Marrying Her Royal Enemy (8 page)

Philanthropist, cynic, hardened veteran of life at twenty-seven. Moving out of the hot, hard spray, he sat back against the tile, sluicing the water out of his face. He’d always known Stella’s life had scarred her badly, but tonight he’d gotten a glimpse at how wounded she really was.

Closing his eyes, he recalled their conversation.
Trust is earned.
His fiancée’s rebuttal to his request they develop some sort of manageable, doable relationship between them. He would do it, had to do it, but Stella was right—his ability to be in a relationship, to be emotionally available, had always been in question.

He had been conditioned to never show emotion, never feel it, or allow himself that luxury. Designed to be impenetrable. Other than his grandmother’s affection, he’d never had love, didn’t know what it was, nor did he want it. Maybe it had been watching his father fall down a rabbit hole when his mother had died, one from which he hadn’t emerged whole. He just knew it wasn’t for him, wouldn’t ever be.

Which, he thought, wiping a layer of perspiration from his brow, shouldn’t be an issue given Stella’s pronouncement she wasn’t interested in love, wanted to make herself as impenetrable as he was. It was just that he wasn’t sure she had meant it, wasn’t sure a lot of the Stella he’d seen today wasn’t just tough packaging over the real thing and that woman
was
exceedingly vulnerable, had always wanted more.

And therein lay the problem. He couldn’t ever offer her that, even if she decided she did want it. Not only was he incapable of it, but he also
couldn’t
allow his relationship with Stella to ever become any more than the partnership he’d promised her because there were parts of him she didn’t know. Deep, flawed parts of him he would never admit to anyone—pieces of him that would destroy Stella if she knew.

He pushed aside the guilt that knotted in his chest. He had forgiven himself that particular sin because he and his country needed Stella. It was necessary. Which meant he had to earn that trust his fiancée was demanding, prove to her they could make this work, while never making promises he couldn’t keep.

Considering the fact that in three weeks the eyes of the world would be upon this country as he and Stella cemented ties between Akathinia and Carnelia, he had his work cut out for him.

CHAPTER SIX

K
OSTAS
STOOD
LEANING
against the blacked-out windows of the Bentley, jacket discarded, a dusk-driven breeze stealing across his skin. His oxygen-deprived brain had craved fresh air as he waited for Stella to appear for their dinner engagement, too many weeks of conference rooms and endless bickering about election minutiae clouding his brain. That and the seemingly endless pushback he was receiving on the hotel developments he was negotiating for the east coast of Carnelia.

It was enough to make a man question his sanity for attempting to take on this almost impossible job.

Tonight, however, would be enjoyable. With his wedding just a week away, he and Stella were joining Tassos Andropoulos, his best friend and best man, for dinner at a tiny, low-key restaurant in the city to discuss last-minute details. It was an establishment he knew well, whose proprietor would keep their presence hush-hush, a necessity considering the anticipation for his nuptials had reached a fever pitch. The madness descending over Carnelia was something he would be happy to see the back of.

The foreign media, scheduled to arrive this week to cover the lead-up to the wedding, were salivating over the celebrity-packed guest list, as were the people of Carnelia, who hadn’t seen such an influx of famous visitors since the wedding of his grandmother Queen Cliantha. Their enthusiasm was heightened by the weeklong festivities scheduled around the ceremony, which included two days of national holidays to celebrate. He thanked the high heavens the only thing he had to do was show up.

Pulling in another deep breath of the clean, quiet air, he focused his attention on the entrance to the castle and his fiancée’s imminent appearance, rather than the insanity to come. Punctuality was not one of Stella’s virtues, but since she had so many others, he was willing to overlook it.

She had been picture-perfect in an appearance at the annual fig festival, winning over the farmers with her wit and charm as they served as the judges of the cake-baking competition featuring the star fruit, then doing the same at an official state dinner for the Italian prime minister as Carnelia officially reopened relations with that country.

Unfortunately, for his goal of creating a manageable stasis for his own relationship, the cool, composed Stella who had presented herself on those public occasions had been the same one to greet him every morning in the two weeks since their confrontation in the conservatory. He seemed to be an object of suspicion, to be avoided, while she wrapped her head around their relationship. He hoped the tiny but noticeable thawing in her manner toward him meant they were headed in the right direction.

His introspection came to a halt as Stella exited the front doors and came down the stairs in a cloud of exotic, sophisticated perfume. He was a fan of the scent as well as the dress she wore—a formfitting, knee-length cocktail number embroidered with some type of flower he couldn’t identify.

“Sorry,” she murmured, coming to a halt in front of him, the careful smile that seemed to be her de facto response to him of late pasted on her lips.

“No, you aren’t,” he said easily, shifting away from the car, “or you’d be on time.”

Oh.
Those blue eyes sharpened.
It’s going to be that kind of night?

It’s been that kind of fortnight.

Her lashes lowered in that reining in of emotion he was coming to hate.

“We should go,” he murmured, sliding his fingers around the handle of the car door and opening it. She walked past him, sinking her bottom into the seat, then swinging those incredible legs of hers inside. His palm grazed the curve of her hip as he bent to tuck her in, the brief touch of his fingertips to her firm, delectable bottom eliciting the full stare of its owner.

He shut the door on her pensive face because there were some things a man simply couldn’t resist and that had been one of them. Nodding at the driver, who was perched by the front of the car along with Darius and his own bodyguard, he walked around to the other side and slid in.

She eyed him from a safe distance away. “You are exhausted. You need sleep.”

He rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “Clone me. That would help.”

“At least you’ll be able to relax this evening with Tassos. I like him.”

“All woman like Tassos. He’s good-looking and he flies fast, dangerous planes.”

“His occupation certainly doesn’t hurt.” Amusement laced her voice. “How did you two meet?”

“In military training. First here, then in England and California. We were on the same path and we clicked. Then we were deployed together in the navy.”

“He’s the light to your dark,” she said. “You are good foils for one another.”

“Perhaps.”

A silence. “You’re upset about the editorial.”

“
Frustrated
is a better description.” The scathing piece by the business editor of the Carnelian daily newspaper this morning had felt like a betrayal. He’d unleashed the stranglehold his father had kept on the media as one of his first actions as king.

The editor had paid him back by describing him as an “unyielding force determined to push through modernization plans the people weren’t ready for.” “The new king,” the piece had gone on to say, “is showing shades of his father.”

“Why don’t you meet with him?” Stella suggested. “It would be good to establish that relationship. Another key influencer.”

He opened his eyes. “What’s the point? He clearly doesn’t comprehend or care about the facts.”

“Kostas.”
She shook her head. “There’s been significant pushback on your plans from more than one group. You need to educate, but more than that, you need to
listen
. The more you push forward without doing that, the angrier they are going to become. If you don’t want to lose the goodwill you’ve built up, you need to create some bridges.”

He trained his gaze on her. “He accused me of having my father’s
dictatorial tendencies
.”

“Then prove him wrong.” She shook her head. “He is not entirely incorrect in that portrayal. You
are
dogmatic. You see the world in black-and-white. You need to acknowledge the gray, find a middle ground.”

Antagonism stiffened his shoulders. “It’s the people who need to wake up. They all want the gain and no pain.
I
am trying to give them a future. If they are too shortsighted to recognize it, that’s not my problem, it’s theirs.”

“It will be yours if they turn their backs on you.”

Blood throbbed against his temples. Pushing his head back against the seat, he stared straight ahead. “I’m getting enough on all sides, Stella. I don’t need it from you.”

“Then why marry me? You said you wanted a partner, so here I am, telling you what you need to hear rather than what you want to hear.”

His lashes fluttered closed. He had asked for that, yes. He just didn’t need it right
now
. Nor did he need his fiancée agreeing with that damn editor. He couldn’t believe she’d
gone
there, knowing who he was. What he was.

* * *

Stella considered her combustible fiancé as the car pulled up in front of the restaurant. Darius and Kostas’s bodyguard got out first to scan the area. So much for her stress-free, enjoyable evening getting to know Tassos better. He was the one person, it seemed, who knew the king beyond a superficial level.

Kostas was like an explosive device, primed and ready to go off. Clearly the insane amount of pressure he was under was taking a toll, and how could it not? Still, she knew her role was to help guide him and she wasn’t about to pull any punches for both their sakes. Not with General Houlis continuing to amass support behind the scenes, the frustrated public a perfect target for his efforts.

She let him cool off as their security declared the area secure and they were welcomed into the cozy little restaurant off a main avenue by the proprietor, who led them to an out-of-the-way table at the back, where the handsome, dark-haired, green-eyed Tassos sat waiting for them. He was, of course, busily engaged with their beautiful blonde waitress.

“Attempting to find a suitable bottle of wine,” he informed them as he stood and gave Kostas a clap on the shoulder and Stella a kiss on both cheeks. “Any preferences?”

“Anything with alcohol in it,” Kostas suggested, holding out Stella’s chair and tucking her into the table.

Tassos gave him a mocking look. “I thought you gave that up with the monks?”

A half smile broke through her fiancé’s stiffness. “There were certain habits I wasn’t willing to give up.”

Tassos asked the waitress to bring them a bottle of Chianti. “It’s the sex I couldn’t do without,” he said, offering the departing blonde a smile full of promise. “That’s where I derive my
tranquillity
from.”

“Clearly you must be very tranquil, then,” Kostas returned mockingly. “Have you decided who the lucky recipient will be for the wedding? We’re seven days out.”

“It’s an issue,” said Tassos, face deadpan. “There is an implicit assumption among women if you bring them to a wedding that it’s serious. On the other hand,” he said, a contemplative look on his face, “when the champagne is flowing, it’s sure to be enjoyable. Maybe I should just take the waitress.”

Stella shook her head at his arrogance. Tassos was good-looking and charming enough to get away with it. The blonde would likely trip over herself in her haste to say yes. It turned her thoughts to her current problem—her very arrogant fiancé’s request for calmer waters in their relationship.

She had to let go of her antagonism toward him, she knew. Of the history that prevented them from moving forward and truly realizing this partnership because she knew in her heart they could be different if they had a fresh start, that they did have a strong mutual respect for each other. Perhaps it had been the reality of what she’d committed herself to that had been driving her aggression, the radical changes in her life, the loneliness she had felt without her siblings at her side, the tenuous situation she and Kostas were in. Not to mention her own conflicting feelings toward him.

But with her introspection had come clarity. She wanted this partnership to work; knew that together she and Kostas were more powerful than the sum of their parts. It was painful, hard work they were doing, but it was so worth it—she knew she could make a difference in this country’s future. Felt she
had
a purpose. With her and Kostas’s biggest challenges yet unscaled, he was right—a resolution was necessary. Some sort of relationship was necessary between them.

It had also been impossible not to admire the strong, powerful force of good her fiancé had been for his wounded country. He was still the larger-than-life figure she’d always thought he was, but she’d now accepted that he also made mistakes, as everyone did. Could they manage a real relationship together where she let down her guard and let him in while keeping love firmly out of the picture? She thought maybe they could.

She’d always considered Kostas incapable of opening up emotionally, but he had changed since his time in Tibet. He had talked to her about his past—yes, because he’d wanted her acquiescence, but still he had done it. Maybe he was capable of investing in a relationship—maybe he was capable of more. Maybe she had to take a risk and trust him as he’d suggested.

Tucking that away for future thought, she returned her attention to the conversation at hand. Her fiancé gradually lost his combustive edge in the presence of the ever-entertaining Tassos, who clearly knew how to handle him. She took mental notes. By the time their dinner plates were removed and a bottle of wine had been consumed, with liqueurs on the way, Kostas was almost human again. Then his phone rang.

“I have to take it,” he apologized. “It may be a few minutes.”

“Go.” Tassos waved a hand at him. “Your sexy, intelligent fiancée is in safe hands.”

Kostas slanted him a look that said that was debatable, then disappeared onto the terrace. Tassos sat back in his chair, cradling his wineglass in his hands. “He’s agitated tonight.”

“It’s the editorial. I keep telling him communication is a two-way street, but you know what he’s like. He thinks he knows best. Which he does... It’s how he’s executing that needs finessing.”

“He struggles with his father’s legacy.” Tassos’s gaze was frank. “More than anyone knows. He feels the pressure because of the duty that’s so deeply ingrained in him—the responsibility for his father’s misdirection. He ends up caring too much and internalizing the stress.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m just not sure how to help him.”

“I think you are. You aren’t afraid of him, afraid to give him a different perspective. That’s what he needs, that and someone who will stand by him and give him the unconditional love and support he’s never had. Who lets him know he isn’t alone.”

“You have,” she pointed out.

“Yes. But I’m not engaged to be married to him. That kind of bond is different.” Resting his glass against his chin, he gave her a contemplative look. “He needs to see the light again. He needs to remember the world is a good place beyond everything he’s been through.”

A knot formed in her stomach, pulling her insides tight. Shame was its origin. The shame of being so horribly oblivious to the truth an apparently far-deeper-than-she’d-thought Tassos had just voiced.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice, edged with emotion. “I agree.”

He eyed her. “It must be complicated for you two. With what happened with Athamos...”

That might be the understatement of the year.

“
They
were complicated,” he continued with a frown. “At each other’s throats one minute, tight the next. Always the competition. But to have what happened happen? Kostas went off the rails. I’ve never seen him like that.”

The knot in her stomach tightened. “What do you mean ‘off the rails’?”

“I mean I didn’t know if he was coming back from Tibet, mentally or physically. He wasn’t communicating with anyone, not me, nor his father. He literally disappeared. When everyone was asking where Kostas was, why he wasn’t intervening with Akathinia, not even the king knew where he was. When Idas fell ill, he had no idea if his son was going to assume the crown or not. The wolves were circling.”