by Zee Monodee
“It’s a start.”
He nodded. “And the rest of it?”
“That, you’ll have to find out.”
Silence thrummed between them for a moment. He broke it with a strong inhale before speaking.
“You want me to find out?”
On her reply hitched every step of their future. He was giving her the opening she’d thought would be much harder to come by.
“Yes,” she said softly.
Another sharp inhale from him. “What about Humphrey?”
“It’s over between us.” She winced a bit. “Not that there was much, to begin with. But I set him up with Martha. They seem to be doing okay.”
His eyebrows raised. “Martha? Your PA?”
“She’s had the hots for him all this time. I didn’t realize it earlier.” She paused, tilting her head to look at his reaction to what she’d say next. “Everyone deserves to know love.”
“They do,” he replied in his soft tone. “We do, too.”
He was making it so easy for her! This had been meant to be, it seemed.
“Can we start again, you think?” she asked.
“Anytime.”
The few seconds before the word had come out comforted her more than if he’d replied right away. He was thinking about this, too, not just jumping in impulsively.
“But, Zediah. No more secrets. Or half-truths. If we do this, we go all in.”
A cloud passed over his face, and a vice clamped around her heart. Why had he reacted that way when she’d said ‘secrets’?
“Switz?” she whispered, apprehension getting the better of her with every second he didn’t answer.
When he looked away from her, she recoiled into her body. Everything inside her wanted to run away to protect herself. What was he hiding? Maybe a wife back in Bagumi? How would she live with this?
But he’d told her he was a one-woman man. She should trust him enough to hear what he had to say.
“Rio,” he said with a sigh. “There’s something you don’t know about me.”
“Is it bad?” God, she sounded like a lovelorn teenager who believed the world was made of glitter and rainbows.
“Depends how you look at it.”
The chuckle, however, alleviated some of her fears.
“I haven’t told you my full name,” he continued. “It’s Zediah Akiina … Saene.”
Rio blinked upon hearing the last word. Disbelief flooded her and made her frown. This name … It was like hearing Windsor-Mountbatten, or Grimaldi, or Linden—otherwise known as the surname of an illustrious royal family. The Saenes were the royals of Bagumi.
“You’re a prince?” she blurted out.
He turned to her and nodded.
Wow. She had not been expecting this. And as far as she knew, given how she hardly paid heed to all those lists about eligible bachelors in the society magazines, none of the Bagumi princes were married. So, if it was the only skeleton in his closet, she was safe.
As a realization bubbled inside her, so did the laugh that tumbled out.
Zediah frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Rio only laughed harder, and it took her a moment to regain her breath. “I just ditched an earl today … for a prince! If my mother knew.”
“But I’m not going back home, Rio.” Zediah shrugged. “Dunno for how long I’ll remain a prince when I tell them.”
His words sobered her up, and she ambled closer to him to place a hand against his cheek that had the rasp of a five-o’clock bristle to it. Suddenly, his deciding to stay here to right his wrongs took on a whole new meaning. Not only would he be turning his back on his family, but he’d also be doing it on his king, on the crown. One didn’t grow up in the UK and not know the importance of royalty and its weight on its members. Everyone got to see the struggles of William and Harry and their cousins.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“For you? I’d do anything.”
Her heart broke, melted, and then formed itself back up as she gazed into his dark eyes with a hint of quicksilver darting over his irises.
“You’re sure?” she asked again, needing to know.
“I love you, Rio.”
The words she’d always wanted to hear, especially from him. She’d convinced herself they held no weight and she didn’t need them, but how wrong she’d been. Hearing him say them—and most importantly mean them—settled her world to rights.
There was no going back. Only forward. Together.
His hand came up and settled on the back of hers, where she still cradled his cheek.
“I might not be a prince for much longer.”
Something in those words slashed like a razorblade at her feelings, as if his status meant something to her. But rather than get angry, she chose to focus on the veiled hurt inside them, the lingering of dread in the backdrop.
“I’d love you even if you were a pauper,” she replied.
A chuckle escaped him. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly be destitute without the crown’s backing.”
Rio smiled. This was her Switz. The man who could make her smile and laugh, who always made her think of joy and all things light and bright. She’d loved him from the very first moment they had spoken. Today, she acknowledged it.
“Then kiss me,” she whispered. “Prince or pauper or whoever you are.”
“Just the man who loves you, Rio. Just that.”
He bent forward to claim her lips, then took over to prove just how much he meant those words. Heat and fire surged inside her at the contact of his soft mouth against hers. Flames burst, but rather than burn, they lit her up and warmed her every cell from the inside, bringing fuel to them, bringing life.
Their kiss went on for what seemed like ages, and Rio revelled in it, loving the feel of his hands as they landed more firmly against her ribcage and dragged her flush against him. Her breasts smashed against his solid chest. The pain a delightful reminder of their passion, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting, needing to be nearer, to make one with him.
He wasted no time standing up and taking her to the bed, where he deposited her. She used her thighs to clench harder around him and make him tumble on the fluffy covers right along with her.
Laughter bubbled out of both of them, and happiness permeated her, joy settling in her heart to radiate everywhere until it blanketed her in bliss. Lips and hands trailed over her jaw, her neck, the dip of her collarbone where her jumper had fallen off a shoulder.
She went along, opposing no resistance when he removed the garment from her. His breath hitched when he saw she hadn’t worn any bra. Why bother when her puny A-cups looked like mere mosquito bites on her chest?
Yet, when he kissed her there and placed his palms over her breasts, they didn’t feel insignificant any longer. Because this gorgeous, virile man had been brought to his knees by them and seemed to think he needed to worship them, with his thumbs, his lips, his tongue.
Pleasure spiralled as she gave in and pushed against him, yearning, craving for his mouth to close tighter on the puckered nipple it sucked on. Trails of fire licked at the skin of her stomach when he tracked his fingertips over them as they went on their merry way to discard her trousers and underwear.
There, too, she didn’t resist and play coy, just letting him divest her of her clothes so she’d be naked before him, finally. So he could keep on worshipping her like he seemed so intent on.
Hands and lips and tongue, all over her skin, teasing her belly button, then going lower and lower still. He kissed her the heart of her femininity and made her writhe on the cool covers that now burned her sensitized skin.
Her back arched off the bed. A plaintive moan tore from her when he settled against her clit and stayed there, bringing her to the brink. Then a climax came, rolling over her in waves, in ebbs and flows, taking and then putting back what it had robbed.
Through the pleasure-drugged turmoil, Rio didn’t know how she managed to tug him to
her. She kissed him, tasting her culmination on his lips, rejoicing in the almost-mournful groan rolling from his rumbling chest. She was now the one who took as he gave willingly.
When he tore his mouth from hers, she wanted to scream. Except he turned the emotion behind it from frustration to yearning as his long fingers found her core again and started teasing.
Just when she thought she would swear and tell him she couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped, his sheathed cock now taking the place of his hand, pushing against her, into her.
She moaned and went against him, letting him fill her, complete her, like the time he had made her whole in more ways than one so long ago.
Their bodies aligned, found a rhythm as their skin slicked against one another’s. Their mouths seeking a kiss that would bring fulfilment of another kind, making them one on a different level.
He drank the sigh from her lips when she came again, and she did the same for him a few seconds later when he pulsed hard and found his completion inside her.
Spent, he rolled them onto their sides, their foreheads pressed together.
“Forever,” he said against her mouth.
“Always,” she replied and kissed him again.
Chapter Nine
A soft sound tore Zediah out of sleep the following day. He’d actually woken up a little while ago, and turning over to watch Rio sleep would’ve been a tad creepy. So he’d stayed there, dozing along, content with the feel of her warm, muscled body spooning against his chest.
Pregnancy and a baby hadn’t changed her figure much. The hips seemed a tad lusher, but otherwise, she was still the same woman he had made love to a year and a half earlier. Rio had always been a great dancer; it would stand to reason she’d work her way back to her pre-baby athletic self since that’s just how she was.
The sound came again, like a tiny garble, high-pitched, borderline a squeal. With a frown, he gently extricated himself from the woman in the bed and sat up straighter, trying to find where the noise was coming from.
Always an early bird, he wasn’t a stranger to sounds in the night. One of his first memories was of waking up in their beachside estate in Bordmer—with both ‘r’ pronounced hard and which meant ‘coast’ in Creole, the language spoken all over Bagumi—and creeping outside to watch the sunrise over the sea and listening to the symphony of birdsong at dawn.
This noise was no avian trill, though. One hardly heard this in central London.
It seemed to originate from the other side of the mattress, on Rio’s bedtable. He glimpsed the two baby monitor receivers there. When he listened carefully, he caught the mumble again.
Must be coming from Nour. Zediah threw a look towards the windows, then at the watch on his bedtable. Hardly daybreak, the sky still black outside, the patio furniture on the rooftop terrace the suite opened onto still swathed in darkness.
The baby seemed content to babble away. He threw a glance at Rio, still fast asleep. He should let her rest. After the night they’d had, she deserved it. On the other hand, he would have a hard time closing his eyes and welcoming oblivion again today. It seemed his internal clock was wired to the sun, whether the burning star proved visible or not. He should go attend to his son and let Rio get a much-deserved lie-in.
With an energizing inhale, he scooted off the bed and pulled some of his discarded clothes on. Feet bare, he padded to the door and went down the stairs to the nursery, from where the sounds were growing louder.
“Hey, little man,” he greeted as he peered into the crib.
Nour stopped writhing for a few seconds, eyes wide and trained on Zediah’s face. For a moment there, he expected the baby to start howling. The kid had always seen either Oksana or Rio upon waking. Even though they got along during the day, the sight of a strange man could come as a shock.
But then a happy gurgle fell out of that cupid bow mouth, and Nour started squirming even more as a big smile split his face in two.
Zediah smiled back even wider. Guess his boy was an early riser, too.
“Good morning, son.”
Something lodged in his throat at saying this. He should have been greeting his child like this every morning for the past nine months. This should have been his routine, his ordinary life that was anything but, because he had Rio and Nour in it.
They’d lost so much time, but not anymore. From here on, these two would be his whole world.
The wriggling in the cot grew jerky, the baby language turning into a soft whine.
“It’s okay, lad. Daddy’s here,” he cooed, gently lifting the baby from the bedding.
He frowned as he held the child. Nour wasn’t this heavy usually. When he placed his hand under the little butt to keep him in place, he found the answer to the question. Soggy nappy. He should change it.
With Nour against his shoulder, he went to the changing table and made sure he had everything laid out. Even more imperative than in cooking was the importance of a mise en place with a baby involved. A second’s inattention could prove disastrous.
Clean nappy, baby powder, rash cream, baby wipes—he had everything ready when he placed his son down on the plastic mat with cartoon characters on it. A hand flat on the baby’s torso to make sure he stayed in place and didn’t roll. He then proceeded to undo the sticky ties on the soiled nappy and remove it.
He pulled a wet wipe out with a deft flick of a hand and placed it on the exposed genitals. He’d been learning how to change the kid the first time, and as he’d turned around to ditch the dirty thing, a jet of wee had brushed his naked arm. Oksana had laughed and told him of the trick to always put a wipe or little towel on the boy in case this happened during a change.
He used another wet wipe to clean the area, wiped it dry with a soft towel, then dusted on powder when he found no hint of rash, and the clean nappy went on. Granted, it took him three tries to get the sticky bits to hold just right, but hey, look—dry, happy baby cooing away.
A slight rumble broke the still air around them. Nour’s stomach was growling. If he remembered correctly, Oksana had said his first meal of the morning was a bottle of formula with some cereal powder in it.
After picking the baby up again, Nour falling onto his shoulder to start biting, he scanned the room with his gaze. He found a few sterilised bottles already laid out on a table to the side, along with the tub of formula powder and the box of baby cereal.
How hard could it be to feed a baby? He’d seen Oksana do it. He could try. Thankfully, reading the instructions proved ingenious as every step was already laid out on there.
Placing Nour on the floor on his playmat and with a teething toy in his grip, he returned to the table, his son still in his sights, to make a bottle and then warm it in the apparatus meant for just this purpose. He tested it on the inside of his wrist as he’d been taught by the nanny, finding the formula lukewarm, so he decided to try his luck.
Scooping the baby up again, he then parked himself in the high-backed sofa near the window and cradled the boy in the crook of his elbow. Nour seemed to recognise the bottle and eagerly welcomed it, settling back to guzzle it down greedily.
Zediah laughed. “Steady, son.”
Son. He got to say the word. His heart squeezed as he wondered if he would get the chance to say it for the rest of his life. And why not ‘daughter’ at some point, too? Did Rio want more kids?
The bottle over, he knew he should burp the baby now. Yes, he’d been paying attention to everything Oksana had done and said during the past week when he’d been haunting Rio’s house during daylight hours. He’d always been a quick learner.
The burp came, along with a wet feeling across his shoulder. A groan escaped him. Spit-up. Just perfect. At the same time, a loud ‘prooot!’ tore through the air, and he would swear Nour’s nappy just ballooned up in his palm where he held him.
“Nour. Man!”
With a sigh, he got up and went back to the changing table. A hand once again on the tiny torso, he proceeded to remove his own
soiled T-shirt first. Great. He smelled of vomit now. He rubbed at his shoulder using a wet wipe and hoped the little napkin would do its job. Next came changing the baby. If he’d thought vomit smelled awful, well, that morning poo rivalled it tit for tat.
It was warm in the nursery. He could get away with not needing a shirt. Playtime seemed like a good idea to occupy his son. He doubted TV would be allowed this early.
So, there he sat on the mat, watching his baby trying to crawl.
Nour attacked defenceless stuffed animals, started raucous music by pressing different buttons on the spinning carousel. Of course, there was the creepy clown that lit up, the little piano making a cat sing along to the tune. It sounded more like the said cat was being eviscerated, but hey, he was no Simon Cowell.
The crying started an hour later, though Zediah had a feeling it had been more of eternity already. He loved this kid, adored him even, but how the hell did people do this day in, day out, and not go absolutely crazy? The reason for the howls was yet again a heavy nappy.
As he stood at the changing table switching on another clean one, he sighed and wondered how something so small could dirty so much stuff in such little time. And parents must go through those diaper packs by the hour, like a box of tissues when one had a cold. How much did children end up costing in the end?
Sunrise had hardly broken through the gloom of London by this point. Still too early for the TV, right? He sighed. He’d have to find something to occupy his son. Running to Rio and waking her up in a panic was not an option. He wanted her—needed her—to trust him, and he just could not crumble at the first sign of duress. He was made of sterner stuff than that.
Wasn’t he? A glance at the exuberant little thing wriggling like a worm on Duracell batteries had him questioning himself. Nour chose this moment to look up at him and then burst into joyous laughter.
Fine. Baby 1. Dad 0. He had a new respect for parents with every passing minute.
An idea surfaced then, and he smiled. If it didn’t work, he didn’t know what would. Best he did not think of that for the moment.
Baby on his hip, he went downstairs to the entrance hallway where he had left his coat. In the inside pocket, his hand closed on the small tablet he’d stashed there. Now, where to go for excellent acoustics that, however, wouldn’t shock the neighbours, or worse, wake Rio?