“It can’t be both. It’s either one or the other.”
He gave his dark head a shake. “There you go again, making it difficult. You don’t need to resist so much.”
“Oh, I do. I most certainly do. I’m not a doll, or a mindless puppet. I’m an adult, a woman, and very independent. I’ve been on my own, and paying my own bills, since I was eighteen. I value my independence, too.”
“I appreciate spirit, but there is a difference between spark, stubbornness and plain stupidity.” He lifted his hand to stop her before she could speak. “And no, I’m not saying you are stupid. But right now you’re stubborn. If the stubbornness continues too much longer, then yes, you’ve moved into stupidity.”
Her cheeks burned. Her temper blazed. “I could say the same for you. You are equally stubborn in your refusal to see me for who I am.”
“I see exactly who you are.”
“A criminal Copeland!”
“No.” He leaned forward, his dark gaze boring into her. “My wife.”
Something in his words and fierce, intense gaze stripped her of speech and the ability to think.
For a moment she simply sat there, dazed, and breathless.
“You are going to experience culture shock,” he said firmly, “but I fully expect you to adjust. We will be here until you adjust. So instead of arguing with me about everything, I think it is time you tried to be more open minded about this, us, and marriage to a Saidia king.”
“I’m trying.”
“No, I don’t think you are, not yet. But I have all day. We have all day. We have all night. We have weeks, actually.”
Her lips pressed firm. She glanced away, studying the exotic pink and blue mosaic tile work on the inside of the pavilion. The tiles were beautiful, the colors gorgeous, and unabashedly romantic. The remote Kasbah would have been extremely romantic if she were here, with someone else. Someone like Damien.
She still loved him.
Or maybe, she still loved who she thought he had been. Loving, strong, protective.
Turned out he wasn’t so loving. Or protective. His strength was an illusion...all beautiful body and muscle but no core. No spine. No backbone, at least not when it was needed.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Mikael asked, a hint of roughness in his deep voice.
She shook her head hard. “No.”
“You’re looking very sad at the moment. Thoroughly crushed. Don’t tell me that twelve hours of marriage to me has broken you already.”
Jemma jerked her chin up. “Not crushed, or broken. Nor will I be. I won’t give any man that kind of power over me.”
“Not even that pretty model ex-boyfriend of yours?”
Jemma stifled a gasp. So Mikael had done his research then, and discovered her humiliation at the hands of Damien. She lifted her chin defiantly.
“Especially not him.”
“Mmm.” But Mikael didn’t sound as if he believed her.