Page 55 of Promoted To His Princess

Calista’s hands were shaking. She didn’t want to open it, but even so, she did.

A heavy, creamy sheet of paper was inside, and when she unfolded it she saw it was an invitation to a wedding. A royal wedding. The wedding of Prince Xerxes Nikolaides, Defender of the Throne, to... Calista Kouros.

Tears filled her eyes, thick and hot, her own name wavering and swimming in her vision.

The king had told her he’d handle all the details of the wedding cancellation. Yet it was clear that Xerxes, stubborn to the last, was having none of it. Despite the fact that she’d walked out on him without even a goodbye, he still thought she’d marry him.

The arrogant bastard.

Fury rose in her then, white hot and unexpected, and she took the invitation and ripped it to pieces with trembling hands.

But after her anger had subsided and she was left standing in a pile of white confetti, she knew the truth: he was leaving the final choice up to her.

And she had no idea at all what to do with that.

Calista went into the house and tried to busy herself with doing other things, with books and exercise. With cooking and TV. Boring, mundane things that had provided her with distraction for the past week or two, because she didn’t want to have to think about him.

Didn’t want to think about the choice he’d apparently given her or what she would do about it.

But nothing helped.

In three days there would be a wedding and he would be there. He’d stand in front of his country, in front of his king, in front of his people. He’d stand there, waiting for her.

And if it was still going ahead, it was because he believed she’d be there. He believed she’d come.

She didn’t know whether to be offended at his presumption or comforted by his conviction.

Why was he going through with it? What did he think would happen? Did he really believe she’d turn up? She’d told him over and over again that she didn’t want to marry him, so why hadn’t he given up?

He never gives up.

Calista couldn’t get that out of her head.

The next day arrived and then the next. She wasn’t going to go, of course she wasn’t. She’d decided not to marry him and her decision was absolutely the right one.

It was up to him if he wanted to risk his dignity and reputation in front of the entire country. If he wanted to look like a fool when she didn’t arrive, then who was she to stop him? It would be a hard lesson for him to learn, but perhaps then he’d realise how ridiculous the whole idea was.

Except the more she thought about it, the more she ached. The more justifications she invented, the more hollow they sounded and the more empty she felt.

She woke on the morning of the wedding, more tired than she’d ever felt in her life, and when she got up she simply sat on the terrace of that little house again, watching the sun rise as the knowledge she’d been trying to escape for weeks now unfolded in her heart.

There was a reason those justifications had felt so hollow: they were excuses. Distractions from the real issue.

She was afraid. Not of the gap in social hierarchy between them or anything else, but of what lay in her own heart. Of the strength of what was in it. She’d always felt things so deeply and strongly, and after she’d ruined her mother’s life and with it her own relationship with Nerida, she’d locked all those feelings away, committed herself entirely to the armour she put on, poured all her desperate love into her country. Because a country could never betray her. Not the way her mother had done.

But a country couldn’t love her back and the armour she’d put on was constricting, and those feelings hadn’t gone away. They were still there and they were still powerful, and they frightened her.

You want to be loved back. You want it desperately.

Calista watched the sun come up, the realisation cold and sharp, because yes, she did want to be loved. And she’d had that back there at the palace, or at least the potential for it. But instead of taking it, instead of standing her ground and fighting for it, she’d retreated. No, worse than that. She’d broken and run away. And not even from an enemy bent on killing her.

She’d run away from herself and all those feelings in her heart.

She’d run away from the one man who could give her everything she’d ever wanted.

She’d told herself that she couldn’t love him to protect him, but it wasn’t him she was protecting. It was herself. Because she’d fallen in love with him. She’d been in love with him for weeks, possibly months. Maybe even since that night he’d cupped her cheek in his big, warm hand and smiled at her.

She loved him and she was afraid. Because it was so strong and so frightening.

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