by Cara Colter
Not a fake created by Frederique.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WARD HAD FELT as if he was in a daze ever since he had seen Maddie walking toward him in that dress, looking gorgeous and outwardly composed. That pendant on her neck had been glowing as though it had taken on a life of its own. Though, when her eyes had met his, he’d known the outward composure was a show. She’d been nervous, and so had he.
The kiss had dissolved the nervousness and ushered in something far worse.
His desire for Maddie felt like a red-hot ember in his belly, and every time she glanced toward him, every time their hands brushed, it fanned the growing flame a little more.
When Lancaster bowed before them and offered his congratulations, Ward saw the slightly raised eyebrow, questioning the depth of the kiss.
Lancaster didn’t speak it out loud, but he didn’t have to.
Ward remembered their conversation all too clearly.
Just wondering, Lancaster had asked, how do you keep it from getting real with a girl like that?
Ward remembered how foolishly confident his reply had been.
With great effort, he had said with a certain nonchalance, as if yes, there would be effort, and no, not any temptations he could not overcome. He had known then, if she said yes, the most important part would be protecting her. He had promised Kettle she would not get hurt!
Well, she had just said yes and not any ordinary kind of yes, an I do kind of yes that felt bound up in tradition and honor and trust and faith.
But then along had come that mind-blowing life-altering kiss. Everything felt changed. His own power, which he had always been certain of, felt compromised.
Three carefully chosen members of the press waited in the outer room: coverage from one major magazine, one newspaper and one television network.
To invite the press was different for him. His whole life had been spent avoiding them, deliberately evading the spotlight.
But now he needed to use his position to get word back to his island kingdom before he arrived, so that everyone, including his father would accept this was a deal already done.
He thought of his father’s great capacity for fury, and felt that need to protect Maddie grow in him.
Something cooled in her when they met the press, particularly as the television camera was set up. Lancaster read a prepared statement about how Prince Edward had been traveling in the US, incognito, with his vacation culminating in seeing his favorite band. In the small, pristine town of Mountain Bend, he had met an American girl who stole his heart, and after a whirlwind romance, they had married before his scheduled return to Havenhurst.
“How does it feel to be married to a prince?” Maddie was asked.
“Exactly like a fairy tale!” she responded, looking at Ward and smiling. He was sure only he could detect a certain tightness about her smile.
“Prince Edward, don’t you have a fiancée?”
“Princess Aida Francesca has been informed of this turn of events,” he said. Did Maddie flinch at the mention of Aida’s name? But why would she? He’d told her the circumstances around their betrothal were less than romantic.
“And how did she take it?”
“I know my answer will disappoint you,” he said. “The story would be better if there was a betrayed lover, with weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but nothing could be further from the truth. Our arrangement was contractual, and Princess Aida was surprised, but very happy for me. She has always believed people should follow the dictates of their hearts.”
Lancaster saw they wanted to press on the subject, and so he indicated the interview was over. The magazine and newspaper representatives took some photos, and then the cameras were shut off and they were escorted out.
Lancaster told them quietly their wedding feast had been laid in the dining room, and then took his leave also.
They were totally alone.
Maddie seemed to be avoiding his gaze, and she turned and went to the dining room. She stood in the doorway of the dining room for a moment, taking in the pheasant under the glass cloche that kept it warm, the silver serving dishes, the exquisite place settings, the flowers in the middle of the table.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
She sounded surprisingly like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. The theatrical performance had come to Havenhurst last year and he had attended.
The story, he realized, shocked, was not dissimilar, a girl who had exchanged her freedom for the promise of her father’s well-being.
He was surprised by how much he had hoped for her company, but she brushed by him and went down the hall. He followed on her heels.
“Maddie? What’s happened?”
“I just miss Mountain Bend,” she said.
He considered that. She had ridden in a private plane. She’d been pampered. She had been showered with gifts of clothing and jewelry. She’d had a feast laid out before her.
And she missed Mountain Bend.
Home. He tried to imagine what that felt like—that bond with the place where you felt sheltered and loved and understood. He had a bond with his island nation, to be sure, and a deep love for it. But a sense of home? Not so much, perhaps. She took a deep, brave breath.
“I think it would be best,” she said, her voice strained, “if we didn’t kiss again.”
“I had the same thought,” he said solemnly.
“You did?” Even though she had put it to words first, now she looked wounded!
How could he possibly have thought this wouldn’t get complicated? Relationships were always complicated! And one that involved marriage? On paper, but not for real? With a woman who was extraordinarily beautiful and smart and exquisitely fragile, even though life had asked her to be strong?
“Unless you wanted to,” he said hastily.
“I don’t,” she said firmly, “unless you want me to. For the press. Or whoever else you’re fooling. About loving me.”
He realized now would be a very bad time to remind her that this had never been about love. He’d told her that—any union he had would not be about love.
She thrust her chin up and he saw the hurt there. And then she slipped in her bedroom door, and snapped it firmly shut in his face. He heard the lock click, as if she felt she needed protection from him.
He stood there, utterly stunned. He had already broken his promise to both Kettle and himself. He’d already hurt her.
This was so different than any man’s expectation for his wedding night that he might have laughed at the absurdity.
Not that, given the circumstances, he had expected a normal wedding night. But he’d been looking forward to her company, to getting to know her better. When he had seen her coming toward him in that dress, when he had drunk in the light in her eyes, he had actually had a moment when he thought it was all going to work out even better than he planned.
Truthfully, he had cast himself in the chivalrous role of using every bit of his strength to just get to know her better. And that did not include tasting those delectable lips again!
Now he saw it was Maddie who had done the right thing, the wise thing.
Still, when he thought he heard muffled sobs behind the door, he had to stop himself from kicking it in. He was the cause of those tears, after all. He’d been a married man less than two hours and already his bride was in tears.
He was sure that was probably a record of some sort.
Prince Edward was not sure he had ever felt as miserable in his entire life as he did, standing helplessly outside of Maddie’s door, on the night of his wedding!
* * *
Maddie awoke the next morning, by herself in the luxurious bed, still in her wedding dress, which was now a crumpled ruin. She slid out of bed and went to her bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The makeup Frederique had so carefully
and expertly applied had made raccoon circles under her eyes, which were a little puffy from crying. If she was not mistaken, there was a splotch or two of sooty black on the dress.
She should not feel for all the world as if she had a hangover. She had had one glass of champagne.
She touched her necklace. The gold still felt warm beneath her finger tips.
“Maddie Nelson,” she heard her father’s voice say sternly, “that is enough.”
It was a reminder of what she came from: not royalty, but good, strong stock. She was a logger’s daughter raised in a part of the country that prized toughness and resiliency.
Her father would have no patience with whining and even less for self-pity.
You made your bed, he would say, now lie in it.
So, she regretted that she had married the Prince? She had realized, a little too late, that his world was completely different from hers, and that the adjustments would be difficult? She was shattered that theirs was a business deal? Was shaken by what had been in that meeting of their lips?
“Too bad, Princess,” she told herself, in her father’s voice, and then giggled shakily, because she really was a princess.
She had made a deal, and she was not going to cry about it, or drown in regrets. She was not going to try and get out of the deal she had made.
That was not how she had been raised.
So she would perform whatever tasks were required of her to the best of her ability. She would not look longingly at her husband’s lips, or give in to the longing to feel his hand in hers.
It was a job. She had accepted it, and she would do it.
She stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away all of yesterday’s angst. Today was a brand-new day.
Wrapped in a towel, she went and sorted through the clothes that Frederique had chosen for her. She put on the pale cream pantsuit, she blow-dried the curls out of her hair, she put on the lightest dusting of makeup.
She regarded herself in the mirror.
She didn’t look like a princess, per se, not like she had in the wedding dress. But she did look calm and confident and ready for whatever was next.
Just before she opened the door, she made a decision and turned back into the room. She made the bed so expertly it looked as if no one had been there. Then she took the towels from the bathroom and the dress off the floor. She went across to the other master suite, hesitated, then knocked once briskly and entered.
Ward was in the bathroom. The door was open. He was standing before the mirror, with a razor in his hand, in a cloud of steam. He was dressed only in a towel. How she remembered those strong, sculpted lines from their day at the hot pools.
The longing rose up in her, but she quelled it quickly. “Good morning,” he said, looking at her out the door, his eyes widened in surprise.
She dropped her wedding dress on the floor beside his bed, then surveyed the bed critically and rumpled up the sheets more than they were, then marched right by him and dumped her wet towels on the floor.
His eyes met hers in the mirror. She could not quite read his expression. Pity? Sympathy? Regret? Some combination of all three of those things?
“Good morning,” she said crisply. “The maids might gossip if it didn’t look as if we spent the night together. I thought we should make it look normal.”
“Oh,” he said. “Normal.”
As if he had a clue what normal was! Ward had not bought that razor in his hand. He’d never bought a razor. Or a tube of toothpaste. Or a roll of toilet paper. Everything in his whole life had been done for him. It gave him a kind of self-confidence, even in this totally awkward situation, that Maddie found extremely irritating.
Or was it kissing her until she had nearly lost her senses that made him feel as if he had the upper hand with her?
On her way out of the bathroom, she put her hand on the knot in that towel that was knotted at his waist and tugged. Hard. She felt the towel give under her hand, heard it whisper to the floor.
She didn’t dare look back, but she had a feeling that look of aggravating self-confidence had been wiped entirely from his handsome face!
And that whatever he was feeling for her right now would not be even remotely related to pity!
From the bath and bedroom, she went to the dining room. The feast was untouched, but maybe that would make it look as if they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?
A soft knock came on the door, and a key turned. Glenrich had arrived with breakfast things.
“May I congratulate you on your marriage, Your Highness?”
“Er...thank you.”
“I’ll pack your bags now, if that’s all right?” she asked.
Another thing he didn’t do. He didn’t pack his own bags. Or do his own laundry. He’d probably never made himself a sandwich in his entire life. And now she wouldn’t be doing those things either, and she was dismayed that she missed them already!
A third staff member came in, smiled, curtsied and handed her a newspaper.
“You look lovely, Your Highness.”
Maddie stared at the picture on the front page of the paper. American Girl Marries Real Prince! the headline blared. But the picture was worth a thousand words.
She and Ward were gazing at each other with the look of two people madly in love, that wedding kiss they had shared still shimmering in the air around them. They looked like just the type of couple who would take advantage of Nevada’s marriage regulations to impetuously get married.
Success.
If all went according to plan, only three hundred and sixty-four days to go.
She was going to need something to help her pass time. To get her mind off things. What had rescued her from every crisis she had ever faced? Helped her get through it? Provided reprieve from a reality that had become too hard to face?
Books!
She’d just pop down to the hotel store—startled, she looked up to see Lancaster blocked her way.
“I’m just going to go get a few books. For the flight,” she told him.
He shook his head, ever so slightly, but it was still no. His eyes went over her shoulder, and she turned to see Ward behind them.
He was looking very princely, now that he had his clothes on! He was in a tailored shirt and jacket, a beautifully knotted tie at his throat. The shirt was brilliantly white. Did he ever dress casually?
“Good morning, Your Highness. I was just going to explain to your lovely bride why she can’t pop by the bookshop. Perhaps you could take over?” Lancaster handed Ward the newspaper and Ward scanned it.
“Come have breakfast,” Ward said, taking her elbow.
“I want to go get a book,” she said dangerously, keeping her tone low. She extricated her elbow from his grip.
He held up the paper. “You can’t.”
“Can’t?” she challenged him.
“I’m sorry. You were on the front page of the paper this morning, and possibly on the television news. You’ll be recognized now. Everyone will want a picture of you. And there are others who would see you, unprotected, as a target.”
Her mouth fell open and her arguments dried up. Her days of going out for a book were over? She was beginning to see why Ward did not buy his own toothpaste.
“If you’ll give me a list of some of the books you’d like, or favorite authors, I’ll make sure it’s seen to,” Ward said quietly.
Only three hundred and sixty-four more days.
Of imprisonment.
Her hand went to her necklace, as it always did when she felt uncomfortable, trapped, as if there was no way out.
One day, she could hear her father’s voice say. You feel like this after one day? Imagine what he feels like?
Looking at his face, she realized this had been Ward’s whole life. No wonder he had been so carefree in Mo
untain Bend. No wonder every moment had seemed to shine for him. She had never seen being able to buy toothpaste as a privilege before, but now that she couldn’t do it, it did seem like one.
One she had taken for granted and he had never enjoyed.
Did she actually feel a tiny bit sorry for him? She did, and what was that going to do to her resolve to keep everything strictly business? Maddie’s hand was still on the pure gold of her necklace.
What if, her father’s voice said, gentle but with faint recrimination, it wasn’t all about you? What if you, the girl who seems to have nothing, had something very precious to give him, the man who appears to have everything?
It was true. Ward had exercised his power, so far, to make this a good experience for her. He had given her a spa treatment, and a whole wardrobe, and that gorgeous tiara.
On the other hand, what did she have, she asked herself. What have I got to give a prince?
You know.
And then she did.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AS MADDIE HAD boarded the plane—her bags fully packed for her—Lancaster handed her a heavy sack. She peeked in.
A dozen or so books. She caught glimpses of some of her favorite authors’ names.
“It’s like having a magic wand,” she told Lancaster. “I wave it and say, I’d like books please, and they appear. No saving money, no deciding which one you want the most, no going to the secondhand book store when cash is short.”
“I’m glad you are pleased, Your Highness.”
“I don’t really like being called that,” she said.
“Ah,” he said, “you’ll have to humor me.”
“Watch it, or I’ll wave my wand and turn you into a toad.”
“Not your style,” he decided with a smile. “Now if we gave Sophie a magic wand...”
They both laughed, and it felt good to laugh with him.
“Can you get me a deck of cards, too?” she asked.
“Poof,” he said, as if making a deck of cards materialize would be the easiest thing in the world. If the request surprised him, it did not show in his face. If he had questions about the request, he did not ask them. If it was a problem to get her a deck of cards—as in it might delay the flight—he did not let on.
