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‘You’ll meet your valet tomorrow,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘She’ll help you with anything you require.’
‘Valet?’
‘Your point-of-contact servant. The head of your house.’
‘I... I don’t need that.’
He sent her a look of sardonic amusement. ‘You will receive over a thousand invitations every year to social events. Then there’s the dozens and dozens of requests for you to serve as a spokesperson for charities, to fundraise on their behalf and raise their profile. Each of these will require a response, and it will be impossible for you—on your own—to know which are worthy of your consideration and which are not.’
Frankie was struck dumb momentarily. ‘But why would so many people want...? I mean...’
‘You will be Queen—and people will presume you have the ear of the King. There is power in your position, and it is natural that many will want to use that to their advantage.’
‘But I won’t have the ear of the King,’ she said, shaking her head and walking towards the enormous windows that looked over the mysterious fruit grove.
‘Nobody will be aware of that. To the outside, our marriage will appear to be a love match—it’s natural people will presume I listen to your counsel.’
Bitterness twisted inside her, and loss too—a deep and profound sense of grief at the picture he’d so easily painted. The kind of marriage she’d always dreamed she might one day be a part of. The true sense of belonging she’d sought all her life. The thoughts were dark, depressing. She stamped them out, focusing on the business at hand. ‘And my valet will manage all that for me?’
‘Your secretary will.’
She frowned, not taking her eyes off the trees below. ‘We were talking about a valet.’
‘I said the valet is the head of your house. There will be around ten members of staff—not including your security detail—who report to your valet.’
At that she turned to face him, but wished she hadn’t. The sight of him, one hip propped against the kitchen counter, watching her thoughtfully, jolted her heart painfully, as though she’d been shocked with electricity. ‘Matt—’ she used the diminutive form of his name without thinking ‘—I don’t want this.’
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s just strange. I can’t see that I’ll need that many people working for me.’
‘You wish to fire someone then?’
She opened her mouth to say something and then slammed it shut; he had her jammed into a tight corner there and undoubtedly knew it. She shook her head. ‘No, I just...’
‘Relax, Frankie. You will adapt to all this, I promise.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You grew up with this; it’s normal for you.’
He shrugged. ‘And it will become normal for you.’ He stood up straighter and walked towards her, opening the large glass doors. Warmth billowed in from the sunny afternoon beyond. He gestured for her to precede him onto the balcony and, curious, she did. The terracotta tiles were warm beneath her feet. Out here, the fruit trees had a delightful fragrance. She breathed in deeply, letting the smell roll all the way down to her toes.
She was in a foreign country with a man she hadn’t seen in years, a man she’d slept with and then lost all contact with, a man who had fathered her son, and yet, ridiculously, standing beneath that milky sun with the citrusy fragrance like a cloud around her, the colours all green and blue with splashes of bold red where geraniums were growing, she felt completely and utterly at ease.
‘My valet will coordinate with yours with regard to the wedding plans. The date has been set for two weeks’ time.’
The sense of relaxation evaporated. ‘Two weeks?’ Sh
e jerked her head towards his. He was watching her, those eyes imprinted on her brain like ghosts.
He appeared to misunderstand her. ‘This is the soonest it can be. No sooner,’ he explained. ‘It is necessary to give people time to travel—foreign dignitaries, royals, diplomats.’
‘But...what’s the rush?’
His lips were a tight line in his face. ‘I have a two-year-old who, at this moment, is illegitimate and has no claim on my throne. If I were to die tomorrow, the country would not have an heir. Yet here he is, a living, breathing child of mine—you cannot see that there is a rush to marry and legally make him mine?’
Frankie bit down on her lower lip, nodding even as she tried to make sense of that. ‘But you’re his father—there’s no doubt of that. Surely you could adopt him or—’
‘Adopt my own son?’ There was a look of cold rejection on his face, as though adopting Leo would be the worst thing in the world.
