by C. J. Miller
His aid turned around in the front seat and handed Demetrius his tablet. Within seconds, he was engrossed in the computer.
For the time being, she was a ploy to make his presidency appear stronger. They needed to give the impression they were newlyweds in love, that nothing was wrong and they had a deep and meaningful connection.
“You two will need to attend a function tonight,” the aide said.
Demetrius was typing on his tablet. “What and why?”
“General Ambrosia is retiring. We’d previously sent your regrets, but we want you to look strong by appearing in public.”
Demetrius made a noise of acknowledgment. “I can manage that. Iliana, is that okay?”
She didn’t want to attend a social function, but she understood the importance of presenting a united front. She was surprised he had asked for her approval. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” Demetrius said drily. He finally turned his attention from his tablet and looked at her, really looked at her with that scrutinizing gaze.
Given their recent arguments and her current stress level, expecting her to pretend to be happy and relaxed was asking too much. But she held her tongue. “I was up all night worried about you, sweet husband. I was hoping to have time alone with you tonight, not to entertain guests at a stranger’s house.”
Demetrius shot her a look of amusement. “Maybe you can drug me and we can both have some fun tonight.”
She shook her head. Demetrius was difficult, but then he looked at her a certain way, touched her, teased her, and she found herself falling for him all over again.
When they arrived home, she strode directly to their bedroom, expecting Demetrius would walk straight to his office. She wanted to be alone and sleep for a few hours. Sleep would help her wrangle her emotions under control. A sob rose in her throat. She couldn’t hold back the tears for a moment longer.
The bedroom door slammed shut and she whirled. Demetrius had followed her. “I understand that you want this marriage to end, but if you can’t pull it together, then you can stay here tonight. It was considerate of you to be at the hospital because your position called for it. As for the retirement celebration, I will tell the general you are tired and need rest.”
Iliana didn’t want out of their marriage. She just needed it to change. “I’m not crying because I want this to end. I’m crying because you almost died and it was upsetting and traumatic. Are you so cold that you can’t understand that?”
He seemed shocked by her words. “I understand it. But it dawns on me that asking you to act like my wife in public may be too much.”
“I am your wife. There’s not a lot of acting involved. Then again, acting as though I like you is difficult at times. Do you really think I was at the hospital because it was appropriate for my position?”
He stared at her as if he didn’t know the answer.
“I was at the hospital because you are my husband and I was worried about you. I didn’t even consider how it would look, nor did I care.”
He looked away from her. “I don’t know what you expect from me.”
To show emotion. To let her inside. “I was scared when they told me you were shot.”
“I’m sorry you were frightened. It was not my intention.”
Her emotions twisted around her heart, making her feel strangled. “I will be the woman you need tonight at the general’s. I know the importance of country. But I need you to think for a few minutes about how I felt. Please, will you lie down with me for an hour, just one hour, and let me hold you?”
He recoiled. “Iliana, I have twelve hours of missed time to catch up on.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Fine, Demetrius. Do what you must. I will do the same.”
She turned from him and went into their bathroom, closing and locking the door. After she had calmed down, she opened it, half expecting he would be standing on the other side waiting or lying in their bed.
The room was empty. The bed was unoccupied. She was alone.
* * *
On the drive to the general’s house, Iliana was unusually quiet. She didn’t play with her phone or make idle conversation. She either stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with him, or looked out the window.
She wouldn’t speak to him, but Demetrius sensed Iliana had a lot to say.
His shoulder was throbbing. Though his doctor had looked at it before he had left the house, Demetrius had refused to take the proffered pain medications. He would be meeting with important people tonight, and he needed to appear strong and in control.
The Ghost had targeted him once, and it could happen again. Demetrius wouldn’t stop hunting his pursuer, but he would be more discreet about it. He’d lure the Ghost into believing he had given up his search. Maybe the man would make a mistake and reveal himself.
“Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” Demetrius asked.
Iliana looked at him. She had fixed her hair a certain way that was both elegant and sexy. Her dress was perfect, molding around her body, and her shoes were high, the heels thin and pointed. She looked so good, he hungered for her. But touching her was out of bounds. He knew it from her attitude. Was she torturing him on purpose?
“I can handle it,” she said.
They pulled to the front of the general’s brightly lit and well-designed custom-built house. Women in gowns and men in tuxedos were entering the premises, laughing and smiling. Could he and Iliana be one of those couples?
Demetrius waited for the door to open. When it did, he stepped out and his servicemen closed around him. He extended his hand and helped Iliana from the car. Her expression had changed from distant to happy. It pained him to know it was a front.
She smiled up at him and then turned that hundred-watt smile on the crowd around them. For security reasons, they didn’t stop to speak with anyone, but moved quickly into the general’s house.
Demetrius was armed, but he wasn’t checked for a weapon. Even if he had been, he wouldn’t have given it up for the occasion.
After introductions, which Iliana handled well, especially given the interest in her, they took their seats in the general’s dining room, a beautiful space lit by crystal chandeliers and accented in gold. The tables were set immaculately and the waitstaff dressed formally, their uniforms crisp and clean. Demetrius had heard that the general’s wife liked to shop and was a stickler for details. This celebration was a testament to that.
Demetrius had introduced Iliana many times as his wife, and the words rolled naturally off his tongue.
He squeezed Iliana’s hand. “What do you think of this room?” he asked, after exchanging small talk with the tenth person of the night.
“Big,” Iliana said. She took a sip of her wine.
“That’s it? Big?”
Iliana smiled, but he saw something more in her eyes: hurt and anger. “I’m still mad, Demetrius. You don’t listen to me.”
He’d heard what she’d said to him. “You mean I don’t do what you want.”
Her face flickered with annoyance. “Why is it so hard for you to compromise?”
He didn’t compromise. Being in a position of weakness was a place he refused to revisit. “Could we discuss this later?”
Iliana’s eyes shot daggers. “Of course.”
They were seated at a table near the front of the room. The general’s dining room easily sat four hundred.
As appetizers were served, Iliana spoke with everyone at the table, putting them instantly at ease. She conducted pleasant conversation without awkward silences or boredom. This was part of his job Demetrius dreaded, but Iliana was a natural. Life was easier with her.
He needed her, and it made him uncomfortable to realize that. He was stronger with her. She was providing a good c
over for his shoulder injury. While he was struggling to focus on the conversations and ignore the pain, she was smiling and laughing and engaging the table. She was skirting around questions related to the attack without sounding dodgy. She was skillfully handling what amounted to a PR problem with grace.
Needing her was a strange feeling. Demetrius worked hard not to need anyone.
He could sense her anger but he didn’t know how to defuse it. Demetrius wouldn’t throw himself at her and beg her to forgive him.
He wished he could turn back the clock to the night of their wedding. He’d tell her about her father before they were married and trust that she would still marry him and help him free Alexei. She was a good woman with a warm and caring heart, and he believed she would have done both.
Iliana leaned close to him. “You’re staring at me and it’s weird.”
“It’s not weird for a husband to look adoringly at his wife. You look beautiful tonight.” She had her red hair up in a twist. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair, watch it tumble across her shoulders and then splay those red strands across his pillow.
He grew excited at the idea, and then his shoulder pulled, reminding him he was injured.
“Thank you. You look handsome,” she said.
Was she acting, knowing people were listening, or did she mean that? He set his hand on her thigh and squeezed lightly. Her eyes grew almost imperceptibly wider. He moved his hand higher. Her gown was soft and silky, and he imagined lifting it up her thighs, gathering it around her waist and then pushing inside her.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked.
She might not want to sleep with him, but dancing meant she would be in his arms.
“That might not be a good idea,” she said, her gaze darting to his shoulder.
It sounded like a challenge. “Once around the dance floor. Everyone will see us, and then we can leave.”
“Isn’t that rude? We haven’t eaten dinner.”
“I don’t stay at these events for long. The rest of the room can see you, and they know we’re newlyweds. They know why I would want to have you alone.”
He stood and she took his right hand. He led her onto the dance floor. Grasping her hand in his, he rested his left hand on her hip as he swept her across the floor.
She was light on her feet, and she seemed to sense how to move with him, keeping their bodies close, dancing gracefully and smoothly.
It was the same in bed. They instinctively understood each other’s needs and wants. Their chemistry and passion were undeniable, and they worked on so many levels. Could he seduce her tonight? He knew she would shut him down if he didn’t open up to her. He couldn’t reveal everything, but could he tell her some truths? His truths? She seemed to want him to lay his emotions bare. He had told her about his cowardice in regard to Alexei. Didn’t that mean something to her? “Being with you is simultaneously the hardest and best part of my day. You challenge me to be a better man.”
She stumbled on her feet. He was getting to her and he liked that. It meant that, despite her anger and her proclamations about wanting a divorce, she wasn’t immune to his charms. It gave him something to work with.
“I didn’t grow up in a loving, open household. I envy that you did. But that means I don’t instinctively know what you need. I try to make you happy and when I fail, I don’t give up. I just hope that I’ll have another day with you to try again.”
Her eyes misted.
“Iliana, my wife for as long as you’ll allow me the pleasure, I can tell you the truth. I’ve told you secrets I haven’t told another human being. But I haven’t mastered when to tell the truth and when to hold back to protect you.”
Iliana drew herself closer and rested her head on his good shoulder. His arm was aching, but he couldn’t let her go. It felt as if everything they had together stood on shaky ground and would fall away with the slightest wind.
* * *
Iliana heard the shower running. She was waiting in their bedroom in case Demetrius fell or called for help. He was pushing his body too hard. His physician had stopped to speak with her before they had gone out for the evening, emphasizing the need for Demetrius to take his prescribed antibiotics and pain pills. He needed sleep and not to toss and turn all night.
The water shut off. Concerned, she tapped on the bathroom door. “Everything okay?”
“I’m changing my bandages. I’m fine.” He sounded decidedly not fine.
Iliana sighed and opened the bathroom door. “I can help you. Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were doing?” She gasped when she saw the wound. She wasn’t sure what a fresh gunshot wound looked like and she understood it would take time to heal, but this did not look right.
“We need to call your doctor,” she said. He was sweating. She reached for a hand towel and dabbed his forehead and his skin. “Do you have a fever? You could have an infection.”
“I don’t have a fever. I took a hot shower, and applying this bandage is difficult. I didn’t want to put you under further stress,” he said.
Put her under further stress? Like the stress of sitting in the hospital for hours, unsure if he would live? Providing basic wound care was a cakewalk compared with that.
She took the scissors from his hand. She cut the bandages as the hospital had instructed her. “The doctor will return tomorrow morning to check the wound. Let me do this so I don’t look like a negligent wife.”
“Is that the only reason you’re doing it?” he asked.
No, but she didn’t think Demetrius would relinquish control that easily, and she needed a reason for him to acquiesce to her help. “I’m taking care of you because I want to. The doctor said not to get this wet.” The wound was seeping. Was that bad? Or was it a sign of healing?
“How can I shower without getting it wet?”
“I could have helped you. We have plastic bandages.”
“You would have showered with me?” he asked.
“If that’s what was needed, yes.”
“If I had known that was an option, I might have taken you up on it.”
She rolled her eyes and kept dressing the wound.
The makeup he had worn to hide his facial injuries had been washed away, revealing cuts and bruises. She took his face, his handsome, strong face, in her hands. “Please let me put ointment on your cuts.”
He nodded, and she sensed the concession had been difficult for him. Using a clean cotton swab, she applied ointment to the injuries on his face and hands. He closed his eyes and she took the opportunity to scrutinize his wounds.
How was he walking? Her threshold for pain was practically nil, and if she had been shot, cut and bruised, she’d be in bed, begging for pain pills. The pain pills she had in her handbag. “Do you want medicine for the pain?”
He shook his head. “The pain means it’s healing. I just need my bed and my wife.”
She could give him both.
She helped him put on a pair of cotton pants, and he got into bed. She pulled only his sheet over him, concerned about how hot his skin felt.
“Now I feel like a child,” he said.
“Just a man who is sick,” she said. “Give me a minute. I’ll be back.” She wanted to put some ice on his bruises.
She returned with cloth-wrapped packs of ice and laid them over the worst of the bruises. She hurried to clean up in the bathroom and get ready for bed.
When she climbed into bed, Demetrius was asleep. She was glad he was resting. She had considered sleeping on the floor, but it felt silly with so much space in their king-size bed.
“I can feel you watching me,” he said, his eyes closed.
“You said at the general’s house that you’d share more secrets. Tell me one.”
“I have plenty of secrets. Which ones in particul
ar interest you?”
She didn’t need state secrets. She didn’t care about government intel. “Tell me something about you that no one else knows.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I realized tonight that I need you.”
She hadn’t expected that. She had expected a story from his childhood or a tale about his first kiss. “What made you think that?”
“You complement me. You’re soft and warm and kind. You make me want to be better.”
“Really?”
“You asked for a secret. I gave you one.”
“Thank you, Demetrius. That means a lot to me.”
“Will you sleep close to me?” he asked.
After his confession, how could she not? She removed the ice from his bruises, careful not to touch his shoulder. As she lay next to her husband in their bed, she prayed he would heal and that tonight would be the start of something good and honest between them.
Chapter 11
Stella could not delay the reading of the late king’s will any further.
The king’s barristers had arranged the reading to take place in their private offices in Abele. The entire family was gathered at a large conference table. With the king’s ex-wives, late wife, children and their lawyers in attendance, it was standing room only. The room was hot even though the ventilation system was blowing cool air and several windows were cracked open.
The barrister handling the king’s official will of record began to read. The first ten minutes of his monologue made Iliana’s eyes glaze over. It was legal jargon, outlining definitions of words contained in the will. Iliana listened and watched the faces of her siblings and their mothers.
Maria seemed to be listening intently, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her dark clothes somber. Theodore and Spiro appeared bored, leaning back in their chairs and looking at the barrister with blank expressions. Emmanuel seemed focused, his hands clasped on the table as if in school. Georgia and Kaliope appeared nervous.
Stella looked smug. She was wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a small black veil across the front. Her mourning clothes were appropriate, but Iliana found the ensemble too dramatic for the occasion. If she was grieving deeply, perhaps she shouldn’t be smiling. Iliana wished she could wipe the expression off Stella’s face.
