by Dani Collins
His gaze slammed into hers, pupils expanding the way a cat’s dilated before it pounced. Lines of tension pulled the rest of his face into the harsh countenance of a barely restrained barbarian. “Clearly.”
She stood on a tipping point, vibrating under the strain, drawn, drawn, drawn. The pull in her chest was nearly irresistible. A prickling wash of sensations made her hyper aware of everything around her, the pale heat of the sun, the scent of the grass, the dampness in the air and, most especially, the way he was looking at her mouth. At the way such a tiny expression of interest from this man could send wildfire through her whole body.
She tore her gaze from his, seeing only a blur of green and blue.
“Please be careful, Xavier.” She scraped at the hair tickling her cheek, shaken. “My self-esteem is full of holes. Don’t give me hope if there is none.”
“For what? You don’t want to be married to me. You said so.”
“I don’t want to be married to a man who doesn’t want me.” She had to press her lips tight so they wouldn’t tremble. Meeting his gaze was hard. She couldn’t hide the struggle, the longing, that was eating her up. “If you do...”
“I don’t want to want you,” he ground out.
She jerked back as though he’d struck her. He winced.
“I mean I can’t afford to want you. My father followed where sexual interest led. It was a disaster. I didn’t expect this,” he grated. “I wouldn’t have come.”
She breathed through each of the blows, eventually able to ask, “That’s all you feel?” The question was too revealing. She regretted it, even before he answered.
He took a long time, then, “Don’t hope, bella. You know my views on love.”
His gentle reply broke her chest open, leaving her heart pulsing like an open wound. This was what she had been avoiding accepting. This was why she couldn’t bear to look into her future. He was never going to love her.
Engulfed in agony right to the backs of her teeth, she nodded dumbly. “Will you listen for Tyrol when you go in? I want to see the bridge.”
She didn’t notice the hand he reached out as she walked away.
CHAPTER TEN
HE HAD HURT HER. He hadn’t wanted to. Cruel to be kind, he had thought, and he had regretted it immediately. What could he do, though? Admit that what he felt was not purely sexual. Even if he was capable of love, which he wasn’t, they had no future. He couldn’t lead her on.
He hated that he’d returned her to that stiff wariness, though. The woman who had texted without hesitation for the weeks they’d been apart suddenly had a full schedule and little to say. By the time they were at a dinner hosted by the bride’s parents the next evening, the tension between them was palpable. Her family smiled around it.
Angelique hadn’t arrived yet, Henri was there with his wife and twins along with her mother, and Trella spent most of the evening needling Ramon.
Xavier tried to intervene at one point. Ramon wasn’t above getting personal in retaliation and neither was Trella. It was escalating, but the bride, Isidora, tugged him aside. She was a stunning woman with auburn hair and a smile that put anyone at ease.
“It’s a rookie move to get involved. Better to ignore them. Trust me.”
He waited until they had left to ask Trella, “Why were you being so contentious with Ramon?”
“I wasn’t. That’s how we communicate.” The passing streetlights flicked over her stoic expression.
“I thought you might bring on an attack.”
“No.” She sounded petulant. “We fight like that all the time. It’s fine.”
“It wasn’t because you’re angry with me?”
Silence, then, “I’m not angry. I’m hurt.”
He should have left it there, but said, “Either way, you should take it out on me, not him.” Punish me. He couldn’t stand the guilt he was carrying.
“I’d rather fight with Ramon.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I know he won’t let me win. Any points I score, I’ve earned. It builds my confidence. And no matter what I say, he’ll still love me. I don’t have that kind of trust with you.”
Be careful what you wish for, Xavier thought, flayed to the bone. He didn’t speak of it again.
* * *
Trella was a dam filled to the brim, gates stuck. When Xavier bowed out of joining Ramon and his racing friends at a sports bar the next evening, the pressure inside her climbed a notch higher.
“The bar isn’t Kasim’s thing, either. I invited him to come over with Gili for the evening after they see Mama. Cinnia wants to give the girls a quiet night so she’s staying in.” Trella desperately needed time with her sister. “Do you mind?”
“You’re not going clubbing with the bridal party? I’ll stay with Tyrol.”
“Isidora will have enough paparazzi as it is. If Gili and I went? We’re doing her a favor staying away.”
“I see. Of course. Invite them. That’s fine.” They were being exceedingly agreeable and polite since she’d admitted to her hurt feelings last night. It was horrible. She kept wondering how she would endure two more months of this. A lifetime, really. Would it be worse or better when they divorced and lived apart?
She was so caught up in her own turmoil, she completely forgot that Xavier had met Gili before. Gili hadn’t, the darling. She rushed him when she arrived, taking both his hands to say beseechingly, “I’m so glad we have this chance to clear the air. I can’t imagine what you thought of me in Berlin. You must have been so shocked. But I hope we can be friends because I already adore your son.”
Her sister’s warmth could melt glaciers and Xavier’s expression eased in a blink. “It’s already forgotten,” he assured with his patented charm.
Trella felt a stab of jealousy. Why couldn’t she win him over as easily?
Gili turned to her then, concern in her eyes, because of course she had picked up on Trella’s distress. At the same time, something glowed from her like a beacon, a happiness so bright, it blinded.
Oh, Gili. Anytime Trella thought she couldn’t survive whatever anguish was gripping her, her twin found a way to lift her out of it. Smiling tearily, she hugged her pregnant sister tight.
* * *
Xavier was glad to have an evening with the King of Zhamair. Asking Kasim about a complex situation in one of his neighboring countries was a welcome distraction from his struggle between duty and desire. Between wanting to mend fences with Trella and letting her bruised feelings keep her at a distance.
Thirty minutes in, he realized the women hadn’t come back from fetching Tyrol. “Did we bore them? I’ll find—”
“Please let them be,” Kasim said. “She needs time with her sister.”
“Which one?” Xavier asked dryly, hoping Trella wasn’t shedding tears over him.
“A fair question.” Kasim took up his drink. “Their interdependence takes getting used to, doesn’t it? But this...” He chucked his chin toward the ceiling, where the women were likely in Trella’s room. “She was bursting at the seams.”
“Pregnant?” A surprise rush went through Xavier. He was astonished to realize he was pleased for the couple. Why? It had nothing to do with him.
Except that he knew how good it felt to have a child. It struck him then how important Tyrol had become to him. Not because he secured Elazar’s future, but because Tyrol was... Tyrol. Not an insurance policy for the future, a relation.
Disconcerted, he had to clear sudden emotion from his throat as he rose to shake Kasim’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Kasim darkened with a flush of pride and hitched his pants to sit again. “It’s very early days, only confirmed the day before we left Zhamair. Not something we’re making public.”
Xavier fetched his own drink and offered to tap glasses, experiencing envy as he
thought of Kasim sharing the moment of discovery and every single day of the pregnancy, along with the birth. Feeling robbed was not a new sensation for him. He got over it quickly, but he wondered if Kasim realized how lucky he was, able to go through this process as many times as his wife was up for.
He could, too, he supposed, with Patrizia.
His brandy tasted like snake venom. He abandoned it.
“I’d like you to consider something,” Kasim said, sounding like someone unused to requesting favors. “Closer to the birth, I’d like Trella to come to Zhamair.”
A strange void opened in Xavier. “We won’t be married any longer.” It took enormous effort to state that with equanimity. “Trella may go where she pleases.” The knowledge knotted his gut.
Kasim’s smile tightened. “I expect she’ll want to bring Tyrol. I know Angelique will want to see him by then.”
Which would require Xavier’s permission. He instantly rejected the idea. He had sent Trella to Spain while he’d traveled Australia before he’d realized how unbearable it would be. The King of Zhamair was not plotting to steal his son, he was sure, but at least if Tyrol stayed in Elazar, he knew Trella would come back.
He looked away, disturbed by the dependence that train of thought suggested.
“It was very hard on Angelique to be apart from Trella when Tyrol was born.” Kasim took a healthy sip of brandy, like he needed it, and hissed out his breath. “She fainted when Trella flatlined. Then your text came through and I realized why. She was hysterical until Trella was revived.”
So was I, Xavier could have said, but they were already sharing far past his usual level. He loathed thinking about those long terrifying minutes. It put him in a cold sweat.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said woodenly, mostly to end the discussion. Doing a favor for one of the most powerful men in the Middle East was a smart move, he reasoned, but was repelled by the idea of using his son for political gain.
Duty. It wasn’t a double-edged sword. It was two branding irons pressing him front and back, pinning him in place, allowing no escape and only sinking deeper into his flesh when he tried.
Much later, when the couple had left, he was still thinking about where the line was drawn. Would his grandmother say Tyrol was doing his duty by going to Zhamair, cultivating warm relations with a foreign entity?
The poor boy didn’t even know what he was in for. He lay unswaddled in Trella’s lap, gaze wandering the ceiling, arms flailing and fingers catching in the curtains of her loose hair as she looked over him.
“Who gets another cousin?” she asked the boy with soft excitement.
Xavier sat with his feet propped on the ottoman. Her top afforded him a lovely view down her cleavage and her gentle laughter was as erotic as her tickling hair might feel, sweeping across his skin. It was sheer torture to sit here, wanting without having, but far too soon he wouldn’t even have this much so he savored the pain.
“Did you know she was pregnant? Before she told you? Kasim made it sound like you have a supernatural link.” He was skeptical, but Angelique had called her that time in the car, seeming to know Trella’s panic attack was upon her.
“Was he worried I spied on them while they were making that baby?” She lifted her head, so stunning, with amusement curving her lips, that his heart lurched. “No, it’s nothing like that. More an emotional thing.” Her smile faded. “I should have realized how happy she was, but I’ve been distracted.”
Pensive because of him. Upset. At least she was talking to him again.
“Do you feel it with your brothers?”
“They’re too pigheaded, especially Ramon. Isn’t he?” she said to Tyrol. “Tío Ramon is a toro.” A bull.
“But you still love them.” Xavier was beginning to see how love wasn’t just a romantic notion, or even a desire, for her. It was as vital to her as oxygen. It drove the very blood in her veins.
“I love them very much,” she agreed, sober and ultra-gentle as she kissed Tyrol’s bare feet. “They got me through my darkest times. I hung on because of them. Pushed through for them. Now I have Tyrol.” She dipped to nuzzle his tummy, making his little arms jerk.
You have me, Xavier thought, but thorns had invaded his windpipe. He was starkly aware he couldn’t pledge anything more than the pittance he’d already offered.
“You never wished for brothers or sisters?” Her head came up. “Your mother didn’t have more children?”
“My father has a daughter. Maybe three or four years old by now? My mother has two boys. Teenagers, I think.”
“You’ve never met them?”
“There’s no place for them in my life.” That’s what he’d always thought, but he heard how cold it sounded, especially as she looked so askance.
“You could have made one.”
“What would I have in common with them?”
“Parents?”
“They didn’t act like parents.” He shook the cubes of ice in his glass, wondering if he could judge when he’d barely grasped the ropes himself. “Neither were a great example of the importance of sibling relationships, either. I was young, but I picked up on jealousy and resentment between my mother and her sister. Because of her marriage into royalty, I suppose. And my father lost his brother.”
“It wasn’t his fault, was it?” She gathered Tyrol to her shoulder, tucking his blanket around him. “How old was he?”
“He was sixteen, his brother was eighteen. It was just a bad wind that came up while he was sailing. My father didn’t talk about him often, but when he did...” Xavier swallowed, still affected by the memory of his father growing teary. “He missed him. Made me think I was better off without that kind of risk.”
“But you’ll give Tyrol a sibling.”
“I have to.” It was the stark truth, but again he heard how indifferent it made him sound when really his emotions on the matter were so tangled he couldn’t even begin to name them.
Her brows pulled together and her mouth pouted. “I’ll do it because I want to.”
Without his need for biological children, many options were open to her, adoption among them. He suppressed a flinch, surprised how much it hurt to think of her starting a family with another man.
“You should,” he made himself say. “You’re a natural at motherhood. Family is clearly your source of strength.”
She stared at him like he was a dog that had been hit on the highway.
“Are you going up?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Leave him with me. I’ll put him down when he falls asleep.”
Her mouth twitched, but if she was surprised at his desire to hold his son, it was quickly blinked away. He let out a breath as she placed the boy’s warm weight in his hands, relaxing as he embraced one of the few responsibilities he was pleased to have.
Trella hovered, watching Tyrol rub his fist against his cheek, chasing it with his mouth. They shared a chuckle at his efforts, but Xavier’s was bittersweet.
“My family was not yours, bella. The way you are with them is a foreign culture to me. I can’t emulate something I never had. But I do want Tyrol to be happy. Happier than I was.”
Her hand settled on his shoulder. It was unnerving not only because they hadn’t touched since she’d been in the hospital, but because she gathered the torment rippling through him into a hot ball in the corner of his chest, so it pulsed under the feathery weight of her fingers. He held very still, as if her hand was a shy bird and he didn’t want to startle her into flitting away.
“I know.” Her thumb moved in a brief caress. “And I know you’re starting to love him. I’m glad.”
His heart swerved as her hand lifted and he watched her retreat.
* * *
Trella was trying hard to resign herself to Xavier’s limitations. Gili had hugged her
and wiped her tears and said, “Give it time.” Things had been rough between her and Kasim before they’d married. She wasn’t ready to give up on Trella finding happiness with Xavier, but that was Gili. She wanted to believe the best of everyone and everything.
Trella wasn’t so sure, but she took heart from the way Tyrol had begun prying himself through Xavier’s defenses. Xavier took every opportunity to hold his son. Not for optics. No one was seeing him walk down the hall in the middle of the night. He wanted to hold him. He expressed concern about a little spit-up, then worried the damp patch would make Tyrol uncomfortable and changed him. He talked to his son about architecture, for heaven’s sake, then broke off when he realized Trella was listening.
Still, when she had accused him of starting to love his son, she suspected he had been more surprised by his capacity to do so than she was.
And therein lay the problem. She had told him she didn’t want to be married to a man who didn’t want her. She had meant a man who didn’t love her. If there was a chance he might develop feelings for her, surely she owed it to Tyrol to give their marriage a chance?
Or was that a foolish rationalization because she was smitten?
Either way, she had to keep the struggle off her face and smile for the wedding photos. Ramon and Isidora’s marriage should be perfect, even if hers wasn’t.
The ceremony was held in a five-hundred-year-old cathedral, conducted by an archbishop, witnessed by royalty, aristocrats, heads of state and celebrities from film, stage and the athletic arena. The route to the hotel, where the reception was held, had been blocked off and was lined ten-people deep with bystanders, photographers and even television cameras. Drones buzzed between the cars and a helicopter pattered overhead.
They hurried from the cavalcade up the red carpet, past the deafening cheer of the throng behind the velvet ropes, through the security checkpoint and into the relative peace of the ballroom where they finally caught their breath.
Mirrored tabletops reflected the lush floral arrangements of orchids and roses. Wisteria dripped from the ceiling along with crystals that glinted like snowflakes. A harpist’s delicate notes welcomed them along with uniformed staff carrying trays of gold-rimmed glasses of champagne.