Kitabı oku: «The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12», sayfa 27
‘Stop,’ he said and the congregation gasped as one.
Was he mad? Doing this at such a time?
But he wasn’t mad. He knew exactly what had to be done, regardless of who was watching. Before he could let any more doubt creep in he left the waiting priest and strode swiftly down the long aisle to meet his bride.
She looked up at him, dazed. Seemingly numb.
‘Leave her, Sebastian,’ he said, and when Sebastian opened his mouth to argue he fixed him with a look that might, in a bygone age, have seen his head on a block. To give such a look to his future king… But Sebastian was his brother and was, this day, of little import compared to the girl on his arm.
And Sebastian had the sense to see it. He gave his brother a quizzical smile and stepped back. The trumpeter’s notes faded into an uncertain murmur and then ceased altogether.
‘You look frightened,’ Andreas said and he took her hands in his and waited until she found the courage to look up at him.
‘N… no.’
‘Liar.’
‘Just overwhelmed,’ she managed.
‘Then don’t be,’ he said, speaking to her and only to her. ‘This is between you and me. A marriage between us. And I’m only Andreas, the boy you once loved.’
Who knew what those around were thinking? He couldn’t care. All he knew was that these few minutes were all he had to convince her to go through with this; not to bolt and run, but neither to submit in fear.
‘With a bold heart or not at all,’ he whispered, and she looked up at him as if he were a stranger.
‘A bold heart…’
‘You were never a coward, Holly,’ he said. ‘You can ride a half-broken horse bareback. You can take down a steer. You can ride muster at dawn with any man. Surely you can find it in your heart to take me on as well.’
There was a ripple of laughter through the chapel. This might be unconventional but it was romantic and even the politicians were smiling.
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she whispered.
‘Then what, my heart?’
‘I…’
‘You want more time?’
That shocked her. Her eyes widened. She gazed at him, and then she looked around the chapel where the who’s who of Aristo were assembled waiting to see her marry.
And suddenly her smile was back, a glimmer at first, and then a full-on grin. ‘What, you’re offering me five minutes?’
‘Take six if you want.’
‘You’re all heart.’
‘You want to get married?’ he said. ‘We’re ready and waiting.’
‘You make it sound ordinary.’ The whole congregation could hear but neither of them were aware of it.
‘People do it every day. Just because you’re wearing a tiara… Take it off if it bothers you.’
‘You’d marry me without the tiara?’
‘I’d marry you with nothing on at all,’ he said and the uncertain smiles around the chapel became chuckles. This wasn’t what anyone had expected—in this atmosphere redolent of royal history and pageantry it was almost as if a breath of fresh air had blown through the chapel.
‘I reckon you wouldn’t,’ she said, and grinned and he could see the girl she’d once been; the girl she still was under the pain and loneliness the past had thrown at her.
‘I reckon I would.’ His eyes were daring her, laughing with her. ‘You want to try me?’
‘I reckon not,’ she whispered, but the tension was gone. He’d won, he thought. She was looking at him the way she’d looked at him all those years ago. As if he was just Andreas. Just a boy.
A boy to his girl. A man to his woman.
A bride to his groom.
‘With this ring I thee wed…’
He slipped the band of gold on her finger and she looked down at it and then looked at the man facing her. Andreas.
She’d dreamed of this moment. It had always been a girl’s romantic longing. Her Cinderella moment. Marrying her prince. And here she was, doing it for real.
Yet it was all fake. She was doing it for the sake of his country. The marriage would end and she’d go on as before.
Not as before. She stared at the wedding band, at Andreas’s strong fingers as he settled it in place, and then she looked up into his face.
Her husband.
She meant these vows.
Okay, this marriage might only last a few weeks but it was all she had. She’d waited for ten long years and here she was, hesitating, acting like a wilting violet. Making him talk her down the aisle. Responding to his vows with whispers.
She was no timid virgin and this was her husband. If she only had weeks… she’d go back to Munwannay and these memories would have to last for the rest of her life.
This had all been one-sided. She’d submitted to everything.
On the middle finger of her right hand she wore her father’s ring. It was a rough-cast band of gold that had been wrought from gold found on Munwannay. The seam had never amounted to anything but she could still remember the excitement when it had been found.
‘We’ll be rich,’ her father had exulted, swinging her round and round the kitchen in dizzy excitement. ‘I’ll be able to give you and your mother everything you want.’
He’d had two rings cast—wedding rings to cement the future. Heaven knew what her mother had done with hers—probably cast it away with the marriage—but her father had worn his until he died.
And now…
The priest was about to go on, assuming there was one ring only. But before he could do so, she’d tugged it off and handed it over.
‘Bless this,’ she whispered. ‘And then wear it, Andreas.’
She’d caught him by surprise. He’d never worn a wedding ring—there was no indent around his ring finger to say he’d worn a ring during his marriage to Christina.
For a moment she thought he’d refuse. She met his gaze, steadily, her look a challenge. Come on, this is under my terms as well.
His lips quirked into a glimmer of a smile.
‘Well, then,’ the priest said and there was a faint trace of relief in his voice. He took Holly’s ring and blessed it.
‘With this ring I thee wed.’
And then there was the party.
At what point had she stopped being the wilting bride? Andreas moved among the wedding guests and his gaze kept turning to his bride, over and over again.
She was talking and laughing and moving among the guests as if she were born to the occasion. Munwannay had always been a social hub and she’d been bred to society. He knew that, but he hadn’t expected this. The guest list meant that he had to do the expected. There were so many people who’d be offended if he slighted them today. So he couldn’t hold her tight to him; he had to work the crowd alone. He’d warned his family to look out for her; to protect her as much as they could, but it seemed Holly needed no protection.
She spoke his language almost perfectly. Her fluency stunned him. Yes, she’d learned it as a kid, as a shared intimacy with him, but that she’d kept it up…
She joked, she laughed, she seemed genuinely interested in those around her. She was working the crowd as much as he was.
Their people loved her. The crazy, intimate scene in the church had disarmed everyone who saw it and now she was taking full advantage of the good humour she’d engendered.
He saw Sebastian watching her from the sidelines and saw his brother’s dark eyes crease in admiration. And something else.
He’d been talking to a politician, an officious little man who was congratulating him on his choice of wife. ‘We were so concerned. Another scandal would have undone us all, yet you’ve turned the thing around.’
But when he saw Sebastian watching his bride, it was Andreas who turned around, apologizing brusquely and heading through the crowd to Holly’s side. It was the way Sebastian had looked at her. She was an innocent.
No. She was his wife.
The knowledge was like a blast of light through fog, an unbelievable fact that would disappear any moment. But for now…
‘Holly,’ he said and slipped his arm round her waist in a gesture that was entirely proprietary.
‘Hi,’ she said and snuggled up against him in a gesture that was entirely unroyal. ‘Having fun?’
‘I don’t do fun,’ he said without thinking, and she frowned.
‘What, never?’
‘This is work.’
‘No, but there are some really nice people here.’ She sighed. ‘I’m doing all my talking for the next fifty years. I’ll remember this back at Munwannay. What are we drinking?’
He looked at the glass she was holding—golden bubbles. ‘French champagne.’
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘I think I need more.’
‘Right now?’
‘Maybe not. A tipsy bride is not a good look. Do you think I can sneak away and check on Deefer?’
‘He’s in very good hands.’
‘Yes, but they’re not my hands. How long do wedding receptions last?’
‘Until the bride and groom leave.’
She brightened. ‘Hey, that’s us, right? So can we leave?’
Tia was suddenly there. His mother. She’d kept things under control since her husband died. If it weren’t for Tia… well, maybe the monarchy would have disintegrated long since, he thought. She was always where she was needed. Now she touched her son on his shoulder.
‘The older people need to leave. So, therefore, do you.’
‘That’s just what Holly’s been saying.’
‘She’s a wise child.’ Tia smiled her approval at Holly. ‘You’ve done very well, dear.’
Holly flushed. ‘I… thank you…’
‘For a captive bride,’ Andreas said without thinking, and he saw the flash of surprise that said she’d forgotten. For the moment.
But she suppressed it. The twinkle appeared again. ‘He gave me a dog,’ she told Tia, as if that explained everything.
‘He always was a kind boy,’ Tia said.
‘Kind, huh?’ Holly said, and gave him a look that almost had him blushing.
But Tia was into organizational mode. She wasn’t looking for nuances. ‘You know the people who need to be formally farewelled,’ she told Andreas. ‘The two of you do the rounds. Quickly though, or it’ll be said we slighted someone.’
‘We can’t split up and do ‘em faster?’ Holly asked.
‘You don’t know who…’
‘I’m figuring it out,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve been watching. My mother brought me up on social nuances. I’m thinking I could point to every person here who’s likely to take offence. But you’re right, of course, I can’t be depended on and I really need to see my dog. Okay, my husband. Let’s get this lot farewelled so we can get on with our lives.’
It felt like an order. He felt… bossed. Holly moved through the dignitaries like a professional. As he steered her from person to person she greeted them with her hands outstretched, a royal bride receiving the attention she deserved.
She could do this, he thought with a shock. He glanced aside at his mother and saw her watching Holly and thought it wasn’t just him and his pride in her. She could be royal.
There was another shock, a smack in the solar plexus that went right along with the strange feel of the ring on his finger. If he’d married her ten years ago…
Right, as if that could have happened. When his father had been alive—no way. But now… He glanced further across the crowded reception room and there was Sebastian, still watching her. Smiling.
Royal approval, or simply Sebastian’s habitual reaction to a beautiful woman?
But if Sebastian approved… What had happened in the church today had changed things. Holly had become a real person to the country—a real princess?
Could they have a real marriage?
The thought was mind-blasting. It made his arm tighten on Holly’s waist so she looked up at him enquiringly. ‘Andreas?’
‘It’s time we went,’ he managed.
‘Yes, dear,’ she said and they were such a domestic couple of words that they made him blink. Then she smiled and the heat in his body kept right on building.
They had to go. He had to take her… away.
His wife.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE hadn’t counted on being dumped unceremoniously in the kitchen with Deefer, but that was exactly what happened.
The crowd parted as Andreas left with his wife. At the last minute he swept her up in his arms and they left behind a crowd cheering and wishing them the best. She lay submissive in his arms—what else was a bride to do, after all? But then instead of carrying her triumphantly up the grand central staircase to the royal bridal chamber—or wherever palaces accommodated newlyweds—he shoved door after door open, carrying her down into the rear of the castle to the servants’ quarters. Finally he swung open a last door and set her on her feet.
She almost staggered. The dress was a dead weight around her—she’d been carrying half a ton all day. She’d been too dazed to notice. When Andreas in his fabulous royal regalia was carrying her she didn’t care, but set down unceremoniously in the royal kitchen she found she did care. A lot.
The kitchen had vast, ancient flagstones, a range that took up half a wall, a table that could seat twenty or so—and little else. It was deserted, apart from Deefer who peered sleepily from a dog bed by the stove, gave his tail a perfunctory wag and then finally decided it did behove him to raise himself to welcome his mistress.
She bent to greet him and Andreas was already backing out the door. What the …?
‘Um… is the Cinderella thing over?’ she asked uncertainly. ‘Is it midnight yet? My gown’s still a gown.’
‘Stay here,’ he growled. ‘I didn’t expect… I have things to organize.’
‘You didn’t expect what?’ she demanded.
‘A wife,’ he said and paused, stepped forward, hauled her close and kissed her. One harsh, demanding and possessive kiss—and then he was gone. ‘Wait,’ he said over his shoulder as he strode away down the corridor. ‘Go nowhere.’
And where was a girl to go after that? Nowhere. Even if she could find her way back to her apartments through the corridors. Which she couldn’t.
So she sat by the stove in her ridiculous bridal gear and waited for her husband and tried to make herself think of something other than how she was married and she didn’t know what was going to happen and she was… scared?
Scared of something happening?
Um… no. Scared of something not happening.
What would happen if someone came in and found her here? The servants would come eventually, she thought. There she’d be when they came in to cook breakfast, the royal bride hugging her dog, looking ridiculous.
‘We’re in over our heads,’ she told Deefer, but Deefer was one tired pup and he simply curled up into a ball on the crazy lace confection covering her knees and slept again.
Lucky Deefer.
Fifteen minutes. Twenty. The clock over the vast mantel ticked like a bomb. Tick tick tick.
She was going nuts.
The door swung open again. Andreas. Still in his ceremonial bridal toggery. Still looking absurdly handsome.
Still her husband.
‘We’re ready,’ he said and she suddenly had a ghastly vision of the royal brides she’d heard of in history—a dozen witnesses clustered around the bed waiting for evidence of her virginity.
‘Um… we?’ she whispered, and he chuckled and strode forward, lifted Deefer from her arms and pulled her lightly up to stand beside him.
‘Georgiou.’
‘Oh, goody,’ she whispered. ‘My favourite person.’
‘My favourite helicopter pilot,’ he said. ‘I’ve had too much wine to fly myself. Not that I’m drunk but there’s zero alcohol tolerance for flying. Besides, I wish to concentrate entirely on my bride. So what say Georgiou takes us away from all this? Back to our island.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘We can just… go?’
‘That’s just what I think we should do,’ he said. ‘We’ve done the honourable thing, my love. The rest of the night’s just for us.’
‘And Georgiou.’
‘As you say,’ he said and grinned. ‘But I’m thinking the island’s big enough for all of us.’
This was ridiculous. She should have insisted on changing clothes, Holly thought as she sat on the opposite side of the helicopter to Andreas and hugged Deefer. To travel in her wedding gown—she still had the tiara in her curls!—seemed crazy. As did the fact that Andreas was still wearing his royal regalia. He was leaning back in the luxurious leather chair that served as the helicopter seat, his eyes almost closed, as if in meditation. What was he thinking? He had a bride?
What was he going to do with her?
In days of old she’d be a trembling virgin, terrified of what lay ahead. Bolstered by maternal advice… Don’t be frightened, there’s nothing to it. Lie back and think of England and it’ll soon be over.
She bit back a nervous giggle and Andreas turned.
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘Of England,’ she said and bit her bottom lip and thought the tension was going to kill her. What was she doing? A kid from Munwannay, in the royal helicopter, in full bridal toggery, being carried to an island hideaway with her prince.
Her husband.
If he thought he was going to…
Of course he thought he was going to, she told herself. He’d gone to all this trouble to get them alone. And they were married, in the sight of God and before such a congregation…
‘England,’ he said blankly.
‘It’s what all brides think of on their wedding night.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely,’ she assured him, trying hard not to sound breathless. ‘I’m trying to sort out the English mountains. Ben something… Isn’t that the biggest? And what’s the capital of Sussex? Don’t distract me.’
He didn’t distract her. He simply grinned, turned back to his window and let her be. By the time they landed she’d not only had time to think about England’s biggest mountain, but she’d had time to reach a point where her nerves were threatening to snap. What did she think she was doing? She hadn’t agreed to this. It was a marriage in name only.
No. It wasn’t. Not when Andreas looked as he did, when she felt as she did and it had been ten long years. Holly’s life on a remote cattle station had been very remote indeed. In a few weeks she’d be back there and this was all she’d have to remember.
Except… Except.
‘I can’t get pregnant,’ she said suddenly into the stillness as the helicopter landed and the roar of the motor died to nothing. The thought had hit her as a vicious slap. What was she risking? The whole nightmare happening all over again?
‘It won’t happen,’ Andreas said gravely.
‘I believe that’s what you said last time.’
‘I’ve taken precautions.’
‘Like you’ve had a vasectomy?’
He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No,’ he said, ‘though Christina wanted me to.’
‘Your wife wanted you to have a vasectomy?’
‘She didn’t want children.’
‘Did you want children?’
‘More than anything in the world,’ he said simply and she knew he was speaking a fundamental truth. ‘But you needn’t worry. Not with you. Not this night.’
‘So you’ve brought the odd condom.’
‘Or six,’ he said and the gravity went from his eyes. ‘Or more if we need.’
‘You’re acting on a huge presumption.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I’ll go to bed with you.’
‘You put your ring on my finger.’
‘So that means…’
‘You want me as much as I want you.’
‘Andreas, you and I…’
‘I understand,’ he said softly. ‘No, Holly, I’m not asking you to join the royal entourage. I will keep my word and let you go. But for tonight… I’m hoping tonight can just be for us. A night out of frame. So I’ve brought you here.’
‘And I’ve come,’ she whispered. ‘But, Andreas, if I were to get pregnant…’
‘I’d take care of it this time,’ he said, strongly. ‘I’d take care of you.’
‘You’d take care of… it?’ The joy had gone out of the night. Reality, cold, hard, appalling, had raised its ugly head. This wasn’t a fairy tale. This was real.
He’d take care of… it? What, abortion?
‘I’ll do nothing you don’t want,’ he said.
‘Like I believe that. Bringing me all this way…’
‘I’ll take no unwilling bride to bed,’ he said, sounding suddenly stern. Royal even, and the thought almost made her smile. He might be her Andreas, the Andreas she loved with all her heart, but try as he might, he was still a prince. Her prince.
‘It’s not that I’m unwilling, Andreas,’ she whispered, trying to make him see. ‘God help me, I’ve wanted you for years.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ he said, and he smiled that gut-wrenching smile she loved so much.
‘But there are consequences,’ she managed.
‘There are,’ he said gravely. They were strapped into separate seats, separated by three feet of open space. He reached across and touched her hand, fleetingly, a feather touch of something that was obviously supposed to be reassurance. And stupidly, insensibly she was reassured.
But not enough. Not enough.
‘It’d be crazy to go to bed,’ she said miserably. ‘When this marriage is only for a few weeks.’
‘The marriage is for as long as we want it to be,’ he said.
‘Right. You need a commoner for a bride like you need the plague, and I need to go home.’
‘Do you really need to go home?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, thinking back to that tiny grave.
I’ll take care of it. The words had brought Adam’s loss flooding back. Her mother, visiting her fleetingly, saying ‘Never mind, dear. He was never going to marry you. Losing it is for the best. Now you can get on with your life.’
She’d never got on with her life. She’d worked hard, she’d tried to live her life to the full, but a part of her had been buried the night she’d buried Adam. To get it back…
‘This is wrong,’ she whispered, miserably, and Andreas reached out again and took her hand strongly in his.
‘It isn’t wrong,’ he said. ‘Not now. But we’ll take this as it comes. Don’t look like that, my love. I will not force myself on you.’
‘But you’ve brought six condoms.’
‘Just in case,’ he said and he quizzed her gently with his teasing smile. ‘Just on the chance you decide I’m not so bad after all. I am your husband, Holly.’
‘You’re saying you have rights?’
‘No rights,’ he said. ‘Let’s just play this night as it comes.’
Okay. She wasn’t going to sleep with him. That was the sensible course, and she knew enough of her… her husband… to know he wouldn’t take her against her will.
So it was only her will that was the problem, she thought, and her will had to be cast-iron. She’d walk into the pavilion from the helicopter, she’d bid Andreas a civil goodnight—maybe she’d even apologize because just possibly she’d given him the wrong idea—and then she’d go to bed. In her bedroom. With the door locked.
Sophia would be here. That steadied her. She could do this.
But there was the first hiccup in her plans. The pavilion was deserted. There was no Sophia and Nikos to meet them. Georgiou escorted them to the entrance from the helicopter pad and then faded into the darkness. Wherever the staff were tonight they weren’t here. It was Andreas himself who flung open the huge doors—and when she saw what was inside Holly gasped in shock.
Candles. Candles as far as the eye could see.
The huge central courtyard with its magnificent pool was a glittering mass of flickering candlelight. There were even tiny tealights floating on the water of the pool, their flames reflecting over and over in the depths of the still water.
The fireflies were at work as well, seemingly encouraged by such a mass of flickering light. Last time she’d been here she’d seen and loved them, but there surely hadn’t been as many as there were this night. Their tiny moving glows brought the whole place alive with light, alive with the warmth of the flames.
‘So many fireflies,’ she whispered.
‘I paid ‘em to come,’ Andreas said and looked smug.
What else had he paid to have done?
The big table had been removed. There was one small table right by the water, set for two. A path of candles led to it.
Right by the door—in a pool of light created by a sweep of graded candles—was a pile of pillows. Huge. Soft.
In the middle of the central pillow was a bone. One vast marrowbone, with a central section carefully carved out so a small dog could reach the marrow. If he tried hard enough. If he didn’t succumb to the pure luxury of the down-filled cushions beforehand.
‘You’re even trying to seduce my dog,’ she whispered, awed, as Andreas took the sleepy Deefer from her arms and plopped him on the pillows. Deefer looked adoringly up at Andreas as if to say if this was seduction then thank you very much, he’d take it every time. He put his small mouth round his very big bone, he snuggled into the cushions, he put two paws possessively over the bone—and he went back to sleep. Clearly he was in doggy heaven and he intended to stay there for a very long time.
‘I don’t think I had to try very hard,’ Andreas said and smiled. ‘I suspect Deefer considers himself seduced. And now, my love,’ he growled and took her by the waist. ‘Now for us.’
‘Andreas…’
‘Meal only,’ he said, sounding innocent. ‘I swear.’
‘When did you set this all up?’ she whispered, awed.
‘I didn’t.’ His dark eyes gleamed in appreciation as he surveyed the scene beforehand. ‘I’d anticipated spending this night at the palace. Only then… it seemed important. So I rang Sophia and said we’d be here.’
Sophia must have done all this before, Holly thought, trying not to think it, but thinking it all the same.
‘She hasn’t done it before,’ Andreas growled, his hold on her tightening.
‘How did you know …?’
‘I could feel it. Holly, despite how this appears, this is no practised seduction scene.’
‘N… no?’
‘I brought Christina here early in our marriage,’ he said. ‘Years ago. She loathed it. No shops. No jet-setting friends. She never came again and I brought no one else.’
‘You’ve never brought a woman here?’ she demanded, not believing him. ‘Don’t tell me there was only Christina.’
‘I won’t tell you that. I won’t lie to you,’ he said. ‘But I’ve brought none of my mistresses here. Until you.’
‘I’m not your mistress,’ she said sharply and he nodded, as if in courteous acknowledgement.
‘Maybe that’s why you’re here. You’re my wife,’ he said and his hold on her tightened, until suddenly it seemed that tight wasn’t enough, he was forced to sweep her up in his arms and hold her against his heart. ‘You are my wife, and this night I intend to take you. Or…’ he amended as he felt her stiffen, ‘I intended to take you. Until I heard your very reasonable reservations about why six condoms won’t necessarily work. But let’s not worry about that now. I believe Sophia has left a meal for us. I haven’t seen you eat all day. For what I have in store for you tonight I want no wilting bride.’
So they ate. To her amazement she was hungry. Sophia must have half expected this. She’d surely planned it. But still Sophia remained invisible. It was Andreas who did the serving, disappearing and appearing again like a genie producing his magic.
He was still dressed in full dress uniform, his tunic buttoned high to his throat, his scarlet sash and medals emblazoned on his chest. He’d removed his dress sword but that was his only concession to casual. His high leather boots gleamed like jet-black mirrors. And his tight-fitting pants… There should be a law against them, she thought. For a man to wear such things… For a prince to wear them as he served her…
He was a prince serving his bride. And with food fit for the bride of such a man. Course after course, each small, each tantalizing, each delicious.
Kotosoupa Avgolemono … A chicken and rice soup, with egg and lemon…
He’d made this for her before, she remembered, once when her parents had left them alone together for the evening. ‘I’ll cook,’ he’d said, and she’d scoffed but he’d simply smiled his fabulously sexy smile and made her a soup she’d remembered ever since.
She’d watched him make it. For years after he left she’d tried to make it again, but it had never tasted the same.
It did tonight.
She raised her spoon to her mouth and he was watching every move; a hawk watching his prey, she thought.
‘You like?’ he said and she closed her eyes and savoured the taste of it and the memories and she couldn’t lie.
‘It’s magic. You cooked this for me years ago…’
‘I did,’ he said and smiled. ‘You remembered. I’ll cook it for you again. Whenever you want, my heart.’
She almost choked. She looked across the table and he was smiling at her and she thought of those six condoms and she thought, No, no, no.
‘Leave me alone,’ she managed, sounding virtuous. ‘I need to concentrate.’
‘There’s plenty to concentrate on,’ he agreed gravely. ‘You keep concentrating, my heart, and I’ll keep feeding you.’
So she kept eating. There was no choice—and in truth she had been hungry.
There was no way she was leaving this table hungry. Andreas was already leaving, to return with what came next. Tiny vol au vents, made with flaky, buttery pastry that melted almost as it touched her lips, filled with ingredients she couldn’t identify and didn’t need to—the combination of flavours was just right. Just perfect. Tiny and exquisite.
Then there was a modest medallion of rare fillet beef, served with baby mushrooms and a rich burgundy sauce. There were slivers of young asparagus, oozing butter. A tiny pile of creamy mashed potato. With truffle? Surely not. But, yes, she’d tasted truffle once in the distant past, and here it was again, unmistakable.
They didn’t talk. She couldn’t talk. She was saying a mantra over and over in her head.
Sensible. Sensible. Sensible.
How could she stay sensible? She was achingly aware of his every movement, of every flicker of those dark, dark eyes. He was watching her as she ate, devouring her with his eyes. She should object. She should…
Just eat, she told herself. Just watch him. Maybe even relax a little? Just take every moment of this magic meal as it came. The time for making things clear they were going no further was for later.
The steak was gone, the plates cleared by her prince, her waiter, her husband. He poured her a glass of dessert wine, a botrytis-affected Semillon. To her amazement it was Australian, a winemaker she knew, a wine she’d loved for always.
