Her cheeks flushed. ‘With—this.’ She gestured from her chest to his.
‘Our marriage?’
‘You’re really going to make me spell this out, aren’t you?’ she muttered, glancing towards the driver, who was separated from them by a thick glass screen.
‘It’s soundproof. Unless you press that button, our conversation remains private.’
She bit into her lip. ‘I just mean, we shared a bedroom back there. But in the palace…’
Octavio’s eyes darkened. ‘It was your decision not to share a bed at the palace before. On our honeymoon, it was your decision to change that. And when we get back, it will still be your decision.’
It was an answer that wasn’t an answer, and it didn’t tell her what he wanted. She looked towards the side window, watching as the countryside zipped past in a blur of brightly coloured fields and then shocks of green—the vines lush and overgrown as the summer sun did its work to fatten and sweeten the grapes this country was famous for—and in her stomach she felt a tightening knot of frustration.
She’d come to Castilona in a knee-jerk reaction to Christopher’s betrayal. She’d come here because she’d always wondered about this place, because she’d felt alone and adrift. She’d come here seeking family and connection, wanting to learn about her father and to understand a part of who she was.
Instead, she’d met Octavio. There were times when they were together that made her feel as though none of that mattered. Nothing mattered that had come before—there was only them,a moment, a shared consciousness, almost. But then reality intruded, and she was reminded of all the reasons this would remain a carefully navigated partnership rather than a true relationship. The fact they were sleeping together couldn’t be allowed to derail the fact that neither of them wanted the complications of anything more serious.
‘If we were to share a room,’ she said, turning back to face him, ‘it wouldn’t change anything, would it?’
The relief in his face was palpable. He reached across and took her hand. ‘No. It couldn’t.’
She felt something strong and sharp inside of her. She wanted to believe it was a sense of relief, but it didn’t feel or taste like it. This was a bitter sensation, spreading through her and leaving emptiness in its wake.
But she was the one who wanted to be sure they were taking care. Sleeping with him didn’t mean she trusted him; it didn’t mean she would ever let her guard down with him. How could she, after what Christopher had done to her?
‘Well, we can’t really have the King sleeping on the sofa for the rest of his life,’ she pointed out, as though it were simply a matter of logistics.
‘There are other apartments we can move to. Bigger, with extra bedrooms…’
‘We’re going to need extra bedrooms,’ she reminded him, gesturing to her stomach.
‘A few extra,’ he agreed.
Her insides felt all squishy. She might never risk her heart again, at least not in the romantic sense, but she would fiercely love and protect their children and give them absolutely everything in life. She would no longer be alone. She would no longer feel adrift.
‘Yes, a few,’ she agreed.
‘But not one for me?’
Her eyes locked to his. It felt like an important question, as though it required an important, thought-out answer, but in the end, it was simple. She shook her head, because there was not a single doubt in her mind that when it came to their marriage, the physical side of it was something she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—fight.
Octavio felt as though he could run ten marathons. He felt as though he could box with a wild bear and win. He felt as though he was a king not just of Castilona but of everyone everywhere. Power thrummed through his veins as he stared down at his wife’s passion-ravaged face, her eyes huge, her cheeks flushed, and he had a primal, animalistic thrill becausehehad done that. He had caused her voice to grow hoarse from screaming his name, had caused her to run her nails down his back as though wanting to draw blood and reclaim her sanity.
And when his own pleasure had burst through him, it had been like a wildfire, totally untamed, all-encompassing, dangerously addictive.
Danger?
He pushed the word aside. There was no danger here.
Phoebe was his wife. She was his country’s queen, the mother of the children they were expecting. She was his lover. She was many things to him, but none of them represented danger. Each aspect was separate, easily contained, kept distinct from the other, and he would never allow the lines to blur. It was the key to a successful marriage, he was sure of it.
He pulled away from her with regret, but only for a moment. He fell onto his back, the sheets crisp beneath him, and then drew her to his chest, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against his, her breathing as she exhaled, her breasts crushed to his side. Even her stomach was sensual, growing with the lives he’d putthere. Something like euphoria burst through him. It had been a long time since Octavio had felt that everything in his life was going to work out, but with Phoebe at his side and the babies she was growing in his future, he felt a level of complacency he hadn’t known in a long time.
Since his parents had died and Rodrigo had been banished.
Since Mauricio had taken over his life.
He stroked her spine slowly, gently, wondering if she would fall asleep? It was late, but he wasn’t tired. In fact, he was the opposite—energised after the return from their honeymoon and this—their first night in the palace as a married couple.
