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His lips twisted in a grimace of sorts and he understood then what he’d failed to see on the plane. She was nervous. She was fighting with him because she was about to step off a cliff, and she had no idea what would catch her. He leaned forward so that his face was close to hers and saw the way her breath hitched in her throat, saw the way she looked at him with a quick flash of desire that she fought to cover with a tightening of her features.
‘We have to do this,’ he said, wishing in that moment that it wasn’t the case. That Frankie didn’t have to endure a marriage she clearly hated the idea of. Wishing she was free to live her life. Wishing she was free to marry a man who loved her, just as she’d insisted marriage should be.
‘Then why ask the question?’ Her words were snapped out but he understood now, and he frowned, wanting to relieve her tension and knowing only one way to do so.
Leo looked from one to the other and Frankie dredged up a smile for his benefit but it was weak, watery.
‘Okay?’ Leo asked, his little hand curving on top of Frankie’s. Matthias watched the gesture with a heart that was strangely heavy.
‘Fine,’ she said, her smile for their child’s benefit.
The door was pulled open and Matthias sat for another beat of time, looking at the woman who would be his wife, and his child. She was nervous, but there was nothing for it. They had to do this. ‘Let’s go then.’
* * *
Three simple words but oh, how much they meant! Because it wasn’t as simple as stepping out of a car—this was like crossing an invisible border, one which she could never cross back. When she stepped out of the car, she’d cease to be a private individual. She would no longer be an up-and-coming artist on the New York scene. She’d be a royal fiancée, Matthias’s bride, the up-and-coming Queen, the mother of the royal heir. She would belong to this life, to Matthias, and so would Leo.
There was nothing for it though. He’d described himself as a realist, and Frankie had a degree of realism deep in her as well. Or perhaps it was better described as fatalism, she thought, watching as Matthias stepped from the car. His staff stood still, none looking at him. He reached into the car, his arms extended, and she understood what he wanted.
Leo.
Her mouth was dry, her throat parched, her pulse racing. There was no sense in refusing him—it would be easier for her to step out of the car if she weren’t holding a heavy toddler in her arms. Besides, with Matthias holding their baby, no one would be looking at her, would they?
‘Go with Matthias—Daddy,’ she said stiffly, kissing Leo’s curls before passing him towards the door. Matthias’s hands curved around Leo’s midsection and then Frankie shuffled closer. Curious glances slid sideways. The servants were, perhaps, not supposed to look, and yet how could they resist?
This was their future King, arriving home as a two-year-old boy. Curiosity was only natural.
‘Mama?’
‘I’m coming. I’m right behind you,’ she promised. And she was—she had to be. There was no way on earth Matthias would ever let Leo go. She could see that as clearly as she could the brilliant blue of the sky overhead. If she wanted to be a part of her son’s life, she had to accept Matthias as a part of hers.
With nerves that were jangling in her body, schooling her features into a mask of what she hoped would pass as calm, she stepped from the vehicle.
Eyes that had been resolutely focused ahead all turned now, and it was like being in the glare of a thousand spotlights. Everyone looked at her, everyone saw her, and she knew what they must be thinking.
Why her?
With a sinking heart and regret that she’d refused to allow herself to be restyled as some sort of queen-in-waiting, she brazened it out. Shoulders squared, smile on her face, as though this was a happy day for her. As though she wasn’t absolutely terrified.
His arm around her waist caught her off guard and for a second—a brief second—her smile dropped. Her gaze flew to his face and she saw a warning there. A warning, and a look of triumph. ‘Welcome home, deliciae.’
Home.
She had only a second to process the word. A second to wonder what the lovely-sounding deliciae might mean. And then his head dropped and his lips pressed to hers, and she was dropping out of that present moment and crashing into the past, when she had—briefly—lived for this exact feeling. When his kisses alone had been her reason for breathing.
It was too much—her nerves were already stretched to breaking point and his kiss was a torture and a relief, an agony and an ecstasy.
Her body, of its own accord, swayed towards him as though drunk, demanding more contact, more closeness, more everything. It was a brief kiss—chaste in comparison to how they had kissed in the past, and yet it was enough. More than enough to rekindle everything. Flames that she had hoped extinguished flared to life and she had no idea how to put them out again this time.
Damn him all to heck.
He lifted his head, his eyes mocking when they met hers. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks.
‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded, lifting shaking fingertips to her lips, feeling the strength of his passion even now, seconds after he’d ended it.
His laugh was soft and sent electric shocks down her spine.
‘Because you were nervous,’ he said quietly. ‘And I could think of only one way to calm you down.’
