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‘Nearly three months we’ve been married, Amadeo,’ she said, ‘and I’ve never slept in your bed. You’re never going to let me in and be a real wife to you and you will never let yourself be a real husband to me, and sooner or later I’m going to start hating you for it. I don’t want to hate you, especially not when I’m carrying your child, so this ends now. I will not share a bed with you again and unless you want me to assert my freedom and independence even further and move out of the castle altogether, respect my decision and autonomy, just as I have respected every decision you’ve made, even the ones I didn’t like or agree with. As of now, our marriage reverts to our original agreement.’
The cold roar in Amadeo’s head was deafening. The slicing of Elsbeth’s words had spread, tearing at his throat and shredding his guts, his lungs...but not his heart. No, that particular organ had incrementally hardened at her twisting of everything they’d shared, and solidified into something impenetrable as her threats landed.
The vein in his temple was still jumping madly, his expression one Elsbeth could no longer read. Slowly, his body came back to life. His neck lifted, his nostrils flared as his chest and shoulders rose. He gave a short incline of his head and a terse, ‘As you wish.’
And then he turned on his heel and walked out of her quarters for the last time.
Amadeo prepared himself for the next day’s engagement in his usual fashion. Shower. Shave. Brush his teeth. Dress himself in the outfit he’d previously selected and which a member of his domestic team had laid out for him. Style his hair. Splash cologne to his cheeks. Head down the stairs to their shared reception area.
Elsbeth appeared moments later.
‘Good morning,’ she said politely.
‘Good morning.’
And then they were whisked out to their waiting car by their teams.
On the drive, the usual chatter, led by his private secretary, filled the cabin of the car, a refresher of the imminent engagement and pertinent points to remember. When they arrived, the usual crowd awaited them. The usual tour was given, the usual speeches and further walkabout made. Then it was back in the car for the return journey.
Their week’s engagements now over, James moved talk on to the weekend’s Grand Prix, the banquet they were hosting and the King of Monte Cleure’s overnight stay at the castle.
It was only when the King’s name was mentioned that Amadeo flicked his gaze to Elsbeth. Up to that point he’d successfully tuned her out as Elsbeth, forging her in his mind as his faceless consort for the day. It was best to keep her faceless in his own mind until his fury with her abated, because, of course, he could not let it out. In public and amongst staff, a prince was dignified and regal at all times. He couldn’t let it out in private either. In one swift move, Elsbeth had severed their relationship and made it impossible for him to have a voice in the severing. He had no doubt her threat to move out of the castle had been real. If he set foot in her quarters uninvited she would leave. If she left, scandal would ensue.
Where will you go?he longed to spit at her.You have nothing without me.
But that wasn’t strictly true. She had money. Her own money. A bank account he’d had opened for her so she never felt trapped and helpless as she’d been in her old life.
He’d given her all the tools to live her life as an autonomous woman, given her all the encouragement to embrace her freedom, and look how she repaid him. With threats. Threats that were not empty.
So, to keep his loathing suppressed, he’d imagined her faceless, but the mention of Dominic’s name instantly turned her back into flesh and blood, and as her beautiful face came back into focus, with it came a reminder of the torrid, fearful life she’d lived before she came to Ceres.
Before he could drag his stare away, her eyes suddenly darted to his.
One heart-stopping look passed between them, and then she blinked and the mask she’d always worn so well slipped back on.
He hardened his heart.
Amadeo stood on his balcony looking out over the garden. It had changed beyond all recognition. The neat and orderly space had turned into a wonder of shapes and colours, with snaking pathways, a large pond with a bench, a pagoda, quirky artistic statues, fruit trees, giant olive trees, cherry blossoms and an abundance of vividly coloured plants and flowers. And still it wasn’t finished. Patches of soil indicated the spaces Elsbeth was still to fill with yet more colour. No doubt she’d be out there that afternoon while Amadeo and a good chunk of his countrymen were at the racetrack for Ceres’ most popular Grand Prix.
He’d watched her work at it many times from behind his French doors. Never showing his face. Hiding away. Admiring the care she took over each and every plant. Heart tightening at the contentment on her face.
He concentrated on breathing. Since Elsbeth had severed the personal side of their marriage, there had been a bitter coiling in his guts. Every day that passed, the coil tightened, his body filled with something so malignant that no workout in his gym could even start to expel it from him. The only relief came when he looked out onto her garden.
Would their child inherit her love of gardening? Or his love of fast cars? Two polar opposite pastimes, one designed to soothe, the other to thrill.
Elsbeth did both. To watch her garden, to just be in her presence and listen to her quiet voice was to soothe him. To look at her, to get naked under the sheets with her was to thrill him.
His heart thumped hard against his ribs, almost winding him.
Elsbeth was like the flowers she’d planted. She’d arrived at his castle like an under-watered, wilting wallflower and slowly but surely blossomed into a passionate, colourful, highly scented frangipani.
Another even harder thump slammed into him and he bent over, gasping.
Why hadn’t he defended himself? Her words had enraged him but he’d done little to stop them and nothing at the end to try and change her mind. He’d walked away from her without defending himself, without fighting for her. And why? Because nearly everything she’d said was true.
The only thing she’d been wrong about was her blood. He’d long ago stopped looking at her as anything but Elsbeth. His wife.
Everything else...
