Page 87 of Wicked Queen

Alexander’s teeth caught my lower lip, but I wasn’t interested in rough. I wanted to worship him. I wanted to show him that no part of him was ever damaged in my eyes. Our scars made us stronger.

“No,” I whispered, pushing him against the door gently.

Alexander’s eyes hooded as I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. They still shuttered against the marks that covered his powerful body, but I loved those imperfections that proved he was a man who’d fought death and won. Dipping my lips to his chest, I kissed the bullet wound that had nearly taken him from me and then the one that had missed entirely.

He drew a harsh breath, as if I was releasing something in him he didn’t know he’d carried. I wanted to move lower to kiss every scar, to erase the guilt he’d allowed to fester there, but he caught my neck and brought my lips back to his.

His hands swept down, lifting my dress and I stopped kissing him only for the moment it took to shed it.

“My Clara. I want to make love to you every year when the wisterias bloom,” he whispered against my lips. “And every winter by the fire and all the days between.”

It was so easy to get caught up in the rush of the world around us, always planning for the next moment and worrying about making it to the next day while fearing what lay ahead. But, in that moment, I knew that every sunset prepared us for another day together.

“Love me?” I asked, and he did.

Chapter 26

Clara

Someday, an angel would invent a way to get dressed for a party in under an hour. For now, by the time I’d finally tracked down my dress, pinned up my hair, and finished my make-up, we were running late. Naturally, all Alexander had to do was put on his tuxedo, but that man could put on nothing and look better than the rest of the planet.

The museum wasn’t far from Buckingham, but the short drive took long enough for me to start worrying. Alexander seemed equally preoccupied, staring out his window, lost to his thoughts. Our only connection was our clasped hands. When we reached the party and made it past the inevitable onlookers and their cameras, I would relax. Everything was being taken care of, and I wasn’t one to fuss. Plus, with Edward there, I knew one of us would be seeing to overlooked details, and he was the far more competent party in that regard.

When we reached the V&A, Alexander flashed me a wan smile before climbing from the Range Rover. Barricades kept the crowds away from the arriving guests. Alexander opened my door and helped me out of the car. I smiled to the crowds as camera flashes went off around us. His hand slid to the small of my back, warm and protective, as he guided me to the museum’s entrance.

“You are a goddess,” Alexander murmured in my ear.

I felt like one in the white silk gown that flowed loosely around me, dipping low in the back. Tamara had insisted on sending the evening maternity gown during our last shopping trip, despite my protest that I had no events that required such a fancy dress. She’d winked and told me to save it for the next one. I’d thought I would never wear it, but the party was the perfect occasion. Paired with a pair of silver Louboutins, it was elegant and sexy—and as far from the typical maternity dress as I could get.

A deep purple carpet had been placed on the steps leading into the Victoria and Albert’s Grand Entrance. I’d taken the cue from royalty. Sarah was a princess whether she felt like one or not, and tonight, I would remind everyone. But the interior decor was all Belle and Edward, with one notable exception.

As soon as we passed into the large space that normally served as the museum’s entrance, the entire vibe changed from buttoned up to lavishly sensual. Wisterias hung from the columns circling the room and a cocktail bar lit by subtle purple lights had already attracted a number of guests. We passed through it, stopping to greet various friends of Alexander’s family.

Alexander’s hand left my back only so he could take mine, as though he was afraid he might lose among the strangers. My thoughts drifted to what Georgia told me the other day about always having me surrounded unless he was nearby. Tonight his possessiveness seemed to radiate from him like a field, and I found myself pressing closer, drawn to its energy.

But it wasn’t that I sensed danger. Rather, I knew my nearness soothed a jagged ache in him that nothing else could.

When we reached the corridor that split in the direction of the gallery, Alexander whisked me into an alcove and kissed me slowly, his lips savoring each movement. I gasped against his mouth, my fingers tangling into his hair. When he released me, his eyes were wild.

Before I could speak, he continued toward the party.

“What was that for?” I asked in a low voice.

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “The wisteria.”

I’d done for him and Sarah, so that a tangible piece of their mother would be here tonight. But the flowers now held a different memory for me: of fogged glass doors and Alexander’s hands.

There were more of the delicate blooms draped over tall glass vases on the tables in the Raphael Gallery. The modern centerpieces contrasted magnificently with the Renaissance paintings that dominated the gallery. A popular band had taken up Edward’s offer to play the party and they already had people dancing in the center of the space.

Near the cake, Belle was talking animatedly to another woman I didn’t recognize. I took the lead, and Alexander followed, as keen to avoid another well-meaning greeting as I was.

“Guarding the cake?” I asked her.

“Someone has to,” she said. “Look at it.”

It was a spectacular feat of confectionary with five different tiers, all frosted in a deep indigo and covered in dripping pearls. I was more interested in finding out whether the champagne layer or the lemon layer did more to satisfy my sweet tooth.

“I should be going. It was lovely to see you,” the girl said, brushing Belle’s hand in farewell and nodding to us before returning to the crowd.