‘Questioned by whom?’
His expression darkened. ‘By anyone who would seek to challenge me.’
‘Challenge you?’ Her brows knit together. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You take the bedroom. If you’re so determined that you can’t control yourself around me, I’ll take the couch.’
Two pink dots appeared on her cheeks. ‘That’snotwhat I meant.’
‘Of course it is. You don’t want us to sleep together, fine. But that’s no reason not to share a bed. The bed—by the way—is huge. Easily large enough for us to each take a side. But youknow that the minute we’re lying down and within arm’s reach, something will happen, because we both still want one another. I’m the only one who’s game to admit it though. So take the bed, I’ll take the couch, and when you accept the reality of our situation, let me know.’
She wanted to fight him. She wanted to scratch him and push him and shout at him, but in the end, she was getting what she wanted. She wasn’t even going to feel sorry for him, having to curl his huge frame onto a sofa for the night.
‘Okay.’ She smiled with exaggerated sweetness. ‘Goodnight then, Your Majesty.’
‘Sweet dreams…’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEAVEITTOOctavio to get the last word in. Sweet dreams, indeed. Not only had shenotslept remotely well, she’d also been tortured all night. By dreams and memories, by thoughts of their future, by the bed in which she tried to sleep, by the lingering fragrance of him, by the weird temptation to go padding out into the lounge area and watch him sleep. It was all so unsettling, so destabilising, so she awoke in a terrible mood with every intention of giving him a piece of her mind.
Only to find the apartment empty.
He’d left a note on the marble kitchen benchtop.
P—
I had a meeting.
I’ll see you at the photoshoot. Try to smile.
O
She screwed the note up and threw it onto the floor before remembering his strange remark the night before about the necessity of fooling everyone into believing this was real. He’d implied his rule was at stake, and whatever she might think of him personally, she didn’t want to cause him any problems there. She retrieved the note, tore it into a dozen pieces, then dropped them into the bin.
Phoebe had managed to eat a piece of dry toast and drink a cup of weak tea when a knock sounded at the door to the apartmentand one of the staff members she vaguely remembered from the day before stepped inside.
‘Madam, the stylist is here.’
‘Stylist?’ Phoebe gawked, aware that she looked absolutely awful. Her hair was straggly and her face was pale and wan. Her eyes were sunken, courtesy of a lack of sleep, and she was dressed in an oversized tee-shirt that she liked to sleep in.
‘Her name is Marie Domingo. May I send her in?’
‘I—’ But what could she say? The photoshoot loomed large, and Phoebe was nowhere near prepared for that. It was actually kind of thoughtful of Octavio to have arranged this. ‘Yes, okay. Why not?’
A moment later, an elegant woman strode into the room—tall and slim with jet-black hair and darker eyes. ‘Madam.’ She dipped her head. ‘I’m honoured to have been asked to work with you.’
Phoebe grimaced. ‘Well, don’t count your chickens. I need a lot of work.’
‘Nonsense.’ Marie waved a heavily bangled hand through the air. ‘You are beautiful, just unprepared. This will be easy to deal with.’ Phoebe went to stand but Marie shook her head. ‘Stay, stay, finish up. It will take us a while to set up, anyway.’
Us?Phoebe thought, bewildered.
‘Us’ turned out to be a team of about six people. Hairstylists, manicurists and two people whom Phoebe gathered were required to carry various outfits around for Phoebe to inspect, to take her measurements, squeeze her feet into shoes and ferry whatever food or drink anyone required. It was a whirlwind three hours, in which Phoebe was outfitted, had her face made up, her hair washed, trimmed and styled, her nails painted, and when all of that was done, she spent thirty minutes with Marie looking at bridal dresses.
‘A Castilonian designer is preferable, but it’s a matter of finding who can arrange a gown within a week. It cannot be off-the-rack, it must be sensational, as befits this fairy-tale romance. Are you happy to leave it with me?’
Phoebe stared at her, totally shocked into silence. ‘I…yes, of course.’
