The Queen's New Year Secret(9)
* * *
“Two weeks, Tabitha. The wedding was to be in two weeks’ time. Now there is a video all over the internet of Francesca and Andres having my wedding night without me.” Kairos’s hands shook as he relayed the story, a glass of scotch in his hand, his normally completely cool demeanor fractured.
His dark hair was disheveled as though he had been running his hands through it, his tie loosened. She had so rarely seen her enigmatic boss appearing to be anything beyond perfectly composed that Tabitha’s resolve, built over the past three years of working for him, was tested. And was failing.
She had become accustomed to the taciturn man who walked into his office in the morning, barking orders, setting about the workday with efficiency that was swift, brutal and beautiful to behold.
This man, this man who seemed tested beyond his limits, was a stranger to her. Brought her right back to square one.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“You’re my personal assistant, I thought you might assist me.”
She laughed, her stomach tightening. “Well, cheating fiancées and doomed royal weddings aren’t really my forte.”
“I thought everything was your forte,” he said, treating her to a look that burned her down to her toes.
“After the wedding I’m leaving. You’re going to have another assistant. You’re going to have to get a little bit more self-sufficient.” It was probably the wrong time to bring that up, but she felt somewhat desolate about it. But she was done with university now, she had a business degree and had achieved most of it remotely while acting as Kairos’s assistant, a special privilege given to her since she’d been selected for the job.
She should be excited. Looking forward to the change this would bring. To the advantage she would have with a degree from a prestigious school and three years of work experience for the royal family of Petras.
Instead, she felt as though she was being ripped away from her home. Felt as though she would be leaving a part of herself behind.
“I don’t want another assistant,” he said, his voice rough.
“That’s just the alcohol and the emotional distress talking,” she said.
“Perhaps. But nothing says that alcohol and emotional distress aren’t honest.”
“Probably more honest than the general state of things.”
“Probably.” He studied her hard. “I like you,” he said, “I want you to know that.”
Her stomach tightened further, her breath rushing from her lungs in a gust. “Well, that’s flattering.”
“You have been the perfect assistant, Tabitha. You have more poise than many women who were raised by kings. You are smart, diplomatic, and most importantly, you have not slept with my brother. Or, if you have, it wasn’t captured on video.”
She thought of the devastatingly handsome Prince Andres, and felt nothing. Kairos was the only man who had ever tested her resolve. And he never even tried. “I can honestly tell you that Andres has never so much as tempted me.”
“Is there anything you do not excel at? Any skeletons in your closet?”
“I... You read my résumé.”
“Yes. If you recall, I read yours and that of several hundred other hopefuls. You were indeed the most suitable. Beyond that which I could have ever anticipated.” He set his glass of scotch down on his desk. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
She couldn’t breathe. God help her, she couldn’t breathe. “See what?”
“Tabitha. I think you should marry me.”
* * *
“Tabitha, are you well?”
Tabitha started at the sound of Kairos’s voice. It was rare for her to be woken up by him. In fact, she couldn’t recall if she ever had been. He didn’t spend the night with her. He never had.
She opened her eyes, bright afternoon light filtering into her vision. She suddenly remembered where she was. Remembered that it was not that day when he first proposed, or any of the days in between that she’d spent as his wife. No, it was now. She was carrying his baby. They were divorcing.
The hopeful little ember that burned in her stomach, thanks to that dream, that memory, cooled.
“Not especially,” she said, pushing into a sitting position and scrubbing her hands over her eyes.
Suddenly, she felt self-conscious, childish because of the gesture. She was not in the habit of waking up in front of him. For all that they had a physical relationship, they had very little intimacy.
She dropped her hands to her sides, balling them into fists.
“I brought your clothing up. And everything else.”
“Did you...” She looked around the room. “Did you put it all away?”
“Yes. I was hardly going to ask you to do it. And as I said before, there are no servants in residence here.”
“You don’t have any service at all?”
“I occasionally employ the services of a chef. But for the purposes of this trip, some preprepared meals were brought along with your things.”
“It’s just you and me, then?”
He nodded, his dark gaze unreadable. “Yes.”
“On the whole island?”
“On the whole island,” he confirmed.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“I don’t think we’ve ever...really been alone before.”
“We are very often alone,” he said, frowning.
“In a palace filled with hundreds, in a building other people live in.”
“I have never kidnapped you before either. You’ve also never been pregnant with my baby. Oh, yes, and we have never been on the brink of divorce. So, a season of firsts. How nice to add this to the list.”
She stood up, stretching out her stiff muscles. “Where exactly do you get off being angry at me? We are here because of you.”
“I’m angry with you because this divorce is happening at your demand.”
“Had I not demanded we divorce, I wouldn’t be pregnant.”
“Had you not frozen me out of your bed perhaps you would have been pregnant a couple of months sooner.”
She gritted her teeth, reckless heat pouring through her veins. “How dare you?” She advanced on him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Don’t.”
Her protest was cut off by the press of his mouth against hers, hot and uncompromising, his tongue staking a claim as he took her deep, hard. She had no idea where these kinds of kisses had come from. Who this man was. This man who would spirit her away to a private island. Who kissed her like he was dying and her lips held his salvation.
It stood out in such sharp contrast to that kiss on their wedding night. The first time they had been alone in a bedroom like this. His kiss had been gentle then. Cool. She had waited for this moment. For heat to explode between them. Because she felt it. She had always felt it. It had been there from the moment she first walked into his office, no matter how hard she might try to deny it.
But everything he’d done had been so maddeningly measured, so unreasonably controlled. She had been shaking, from the inside out. With nerves, with desire. He had been gentle. Circumspect.
* * *
He left the lights off. That surprised her, because she had imagined that he would prefer to see her. At least, she had imagined that men preferred such things. She had no experience with them, and suddenly she regretted it. She hadn’t. Never. Until now. Now, she was married to Kairos. She was his princess. She was his wife. And she had no idea how to please him.
They had two weeks to adjust to the idea of marrying each other, and during that two weeks he hadn’t touched her. He had waited, because he’d said there was no point in doing anything differently. Not when it was so close. Not when he had the chance to do right by her.
She had told him, of course, that she was a virgin. In case he found the idea appalling in some way. In case he disliked the idea of being with a woman who had no practical experience. He had not been appalled. But it was then he’d insisted they wait.
So here she was, a bride dressed in white, and all that it symbolized, married to a man she didn’t love. A man who did not love her, about to find out what all the fuss was about.
She might not love Kairos, but she was attracted to him. In her mind, this was ideal in many ways. She didn’t love him. But she respected him. She cared for him. She was attracted to him. They had everything pleasant going for them, and nothing outrageous or unpleasant. Nothing that would turn them into the kinds of screaming monsters her parents had become under the influence of love and passion.
And so she waited. Waited for him to close the distance between them. But he was in no hurry. Finally, he crossed the room, a dark silhouette. She could see him working his tie, removing his jacket, his shirt. She could see nothing of his body, but she could tell that he was naked by the time he reached her. It was then that he kissed her. Cool, slow. Different to how she had imagined.
His skin was hot, but his movements were chilled and deliberate. He divested her of her gown quickly, making no ceremony of it. His touch was skilled, easily calling out a response in her as he teased her between her thighs, stroked his thumb over her nipples. But it was happening quickly, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Didn’t understand her part in it. And he gave her no hints. He had her on her back quickly, testing her readiness with his fingers. Sliding one inside her first, then another, stretching her. He did this for a while, as though he were counting the time. As though he had read a textbook on how to make a woman’s first time hurt as little as possible.