She understood he could never have predicted what would have happened that night, understood the frustration that had driven his rash behavior, believed his grief over it had nearly shattered him. But how could she be sure, given her husband’s ruthless determination to save this country, that she was not simply the pawn she’d always feared she was? That that was all she was to him?
Because, a tiny mental whisper said, he didn’t have to tell you. He could have carried the truth of that night to his grave and no one would have been the wiser. No one would have gotten hurt. But he hadn’t.
Be careful what you wish for. You might not like what you find.
He had been agonizing over this. Tortured by it. Suddenly, it all made sense. He had been doing exactly what she’d asked for just now, telling her the whole truth—the deepest, darkest part of him. Because he wanted them to work.
In her heart she knew he’d meant everything he’d said, that this had been the thing holding him back all along. But could she trust what he had said? That the man who’d professed he wasn’t capable of love had discovered he could?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KOSTAS SLEPT EVEN less than usual. The pink fingers of dawn were creeping across the sky when he got out of bed and dressed, his movements slow and deliberate as he donned a dark suit and a silver-gray tie.
Today his future would be decided in the first elections in Carnelia’s history. His and Stella’s future.
His wife had chosen to sleep in one of the adjoining bedrooms last night after telling him she needed space. Relieved she had not walked out, left him, he had given her the space she needed, resisting his urge to fix.
His heart beat a thick rhythm in his chest as he did up his cuff links, fingers feeling too clumsy for the task. He’d thought he’d been done with the big, life-changing mistakes, but not telling Stella the full truth about Athamos, not taking the opportunities she’d given him, was going to haunt him for a very long time.
For a man who’d always thought himself incapable of love, it had been a sin of omission he could live with. But for one who’d realized he could, it was blind stupidity of the highest order.
He drank an espresso as he went through his day with Takis, stomach pacing like a tiger in a cage. He was scheduled to meet with the chief administrator of the elections first thing this morning before visiting key polling stations to greet Carnelians as they came to the polls. His wife had still not appeared when he left the castle at eight thirty. Dust in his mouth, gravel in his throat, his heart in no way right, he got into the Bentley and made the drive into town.
He was exiting the government building after his meeting with the administrator when gunfire cracked around him.
* * *
Stella rose after a long, sleepless night. Her mind, however, was clear. She loved Kostas. She wasn’t going to let him stand alone today, not after everything they’d been through.
She dressed in dark pants, a white blouse and a scarf done in vivid blues and reds. Unwilling to wait the whole day until her husband’s return, she found Darius and asked him to drive her into town. She’d do some of the polling station visits with him.
Darius brought the car to a halt at the base of the front steps. The crowds from the night of her engagement party flashed through her head. The night had been full of such hope. Would today be the culmination of it all? The realization of her husband’s dreams? Or would his mistakes prove fatal?
Darius was talking into that eternally present wireless headset of his, a bud in his ear and a microphone embedded in his shirt. Rather than sit in the car, she waited, foot tapping, hand against the car. It was a beautiful day. A day for new beginnings.
Her bodyguard had his serious look on now, one that put her senses on alert. Moving closer, she listened as he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. She caught only every second or third word, but she heard enough to make her blood turn to ice.
Gunfire. Junta. Not secure.
Firing off a couple of rapid-fire sentences, her bodyguard cut off the call. “You need to get inside now.”
“Why? What—” A shout from the palace gates stole her attention. They were closing them, the thick, iron doors swinging shut.
“Darius—what’s going on?”
“The military. They’re attempting to seize control.”
Her heart jumped into her mouth. “Kostas?”
“He was exiting the building when it happened. I can’t get Henri on the phone. Everything’s on lockdown.”
Cold fingers clamped down on her spine. She headed around the car to the passenger seat. “We need to go there.”
Darius came after her. “You need to follow protocol and get inside now.”
She glared at him. “I don’t give a damn about protocol. We are going there.”
Darius, now toe to toe with her, shook his head. “I have an extraction plan to follow. Get inside.”
She reached for his car keys, heart pounding, perspiration breaking out on her forehead. He evaded her, a dark look on his face as he pocketed his keys.
“Darius,” she yelled, “something could have happened to him. Take me there.”
He caught hold of her like the precision machine he was and slung her over his shoulder. She pounded on his shoulders, fury raging through her.
“I am the queen of this country. Christe mou, Darius. Put me down.”
He didn’t put her down until they were inside the castle, doors locked behind them. Takis met them in the entrance hall.
“Any news on Kostas?” Darius asked.
The old man shook his head.
Darius got on his phone again. The words extraction and bird filtered through her consciousness, but she wasn’t really listening. What if Kostas had been shot? Why wasn’t Henri answering his phone?
Her bodyguard ended the call and turned to her. “The helicopter will be here in minutes. Get your stuff.”
Her knees felt weak. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your husband and brother gave me orders, Stella. If I don’t get you out of here now, our window of opportunity closes.”
“Then let it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going. Kostas was prepared for this. Our troops will come through. It will be fine.”
Darius turned the air blue. Pulling out her mobile, she punched in Nik’s number. He answered on the second ring. “You okay?”
She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. They’ve attacked the government building.”
“I know. I’m on the other line with my contact on the ground. The chopper is minutes away.”
“I’m not leaving him, Nik.” Her hand clutched her mobile so tight it nearly cut off her circulation.
“Stella.” Her brother’s voice hardened. “Kostas and I agreed on this. Anarchy could ensue if Houlis takes control. Get on the helicopter and come home.”
“Listen. To. Me.” She said the words slowly, with control. “I am not leaving him. I love him. So tell me what to do.”
“Stella.” Nik used his most persuasive voice. “I know you love him. You still need to get the hell out of there and let Kostas straighten this out.”
“No.”
A harsh sigh in her ear. “If anything happens to you...”
“Nothing is going to happen to me or Kostas,” she said fiercely. “I told him I was going to stay by his side and I will. Sofía wouldn’t leave you in the same position, you know she wouldn’t.”
Silence. “Kala. We’ve sent in commandos to help Kostas and his men. I’ll keep you updated as I know anything. Keep your damn phone on and make sure I know you’re okay.”
“Okay.”
She hung up. Felt herself die a little more as the minutes and hours stretched by with no news. Finally, just after noon, a call came in from Kostas’s chief of security. The king was fine, his security forces had apprehended General Houlis and the rest of the insurgents and placed them in jail. According to the security chief, key factions allied t
o Houlis had deserted him in the final hours.
Stella’s knees nearly gave way. Page made her sit and eat something. It was four o’clock before her husband walked in the door, dark-shadowed and hollow-eyed. She stood, so relieved to see him in the flesh, unharmed, her knees did give way. A curse on his lips, Kostas ate up the distance between them and caught her in his arms.
“You should have left.” Sliding an arm beneath her knees, he picked her up.
“I promised you I wouldn’t. We’re a team.” She buried her mouth in his throat, drinking in the dark, masculine scent of him, ensuring herself he really was in one piece.
Kostas muttered something to Takis, then carried her into the conservatory. Sitting down on one of the sofas, he cradled her in his arms.
She pulled back so she could see him. “I love you. I was coming to tell you that when Darius picked me up and locked me inside.”
“It’s the only way to control you. You still can’t follow protocol.” His low, raspy voice was filled with emotion as he smoothed his thumbs across her face.
“Did you hear what I said? I love you.”
“Yes.” His gaze darkened. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
“If you promise me there are no other secrets. That we can move on with a blank slate. That you will talk to me. Always, about anything.”
He nodded, pressing a long, hard kiss to her lips. When he drew back, the pain in his eyes tore at her heart. “What happened that night with Athamos is a stain on my soul, Stella. I didn’t think I deserved to be forgiven, not by myself and certainly not by you. I thought I could protect both of us by suggesting we have a marriage of convenience, one that involved only sex and affection, that never went too deep, because then I would never have to hurt you. What I didn’t factor into the equation was the fact that my feelings for you have always run too deep. It was never going to work.”
“You should have told me. On this we were clear, Kostas. Trust, transparency and complete honesty were what we agreed on.”
“I was afraid you would walk away.” He shook his head. “You’re right, I know, but I never thought it would be a problem. I thought it would never go that far. Then you started shooting sparks, forcing me to feel alive, forcing me to acknowledge my past and my emotions. Then I fell in love with you and I couldn’t risk telling you because I knew you would hate me.”
She bit her lip. “Is that it? Is that all I need to know? I can do this, Kostas, but there can’t be any more land mines to blow us apart.”
A bleak cast entered his gaze. “I can’t promise the pieces of me that emerge—who I am—will be pretty. There is too much ugliness in my past. But that was the whole truth I told you. There are no more secrets.”
“Then we can do this.” She curved her fingers around his nape and brought his mouth down to hers in a long, promise-filled kiss. It lasted for what seemed like forever, but not nearly long enough.
“You make me want to be things I never thought I could be,” Kostas said huskily, resting his forehead against hers. “You make me want things I thought I could never have. You always have.”
Her heart fell apart. “Speaking of which,” she whispered, “I have something to tell you.”
His face went silent, still. “You’re pregnant?”
Her brows drew together. “How do you know?”
“I suspected when you didn’t drink wine at dinner the other night, but you didn’t say anything, so I figured I was wrong.”
“I hadn’t done the test. I did two, actually. Both came back positive.”
“And you stayed here today?” His stillness dissolved in a blaze of pure emotion. “Stella, Christe mou, what were you thinking?”
“That we are doing this together, you and I, like we promised.” She lifted her chin. “And we will, as soon as the election results come in.”
He smiled. “Confident as always, yineka mou.”
“I believe in you.” She brushed a kiss against his mouth. “When did you know you loved me?”
“The day I saw you in that tree.”
* * *
Stella stood with Kostas on the steps of the new government building that evening, her hand in his as the election results were confirmed. A roar went up in the crowd assembled. The monarchy would remain in Carnelia, with Kostas as head of the new government, leading an elected national assembly. A new age had begun, ending the darkest period in the tiny Mediterranean country’s history.
Stella stood on tiptoe and kissed her king. “Whoops,” she said when she was done, lips against his. “Was that a break in protocol?”
“As if you care.” Cupping the back of her head, Kostas gave the crowd a kiss to remember.
The rebel princess had become a queen. This time her wings would not be clipped. Not with this man at her side.
* * * * *
Read on for an excerpt from HIS MISTRESS FOR A WEEK by MELANIE MILBURNE.
CHAPTER ONE
CLEMENTINE WAS ON her hands and knees and covered in dust motes and mouse droppings when he came into the shop. She knew it was a ‘he’ because years of listening to her mother’s dodgy boyfriends coming and going at night had turned her into an expert on footfalls. There was a lot you could tell about a person by the way they walked. Whether they were confident or shy, furtive or open. Friend or foe.
This man had a firm, purposeful tread. A don’t-get-in-my-way-I-mean-business tread that made the hairs on the back of Clem’s neck stand up on tiptoe and shiver. She had heard that tread before. Ten years before.
He won’t recognise you. You’ve changed so much. The self-talk didn’t help because Clem knew that, even though she had shed the weight, got control of her skin, and tamed and highlighted her hair, inside she was still that mousy-haired, clumsy, awkward and pimply sixteen-year-old blimp.
The one with the home-wrecking, trailer trash mother.
Clem got to her feet and dusted her hands on her black trousers. ‘How may I help you?’ She had got rid of the northern accent as well. But not the attitude. Or the chip on her shoulder. Well, maybe not so much a chip. More like a tree. A forest.
Alistair Hawthorne looked down at her. But that was nothing new. He had always looked down at her, both literally and figuratively. He was six-foot-four to her five-foot-six so looking down was his only option unless she wore vertiginous heels. Or stilts. Not exactly the sort of thing Clem wanted to wear while going up and down a bookshelf ladder in search of a rare edition of Dickens or Hardy or Austen.
Come to think of it, stilts could work...
‘Where’s your brother?’
As opening gambits went, it wasn’t flash. Or friendly. Not that Clem had been expecting friendly. Not after the Bedroom Incident. Looking back, it had been a dumb move to hide there after coming back from that humiliating party date. But the room Alistair had used as a child had been the only quiet space in the house and it had its own bathroom no one else used. The perfect place to lick wounds still raw with shame. A place to curl up in the foetal position and self-flagellate for being so gullible as to fall for a teenage boy’s puerile dare to ‘sleep with the fat chick’.
Grrr. Not that she had explained any of that to Alistair. He hadn’t given her a chance. When he’d found her curled up on his bed, after her punishing shower that had failed to make her feel clean, he had assumed she was the one making a play for him. ‘Just like your sluttish mother.’ The words still rankled. No one had ever spoken to her like that, not even some of her mother’s creepy boyfriends. Those words had burned a brand of bitterness into her soul. Those words had ground shame into her bones until they’d ached with it.
‘Why do you want to know where Jamie is?’ Clem asked, trying not to be distracted by how he looked. How he smelt. He was standing half a metre away and yet she could pick up an intriguing trace of citrus. Sharp citrus with a note of something else. Something dark and mysterious. Unknowable.
His jaw shifted as if he was biting down on his molars hard enough to crack a br
azil nut. Or a bolt. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. I know you two have colluded for weeks over this.’
Clem arched one of her brows. She was quite proud of how posh it made her look—a combination of stern librarian and haughty aristocrat. The glasses she wore for reading made it even more authentic. ‘“This”?’ Even her voice had just the right amount of ‘are you for real?’ inflection.
His grey-blue eyes flashed with a warning, a don’t-mess-with-me warning that for some reason made the backs of her knees tingle. ‘My stepsister, Harriet, has run away with your brother.’
Clem’s mouth dropped open wide enough to take in the complete works of Shakespeare. How could that be? How had Jamie come into contact with anyone even remotely connected to Alistair? It was impossible. It was unthinkable. It was a disaster. ‘What?’
Alistair’s eyelids gave a disdainful flicker. ‘Nice show of surprise but you don’t fool me. I’m not leaving here until you tell me where they are.’
Clem looked at his stiffly crossed arms and firmly planted legs. Shouldn’t have looked at his legs. Even though they were covered in Tom Ford she could see the strength and power in the thighs. She had to stop herself imagining those muscle-packed thighs wrapped around hers. Naked and sweaty. Sexily tangled.
Which was kind of weird, because she rarely thought of sex. It wasn’t even on her radar. Growing up with a mother who’d had orgies like other mothers had Tupperware parties had put a damper on Clem’s sexual development. Not to mention the shame-inducing encounter when she’d been sixteen that had made her body image issues even further entrenched. But looking at Alistair’s thighs made a traitorous beat thrum between her legs like a plucked cello string. Hum. Hum. Hum.
She looked at his mouth instead. Eek! Even bigger mistake. It was set in a line so flat you couldn’t have slipped a piece of the finest paper between those marble-hard lips.
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