. This is the twenty-first century, after all,” she argued, futilely reaching for some thought or idea to present to her brother. “There must be something we can do.”
“Do?” He turned to face her and shook his head. “You have driven open chasms in the very fabric of our security. I had hoped to avoid having to tell you this. Had hoped that your marriage to King Thierry would bring with it enough stability that this problem would become irrelevant, and you would have had no need to know.”
“No need to know what?” she demanded. “What have you been hiding from me, and why?”
“Before your engagement I became aware of rumors of a threat against me. One that endangered you, too. We took steps to weed out the danger and we believed it under control, but before your return home the threat became a clear and present danger.”
Mila’s throat dried in fear. “What kind of threat?”
“At first we thought it might be a direct attack on my person, but it seems my position on the throne is the actual target.”
“But how? You are the firstborn and only son of our father. Our lines of succession are quite specific.”
“Firstborn and only legitimate son of our father.”
“He had another son?”
Shocked, Mila couldn’t remain standing another moment. She sank into a chair in an inelegant slump.
“Apparently.”
“Who?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know yet. But I will,” Rocco said with grim determination.
“But even so, if he isn’t our father’s legitimate issue he has no claim on the throne.”
Rocco made a noise that was between a laugh and a growl. “So we believed. However, it seems that there is an ancient law, still in force, that says that if I am not married by my thirty-fifth birthday and the father of legally recognized issue, I cannot remain king.”
“But that’s easy, isn’t it? Marry. Have a baby! Or revoke the law.”
“A list of potential brides is being prepared for me. But time is of the essence, so in the meantime, we are working with our parliament to see the law revoked. However that has opened a whole new set of problems. Some of our members apparently support the idea of a new king. It appears the flames of subversion have been subtly coaxed for some time.”
“Oh, Rocco. What are you going to do?”
“Keep working to uncover who is behind this and keep trying to unravel the mystery before it’s too late and we have a civil war on our hands. In the meantime, we need all the allies we can get, which is why I was counting on your now-canceled nuptials.”
Mila began to shake.
“I...I...” Her voice trailed away. An apology seemed ridiculously insubstantial given the weight of what Rocco had said. “Sorry” just didn’t cut it. “What can I do?”
Her brother came around the front of his desk and gave her look that she would never forget. He squatted down before her and took both her hands in his.
“I know that following orders has never been your strong suit, but I have one command for you now, little sister. Go back to Sylvain and change King Thierry’s mind. Your marriage could be the only thing that saves Erminia from total destruction.”
* * *
From the helicopter window Mila watched through the darkness as the l
ights at the border of Erminia disappeared behind her. Ahead lay Sylvain and what would unarguably be the most difficult task of her life. How did you convince a man who loved you but who no longer trusted you to go ahead with your marriage?
Flying had never been her favorite pastime and she usually survived long-haul flights with antianxiety medication that helped her sleep through most of it. That wasn’t an option now, when she needed to stay alert, but taking a short flight in a helicopter had her heart racing and her nerves strung so tight she thought she might throw up if they didn’t land soon.
As if he could read her mind the pilot made an announcement through the headset clamped to Mila’s ears.
“We’ll be landing at the palace grounds shortly, Your Royal Highness.”
“Thank you,” she responded. And not a moment too soon, she added silently as her stomach lurched in response to the change in altitude as they began to make their descent.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the uniformed escort beside her asked.
She cast a look at him. In his late thirties, General Andrej Novak cut a dashing figure in his uniform and, as head of her brother’s military, wielded an immense amount of power. But Mila felt there was always a hint of dissatisfaction hidden in the set of his mouth and the expression in his dark brown eyes. It made her wary of him, and served to increase her discomfort. She didn’t understand why it had been so necessary for her brother to send him. It was hardly a high-profile visit. In fact, it was meant to be private and would, hopefully, remain so with just her and Thierry in the same room together.
Still, she reminded herself, appearances were everything to Rocco and he wanted to make it patently obvious that this visit to Sylvain was done above board and without a hint of scandal or subterfuge. Mila closed her eyes a moment and gripped the armrests of her chair as the skids of the chopper settled on the helipad set in the Sylvano palace’s widespread and parklike grounds. A car waited nearby. The general exited the helicopter and turned to assist Mila to the ground. She was grateful for his steadying hand as she alighted and put her feet down on solid ground again.
A man got out of the car and walked toward them. He gave Mila a deep bow as he drew near.
“Your Royal Highness, Pasquale De Luca, aide to His Majesty King Thierry, at your service. Please come with me.”
“Thank you, Mr. De Luca.”
General Novak moved with her as Mila fell in step with Thierry’s aide. The aide stopped abruptly.
“I’m sorry, General. But my instructions are clear. Only the princess is to come in the vehicle.”
“And my instructions are equally clear,” Andrej rumbled at Mila’s side. “The princess is in my charge.”
“King Thierry will see the princess, and no one else.”
“It’s okay, Andrej,” Mila said, putting a hand on the general’s arm. “I will be fine.”
The man gave her a cold stare before making a short nod and taking a step back. “As you wish, ma’am.”
She could tell by the way he’d bristled at her touch that he was none too happy about the situation, but she was grateful he’d given in, even if only temporarily.
“Take me to your king,” she instructed Pasquale with as much decorum as she could muster.
Inside, her stomach roiled. Would Thierry listen to her plea? Could he forgive her the deception she’d wrought and the resulting flurry of scandal in the papers? Would he believe that she was not responsible for the leak? She had to believe that he would. That her love for him, and his for her, would help her overcome this awful situation.
As they reached the car, Pasquale opened the back door and held it for her. Mila gave him a smile of thanks and got inside, but it wasn’t until the door closed beside her and the vehicle began to move that she realized she wasn’t alone in the back of the luxurious limousine.
“Thierry!” she said, startled by the sight of him.
“You asked to see me. I am here.”
His voice was devoid of so much as a speck of warmth or humor and his eyes were as cold as steel.
“I expected to see you at the palace,” she said nervously, her fingers pleating the fabric of her dress.
“You have no right to expect anything of me.”
“You’re right, of course.” She forced herself to let go of her dress. “I’m sorry, Hawk, so very sorry for what I did.”
“Do not call me Hawk.”
She heard the underscore of pain in his voice and bowed her head in acknowledgment of her role in causing that pain. It made her heart sore that she had hurt him. That had never been her intention. She’d only wanted him to love her, as she loved him. Instead, she’d started their relationship on a series of lies. She’d abused his trust. It was no wonder he was still angry with her and looked at her now the way he did. She met his gaze—it was chillingly clinical, devoid of the passion and interest she’d come to take for granted.
“I apologize again. Can you ever forgive me? Can you please give me, us, another chance?”
Thierry shifted in his seat and turned his gaze to the privacy screen that shielded them from the car’s driver.
“Another chance, you say?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe in second chances.”
“But I love you and I know you love me, too. You told me as much. Did you lie?”
He was silent for so long that Mila thought she might shatter into a thousand painful jagged fragments, but when he spoke, she knew the agony of waiting was infinitely preferable to the torment of hearing what he had to say.
“I didn’t lie. I loved my Angel deeply, it’s true. But love alone is not enough. I have seen what people do in the name of love, what they allow themselves to think is acceptable or permissible. You know from the confidences we shared what is important to me, don’t you?”
Mila cleared her throat and tried to speak. The words came out rough and strained.
“Honesty and trust.”
“Yes, honesty and trust. I trusted you, but were you honest with me?” He faced her again. “We both know you weren’t, despite ample opportunity to be—both in New York and at my lodge.”
She struggled with how to reply. Finally, she said, “Neither of us had an easy upbringing—in our positions, with our families, it was virtually impossible for us to learn about love. And yet we still prize love above all other things. I would do anything for true love, and I did. Right from when I first met you seven years ago I knew I could love you—but how could I have ever believed that you would love someone like me? I spent the next seven years trying to be the woman worthy of being by your side, of holding your heart. Even when I met you in New York that night, I knew I was more than half in love with you already. But then I heard that you had acquired Ms. Romolo’s services, and I felt heartbroken. I had done so much, had worked so hard to make myself everything I thought you would need in a wife and partner, and yet you had chosen to turn to another woman instead. I know my actions were foolish. Reckless. Even dangerous. But I would have risked anything to find the intimacy and connection that we built together at the lodge.”
She reached for his hand and held it firmly within her own.
“I wanted a real marriage—of hearts and minds and bodies—not merely a facade to present to the people of our countries or to the world at large. I wanted a husband who would love me and stand by me as much as I want to love and stand by him. I came to the lodge in Ms. Romolo’s place hoping we could build that together. I hate that I deceived you, but I’d be lying if I said I regretted those days we spent together. We can still have that relationship, that partnership based on love, if you’ll just forgive me. I was wrong, I was stupid. I abused your trust, but I believed I was doing all of that for all the right reasons. I love you so much. You have my heart, my soul. You are my everything. Please...believe me.”
For a mo
ment she thought she might have broken through the shell of cold indifference that encased him, but then he pulled his hand free.
“I don’t believe you. I can’t. I can only regret that I misguidedly placed my trust in a woman who will do whatever it takes for whatever she wants and to hell with the consequences—just like my mother did.”
Each word fell like a blow upon her soul and Mila felt paralyzed, unable to speak or move as her body suffused with the pain that filled her mind.
Thierry continued, “For the past seven years there was only one woman in my life. You. I didn’t know you, but I planned to get to know you once we were married. I wanted to learn about what made you happy, what made you sad. What filled you with hope, what made you angry. What piqued your interest, what bored you rigid. I wanted to share your life, but I don’t see how I can do that now. You destroyed our future with your lies. I simply can’t marry a woman I can’t trust.”
He leaned forward and flicked a switch—to the intercom to the driver, Mila realized through the fog of grief that slowly engulfed her.
“Take us back to the helipad. The princess is ready to return to Erminia.”
Her voice shook and she felt as if her heart had been absorbed by a gaping black hole of despair as she spoke once more. “Please, I beg of you—reconsider. We can delay the wedding—take as long as you need until you feel you can trust me again. Please give me another chance. I love you, Thierry. With all my heart. I will do everything in my power to make up to you for my foolishness.”
“And what if everything is not enough?” he retorted as the car drew to a halt near the helipad. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”
The car rolled to a halt.
Mila tried one more time to probe the seemingly impenetrable wall Thierry had erected between them. “Was it so very bad, loving me?”
Before he could respond, the door beside her opened. She barely acknowledged Pasquale as he offered her his hand to help her from the car. She waited for Thierry to respond to her question but he remained silent, his eyes forward. Her heart broke.
Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets Page 15