by Geneva Lee
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Clara, I know you’re upset with him, but—”
“It’s not that,” I interrupted her. “I’m not upset anymore. All of it feels so inconsequential compared to this. I’m the only one who can save this baby. He can’t do any more than I can.”
He would feel helpless and Alexander didn’t do well with that.
“You have to tell him.”
I grabbed her hand. “He already treats me like glass, Belle. If he knew, he wouldn’t touch me for months. I’ll go crazy.”
“This is about sex?” Her hand dropped mine.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s about needing to be in control of my life—of my body. If he knows, it will be worse, not better. If he’s worried it will stress me out...”
“But what if,” she trailed off, as if finishing that sentence was too painful.
“I am made of glass?” I finished softly. “He won’t be surprised if I shatter.” He seemed to always expect it. At least, he would be prepared.
“You won’t,” Belle said with a sudden ferocity that ignited my own.
“I know that.” I did. After the tears dried, I’d confronted the fear churning inside me, and I hadn’t turned away.
“I won’t tell.” She might have believed I was strong enough, but it was clear she wasn’t certain of this decision. I knew she would respect it, though.
I felt better knowing I would have at least one person I could talk to about this. I’d have to ask Dr. Ball to keep the information private from Alexander, as well. I was sure the doctor wouldn’t be thrilled, but he’d have to respect my wishes as his patient.
“Do I look like hell?” I asked her. “I don’t want Georgia tattling on me.”
“You might be surprised at how understanding she is, if you let her be,” Belle advised me, “and you look fine.”
I’d never told Belle about the past Georgia shared with my husband, so I couldn’t tell her why I’d have to take her word for that.
“Truly fine? Or fine for having spent an hour crying fine?”
“A little camouflage might help,” she admitted. She dug in her purse and found a lip gloss and under-eye concealer. I took it gratefully, desperate to erase any remnants of tears, even if it meant hiding behind make-up. I stepped into the waiting room with a half-assed excuse for why we’d taken so long.
But it wasn’t Smith and Georgia waiting for me.
Alexander waited in a chair that was too small for his powerful body. His dark head was in his hands, but he looked up hopefully when he heard us. He was on his feet in an instant. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his unbuttoned collar, and he’d abandoned his suit jacket. He hesitated for one agonizing second before he crossed the space in two great strides and took me in his arms.
Belle murmured something I was too dazed to hear and disappeared.
“Poppet.” He pressed me to his firm body and I melted against him. “You should have told me.”
I fought the tears that threatened to betray me and forced my gaze up to his. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
It was a lie. It was the truth. It was the complicated reality of our lives.
“Christ,” he muttered and I tensed, waiting for him to explode. Instead, he kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry. For missing this. For everything.” He glanced down and caught sight of the pictures I clutched. “Did you…?”
“Yeah,” I said shyly. “Want to see him?”
“Him?” he repeated.
“I think it’s a boy.” It felt good to slip into the debate — a moment of normal as my world spun out of control.
“You didn’t find out?”
“And miss a chance to argue with you for a few more months?”
I handed him the pictures and he studied them with awe. His nostrils flared as he saw his child for the first time and he shook his head, turning briefly away from them and from me.
“I should have been here,” he said in a strangled voice.
I couldn’t tell him I was glad he hadn’t been. Maybe all of these mistakes had served a purpose. It had kept him from being here today. It had given him a few months of excitement. I didn’t know what the future held, but I could give him that.
“I will be here,” he vowed, “every step of the way.”
I brushed a palm down his cheek, wanting to erase his regret. “X, you are always with me.”
* * *
I rocked Elizabeth until she passed out in my arms, counting her fingers and thanking God she was healthy. It felt selfish to wish for another perfect baby, but I couldn’t help it. The doctor was right. I had resources that others could only dream of. In the end, I was simply a mother who would do anything for her child.
The door to the nursery cracked open and Alexander appeared. He lingered there, watching us. It was one of the only times he looked at peace: in those small moments when he was just a man and a father, not a king. After a few minutes, he crept over and lifted her from my arms. Her weight evaporated from my chest and a bittersweet sadness took its place as Alexander gently lowered her into her crib.
He held a hand out to me and guided me to my feet. We reached our bedroom and he stopped inside the door. Reaching up, he unpinned my hair and let it fall to my shoulders. Gathering it in his hands, he held me captive as he lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss was hungry but restrained. I couldn’t stand that he was holding back, but I knew it was an offering—an olive branch. I could push him away or stay in his arms.
“Let me run you a bath,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
I shook my head. “I’m too tired. I’ll fall asleep and drown. Maybe a shower?”
I wanted to wash this day and its stress away—not soak in it. Tomorrow I’d do as Dr. Ball ordered and take a hot bath. Tonight I wanted to go to bed with my husband.
Alexander led me to the bathroom and slowly undressed me, his eyes drinking me in like it was the first time. He always looked at me like that, and when he began to take off his shirt, my heart faltered for a moment. I’d never been able to tell him what it meant for him to give his body to me. The perfect, carved abs that narrowed into an invitation, and the roped scars that twisted across his left torso and up over his heart—my heart. Every time I looked at him I believed in destiny a little more. He could have been taken from me on the night of the accident that had given him those scars. Fate played a hand and saved him for me.
He turned on the water and stepped under it. I joined him, enjoying the way the water snaked in rivulets over his muscles. Alexander turned his face up to it, and I wondered briefly if he was washing today away, too. After a second, he looked down, his mouth cocking up in a lusty grin that made my knees weak. He reached for the soap and began to lather it over my body, kneading my shoulders and then continuing to the rest of me, as though he could erase the time we’d spent apart. His hands slipped down to my breasts and he grinned as he took an extra long time there.
“I think they’re clean,” I teased him softly.
He shushed me and continued. “I’m very thorough.”
But it wasn’t until his hands slid lower, stopping on the swell of my stomach, that tears stung my eyes. His gaze met mine, blazing with unrestrained love, as he dropped to his knees. Alexander lowered his head and rested it there, his arms circling my waist. Water showered over us, mingling with my tears and washing away the evidence. His arms protected me—protected us—and I protected his heart. We were an endless circle—unbroken and unbreakable.
Alexander stayed there holding me, and when he finally pushed onto his feet, his eyes were wet. He didn’t hide from me. He’d stripped to his soul. Nothing could separate us. We were bared to one another: body to body and soul to soul. He took my face in his hands, his mouth angling to capture mine. The kiss started sweetly, but it deepened until his breath was my own. His heart beat in my chest. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as we whispered promises of forever in a language o
nly we spoke.
His body backed me against the tile and we continued to press together. I was barely aware of our bodies fighting to close every last inch of space between us. There was only him and his taste on my lips. When we finally surrendered to one another, he lifted me from my feet and pushed inside me with agonizing tenderness, allowing me to envelop his cock completely before he began to move. His hips rolled slowly, winding me tighter with each stroke. I pressed my forehead to his, savoring the pressure building inside me.
“Always,” he ground out, brushing a kiss over my lips. “Always, Clara.”
His words stole my breath and I splintered apart, coming with his name on my lips. Alexander anchored me as I fell apart and rebuilt myself around him until he was my world. My always.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALEXANDER
It was a press conference, and my bastard brother had shown up in a t-shirt and jeans, with devil-may-care hair and an attitude to match. Anders and I stayed on opposite sides of the room. I’d promised Clara I’d be on my best behaviour, but it was difficult to do while staring at the man who’d tried to steal my wife. Judging by his glare, he wasn’t any happier to be near me. The number of press allowed inside the White Drawing Room was limited by the room’s size. Each of them seemed more interested in Anders than in me, but I caught a few looking between us. That was my cue to excuse myself.
I wanted to slip away through the secret door hidden behind the mirror in the corner, but before I could, Clara caught me.
I allowed myself a moment of wonder. She was beautiful, her glossy hair cascading loosely over her shoulders, her pregnancy on full display in a fitted, cream dress. Without thinking, I lifted her hand to my lips, forgetting we had an audience. There was a murmur of approval throughout the room, followed by the sound of cameras.
“Trying to charm them, X?” she whispered as I placed a hand on her back and followed her to the front of the room. “Or trying to escape?”
“Which am I more likely to pull off?” I asked so only she could hear. I paused before we reached my uncle and Anders.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked, her gaze darting to me.
“They’re here to see the Queen.” This was about the Sovereign Games, not me. Clara deserved a place outside my shadow. “I’ll be waiting.”
I took a few steps away, joining Norris and Edward to watch.
My brother leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “Do let me know before you lose it and rip off his head.”
“I’m in complete control,” I assured him. As long as Anders behaved himself.
Clara smiled widely as she took a seat next to Henry. She crossed her legs at the ankles and waited for the room to quiet. “Thank you for coming. I know there has been speculation about the next round of the games, given that we chose to end the first round early. We’re very pleased that Anders was feeling up to joining us. I know there has been concern about his recovery over the last few weeks.”
A number of hands shot in the air and she tipped her head to one. “John?”
She was a natural at this. I’d spent my whole life resenting obligations like this and somehow I’d found a woman who made it look easy.
“Will you complete the auto racing event?” John asked.
“I believe that’s a question for Anders,” she said, looking to him, one hand coming to rest on her belly.
My shoulders tensed at the insignificant gesture. I hated that he was nearer to her than me.
“She can handle this,” Norris said in a low voice.
I knew that. The truth was that Clara held all the cards. Mostly because she held all of our hearts.
“I’m game once I’m out of this.” He gestured to the sling on his left arm, grinning. “The doctor might prefer I wait until my ribs are healed.”
“That’s not going to stop you, is it?” someone called.
“It hasn’t yet.”
“Am I that insufferably smug?” I asked Norris.
“Yes,” he said without a thought.
So much for loyalty. “Whose side are you on?”
He shifted his hands behind his back, shaking his head.
“We plan to return to the races this spring,” Henry announced. “It is our sincerest hope that Anders will be able to join us when we return to Silverstone. For now, the games will move on to the equestrian events.”
“Will that conflict with Her Majesty’s pregnancy?” John asked. It was a clever question meant to get at the more popular question about my wife’s due date.
“It will be cutting it rather close,” she said with a laugh, not giving anything away.
Clara’s eyes darted to mine, something unreadable there and I shot her a reassuring smile. I’d promised her that we would make this work. The last two weeks had brought us closer than ever before. We’d picked out baby names, visited a number of our patronages, and enjoyed private family time. There had been a fair bit of sex, too. When the issue of how to proceed with the Games had come up, I’d made it clear I was completely behind her, even if it meant she would be working with Anders.
“Actually,” she continued, “given that there is significant travel involved with the May rounds and a return to Silverstone in June, I regret that I will not be continuing as host of the games.”
A low murmur spread through the audience and I stepped forward. Norris grabbed my arm and kept me from interrupting her. I wanted to stop her. Across the room, Anders had found me, his eyes blazing, as though he was thinking exactly what I was. She was quitting for me. But what he didn’t know was I didn’t want that. There was no need to give this up. A June round would likely conflict with the baby’s birth but she could easily attend the London rounds.
“Will Alexander be taking your place?” someone asked.
That was a good question. These were the Sovereign Games. But she shook her head. “These games are King Albert’s legacy, so they will continue to be a family effort. With Henry and my brother’s help, we will honour his memory and the sacrifice he made for us.”
I froze at the mention of brother, until Edward dared a glance at me, then moved to join her. He stood behind her seat and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m delighted to help. After all, my sister is working harder than all of us at the moment.” His joke came off well, painting Clara as the blessed Madonna of the family.
The conference continued, but I checked out. Why hadn’t she told me what she’d planned? Why had she gone to Edward instead?
When the audience ended and I no longer had to smile politely for the cameras, I escaped into the Royal Closet.
“Give me a moment,” I barked, hearing the sound of someone follow me in.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and jerked me back. I spun around, coming face to face with Anders. It was like looking into my own eyes—the same color and the same anger. I wondered if he saw his own reflecting back at him.
“You can’t lock her away,” Anders growled.
“You’re on dangerous ground,” I warned him. “Leave.”
“I don’t take orders from you, unlike the rest of the puppets here.”
“Anders!” Clara’s voice broke in sharply.
Neither of us moved. We were inches from each other and it was taking a considerable amount of restraint not to tackle him.
“Clara, my love, please give us a moment,” I gritted out.
“That was polite.” Anders spat the words. “I didn’t expect please to be in your vocabulary.”
“I have a rather impressive vocabulary. Ask me how many words I can come up with for how petulant you’re being,” I said coolly.
“Petulant? Fancy. Where I’m from we stick with calling a wanker a wanker.”
“Fine,” I said, taking the bait, “you’re a wanker.”
“You forced her to quit,” he accused.
“Clara makes her own decisions.” I didn’t bother to add that this was one she hadn’t bothered to run past me. More people filtered in
to the room. Norris moved closer, giving us room, but staying near. I spotted Henry and Edward over Anders’ shoulder.
It wasn’t until Brexton entered that anyone commented on the scene playing out before them. “Oh bloody hell,” he said. “You’re on your own, Poor Boy.”
“Don’t worry. I have this in hand,” I said without looking away from Anders.
“You would think that,” Anders muttered.
“Try me,” I dared him.
He had one good hand and it flew at the same time Clara stepped between us. I reacted instinctively, covering her body with my own. Anders’s fist bounced off my shoulder. I sheltered my wife, throwing a murderous look at him.
“Get him the fuck out of here,” I ordered.
Anders didn’t resist as Brexton grabbed his shoulder and dragged him toward the door.
“Clara, I’m sorry,” he called, ashen-faced. “I would never hurt you.”
“No, you won’t, because you’re never coming near her again.” It didn’t matter if we shared the same blood. Anderson Stone was dead to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CLARA
Everything had happened so fast. From the moment I’d met Alexander, he always positioned himself between me and the world. He’d been there to carry me away from the paparazzi. He’d stepped in front of a bullet for me. It wasn’t his protection that surprised me. It was Anders’ recklessness that did. I peeked over Alexander’s shoulder, feeling torn as Brex dragged Anders away. It was hard to think with the stifling amount of testosterone in the air, but I knew kicking him out wasn’t going to fix whatever was broken between them.
Only the truth could do that.
I ducked free of Alexander. “Stop!”
“Clara, he nearly hit you,” Alexander said, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“But he didn’t,” I said.
“Semantics.” Alexander jerked his head. “Get him out before I show him what a real punch looks like.”
Anders moved toward the door without a struggle, Brexton behind him.