by Maisey Yates
“Not even. Not even close.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek, over the tears that had started to fall. Blessedly, he didn’t comment. “Ready to go in?”
“Yes,” she said. “Ready.”
“An indoor picnic?” Mak asked a few hours later when he walked into the living area. He was freshly showered and shaved and he smelled like clean skin and sex.
News to Eva that sex had a smell. But she knew it now. And she was finding that she liked it.
“Well, it would be impractical to have an outdoor picnic,” she said, running her palm over the blanket that was spread over the living-room carpet, just in front of the fire. “Unless you fancy the idea of sitting on a blanket in the snow.”
“Not really. What inspired this?”
“Well, if we’re still sharing secrets … this is something I’ve always wanted to do. Part of my epic romantic fantasy, if you will.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Come and sit down.”
He gave her a half smile and walked over to the blanket, sitting down next to her. “All right. Now explain this epic romantic fantasy.”
“In my mind, when I thought of romance, I pictured picnics and dancing. Well, we’ve danced. And now we’ll picnic.
In lieu of a green field dotted with daisies, I’ve opted for an oatmeal carpet and warmth.”
“Good choice.” He paused for a moment, his eyes intense on hers. “But don’t weave too many romantic fantasies around me.”
Her throat tightened. Too late. “Of course not. We both know what this is.”
Except she wasn’t sure she knew what it was, not really. She felt too much for it to be a fling. Or was that normal? She couldn’t be sure. Her seasonal friends had flings, and they spoke of it with a sort of light humor. But Eva didn’t feel any humor in regards to Mak. She couldn’t imagine recounting intimate details of their time together over coffee, while laughing.
It felt too private. Too personal. It was hers. Theirs.
“Good,” he said, picking up a plate and starting on his chicken.
She suddenly didn’t feel very hungry. Still, she made a show of chewing on a piece of bread for longer than was strictly necessary.
This was a fantasy, and she knew it. At least, she vaguely knew it. Knew that when their time in the chalet ended, they ended too. Knew that this was borrowed time at its most precious and brief. But she wished she didn’t know it.
When she went back, there would, potentially, be another man waiting for her. The man she was supposed to share forever with.
It was cruel. She had this little window of time with Mak, and then after that, eternity with a husband she didn’t care about.
Now her appetite really was gone.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Uh, yes. Really. Fine.” Breaking apart inside, but she’d survive. She had no other choice.
“Good. This dinner is good.”
“Liesel made it. I can’t claim any credit.”
“Ah. Did she go home for the evening?”
“Yes,” Eva said. “‘I think I want dessert.”
“You’ve barely touched dinner.”
“That’s fine. I don’t want it.” She reached beneath the edge of the blanket and pulled out a condom packet. “Dessert first will suit me just fine,” she said, holding it out to him.
He set his plate on the couch, his eyes blank, guarded. “You had a plan for the evening. Another part of your longheld fantasy?”
She shook her head. “No. This is new. I had some pretty girlish fantasies. But now … well, now I know what it means to really want someone. To want you. And that’s a lot more important than food to me right now.”
It went beyond a physical hunger though. She needed the connection, needed him to be joined to her, to be inside her. Needed to be connected to him. She needed something to make her feel whole, to stop the endless, empty ache that was spreading through her.
He stood and she did too. He tugged the edge of the blanket, clearing the space in front of the fireplace before walking to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her as if she was the best thing he’d tasted all day.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pouring everything into it. Her fear, her frustration, her passion.
He unzipped her dress and it fell to her feet. She pushed it aside and kept kissing him while she tugged his shirt up over his head, running her hands over his sculpted chest, his chest hair prickling her palms as she explored his body. She would never get enough of him. He was beautiful, sculpted and lean, the ultimate fantasy.
But it wasn’t about that. That might have sparked her initial attraction, but his beauty came from somewhere else, somewhere deeper. Whether he saw it in himself or not, it didn’t matter. She did.
They took turns discarding clothes, between kisses and sighs, and when he laid her down on the blanket, she looked at him for a long time, her hands stroking his cheeks, his lips, tracing the line of his jaw.
Words hovered on her lips. Words she was too scared to speak, too scared even to think. She didn’t want to know what they were, not exactly, or why they felt as though they would burst from her if she didn’t bite down hard on her lower lip.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head, too afraid to speak. Too afraid of what she might say.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He slid inside her and she let her head fall back, pleasure coursing through her as he filled her, as the empty ache that had been plaguing her abated. Each thrust of his body into hers pushed her higher, made her feel as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, afraid to jump. Afraid not to.
When she gave in, let go, she felt herself falling, pleasure rushing up to greet her. Too much. Too fast. She gripped his shoulders, trying to find an anchor, something to keep her from losing herself entirely.
Not even that worked. The world fragmented, broke apart. She broke too, along with everything around her, slipping away from time and place as pleasure filled in the cracks, taking the place of reality, becoming more important, more real than anything around her. More important than the future, than the past. There was only now. Only this.
She wished it could last forever.
She clung to it, even as things slowly started to right themselves. As the fragments were put back together, as it all came back, clear and sharp.
The carpet was against her back, the fire hot on one side of her. Mak was above her, his breathing harsh as he shuddered out his own release, every muscle in his body tense, her name on his lips.
I love you.
The words burst into her mind, loud, undeniable. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore them, tried to shut them out as they echoed through her body.
She wasn’t supposed to love him. She was only supposed to want him. To take his body, to satisfy a physical desire. She wasn’t supposed to feel that she would die if he wasn’t with her. Wasn’t supposed to feel whole for the first time.
It couldn’t work. It wouldn’t. Even if everything was set aside that her father had planned for her, Mak had made it very clear that he didn’t want love. Didn’t need it.
But all those things that had left him littered with scars, they were the reasons she loved him. Now that she’d acknowledged it, she couldn’t seem to stop.
He pulled her into his arms, and he didn’t speak. She said a silent prayer of thanks and curled up against him, listening to his heart pounding against her cheek.
This was all she would ever have of him. And it would have to be enough.
Somehow, it would have to be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“YOUR father called.” Mak was standing at the edge of the living room, backlit by the light in the entryway, the hard lines of his body visible. He was naked. Gorgeous. A fine first sight.
Eva came to full consciousness slowly, groggy and, she was certain, with carpet print embedded into her cheek. S
he and Mak had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, both of them too lethargic to make their way upstairs.
“What did he say?” she asked, sitting, tugging the picnic blanket, which they’d commandeered as makeshift comforter for the night, up to her breasts.
“He’s ready for us to come back. The media haven’t dropped the story, and what he thinks they need is your presence.” Mak’s voice was blank of emotion, his facial expression just as impossible to read.
“But I thought … I didn’t think having me there while the media was storming the castle was what anyone wanted I … I certainly don’t want to get hounded by reporters.” She didn’t want her time with Mak to end. That was the main problem. Reporters didn’t really scare her, but going back to her cloistered life at the palace, that did frighten her.
“I … will you stay?” she asked.
Silence hung between them.
When Mak spoke, he spoke slowly. “I’m not through protecting you. Now that the media might hassle you, I suppose there’s even more of a reason for me to be there.”
“And I might run away. Or cause more scandal,” she said, looking for reasons to reinforce his being there.
He laughed, a hollow sound. “Somehow I don’t believe that. But I will stay.”
“Good,” she said.
She could face everything, even the press, if Mak was there. And even if they could never sleep in each other’s arms again, she would rather have him close by than not have him at all.
She looked at the empty space next to her and felt her heart squeeze tight. She wished she had known that last night was the last night. She might have held him closer.
She might not have slept.
She looked at Mak, standing across the room from her, his posture formal, nothing in his face hinting at his emotions, or even if he had them.
If she had known that last night had been the last time, she might even have told him how she felt.
So it was probably good she hadn’t known.
“I’ll go and gather my things,” she said, standing up, tugging the blanket around her body.
She started to walk past him, then stopped, turning to face him. She studied the lines of his face, so familiar, so essential. She pulled the blanket more securely around her body and stood up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. He froze for a moment, the put one hand on her waist, holding her to him as he returned the kiss. As he slid his tongue against hers, taking the kiss deep, intense. Desperate.
Her heart pounded hard, echoing in her head, her entire body shaking as she squeezed her eyes closed. She needed this kiss, this last kiss, to last her forever.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
When they parted they were both breathing hard, Mak’s eyes glittering with emotion now, deep and dark and un-nameable.
She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. She wouldn’t hide how he affected her. But she wouldn’t crumble either.
“Now I’ll go and get ready,” she said, trying to force a smile.
“I’ll meet you down here in half an hour,” he said, his voice a whisper.
“See you then.”
Mak spent the flight in the seat at the opposite end of the plane from Eva’s seat. He had to gather his control. Had to find a way to put some distance between them.
They were about to stand before King Stephanos, about to rejoin the real world.
He didn’t often question his actions. Since the car accident that had cost Marina her life, at least a real life, he had simply moved on. Tried to make what he had, what they had, work.
He should question the actions he’d taken with Eva. He should denounce them. Regret them. Something.
He didn’t. He couldn’t.
She was the first woman to truly test his control. There had been others who were willing, especially since he’d been able to act on any desires he might have. But nothing about the moment, or the person, had felt right. He’d felt dead. Bored.
With Eva he felt alive. As if she’d breathed into him, made him see things in color. She added an indefinable something to his life, to each moment. And he felt starved for it, for her, always.
Still, he should feel regret. He could offer her nothing, not just because of her likely-impending marriage, but because he had nothing to give. Nothing at all. He was dry. Spent.
He could give endlessly to his job, a job that only made physical demand of him, and he could keep Eva happy in bed endlessly too. But she needed more. She was so beautiful, so untouched, even by the tragedy that had happened in her own life.
She didn’t need someone so damaged. Especially when he knew he could do nothing but take. And he’d been there. He’d been the one to give, and had given until it was all gone. His life blood leached from him, leaving nothing but a shell in place of the man he’d been.
He wouldn’t do that to her. Ever. An arranged marriage with a man who had the possibility of giving her everything she needed was a much better thing for her.
Even if the idea of another man’s hands on her body gave him the impression of hot, dry ash on his tongue.
“What are we going to tell him?” Eva’s voice came from just behind him.
He turned. “Nothing. Your father, I assume? But even if you mean the pope, the answer is still nothing.”
“Not a believer in confession?”
“Not confessing something of this nature.”
“Are you ashamed?”
He stood and braced himself on the back of the chair, a fierce anger erupting in him. At her. At himself. “I am attached to every body part I have. And I don’t fancy losing any. Neither do I fancy spending any time in a Kyonosian jail cell for violating their precious princess.”
“They all think I’ve been violated before anyway. Besides, we both know you could escape from a jail cell in what? Five minutes?”
He shrugged. “Ten maybe.”
“Exactly.”
He wanted to touch her, but he wouldn’t. That path led to madness. To ruin. “That doesn’t mean I’m eager to go in and make any announcements.”
“I know,” she said, her voice much more subdued than he was accustomed to hearing it.
“Tell me your favorite thing about Kyonos,” he said. He wanted to keep her from thinking too much. From feeling sad. Especially when they both knew exactly what likely awaited her back home.
She blinked rapidly. “I like … I like the sea. The heat. The cafés. I like that it isn’t covered in snow.” Her voice thickened. “I like that I can go outside whenever I want without worrying about frostbite. And that I don’t have to sit by a fireplace to get warm.”
“And you have your own room?” he asked, pain lancing his chest.
“Yes. For as long as I have my own room, I’ll treasure it. Until the day I’m forced into marriage. Into sharing it with someone I don’t know or care about. Until that day, there will be things I enjoy about Kyonos. About life. I’ll get back to you after that.”
She turned and walked back to her seat, her posture stiff. And Mak tried not to wonder when he’d started feeling things again.
She’d lied. Big-time. There was nothing comforting about home. Truthfully, there was nothing home about home. It was nothing but a castle built for ancestors long dead, to impress the outside world, and to imprison those who lived in it.
At least some of the people who lived in it.
She tried not to flinch as she walked through the vast open doors that led into the foyer of the castle. High ceilings, built that high for the express purpose of making those who’d just walked across the hallowed threshold feel very, very small.
She was determined not to let it work. That didn’t mean it wasn’t working a little bit, but she was trying to make it so that it didn’t.
Mak was behind her, his presence solid. Comforting. Intoxicating. Everything it shouldn’t be. She couldn’t lean on Mak. She had to draw strength from herself. Even so, she ached for a
partner. Not a support, but someone who would stand beside her, an active participant in what she was about to do. Not a passive soldier who simply walked ten paces behind, his emotions cut off. His body present, his heart cold as stone.
It was just before noon and there was staff everywhere, hurrying around them paying her very little attention. The staff weren’t wild about her, not because of any personal dealings but because she caused trouble in the well-ordered world of the palace. Anyone who made King Stephanos unhappy indirectly made them unhappy, after all.
She continued, head down, toward her father’s office, trying to ignore the prickle of heat on the back of her neck, the racing of her heart that told her Mak was keeping pace with her.
She stopped at the door to the king’s office. She only thought of him as The King when she knew he was going to issue an edict she didn’t like. And something inside her told her that he was about to.
“Shall I go with you?” It was the first time Mak had spoken since the plane landed.
“No,” she said. “I’ll handle it. After all, it isn’t as though we’ve been caught out.” She turned the door handle and stepped into the room. “Father, I’m home.”
Stephanos didn’t look up from the papers in front of him. “Good. We have to act quickly.”
“We do?”
“Yes.” He looked up then, pulling his glasses off. “The press is tearing you apart. You’re quickly becoming a running joke. Some are quite clever though none bear repeating in polite company.”
Eva swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “As long as it’s done cleverly. I’d hate to think the jokes were stupid as well as vulgar.”
“Be that as it may, there may be a chance to save you yet.”
She looked left, then right. “Is there a priest around?”
Her father treated her to an expression that was decidedly lacking in amusement. “There will be soon enough. Bastian Van Saant has agreed to go forward with the marriage and I have accepted his offer for your hand.”
Eva’s ears crackled, then fuzzed out, as though she was getting bad reception on a radio station. Her father’s lips were still moving, but she could only make out a few words, sprinkled throughout waves of oppressive silence.