by Leah Ashton
But now—now that she took more than a moment to acknowledge it, to interpret it—she realised what she was really seeing.
The look in his eyes matched his body language—the tension in his shoulders, the bulging of his biceps, the way his hands had formed into fists.
He was angry. Furious.
But not with her.
Definitely not with her.
‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Marko repeated. ‘You’re not the one threatening to circulate stolen photographs.’ That he thought the person doing so should be very sorry was obvious in his poisonous tone. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’
Jas sagged a little in her seat, disbelieving.
‘Jasmine,’ Marko said firmly. ‘You aren’t stupid, or naïve, or thoughtless. I would never think that.’ Then he shrugged. ‘Besides, why wouldn’t you take naked photos of yourself?’ He grinned now. ‘You’re hot.’
The comment was so unexpected amidst all the tension that Jas burst out laughing.
But now he was more serious again. ‘I know all about how it feels to have your privacy invaded, Jas. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.’
His words were sincere, and for a moment Jas was tempted to say more. To let him know there was more to the story. To trust this man who hadn’t judged her, who wasn’t angry with her—who hadn’t blamed her for any of this.
But instead, she said: ‘But I don’t think anyone’s got a photo of you naked, Marko.’
‘True,’ he said. ‘Want to take some?’
This time, they laughed together.
* * *
They didn’t take any naked photographs.
Instead, Marko left Jas in the salon to continue working, while he filled his day working with Ivan and the palace protocol staff to determine the best way to protect Jasmine from the vrag—the devil—who was blackmailing her. Privately, he imagined exactly what he would do if he ever met the guy, and it definitely involved him never being able to hurt Jas again.
Although, it wasn’t as if Jas needed him.
She’d worked out her plan of attack without him, and had included him in the discussion as a stakeholder she was bringing up to speed. Not as her...what, exactly?
Guy she was sleeping with? He was that.
Boyfriend? No.
But surely that lack shouldn’t move him behind Ivan in the chain of communication?
It appeared it did.
Maybe that shouldn’t sit so uncomfortably with him, but it did. Who would’ve thought—Marko Pavlovic was disappointed that a woman hadn’t told him something obviously private and emotional?
Actually, he realised, it wasn’t disappointment he was feeling.
He was hurt.
Which was stupid, and selfish, as what Jas was going through was definitely not about him. And he knew that Jas had gone to Ivan based on the premise of their relationship: casual, fun. No deeply personal secret revelations.
But still, he wished she’d come to him, first.
Did that mean he wanted more than fun with Jas?
He hadn’t worked that out by the time he went down to meet her for dinner, once again out on the terrace. He didn’t really even know what it would mean if he did.
But as it turned out, he didn’t need to work out anything—or maybe it had been worked out for him—because shortly after he sat down at their table, a member of staff passed on a message from Jasmine:
‘Ms Gallagher sends her apologies. She’s having an early night tonight.’
After dinner, Marko was unsurprised to discover Jas had not spent her early night in his room—which had been effectively hers for a week and a half—but in her own.
So into his own bed Marko collapsed, alone.
* * *
Jas did not have a good night’s sleep.
She was most of the way through a very strong coffee when Marko strode out onto the terrace the following morning.
She hadn’t been sure whether she’d even see him today. They had nothing scheduled, so there was no requirement for them to do so. And after yesterday—and especially after last night—would he even want to?
Would he have seen her decision to spend the night alone as a snub?
Or would he not even care? Would he have been thrilled to have some time to himself?
Last night she’d told herself that he wouldn’t care. He might be a bit annoyed she hadn’t told him personally that she was sleeping in her own bed, but seriously—ten nights in a row sharing a room was surely enough. They needed a break from each other.
But, as she saw him now, with dark smudges under his eyes that she couldn’t read at all, she wasn’t so sure.
Even so, she did exactly what she’d planned.
She stood up, and met him as he approached.
She rose on tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his cheek in greeting.
She didn’t want what they had to end, not yet. But last night...
Last night it had scared her how much she’d wanted to tell Marko everything. To cry in his arms—rather than alone in her room—at the embarrassment and overwhelming sense of hurt and anger she felt deep within her bones. How dared Stuart—or one of the men with whom he’d shared her photos, or even, although it was a slim chance, whoever had hacked into his account—do this to her?
But would Marko want to just hold her while she cried?
She didn’t know. It wasn’t fair to expect he would. And so she had slept—a little—alone.
‘Did you have a good night’s sleep without me hogging the covers?’ she said brightly as she stepped back. His unshaved jaw had been rough against her lips.
But Marko didn’t answer her.
Instead, he stepped forward, and dragged her into his arms.
And, without a word, he kissed her. Kissed her thoroughly, until her eyes slid shut and her arms wrapped behind his neck, desperately pulling herself closer.
Kissed her until her knees felt useless, and she wished the hands bunched in the fabric of her singlet could whip it over her head, and she could push his own T-shirt up so she could press even closer against him, skin to skin.
Kissed her until she had no idea about anything but how his lips and tongue felt against hers, and how hard and strong his body felt pressed against her own.
Then, he stepped back.
They were both breathing heavily, and now she could certainly read Marko’s gaze—there was no doubt she was seeing a mirror of the want and need in hers.
But then, suddenly, all of that was gone.
His expression was once again indecipherable.
It was so abrupt, Jas would’ve hardly believed he’d just been kissing her if she couldn’t still taste him on her lips, and feel the abrasion of his stubble on her skin.
‘I’m visiting Lukas today,’ he said. ‘They’ll expect you to come with me.’
Not—I would like you to come with me. And not even a question as to whether she’d like to go.
Marko expected her to accompany him out to the Pavlovic Estate today to visit his brother and his wife.
But he didn’t actually want her to come. He just needed her to, because they were supposed to be engaged.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘No problem. I’ll go get changed.’
It was her job, after all. She shouldn’t feel weird about it—that Marko didn’t really want her by his side as he visited his unwell brother.
It made sense. This was definitely beyond the boundaries of their fun, short-term relationship. Just as yesterday’s photo saga had been, too.
Boundaries were good. She was the one who’d been so sure to strengthen them last night.
Maybe it was just the contrast—to share a kiss that felt so intense, and so intimate...and now to feel a million miles apart?
Yes, Jas decided
. It was.
It had to be.
Chapter Twelve
GIVEN THEIR ENTIRE relationship had evolved from a fake relationship, Marko wondered if maybe it was to be expected that interactions between himself and Jas could sometimes feel false.
But the thing was, they hadn’t until now.
Even right at the beginning, when they’d barely known each other.
Even then, Jas had always been genuine. She’d always been herself.
It was why he’d kissed her before, out on the terrace.
When she’d asked how he’d slept—and he’d known it was a line she’d prepared as he’d recognised the subtly different tone she’d used with reporters when reciting the story of how they’d supposedly met—he’d hated that she was pretending for him.
And so he’d kissed her. To see, maybe, if the spark—no, the fireworks—between them was fake, too.
But it wasn’t. That connection between them, the physical one, anyway, burned even brighter, if anything. For long moments after he’d finally stepped away from her he’d had no idea what his plans for the day had been, beyond kissing Jas a hell of a lot more.
Then he’d remembered.
So, here they were.
In just a single car today, with security based at the estate where his mother lived full time after retiring from public life after his father’s death, and where his brother would be living for the duration of his treatment.
The car entered between tall stone pillars and a wrought-iron gate, then weaved its way down a long, winding driveway to reach the house.
Compared to the palace, it was a very modest building, just two storeys tall and built out of stone and a red-tiled roof like nearly every other house across Vela Ada. It had sprawled from the original centuries-old building with a succession of additions by previous generations, and at the rear a white-painted pergola stretched across much of its length, covered in lush, twining grape vines.
As their car came to a stop Petra and his mother raced from the front door to greet them.
Behind them, moving much more slowly, was Lukas.
But to even see him outside, the sun glinting off his brother’s dark hair, did much to release the vice-like pressure on Marko’s chest.
Just as he went to exit the car Jas grabbed his hand.
He went still. They hadn’t touched, or spoken, since they’d left the palace.
‘I won’t get in your way,’ Jas said, meeting Marko’s gaze. ‘I promise.’
There was lots more in her hazel eyes: concern—for him?—an attempt at reassurance, understanding...
‘I know,’ he said. He’d never doubted she’d understand what he needed today. ‘Thank you,’ he added.
And as he said it he realised his thank you wasn’t only because of what she’d said, but also simply because she was here with him.
Then he got out of the car, and strode over to his family, before he could consider for a moment what that might mean.
* * *
Petra took Jas for a tour of the surrounding landscape while Marko caught up with Lukas.
They walked through an olive grove that stretched in rows from the rear of the grand old home, and then past a small orchard to a large vegetable plot. Clumps of lavender and rosemary scented the air, and the sun ducked in and out from behind powder-puff clouds.
Petra did most of the talking as she described the history of the property and the Pavlovic family—but when they arrived at the vegetables, she clapped her hands together in excitement.
‘Now this,’ she said, ‘is the only good thing to come out of Lukas’s illness—I finally have time to garden.’
Jas noticed the freshly sown rows of dirt, and the carefully handwritten signs stuck into the ground before each one. Then there were the established rows—of beans and tomatoes winding their way up stick pyramids, and other neat lines of green fronds that Jas couldn’t identify. Their signs were of no help: krumpir, mrkve...
‘You grew all this?’ Jas asked, surprised.
She couldn’t imagine Petra working in a garden—even now in casual jeans, blouse and sandals she was just so elegant. But as Jas watched the Queen absently yanked some recalcitrant weeds from the rich, dark brown earth.
‘Yes,’ she said, beaming. ‘I come from a family of market gardeners. Growing up, I was in charge of at least one crop for the weekly tržnica—a market—and I’ve never really lost interest in growing my own vegetables. I just don’t get much of a chance nowadays, although I do help the chef with her herb garden at the palace.’
‘You met Lukas at university, right?’ Jas asked, trying to connect the dots as to how the daughter of market gardeners became a queen.
Petra smiled. ‘Yes. In Split. A long way from my family’s market garden in Korcula,’ she said, reading Jas’s mind. ‘My father was very old-fashioned, and he was so worried that tertiary education would make me leave Korcula Island for ever. And as it turns out, he was right.’
‘Do you ever miss it?’ asked Jas.
Petra shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Not so much Korcula—or even Croatia—but my family, definitely. And also the simplicity of that life.’ She paused, then smiled. ‘Why? Are you missing Australia?’
‘A bit,’ Jas said honestly. ‘It’s been so crazy these last few weeks, I almost crave my normal life in Canberra.’
‘Almost crave,’ Petra said, her gaze knowing. ‘I’d bet Marko is pretty good at distracting you from your homesickness.’
Jas gave a shocked laugh.
Petra shrugged. ‘I’m married to his brother, remember,’ she said. Then winked, before heading down along a row of lettuce, pausing occasionally to pull up more rogue weeds.
Jas hurried along behind her.
‘It’s great to see Marko so happy with you,’ Petra said, over her shoulder. ‘My mother-in-law is very proud of Marko for stepping in for Lukas, so I’ve seen heaps of the photos and footage of you together.’
Jas didn’t really know how to respond to this. The Queen and the Dowager Queen of Vela Ada had been looking at photos of her?
Well, of Prince Marko mostly, she was sure.
But her, too.
Another thing to add to her list of things she’d never thought would happen to her.
Along with contributing to the fact the photos making an elderly woman happy were based on a lie.
Although...if she was honest, they had been having fun together at the many, many events they’d been attending. So the smiles Petra and the Dowager Queen had seen had been real, at least.
Petra had stopped and was looking at Jas as if waiting for her to say something.
‘Um—’ Jas said. ‘Aren’t engaged people supposed to look happy together?’
‘I’d hope so,’ Petra said, ‘but Marko...’ She paused. ‘I haven’t seen him like this since before his dad passed away. Even today—I know he’s worried about Lukas, but there is just something different about him.’
‘He’s taking his role seriously,’ Jas said. ‘He knows he needs to get better at engaging with the public, and with the media, even though it doesn’t sit comfortably with him. He’s working really hard.’
Too late, Jas realised how defensive she sounded. As if she was trying to convince Petra that Marko wasn’t actually happy.
Petra just studied her curiously, and then turned and walked off again—this time a few rows over. She dropped to a squat to pick a handful of plump red strawberries from amongst clusters of deep green leaves, and then stood and gave half of her harvest to Jas.
‘Lukas is complicated,’ Petra said. ‘I know Marko is complicated too. I’ve known him nearly fifteen years, and I don’t really know him. Not really. So, maybe I don’t actually know if he’s happy or not.’
Jas shook her head.
What had she done?
How
had such a simple conversation gone so wrong?
It would’ve been so easy to just smile, and laugh, and say something about how happy she and Marko were. That was what Petra had expected her to say. It was what anyone would say.
It was what she’d said when responding to a hundred similar observations over the past few weeks. She’d even got creative and embellished: they’d been blissfully happy, and incredibly happy and happier than I thought was possible!
But as it had been that very first night, when she’d first met Petra, there was something about the Queen that made Jas find it near impossible to lie. Or not even lie—but to speak for Marko.
Because, what did she know about how happy Marko was? Who was she to speak for him? Beyond their physical relationship, she knew nothing about what he was thinking or feeling. He’d said not a word about Lukas’s illness to her since that day at the beach. He’d confided nothing in her, about anything. Sure, he smiled a lot around her, but was he truly happy?
So she racked her brain for something to say...anything to say that would stop Petra looking at her so seriously. Preferably something that was also true.
‘Marko makes me happy,’ she said.
The words came out in a rush in the end, before Jas could stop them.
Petra’s gaze was wise and assessing. ‘Good,’ she said simply. ‘Now, try the strawberries.’
* * *
Lunch had been fine.
He, Lukas and their mother had been settled in their chairs beneath the canopy of grape vines, a literal feast spread out before them upon a blue-checked tablecloth, when Jas and Petra had returned from their walk.
Jas had come straight over to kiss him, briefly, on the cheek. In that instant he’d inhaled the scent of sun and the sunscreen on her shoulders, plus her familiar citrus and spice perfume.
But she hadn’t lingered; instead she’d taken her seat across from him and barely touched him again until they’d left. She’d charmed his mother over lunch and laughed at all of Lukas’s terrible jokes—but with him she’d still been as distant as she’d been all morning. Maybe even more so, actually.
But not in a way that anyone else would notice, although Marko certainly had.