A Princess for a Bride (Rothman Royals Book 2)

by Noelle Adams

At least he hadn’t been giving me the cold shoulder on purpose.

  “Oh. Sorry to disturb you,” I said, realizing he was waiting for me to speak.

  “It’s no problem. Did you need something?”

  He still looked out of it, and for a moment I imagined myself trying to explain to him that I’d wanted to talk because I didn’t like how things were feeling between us.

  He would likely stare at me like I was speaking a different language.

  He obviously hadn’t been wanting to talk to me.

  I was washed with the realization that I’d chosen exactly the wrong time to have a conversation with him.

  This wasn’t the time.

  I wasn’t going to do it now.

  Frantically, I searched for an excuse to be knocking on his door the way I had.

  Finally, I landed on one.

  “I was just letting you know that I was going out, in case you wondered where I was.”

  That sounded fine. Perfectly normal and natural.

  He blinked. “Okay. Where are you going?”

  That was the problem with making things up. If pressed on it, you had to make even more things up.

  “I’m just going to Villemont. To see Bryce.”

  He stood motionless as he processed this, his face as still as his body. “I see.”

  “We’re just hanging out. I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “I thought you had lunch with him last weekend.”

  I had. Now I felt guilty and trapped and annoyed with Edward for making me feel that way. I was allowed to go see my friend if I wanted to—even if I was just using it as an excuse. “I did, but that was a week ago. Why shouldn’t I go see him again now?”

  “Did I say you couldn’t?”

  “No, but you’re acting all stiff and disapproving about it. He’s my friend.”

  “Yes, you’ve told me he’s your friend countless times before. I get the message. And now you’re going to him again.”

  My guilt and confusion were mostly gone now. All that was left was annoyance at his lofty, sarcastic tone.

  There was no reason for him to acting like this.

  I was his wife, and I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll be back later this evening.” Giving him a cold, dismissive look, I turned around and walked to the front door.

  Damn Edward anyway.

  I’d always been good with people. It had always come easy for me. I’d never been embarrassed and self-conscious and confused the way I so often was now.

  I had no idea why everything had become hard once Edward had entered my life.

  ***

  Since I’d claimed to be going to Villemont to visit Bryce, I felt like I should actually follow through. I had Claude pull the car around and take me into the city, but I did call Bryce as soon as we started off.

  Bryce and I were good friends, but he was an adult with a life and a boyfriend. I wasn’t going to just show up on his door without warning.

  “What’s going on?” Bryce demanded, when I asked if it was all right for me come over this afternoon.

  “Nothing. I’m just being friendly.”

  “You’re not just being friendly. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I just want to get away from Edward for a while—if you don’t mind.”

  “I thought things were going better between you two.”

  “They were, but we had a… a….”

  “Fight?”

  “Not really. Edward doesn’t fight. He just gets cold and pompous.”

  “Why is he upset?”

  “I don’t even know. I guess I was a little thoughtless earlier this week, but I apologized and I don’t think I did anything that wrong. He’s gotten all cool and standoffish, and he does nothing but hide in his office.”

  “So talk to him.”

  “I tried. It didn’t work.”

  “How hard did you try?”

  “I tried. Am I really supposed to do all the work in this marriage? I’m the one who has to put aside my pride to make this work? Can’t he exert himself even a little bit?”

  “So he doesn’t try at all?”

  I started to reply, but made myself stop, knowing my initial answer wasn’t fair. “He tries some. I mean, I think he does. Things were going well before.”

  “So why don’t you do what you did when things were going well?”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Yes, you do. Talk to him. Be honest with him. That’s what you were doing before. Why can’t you do it now?”

  I knew why I couldn’t do it now. If I was truly honest with Edward, I’d be revealing the deepest feelings of my heart.

  And that would leave me completely vulnerable. And likely humiliated.

  I couldn’t do that.

  But Bryce was right. I could at least do better than this.

  I sighed loudly—really more of a groan.

  Bryce laughed. “That sounded like you’re seeing sense. I’m not going to let you use me as an excuse to escape your marriage problems. I’m busy this afternoon. You can’t come over.”

  I made a face in the back of the car, as if Bryce were there to see it.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Yes, I know you’re right. Damn you.” When he just laughed again, I added, “But thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

  When I hung up, I buzzed Claude in the front seat and told him to turn around and take me back home.

  ***

  I’d been gone less than a half hour, so I expected Edward would still be in his office. I walked through the entryway and down the main hall until I reached the door that was always closed.

  It wasn’t closed now. It was halfway open, and the sight was so startling that I just stood and looked at it for a moment.

  Then I shook myself off and tapped on the partly closed door. “Edward?”

  There was no answer.

  “Edward?” I called again.

  When again there was no response, I stepped into the room.

  It wasn’t at all what I was expecting.

  It wasn’t an old-fashioned library with big leather chairs and shelves of old tomes.

  It wasn’t even an modern office with desk, computer, and file cabinets.

  It was a studio.

  An artist’s studio.

  It was mostly a large open room with huge windows letting in sunlight. But there was a big work table against one wall, covered with brushes and oil paints and an assortment of tools and papers. Draped over a chair was what looked like a smock, covered with dabs and drips of paint. Against the walls were propped oil paintings—some of them covered and some exposed.

  They were half-abstract in vivid colors—reflecting both landscapes and people but not always in a way that was immediately recognizable.

  Near the window was a large easel, on which rested a half finished panting.

  My mouth had dropped open and my eyes were wide as I stared around, slowly walking toward the easel.

  Edward wasn’t here, but this was obviously his room.

  He’d painted these paintings.

  He’d created these.

  The unfinished canvas was hard to figure out, partly because it was so abstract—so many slashes of emotional color—and partly because it wasn’t complete.

  But I thought it might be a bed.

  An unmade bed.

  I stared at it, overwhelmed with feeling.

  So many feelings all at once.

  “Victoria?”

  I heard the voice, muffled from the distance. It was Edward, and he was obviously in a different part of the house.

  “Victoria, did you come back?”

  I stood where I was, completely incapable of moving, until I felt Edward’s presence in the room.

  He was in the doorway, staring at me as I stared at the painting in front of me. I knew he was there even though I hadn’t turned to see him.

  “Yo
u came back,” he said in a strangely strangled tone.

  The texture in his tone made me turn to see him. He looked like he’d been exercising. His face was flushed and slightly damp with perspiration.

  “I didn’t know you painted,” I finally managed to say.

  He glanced down and then back up at me, almost diffidently. “Oh. Yes. I do.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t tell anyone.”

  It hurt a little—that I’d thought we were growing closer yet he didn’t trust me enough to tell me. But I was feeling too many other things to reproach him. “Why don’t you tell anyone? These are really good.”

  “They’re not that good.”

  “Yes, they are.” I stared around at the completed paintings propped around on the wall. “They’re very good.”

  “They’re not bad. But I don’t lie to myself about them. They’re good, but they’re not great. I paint mostly… for myself.”

  I remembered something then. “On our honeymoon, you said that you used to want to do something else—with your life, I mean. Did you mean paint?”

  “Yes. I was obsessed when I was a boy, and I really thought I could have a career. My mother painted, you know, so I guess I inherited it from her. It was a boy’s dream, though. It’s just a hobby now.”

  I walked over closer to him. “You could have told me.”

  He nodded. “I know. I should have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t tell people a lot of things I should.”

  This wasn’t really an answer, but it was close enough.

  When I didn’t reply, Edward asked, “I thought you were spending the afternoon with Bryce.”

  “I was. I changed my mind. I… I want things to be good between us.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d said that—taken that sort of emotional risk. It put my heart and my pride on the line, since Edward could so easily reject both.

  But he looked vulnerable too at the moment. I could see so much of his soul in these paintings, and I was sure he was aware of it.

  He met my eyes with that look of intense scrutiny, like he was trying to see into my soul. “I want that too.”

  I nodded, my chest relaxing in a way it hadn’t since that morning a few days ago when we’d woken up together.

  “Can you show me some of your paintings?”

  He gave an odd quick look toward the painting on the easel and then toward a door that appeared to be a closet. Then he nodded and gave me his fond little smile. “I’d be happy to, if you want to see them.”

  We spent the rest of the day looking at his paintings and talking about them, and each one I looked at seemed to reveal his soul to me even more.

  It was the best afternoon I could remember.

  Eight

  Two weeks later, Edward and I were attending one of my mother’s “balls”—which was what she always called her formal evening parties.

  I’d been part of these gatherings ever since I was sixteen, so they weren’t that big a deal to me. But I could sense that Edward was slightly uncomfortable beside me. He felt a little stiff, and he didn’t talk as much as he did when we were alone or with a smaller group.

  I felt clueless for not realizing in all the years I’d known him that he probably always felt this way at formal social events.

  He was an introvert. He felt the same way Lisette did about large rooms full of people he was supposed to impress and talk nice to.

  I made sure to include him in conversations and ask him simple questions to give him an easy way to participate in small talk, and gradually as the evening went on, I felt him relaxing beside me.

  He never said anything about it, but I felt his eyes resting softly on my face more than once.

  I knew he appreciated it, and it made me feel like I’d accomplished a special, intimate duty.

  We were good together. We’d been particularly good with each other the last two weeks, ever since I’d discovered his paintings.

  The evening was getting later, and we were still circulating in the large ballroom. I was wearing a new gown—a sleek, sexy, modern cut gown in a silvery blue that brought out my eyes. I’d felt beautiful earlier in the evening, but I was getting tired now, and the gown and my fancy updo were annoying me.

  I wanted to let down my hair and change into pajamas, but we still had at least another hour to go before we could leave for home.

  My father came over to us and said a few friendly words, and then he clapped Edward on the back and said, “By the way, we really appreciate the offer.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but Edward obviously did. With a smile, he replied, “My pleasure. Just let me know what you want to go with, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “Make what happen?” I asked, looking from my father to my husband.

  “We’re finally getting a new jet,” my father explained. “You know what the old one was like. It costs twice in fuel and upkeep than what a new one will.”

  “You’re buying us a new one?” My eyes were wide as I stared at Edward.

  It was a good thing my mother wasn’t in earshot or I’d get a lecture about how gauche it was to talk about money in a public setting. But a new private jet for my family would cost a fortune, and evidently my husband was fitting the bill for it.

  “I’m taking care of it,” Edward said.

  “You married yourself a very good man,” my father said, clapping Edward on the back again and then giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  “I know.” I still felt a little rattled, and Edward must have noticed as my father walked away from us.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “A new jet costs a fortune.”

  Edward gave a little shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. It’s a huge amount of money.”

  “We can afford it. You know that.”

  I frowned. “Did someone ask you to do it?” I was sure my father wouldn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past my mother to just come out and demand that Edward pay for all our transportation needs.

  Confirming this theory, Edward replied, “Your mother made a few hints and I offered. Why does it bother you?”

  “I don’t even know. It shouldn’t. It’s just that…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain it.

  Edward turned my body so I was facing him instead of the rest of the room. Now I was looking him in the eye. “It’s just that what? Why don’t you want me helping your family?”

  “I do want you helping them. I don’t mean that. It’s just so much money, and I hate that you’re stuck with the bill just because you’re married to me.”

  “That’s not what it’s like at all. I love your family. I always have. I want to help. And now that I’m part of the family through marriage, I’m able to help. What’s wrong with that?”

  I felt a ridiculous little thrill when he said he loved my family. It wasn’t exactly the same as hearing him say he loved me—personally, specially—but it was still really nice.

  I couldn’t help but give him a fluttery smile. “Oh. Nothing’s wrong with that.”

  “Good.”

  He was peering at me again, and I knew he was trying to figure out why I’d reacted this way.

  I married him for this reason—exactly this reason. My family needed money, and his family business could use the prestige of being attached to royals.

  Our marriage was a transaction, more than anything else. I should be neither surprised nor bothered by his buying my family a private jet.

  The fact that I was right now was a clear sign that my feelings about this marriage had changed.

  I couldn’t put it into words, though.

  I could hardly process the feelings in my own heart.

  I’d never felt so out of control—so hopelessly vulnerable—in my life.

  “Thank you,” I said at last, looking down at my hands to realize I was holding on to the lapels of his tuxedo. I unc
lutched my fingers and smoothed down the fabric.

  He leaned down to kiss me softly on the lips. “You’re welcome.”

  I flushed, happy and confused and giddy in that way I’d been more and more often for the last two weeks.

  Acutely conscious of this fact, I turned my head to glance out at the rest of the room. It felt like Edward and I were alone in this ballroom, but we weren’t. There were people all around us. My eyes landed on Bryce across the room. He was talking to a friend of his and looking attractive and suave in a stylish tux—but there was something wrong with his expression, with his posture.

  He looked like a statue, like he was hiding something deep.

  His appearance distracted me completely, causing a slice of anxiety to cut through my chest. Something was wrong with Bryce.

  Something was very wrong with Bryce.

  “You know,” Edward murmured. “I wanted to…”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, unable to focus on anything else now that I’d seen Bryce’s face. “I need to go talk to someone. Is that okay?”

  Edward blinked. “Of course. Is something wrong?” He looked around the room, and his eyes eventually landed on Bryce. He looked from Bryce and back to me, and his soft expression transformed into something else.

  “No, no,” I said in a rush, leaning up to kiss him on the side of the mouth. I felt bad about running away, just when we’d been having a sweet conversation, but this was a friend-emergency. I knew it. “I’ll catch up to you later.”

  I moved across the floor, smiling and greeting various people I passed so it wouldn’t look like I was running over to Bryce. When I reached him, I took one look at his strained smile and pulled him away, out onto one of the balconies.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  He gave a ragged sigh and turned his head to the side to stare out at the courtyard below us. He opened his mouth to try to answer, but emotion must have trapped his voice because no word came out.

  “Oh no,” I murmured hoarsely, fear and sympathy pulsing in my chest. “Bryce, what’s wrong?”

  “My parents know.”

  I gasped. There was no question at all about what his parents now knew. “You told them?”

  “Yes. Things are getting serious with… I told them.”

  “And they… and they took it badly?”

  “Of course they did.” He made a strangled sound and walked over to the railing. After clearing his throat, he continued, “I knew they would.”