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Amelia said, “Our country’s gift to you on your engagement.”
She said, “Thanks,” but her stomach tightened. She hadn’t considered that kings and ambassadors and entire countries would give her gifts. But really? What wedding didn’t attract gifts?
At the end of the evening, when the ambassador and his wife retreated to their suite, she and Dom also took their leave. Rose had decided to stay and have one more drink with the king, and Ginny’s head spun.
When they got into the elevator and the door closed, affording them their first privacy of the evening, she turned to Dominic. “I don’t know if I should apologize for my mom flirting with your dad or groan over the fact that we’re going to get expensive wedding gifts that we have no right to.”
“We’re getting married. We have every right to get gifts and well-wishers have every right to send us gifts.” He frowned slightly. “Haven’t you seen the stack of presents that have already arrived?”
Her mouth fell open. “We’ve already gotten gifts?”
“Many. The protocol is that they stay with Sally until she has an appropriate thank-you card printed up on the royal family’s stationery.”
“We don’t write our own thank-you cards?”
He smiled briefly.
Ginny held back a groan. No wonder he didn’t want to be friendly with her. She was more than a commoner. She was a bumpkin.
She swallowed. “What are we going to do with the presents?”
“What do you mean, what are we going to do with the presents? The same thing other newlyweds do.”
The elevator door opened and he walked outside. She stood frozen, feeling odd—feeling horrible, actually. While she was learning to trust him, he was walking away from her. She might be a bumpkin, but he was the one who had his protocols out of order if he wanted to keep gifts they didn’t deserve. Technically, they were at the center of perpetuating a fraud. They would benefit from a lie.
She scrambled after him. “So we’re going to keep these things?”
He stopped, spun to face her. “What would you suggest? That we tell our guests no gifts? That we all but let them know we plan on divorcing. Get your head in the game, Ginny!”
His tone was like a slap in the face. She took a step back, then another. “I’m sorry.”
He cursed. “Why are you saying you’re sorry! I’m the one who just yelled at you! Do you have to be so nice? So honest?”
“You’d rather I be dishonest?”
“I’d rather that your sanctimonious attitude not make me feel like I’m doing something wrong all the time.”
He turned to the white double doors, marched over, opened them and walked directly to the bar.
She scampered after him. “Wait! What?”
“You’re so nice. You spar with my dad, then say something so respectful, he knows you’re coming around. You didn’t want a new wardrobe until we insisted. You’re nice with Sally. You’re happy your mom is here and it’s clear she loves you.” He stopped, sucking in a breath.
“You’re mad at me because the situation is working out?”
“I’m mad at you because every day it becomes clearer and clearer that I’m going to hurt you.”
She tilted her head, not quite understanding what he was getting at.
“You say you don’t want to get drawn into this life and I believe you. But you and I...” He downed the shot of Scotch and poured another. “We sort of fit. You feel it as much as I do. It’s not something we plan or intend to do. It’s that thing that happens at odd moments. The times we’re on the same page or thinking the same thought and we know it with just a glance.” He walked from behind the bar to stand directly in front of her. “And pretty soon we’re going to start remembering how good we are together in other ways and then we’re going to be sleeping together.”
Her heart thumped. He was feeling the same things she was. That unexpected trust. That sense that everything was going to be okay. “You thought we were good together?”
“You know we were good together.”
“And you think we fit?”
“I see those little things happen every day. You liked fastening my cuff links. I like fighting your simple battles over things like jeans versus white suits.”
She searched his gaze. Ridiculous hope filled her chest to capacity. They really were getting to know each other and in knowing each other, they were beginning to genuinely like each other.
For once, having more than a surface relationship didn’t scare her. Maybe because she knew it had a time limit. She could get close, make love, get married, have a baby with Dom, knowing it was going to end. Secure in the fact that they would part amicably, she wouldn’t suffer the pains of rejection. She would simply move on. And she would have had a chance she never thought she’d get: a chance to really be in love. To know what it felt like to share. To be part of something wonderful. All under the protection of the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. She didn’t have to be perfect forever. She didn’t even have to be good forever. Or to suit Dom forever. She only had to make this work for a little over two years.
