by Jane Porter
He’d be okay, she told herself, shoving a hand across her mouth to stifle a cry. He’d be fine. He was tough. Strong. He’d survive without her. She was the one who might not make it without him.
Makin was standing on the upper terrace, staring out over the sea, when she returned from her morning walk.
He didn’t look at her as she climbed the steps and Emmeline knew immediately something was wrong. He leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the ocean, the morning breeze ruffling his dark hair.
“Nice walk?” he asked casually.
“Yes.”
“You’re okay?” he persisted.
She tugged a wild tendril away from her eyes. “Yes. Why?”
“I thought I heard you crying while you were walking below.”
A lump rose to her throat. She had been crying, but she didn’t want him to know. “No.”
“I could have sworn it was you.”
The lump grew bigger. Emmeline’s mouth quivered and she bit ruthlessly into her bottom lip. “It was the wind.”
He finally looked at her. His gaze shuttered, expression cool. “I can still hear it in your voice.”
She forced a smile, closed the distance between them and kissed his shoulder. He was so tall, so powerful, and completely addictive. “You’re imagining things,” she said lightly, knowing that soon she’d tell him it was over. Sometime in the next hour or two everything would change forever. “I’m going to go shower and dress. Have you had breakfast already?”
“No.”
“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be right back.”
Emmeline headed for their bedroom aware that Makin watched her every step until she disappeared inside the house. He knew something was wrong. He’d press her for the truth this next time, and she would tell him.
It happened just the way she’d expected. They were still at breakfast, lingering over coffee, talking about what they wanted to do that day when Makin abruptly told her he knew she was upset, that he’d been awakened last night by the sound of her crying.
“Don’t tell me nothing is wrong,” he said flatly. “Obviously something is. What?”
He didn’t skirt problems but ran directly at them, head-first. Emmeline felt a rush of intense love and admiration. He really was good, strong. He needed someone at his side who was as good and strong.
She was neither.
Nor would she ever be.
“I changed my mind,” she said quietly, toying with the handle on her cup. “I changed my mind,” she repeated, louder, more firmly. “I can’t do this after all.”
“Do what?” he asked, almost too gently.
She steeled herself against regrets, wouldn’t tolerate second thoughts. “Do. this. be here with you like this, as if I’m really your wife.”
“You are my wife.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes, hold his gaze. “I’m not, not truly.”
His shoulders squared. He seemed to grow even taller. “You said the vows. You have my ring on your finger.”
Emmeline glanced down at the enormous stone weighting her finger. Her heart turned over. His mother’s ring. Suddenly frantic to be free of all this emotion, fear and pain, she tugged the ring off her finger and held it out to him. “Take it, then. I won’t wear it again.”
“No.”
“I can’t do this. I thought I could. But I was wrong. It won’t work. I’m not the right woman for you, I’m not a woman who can love you the way you want—”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I do. You want a woman like your mother, you want a good woman, a loving woman, a woman who will make your life magical and special, who will love you no matter what … but I don’t know how to love like that.”
He studied her for an endless moment, his expression grave, gray eyes empty. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re just scared—”
“I don’t love you, Makin.” It killed her to say it. It was a lie, an absolute lie, but she knew she had to be brutal, knew she had to hurt him, and she did. She saw his expression change, his features harden because she knew then with absolute certainty that she did love him. But he couldn’t know or he’d never let her go. She battled for composure. “I will never love you.”
Again he looked at her, no emotion in his mouth or eyes. “Why not?”
If she was going to cut the ties that bind, if she was going to set him free—set them both free—she couldn’t just go through the motions. She had to make the cut sharp and deep.
Brutal, she told herself, be brutal and finish this.
Her lips curved and she forced a mocking note into her voice. “Do you really need to ask?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged carelessly even as her heart burned. “You’ll never be Alejandro.”
He didn’t even blink. He made no sound. He just looked at her, intensely, searchingly, and she kept her smile fixed, her lips curving cruelly. “I loved him,” she added. “You know I loved him—”
“You told me you never did.”
Another indifferent shrug. “I know what I said, but it was a lie. An act. I was playing you the entire time.”
Finally, a flicker of emotion in his silver eyes. “Why, Emmeline?”
The husky note in his voice was almost her undoing. She struggled to breathe when her throat was squeezing closed. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t be so hurtful and hateful. But if she didn’t hurt him badly, he’d forgive her. He was that kind of man. So she had to be hideous. Terrible. Beyond redemption. She had to make sure he let her go.
Forever.
“Because sometimes we play games to get what we want.”
“And what did you want?”
“A name for my baby. A story to give the press.”
“And I’m that story?”
She nodded. “Even when we divorce, I will tell everyone you fathered my child. When the baby is born, I will give him or her your name. I can be a divorcée and have a good life. I just couldn’t as an unwed pregnant princess.”
“I could demand a paternity test, make the results public.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You married me to do the right thing. You are a man who believes he can make a difference, and you do.”
“But now you’re done with me.”
Her chest constricted, her heart was on fire. “Yes.”
“You used me.”
“Yes.” She extended her hand, the ring balanced on her palm. “Take it. Give it to your next wife. Let’s hope you make a better choice than you did with me.”
Makin pushed away from the table without a word. Emmeline waited, feeling as if life as she knew it had come to an end.
There would never be another Makin Al-Koury. There would never be a man with his grace or strength or courage.
She sat for another fifteen minutes hoping against hope that he’d come back, grab her, shake her, kiss her, tell her she was a fool. Because she was a fool. A frightened fool.
But he didn’t return.
Instead she heard the distant roar of an engine. Emmeline froze, cold all over. It was Makin’s plane.
Makin was leaving her.
Emmeline rose, stood in place, her heart thudding heavily, hollowly in her ears.
What had she done? What had she done to him? To them?
She raced from the terrace to the upper garden, and the distant roar of the jet’s engines grew stronger. Panic flooded her. What was the matter with her? What was she thinking? When would she stop being so afraid?
She had to stop him, had to catch him, had to let him know she was wrong. Emmeline dashed down the stone stairs of the terraces. The plane would be taking off any minute. There was no way to reach the runway in time but maybe she could catch the pilot’s attention, maybe Makin would see her on the beach.
Emmeline tore down the narrow wooden stairs, taking the white painted steps two at a time, running across the sand to the water.
&nb
sp; The engines grew louder. She spun around, waving her arms overhead as the white jet appeared directly over her. It rose swiftly into the sky. She ran deeper into the water, waving madly. Surely Makin would see. Or the pilot. Someone.
But the jet kept banking right, ascending steeply, soaring over the ocean, letting Marquette fall behind.
Emmeline’s arms fell to her sides. For several minutes she just stood there as waves crashed and broke against her legs.
He’d gone. He’d gone just as she feared he would.
Because she’d chased him away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMMELINE stayed on the beach for an hour, and then another, unable to leave the cove. Her legs wouldn’t hold her. She couldn’t stop crying. She’d never hated herself so much in her entire life, and that was saying a lot because Emmeline was an expert in self-loathing.
But enough was enough.
When would she grow up? Become that strong prince with the sword who was slaying dragons instead of the princess in the tower?
When would she be someone she could admire? When would she stop acting out of fear?
She’d hurt Makin because she was afraid he’d hurt her. She’d gathered her love for him and turned it into a weapon, slashing out at Makin as if he was the dragon.
He was no dragon. He was a prince. A hero.
The man she adored with all her heart. Even though it was a broken and battered heart.
But hearts mended and love could heal and she could become stronger. She could become brave. She just had to tell Makin the truth.
That she loved him… more than she’d loved anyone. and she would work on changing if he would just be patient. If he’d just give her the chance.
And somehow, in her heart, she knew he would. Because he was that kind of man.
She wiped away tears with the back of her arm. She should go back to the house. She’d been on the beach for hours but she needed to gather her composure. Even though Makin was gone, she couldn’t be seen with a swollen, red face—princesses didn’t cry in public—and so she lingered for another half hour on the beach, watching a storm move across the horizon, ominous clouds gathering in the sky.
The first raindrops fell as the wind blew in a gust that lashed at the palm trees. Emmeline cast a glance at the now-dark sky. The clouds were black. The wind began to howl. Brushing the sand off the back of her skirt, she quickly headed for the stairs.
The wind buffeted Emmeline as she climbed the old staircase, and for a moment she paused, feeling the stairs sway and creak. She shuddered a little as they swayed again. Suddenly there was a loud pop and crack and Emmeline grabbed the staircase rail as she felt the wooden stairs begin to collapse.
The baby, she thought in panic, as the wooden structure folded in on itself like a row of dominoes and she scrambled backward, leaping into the soft wet sand just as the entire staircase came crashing down.
Emmeline sat up and put a hand to her middle. She hadn’t fallen hard. It hadn’t been a very high jump. She hadn’t even had the wind knocked out of her. The baby couldn’t have been hurt.
But it was a wake-up call, she thought, stepping away from the wooden debris. She needed to be more careful.
Getting to her feet, she shouted for help. The wind was so loud she was sure it devoured her voice. She shouted again anyway. And again. No one came.
The rain slashed down and the wind tore at her hair and Emmeline sat on the wet beach with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she struggled to think of a way to get off the private beach.
She couldn’t think of anything that might be safe. She’d have to ride the storm out.
Time slowed, blurred. Minutes became hours. Darkness was now rapidly descending, and the wind still howled, but Emmeline thought she heard an engine.
Had Makin returned? Had he heard she was missing and flown back to find her?
But no one could fly in this weather, and the intense winds would make it impossible to land safely on the small island airstrip.
Emmeline fought panic. The wind kept screaming, the tide kept rising, and the waves were breaking just feet away from her now. If the tide got much higher, she’d be swimming soon.
She suddenly stilled. Was someone shouting her name?
Could it be? Or was it more wishful thinking?
A light glowed overhead. Someone was up there. She rose unsteadily shouted for help.
The yellow light shifted. “Emmeline?”
Makin.
Her heart stopped. “Down here! Makin, I’m here!”
He moved the lantern, crouching on the edge of the terrace above her, at the place the staircase used to be. She couldn’t see his face, the lantern too low, shining down on her, but she found his size and shape so very reassuring.
“What are you doing out here?” he shouted.
“I was trying to find you—”
“Have you lost your mind? It’s a bloody hurricane!”
“It wasn’t when you left.”
“Stay right there. Don’t move.”
He reappeared in minutes, anchoring a long rope in one of the metal rings which had supported the stairs.
Emmeline squinted against the darkness, trying to see through the rain, as Makin took the rope, wrapped it around his waist and rappelled down the crumbly face of the cliff. He was like a pirate in one of those old movies, leaping from the rigging of one tall ship onto the rigging of another.
With the lantern flickering she could see that the rain had soaked his shirt, flattening the fabric, outlining his back and the corded muscles in his arms.
He continued his descent until he could reach her. “Give me your hand,” he said, bracing his feet against the rock.
“Makin, you can’t—”
“Don’t! Don’t ever tell me what I can and can’t do. I know what I can do. Now give me your hand.”
Biting her lip she put her hand into his. His fingers immediately closed around hers. “Hold tight,” he commanded, as he slowly pulled her into the circle of his arms, his body sheltering hers as he adjusted his grip on the rope.
“Turn and face me,” he said, his voice in her ear. “Wrap your legs around my waist—”
“Makin—”
“Not interested, Emmeline. Do as you’re told. Slide up and wrap your legs around my waist. Lock your feet by your ankles. And hang on tight. Got it?”
She nodded against his chest and, heart pounding, she felt him begin the arduous climb back up the cliff.
The rain was pouring down and she could feel his heart thud against hers as he lifted them, hand over hand, up the rocky face.
Makin was breathing hard as they reached the top. With one foot on the top of the cliff, and the other still planted on the rocky face, he pushed Emmeline onto the flat terrace before pulling himself up and over to join her.
Emmeline stared at him wide-eyed as he dragged a hand through his hair and shoved it off his face. “You are in so much trouble,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “You have no idea how angry I am. You could have been hurt. You could have hurt the baby—”
“I was trying to stop you.”
“I was coming back.”
“I didn’t know.” She was shivering now, chilled by her wet clothes as well as his furious expression. “And I’d said all those terrible things, Makin, said hateful things, and you were right to go—”
“I would never leave you.”
“But you took off—”
“I had something to do.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“You have so much to learn, but I’m not doing this now. Go to the house. Shower, dress, have a snack and then meet me in the living room in half an hour. You do not want to be late. Understand?”
Emmeline showered, dressed, sipped some hot sweet tea and nibbled on some buttered toast and was in the living room in twenty minutes, not thirty. Makin wasn’t there. But someone else was.
A tall, lean man with graying blond hair and
darkly tanned skin turned around when he heard the click of her heels. He was wearing jeans and cowboy boots and a Western-style belt with an enormous oval silver buckle.
“Oh, excuse me,” Emmeline said, drawing up short. “I didn’t realize we had a guest.”
The man was as tall as Makin and just as broad through the shoulders. He had piercing blue eyes and a firm mouth above a hard, uncompromising chin. “My God,” he muttered. “Jacqueline.”
Goose bumps covered Emmeline’s arm. “What did you just say?”
“Unbelievable,” he said, taking a step toward her, his expression incredulous. “You look just like her.”
He was an American, with a Texas drawl. A real cowboy? “Who?” she whispered.
“Your mother.”
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. “You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“You know who I am?” she asked faintly.
“My other daughter.”
Emmeline’s legs buckled. She reached for a chair and sat down. “Other daughter?”
He nodded, brow furrowed, blue eyes darkening with emotion. “Hannah’s twin.”
“Hannah?” she choked.
“Hannah Smith. Your sister.”
Hannah was her sister? Her twin? Impossible. Impossible. “How … what …?” Emmeline shook her head, unable to get the words out.
“Princess Jacqueline had twins.” It was Makin who spoke. He’d quietly entered the living room a few moments earlier and moved to Emmeline’s side. “Two baby girls, and you were separated at birth. One baby went to Texas, and the other to your family in Brabant.”
Emmeline leaned forward, covered her mouth as she stared across the room to the American. “I can’t believe this …”
“I finally put it all together yesterday,” Makin said, his hand on her back. “I called Jack to confirm my suspicions. Once I told him what I knew, he got on the first flight he could for St. Thomas, and I brought him here.”
Emmeline couldn’t look away from the blond, weathered Texan with his boots and jeans. “You’re really my … father?”
Jack Smith nodded. “I had no idea there were two of you,” he said gruffly. “I can’t believe I didn’t get to raise both of you. I should have.”