Royally Wed: a Romance Duet

by Noelle Adams

  “I’m just talented, is all.” I made sure my tone was teasing so he wouldn’t think I was pressuring him in any way. “I just think you’d be happier if you’d tell your family the truth.”

  “My family would not be happy if they knew the truth. They’d be horrified. I’m not going to do that to them.”

  “They love you. Maybe they wouldn’t react the way you think.”

  “I know them. They would. It isn’t worth it.”

  I sighed and tried to think of something helpful to say, but nothing came to me. I’d had this conversation with Bryce dozens of times since he’d told me he was gay four years ago. His family was very traditional, very Catholic.

  He could tell me, but he couldn’t tell them.

  I knew everyone had to make their own choices—especially about something as intimate as coming out—but I still worried for him.

  He loved his family, and I knew it bothered him that he couldn’t be entirely open with them.

  “Stop brooding,” he said, reaching out to wrap an arm around me in a friendly half hug. “You have your own personal issues to worry about, including a new husband who seems to be glaring at us for some reason.”

  I glanced back over to Edward and realized Bryce was right. Edward was staring at us, and his gaze seemed more disapproving than his typical lofty expression.

  Maybe he thought it wasn’t appropriate for me to be talking for so long with someone else instead of clinging to his arm like a good little wife.

  Or maybe not.

  This marriage wasn’t going to improve if I always assumed the worst in him.

  I gave Bryce another hug and then returned to where Edward was standing.

  He didn’t say anything to me, so I talked to our fathers instead.

  I wondered if Edward would deign to speak to me when we were finally alone.

  EDWARD HAD A LARGE, expensive apartment in Geneva, and that was where we spent the night since we were flying out for our honeymoon in the morning. The drive to the city was less than an hour from Villemont, and we rode in the back of Edward’s very fancy chauffeured car.

  I’d never been to Edward’s apartment before since I was going to move into his country estate—midway between Geneva and Villemont. The apartment was beautifully decorated with minimalistic furnishings and a few pieces of fine art, and I gazed around in instinctive admiration as we walked in.

  When I noticed Edward’s eyes were fixed on my face, I made myself smile and say, “I really like it.”

  He nodded. Didn’t smile, of course.

  Remembering Bryce’s advice about getting to know him, I asked, “How long have you lived here?”

  Faced with a direct question, Edward had to respond with words. “Since university.”

  “You just bought the estate last year?”

  He nodded.

  All right. That was good to know. Don’t ask yes or no questions since he could get away with not speaking.

  “Do you prefer the city to the country?” I asked.

  His brows drew together as if he were surprised by the question.

  “I’m just wondering,” I explained. “If you prefer the city, I don’t mind living here.”

  “The estate is closer to home for you. Surely that’s more convenient for you.”

  Pleased with getting him to say so many words in a row, I replied, “Maybe, but not significantly so. You work here, so this must be easier for you.”

  “I can stay in this apartment when I need to.”

  Of course he could.

  It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he was planning to live here on his own all week and only come out to the estate on the weekends.

  A lot of men did that, and it would allow him to maintain his lifestyle—whatever that lifestyle was—without an unwanted wife interfering.

  I didn’t like that idea.

  It shouldn’t bother me since I’d gone into this marriage knowing we would live our separate lives, but it didn’t feel right that my husband should keep living exactly as he had as a bachelor.

  I didn’t say so, of course. That wasn’t the way to build bridges, and a good relationship between us would make things a lot easier in the future.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  The question was completely unexpected. I couldn’t remember him ever asking a question of me before.

  Even the proposal of marriage had been initiated by me. I’d basically just asked what he thought about the idea—since both our families were pushing for it—and he’d said he was amenable to it.

  That had been his word. Amenable.

  Realizing he was waiting for a response, I said, “Oh. No. Of course not.”

  He peered at me in that way he had, like he was observing an amoeba under a microscope. Finally he said, “I’m sure you’re tired. I had the guest room prepared for you.”

  I blinked up at him.

  The guest room. On our wedding night.

  “Oh.”

  His eyes narrowed even more. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I mean, I know we never talked about it, but our families are expecting an heir. I guess I assumed this marriage would be... would be... consummated.”

  I’ve never been a reticent woman. I can talk openly with anyone about nearly anything without a cringe or a blush. But I was suddenly struck with a wave of self-consciousness by this admission.

  Maybe I had been wrong about everything.

  Maybe Edward had no intention of ever touching me.

  At all.

  “Of course,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “I assumed you’d be more comfortable if we waited until we knew each other better.”

  I let out a breath. That made sense. Of course I’d be more comfortable.

  It was strange to me that he seemed eager to delay having sex with me, but maybe he wasn’t very attracted to me.

  I’m pretty enough. Most men find me at least somewhat attractive.

  But maybe I’m not his type.

  The truth was I had absolutely no idea what kind of woman he preferred.

  “Yes,” I said, realizing he was still waiting for a response. “That’s true. We can get to know each other better first.”

  He nodded. “Good. The room is there. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I stared at him as he disappeared into what must be the master bedroom.

  My husband was quite the romantic. Nodding me toward my room and then hurrying away so he could be alone.

  This marriage was shaping up to be quite an exciting affair.

  I could hardly wait to find out what would happen next.

  Two

  The next day, Edward and I were being shown through a beautiful, private “sanctuary” at an exclusive resort on Fiji.

  It consisted of a large private detached house—airy living area, full kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a pool, a hot tub, and a deck extending out over the ocean. It came with private staff, a five-star chef, and no one else in sight, although we could use the public resort facilities if we wanted to.

  I’d never seen anything like it.

  I felt like an awed teenager as I gazed around speechlessly with wide eyes at the elegant lodging and stunning beach views.

  I might have been raised as a princess, but my family had certainly never wasted money on indulgent private vacations—not when all our finances went to royal pomp and circumstance.

  When we’d been shown all the features of the sanctuary, the butler asked if we wanted him to unpack for us. Edward said no, so the butler left us with assurances that he would appear whenever we summoned.

  I stood silently when the door closed, not sure what to say to my new husband.

  It was afternoon in Fiji, but it was much later by my internal clock. It felt like it should be bedtime. I was tired and overwhelmed and inexplicably shy.

  This was my honeymoon. It was a very strange thing to process.

  “What do you think?” Edward asked quietly.
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  I stared at him. He seemed to be genuinely asking, like he really didn’t know what I thought. “It’s amazing!” I finally said.

  It was hard to read anything in his handsome, stoic face, but I saw a slight relaxing of his features and assumed this meant he was relieved.

  “Good,” he said with a small nod.

  He walked into the largest bedroom, boasting a huge luxurious bed and vast ocean views. The porters had put our luggage in that room. I followed him in since I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  I shook my head. We’d eaten on his family’s private jet just a couple of hours ago.

  “Okay. I’m sure you’re tired.”

  With that, he picked up his luggage and walked out of the room. I went to the door and watched as he entered the second bedroom, which was smaller but equally beautiful.

  He closed the door behind him.

  Well, that was very friendly of him.

  Maybe he was just showering and changing. I felt a little icky from the plane trip as well.

  Closing the bedroom door, I spent some time unpacking. Then I took a long shower and changed into a bikini and semitransparent cover-up.

  It might feel like bedtime, but it was just afternoon, and there was no use wasting part of a day in bed.

  Edward’s bedroom door was still closed.

  After standing idly for a minute, wondering if he’d emerge, I went into the kitchen. There was a silver bucket holding chilled champagne, but I didn’t feel like champagne at the moment.

  I opened the refrigerator and was pleased to see a lovely pitcher of fresh milk.

  Pouring myself a glass, I wondered if the resort always stocked it or if Edward had made a specific request for it—knowing I loved milk.

  He had to know. I drank it all the time, even at formal events. But that would be surprisingly sensitive for such an aloof man.

  Milk was normal. They probably always stocked it in the refrigerator.

  It was wonderful milk though, and I thoroughly enjoyed it as I walked out onto the deck and admired the view.

  When I finished the glass, I returned inside.

  Edward was still in his room.

  Surely he’d had time to shower, change clothes, and unpack.

  What else would he be doing in there?

  Wasn’t he going to come out?

  I hung around, loitering idly for about fifteen minutes. Then finally I gave up.

  It didn’t matter what Edward did. If he wanted to stay in his room, he was more than welcome to do so.

  I was going to do what I wanted.

  I went out onto the deck, rubbed on sunblock thoroughly because my fair skin burns within ten minutes in this kind of sun, and stretched out on a chaise. I calculated the time difference between here and the United States and figured it was a reasonable time to call Amalie, so I did, and we chatted for a half hour.

  Edward still didn’t make an appearance.

  I dozed for a little while until it felt like I was getting burned despite the sunblock. So I got a book and moved to the outdoor bed, which was covered by a canopy.

  I read for the rest of the afternoon in the shade.

  Alone.

  THE NEXT DAY, I WAS reading again.

  Edward did eventually emerge from his room but only for meals, which were prepared for us by a private chef.

  The food, the setting, and the indulgences of the resort were amazing, but I was feeling rather frustrated by the middle of the afternoon.

  Didn’t Edward plan to do anything but hide in his room for the entire week?

  What the hell was wrong with the man?

  He must be working. What else would he be doing in there? If he was just hanging out, he would at least have come out of his room and make use of the main living areas.

  Some men were like that. They worked all the time—even when they were supposed to be on vacation. They just couldn’t disconnect from their jobs, even for a few days. I’d met plenty of men like that. It was highly likely that Edward was one of them.

  It was fine. It would probably be easier that way. He could focus on work, and I could focus on whatever I wanted.

  Even on our honeymoon.

  I’d spent the morning on the deck, moving between the chaise, the outdoor bed, and the pool—but it had gotten so hot in the afternoon that I’d come inside. Right now I was stretched out on a double chaise positioned in front of the glass doors that slid and pocketed to open the entire wall to the outside.

  The breeze was lovely, and with the ceiling fan, the temperature was pleasant rather than oppressively hot.

  I jerked in surprise when Edward’s bedroom door opened.

  It wasn’t anywhere close to dinnertime, so he must be emerging for some other reason.

  Maybe he finally wanted to do something.

  I looked up hopefully but was disappointed when he immediately walked into the kitchen and got a bunch of grapes from the bowl of fresh fruit on the counter.

  Clearly, he’d only emerged to eat.

  Maybe he was like a bear—hibernating whenever he could and only showing his face to the world when he needed to fill his belly.

  The image amused me since lean, handsome Edward wasn’t remotely bearlike in his appearance.

  Edward glanced over toward me and must have caught me hiding a smile.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were laughing.”

  I thought quickly. He seemed like the prickly sort. He wouldn’t want to be compared to a bear. So I covered for my amusement by lifting my book for him to see. “Funny scene in my book.”

  I didn’t know if he believed me or not. He nodded but didn’t otherwise reply.

  He stood and ate his grapes, watching me. I had no idea what he was thinking.

  This was ridiculous. We were married. We had to at least talk a little.

  “Are you working?”

  His lips parted slightly. “I’m eating grapes.”

  I gave a huff of laughter. “Not now. I mean in there.” I nodded toward his bedroom. “Are you working?”

  “Oh. No.”

  “What are you doing then?”

  “Reading.” He looked almost sheepish at the admission.

  My mouth dropped open slightly. “You’re just reading? Then why don’t you come out here with me?”

  I spoke instinctively since it seemed so bizarre that he would read in his room when all I was doing out here was reading as well. But I immediately second-guessed myself. Maybe he preferred to be alone. It wasn’t exactly diplomatic to make it sound like he was doing something wrong.

  My heart skipped a beat when he turned around and walked back into his room.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  I’d insulted him.

  Now he’d be angry with me, and things would become more awkward between us than they already were.

  I was already thinking through ways to mend fences when he walked out of his room again.

  He had a book in his hand.

  I stared as he went into the kitchen, got his grapes and a bottle of chilled sparkling water, and came into the living area to join me.

  He lowered himself onto the sofa, adjusting a cushion so he could turn sideways and prop his feet up.

  He turned his head and cocked an eyebrow when he saw me staring at him.

  I almost giggled.

  My husband was a very strange man, but it felt better—more natural—that he was reading out here with me.

  LATE THE FOLLOWING morning, I was getting tired of reading and lounging about.

  Preparations for such an elaborate wedding had been quite stressful—mostly because of the pressure put on me from my mother and her friends—so a couple of days of pure relaxation were appreciated.

  But I was never the kind of person who liked to lie around for long periods of time. I didn’t mind reading, but after a while, I wanted to get out an
d do something.

  I was becoming bored. And restless. And a little annoyed that Edward didn’t seem inclined to even leave our sanctuary.

  If we were on a normal honeymoon and having a lot of sex, then maybe it would be nice to be so cut off from the world. But that definitely wasn’t happening, and it would be nice to see someone other than Edward, our butler, our chef, and our maid.

  At least Edward was willing to sit out in the common areas with me now.

  Right now he was on the chaise on the deck, and I was on the outdoor bed.

  And I desperately wanted to do something.

  I tried reading the same one page for about ten minutes until finally I couldn’t do it anymore. With a groan, I tossed my book onto the floor and sat up.

  Edward looked over in surprise.

  He was reading some literary book I’d never heard of. I’d asked him about it, but it sounded deadly dull to me.

  “Bad book?” he asked, glancing between my face and my book on the deck.

  I sighed. “No. I’m just restless. I want to do something.”

  His eyes widened in what I was learning was his surprised face. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Something. I just want to get out.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  I stared at him. Maybe he really thought I would just come and go as I wanted, without any regard for him at all.

  Maybe that was what I should do. Who cared if he was my husband and we were on our honeymoon? I could just go out on my own and leave him behind.

  “Do you not want to do anything?” I asked, standing up and then reaching down to pick up my book.

  He was staring at me with that intense scrutiny I saw on his face a lot—like he was trying to read my mind. “Did you want me to come with you?”

  “If you want. I mean, you don’t have to, of course. But we might as well do something together if we both want to get out. If you don’t, I’m fine going out on my own.”

  He lowered his book and got up. “I can go with you.”

  I felt a ridiculous little leap in my heart, like I’d accomplished some sort of great victory. “It’s fine with me either way. You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

  He met my eyes. “I want.”