Royal Weddings

by Clare Connelly

  He couldn’t have made his own indifference any clearer.

  He hadn’t even had the courtesy to say goodbye before leaving. A servant had informed her that His Highness had flown to Fattid late in the night, after they’d sensationally come together in the pool.

  Rebecca groaned as she remembered that night and her rather pointless show of independence. Hadn’t it backfired spectacularly? He’d gone ahead and proved that he could still have her whenever he wanted, and then he’d disappeared.

  Was he alone?

  She shivered. Unlikely. She’d witnessed his spectacular libido and stamina for herself. Reports she’d read of Tariq on the internet before they’d married had shown that he was a man rarely without a woman on his arm.

  So far, she’d resisted the urge to go on the internet, but her strength of will was at war with her wifely need-to-know.

  What good would it do to find out for sure? So he might have been snapped with a glamorous woman. Would that really help her? No. Better not to know. Just to be tortured by her own imaginings of the worst. If only she hadn’t gone and fallen in love with him, it would be so much easier to navigate their marriage. As King of Assan, she had always expected there would be periods of lengthy absence. In fact, before she’d got to know him, she’d rather relished the solitude her marriage would afford. For the first time in her life, she would be accountable to herself. No Winona and Greg breathing down her neck, demanding to know what she’d been doing and then telling her that none of it was good enough.

  Well, whatever else, at least she had finally escaped them.

  She pushed up from her seat with an impatient huff. It was no good. She had been staring at the screen of her laptop for over an hour and the words she needed just wouldn’t come.

  “Are you okay, Rebecca?” Monique’s voice called from the other side of the room. She was reading a novel in a large armchair, framed perfectly by a stained glass window.

  “Yes.” Rebecca was unintentionally curt and she softened it with a smile. “I’ve been sitting too long. I think I’ll go for a swim.”

  “Would you like me to join you?”

  Rebecca was tempted. She needed a girlfriend to speak to about everything that was on her mind, but something told her Monique was not a wise choice. She shook her head slowly. “I just need to be alone. Please have my guard wait outside the pool area for me.”

  Monique nodded. “Of course, Rebecca. Enjoy your dip.”

  That was a laugh. Every stroke through the water reminded her of Tariq. Her body tingled with the physical need he stoked in her. She couldn’t go near the step they’d made love on.

  She pulled up in the shaded end of the water and unconsciously turned to the balcony of his bedroom. It was identical to her balcony, just about fifty metres over. Her eyes scanned the wrought iron balustrade, and the sheer white curtains billowed out from within. Then, she felt her heart kerthunk painfully into her rib cage, as Tariq appeared, like a figment from her imagination.

  Immediately, his eyes met hers. Had he been watching her? She’d been swimming for twenty minutes, he had had plenty of opportunity to. Or had he just happened to step out at the exact time she was taking her first swim since that night.

  Her throat felt suddenly dry and she couldn’t bear to look into his lightly mocking eyes any longer. She spun away from him and gracefully pulled her body out of the water. Self-consciously, she crossed to the timber benches and wrapped a towel around herself.

  Having not seen him for ten days, she was at once aching to touch him, and yet desperate to get away. The certainty that she loved him was strong. The certainty that he didn’t love her was even stronger.

  She towelled her hair brusquely, not caring that the action was so firm it almost hurt.

  The desire to see him won out and, wrapped in only a towel, she took the steps with a determined speed. She didn’t pause outside his bedroom door to re-think the wisdom of her actions.

  She pushed in without knocking, surprising Tariq’s valet in the act of unpacking clothes. Beyond the startled servant, was her husband, and at this distance, when their eyes met, sparks flew. There was animosity and there was passion, and barely concealed need.

  Tariq took one look at Rebecca’s beautiful, elfin face and he knew she was pissed. Fair enough. He could have called. Then he remembered the resolve he’d made it Fattid – to remember that she had married him for money alone, and his sympathy evaporated. Sympathy, but not desire.

  “Leave us,” he commanded quietly to Jawed, his long-serving attendant.

  “Yes, sir.” Jawed bowed out of the bedroom silently.

  Tariq watched, fascinated, as Rebecca crossed her arms across her chest and stared over at him. “Well? Have you had a good time?” She demanded, tapping her foot in an exaggerated gesture of annoyance.

  Careful not to react, he stood perfectly still. “I did not go to Fattid to have a good time. I had business to attend to.”

  “I see. Well. Welcome back.” She muttered, suddenly feeling very foolish indeed. What had she expected? That he’d swoop across his bedroom and pull her into his arms?

  “Thank you.” He nodded, but his expression was bland, his tone disinterested.

  She stared at him across the chasm of the room. Something imperceptible had shifted between them. There was a distance in him now that she had not known before. It made her insides clench together painfully. She could fight with him, she could stomach his anger, but not his cool disdain. She opened her mouth to say something but his face was so guarded that she closed it again. Feeling all sorts of awkward, she turned silently and left his bedroom.

  When she reached her own room, she let out a long shaky breath, knowing tears weren’t far away.

  “Monique?” She spoke into the intercom on one side of her bed. “I’m not feeling well. Please ask that I not be disturbed this afternoon.”

  “I will bring you some honey tea --.”

  “No, no thank you. I just need to close my eyes. Thank you.”

  She disconnected their call and lay down, still wet from the pool, on her bed.

  The timber fan overhead circulated a breeze and she could hear the sound of splashing coming from the pool below. She resisted the urge to peek. It had to be her husband.

  She moaned quietly and pulled a pillow over her head.

  Somehow, Rebecca slept. She had been finding sleep almost impossible with Tariq away, and now that he was back, she was bone weary. A hand on her shoulder woke her some time later, and she blinked into the now dark room.

  Her first thought and hope was that it was Tariq, but Monique’s face hovered a little above hers. “Rebecca, are you feeling better?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes, thank you. I must have been tired.”

  Monique nodded understandingly. “His Highness has asked if you will be joining him for dinner?”

  Rebecca swallowed. “What is scheduled?”

  “A private dinner, just you and Tariq, if you wish.”

  He was daring her not to show up, she realised. Well, no way. She’d acted on instinct this afternoon, and come off looking like an insipid fool. But now, she was prepared. He was back. For the sake of her own self-esteem, she had to show him that she could be just as unmoved by his presence as he obviously was by hers.

  She’d had years of practice pretending not to feel. When Winona had berated her and insulted her, Rebecca had gradually learned not to react. Winona loved to see her cry, and the only small power Rebecca held was that of her self-control. While Winona and Greg’s insults and punishments had become increasingly hurtful, she had simply toughened her willpower.

  “I’d be delighted. Please inform my husband I’ll join him shortly.”

  “As you wish.”

  * * *

  Tariq felt like a cat on a hot tin roof, waiting for his wife to join him in their dining room. Every footstep outside the entrance way had him bristling where he stood, but so far, only servants had appeared. No Rebecca.
<
br />   Monique had informed him over an hour ago that Rebecca would join him.

  What kind of game was she playing at? Keeping him waiting for her own amusement? He was in half a mind to go to her room and... and what? Skip right to the end of the night?

  He shook his head. He poured himself a small measure of brandy and swirled it around the crystal glass. Beyond the window, the deserts of Assan stretched endlessly. White sand met an inky black sky, and the stars carpeted the darkness as far as the eyes could see.

  He loved his country.

  He especially loved the desert. The cities were fine. Civilised. Neat. In some areas, architecturally stunning. But the expansive desert was where his heart belonged.

  “Good evening,” Rebecca’s voice broke through his pondering like a hot knife on butter.

  He turned slowly and felt his resolve weakening with one simple look. She was wearing the turquoise dress she’d worn that first night they’d been together, out in the Ba’tuk.

  “Good evening,” he nodded his head, careful not to betray his awareness. “Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

  He was all civility, she noted, taking the seat he’d pointed towards. What had brought about this dramatic change? For the hundredth time since he’d left for Fattid, she thought of him with another woman. It would explain why he was suddenly so unmoved by her.

  “Rebecca?” He prompted. “A drink?”

  She was looking at him as though he were speaking Greek.

  “Drink?” He repeated slowly, holding his own in the air with a little shake.

  “Sorry. I was miles away. Yes, please. Sparkling water with a wedge of lime.” Her voice was calm. Just as she had hoped.

  He placed a glass of water on the table in front of her then slid into the seat opposite. He watched her dusty pink lips form a perfect circle around the straw as she sipped down the cool liquid.

  “I trust your trip went smoothly?” She queried, replacing the glass.

  He leaned back in his chair, perplexed. This afternoon she’d looked ready to rip his head off, and now, here was the other Rebecca. The one he could never fully understand. The one who kept secrets from him with masterly ease.

  “It was hectic,” he answered honestly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “But necessary.” That was a lie. He could have done most of the work from the palace. One advantage to being King was that people were always prepared to travel to you, rather than vice versa.

  “Do you prefer spending time in Fattid, or here at the Palace?” She asked. Her question was completely appropriate, but something about the way she’d asked it frustrated the hell out of him. She was enduring this dinner, and going through the motions, but Rebecca wasn’t really there with him. He felt like he was being interviewed by a journalist. If he had decided to stick to their original relationship parameters, then she seemed to have likewise taken a step back from him. Their intimacy was gone.

  Beneath the table, he squeezed his palms together until his knuckles were white. “Unequivocally, here. Fattid is beautiful too, but this is home for me.”

  “You must have missed Assan when you were studying?” She asked without missing a beat.

  “I was able to come back often.” He said simply, topping up her water.

  “It’s not the same thing, though, is it?”

  “No, it is not.” He watched her twirling her long blonde hair around her forefinger. “Did you go away to study?”

  “No, I wasn’t--,” She had been about to say ‘allowed’ but quickly substituted, “able to.” His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Why were you not able to?” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table top.

  “I couldn’t afford to live out of home. I worked while I studied, and the money I made from my part time job paid for my tuition and books, and left a little over to contribute to my board.” She spoke dispassionately, and her words were quite reasonable, but something flared as a red flag to Tariq.

  “I’m surprised by that, frankly. I thought your adoptive parents seemed comfortable enough to be able to help you.”

  She loathed Winona and Greg, but she wasn’t going to dignify them by even discussing them. “It wasn’t a hardship, really. I commuted to university and the time I wasn’t spending with friends at dorm meant I got great grades. Not to mention the hours I got to spend on trains, reading ahead to next week’s lessons.”

  “So you were a geek?” He joked and it was such a teasing question that she almost lost her poise for a moment.

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that,” she nodded stiffly, her pale blue eyes flaring as they met his.

  “You’re not close to Winona and Greg.” It was an observation, not a question, and so she didn’t answer.

  He sighed wearily. “Why are you not close to Winona and Greg?” He rephrased.

  She bit down on her lower lip. “They’re very different to me.” She hedged finally.

  “Different how?” He pounced.

  Her groan was filled with exasperation. “Just different. Are you close to your parents?”

  He kept a check of his temper. Just. “No. I love them. I respect them, but we are not an affectionate family.”

  “Why not?” She pushed on with her line of questions, as a defensive mechanism as much as anything else.

  “My father was in his fifties when I was born. He was absent frequently during my youth. My mother, too. I was raised by household staff. I do not bear them any ill-will. It is as it is. That is how many people in such positions raise their children.” He shrugged, and his eyes held hers. “I received an excellent education. Wanted for nothing.”

  “Not such a bad way to grow up, you think?” She queried.

  “I survived it.” He corrected. “But I’ll tell you this, my children will not be brought up by strangers.”

  She felt her fingers loose cohesion and the glass began to slide, in slow motion, from her grip. She watched it fall towards the table, but Tariq was there as fast as lightning, reaching across and catching it in his grip.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, looking down at the tablecloth. “I can be so clumsy sometimes.”

  “Could it be that the thought of bearing my children caught you off guard?”

  In truth, she hadn’t really thought that all their lovemaking could have already produced the response he was looking for.

  She shook her head. “I ... I hadn’t thought about it.”

  He frowned. “So you aren’t...”

  “Pregnant?” She squirmed in her seat, suddenly her poise was well and truly a thing of the past. “No.”

  His disappointment was genuine, but he hid it as best he could. “Ah well, we shall just have to keep trying then. Every cloud has a silver lining...”

  She nodded but her mouth felt filled with saw dust. At least now she had her answer. The reason he’d been making love to her – no, attempting to make heirs with her – every opportunity he got was to make her pregnant.

  Oh, how mortifying to realise that even in the throes of passion he’d simply been fulfilling his royal duty.

  She would not let him see how hurt she was. She raised a steady, cool gaze to him. “What’s that other expression?” She pretended to think about it. “No time like the present. Shall we?”

  And though she had surprised the hell out of him with her clinically issued invitation, his reply was immediate. “Yes.”

  Rebecca felt her pulse skittering against the papery skin of her inner wrist as she stood and held a hand out to him.

  He scraped his chair back and, ignoring her proffered hand, lifted her easily over his shoulder. “My room or yours?” He asked as he led her up the stairs to their apartments.

  “Yours,” she responded quickly. She couldn’t bear to have him walk away from her again afterwards. She had learned that at least reserving that control for herself saved some of the bitterness from forming.

  “As you wish.” He continued down the corridor until they
were outside his bedroom. He kicked the door open with his toe, barely registered as pain shot up his leg.

  He eased her down beside the bed. “This dress...” he muttered, sliding the zip down, as he had done the first time. She watched him through lowered lashes.

  “I’d forgotten,” she lied. She’d never forgotten a single thing about that night in the Ba’tuk.

  “Had you?” He said sceptically. “I remember I kissed you here.” He took her nipple into his mouth and bit down with just enough force to make her jump.

  She closed her eyes as he lifted her to the bed, a gentleness belying the desperation that surged through both. He was the master of her body, a King of this land, but absolute ruler of her. One touch and she went up in flames. The logical part of her brain knew he was just going through the motions, for the sake of begetting a royal heir, and yet she couldn’t quell the shiver of anticipation that assailed her.

  As he took full possession of her body, she felt her ability to think disappear completely. She cried out as he drove her to an immediate climax, and then again, as he took his time bringing her back to the edge of heaven.

  Afterward, Tariq lay beside his wife, watching as she pushed the passionate side of herself into the background and resumed her role as frigidly in control Rebecca. She levelled him with a gaze. “Welcome back,” she said calmly, almost dismissively, and now he really did see red. When she moved to leave his bed, he pulled her backwards, and lifted himself so that he pinned her down by straddling her waist.

  “Where are you going?”

  She looked at him as though he’d lost his faculties. “Away. You’ve done your duty. Implanted your seed.”

  He threw his head back and groaned. “You’re offended.”

  “That this is just about making a baby? I’m not offended. But the... business like formality of our sex life is hardly flattering.” She corrected calmly.

  “Is that a complaint?” He asked quietly, his dark eyes probing her face.

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t have you pegged for a man who would seek compliments.” Then, with tart acidity, “You are an exceptionally talented lover, Tariq. My problem is not a lack of satisfaction in bed.”