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Halfway through the meal, one of the servants surreptitiously brings Remy a small wooden box with holes in it. Remy pretends to be hiding it from me, though I’m sure he knows I noticed its arrival.
Still, I wonder what he’s doing until he darts a hand out to grab my purse…the one with the monkey in it. He coughs loudly to cover up the squeak of protest, and I hear the scrape of a lid shutting.
What is he doing with Pumpkin?
He must know I’m thinking seriously about stabbing him with my miniature fork, because he makes a calming gesture at me and clears his throat, getting the attention of the table.
“Darling wife, sunshine of my heart, I have a belated wedding gift for you.”
I widen my eyes, forcing a blush to my cheeks and clasp my hands together. Amusement sparkles in his gaze, and I realize he has done this intentionally, put me on the spot for the sole purpose of watching me think on my feet.
“But light of my life, I have nothing for you in return,” I tell him.
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” he chides. “The eleven or twelve strapping heirs you’ll be bearing me will be gift enough.”
I don’t have to fake the soft laugh that bubbles out of me when Grandmère harrumphs at his gentle teasing. His own smile widens into something more genuine when he passes the box to me, but that’s probably just because he’s gearing himself up to watch me feign excitement.
“Whatever could it be?” I ask, sliding the box open.
I don’t let the sarcasm I feel creep into my tone, but I hope he hears it anyway.
Though I am clearly unsurprised by the sight of Pumpkin in the box peering up at me with no small amount of indignation, the others at the table let out a gasp.
Well, Chloé’s is more like a wheeze she’s trying valiantly not to let turn into a giggle, especially when the minuscule primate hops onto my shoulder in a very familiar fashion.
“A monkey, Francis?” His mother’s features are twisted in consternation.
“Well, as my duties increase, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t lonely. Before we start having little monkeys of our own, of course.” Then the bastard actually winks at me, eliciting a snort from Margot.
He turns to me. “And look, the creature’s already taken with her. What do you say, love? What will you nameyourmonkey?”
He is having entirely too much fun with this, but I can hardly begrudge him when our lives have had so very little of that lately.
So, I make a show of thinking it over before announcing that I’ll call him Pumpkin.
“All he needs is some of Grandmère’s martini and he’ll be the Drunken Pumpkin,” Remy mutters with a small smile.
My breath catches in my chest at his playful reminder of the bar where we met.
Then I’m providentially distracted by his sisters all enthusiastically proclaiming what a perfect namePumpkinisfor the little orange monkey. I suppress a snort.
Does lying run in their family, or is it being brought up in court that makes them all so adept at pretense?
Maybe I could fit in here better than I imagined.
Like he hears the thought, Remy leans in so only I can hear him, acting like he’s trying to examine the monkey.
“Soon you’ll be running out of things you have to hide,” he says, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
Warmth spreads through me, and I tell myself it’s from his touch, from the visceral flashback of him doing that exact same thing in the early hours of the morning, his forehead pressed against mine and both of our bodies slick with sweat.
That’s the only reason. Not because his words coax an ember to life inside me, one that feels precariously close to hope.
CHAPTERFORTY
AIKA
The upside of Remy’s faux gifting of Pumpkin is that I can openly bring him to tea with my new mother-in-law. It probably doesn’t help her questionable opinion of me, but with my dearest husband off handling kingdom matters with Jean, I’m happy to have another ally at this table.
