by A. C. Arthur
Roland moved her hand away from his face and released his hold on her.
She continued to smile. “That’s right,” she told him. “Accept it. Just as you’ve had to accept you’re always going to be second-best around here. Rafe is my prince and I’m going to be his princess. I’m going to make him happy because I love and cherish him. And one day, unfortunately, Kris will rule this island and his little wife will stand beside him. But where will you be, Roland? Standing on the sidelines, as usual. No real relationship. No real duties to this island or the crown you wear by birthright only. Nothing. That’s what you’re going to have. So you keep following me around hoping to find something that’s not there. It doesn’t change a word of what I’ve said to you. Nothing will change the fact that you’re a second-rate prince that’s only good for a roll in the sack and not a thing more.”
He took a step toward her and she quickly backed up. At his sides his fingers clenched as everything his parents had taught him about the opposite sex slammed into his brain. If she were a dude he would have slugged her. Later, he would regret stooping to that level, but he would have received great pleasure in connecting his fist to the jaw of the person who was disrespecting him. But this was a woman. It was Malayka, the woman who he still firmly believed was behind all the strange things that had happened, but a woman, nonetheless.
“When you fall, Malayka, I’m going to be right there. Looking down on you the same way you feel so privileged to do to others. Don’t forget that,” he told her. “Don’t forget that I am here, second-rate, second-best, second born, whatever you want to call me. I’m here and I’m watching you.”
“Get a life!” she snapped and pushed past him.
Roland shook his head and resisted the urge to laugh out loud. For, as smart as she thought she was, he was smarter. He wanted to see what she was looking for in this room. He needed her out of the room to do that, and he needed her to be the one to leave first. So he let her think she’d won this round, but she should have known better. Roland was the one used to winning.
Chapter 11
Sundays were made for gardening.
There was a picture of a beautiful bed of peonies and rosebushes buried in Val’s top dresser drawer with those words handwritten on the back. It was her mother’s handwriting. Michele had been in the picture, posing when she was five months pregnant with Val.
Now, Val used her Sundays to paint. She didn’t have her mother’s gift with flowers and plants. Instead, she used the talent she did have. It was therapeutic and encouraging, and she’d been looking forward to this moment alone since Thursday.
After Roland left her house that day, Val had changed her mind about not going to work. Instead, she’d dressed and headed to the museum. Her early tour had already been covered by another guide, so she had some free time until the afternoon bookings.
Val had spent that time walking around the museum looking at the paintings she’d come to love. Each one made her want to race home and pull out her own canvas to start a new painting. She had so many ideas, and the more she looked around, the more ideas came rushing to the surface.
For the next two days she’d gone to work, sketching on her lunch hours. At night, she’d perfected the sketches and checked her paints. Saturday morning before going in to work she’d visited the art supply store to stock up on what she could. Mr. Umberto did not have a stable supplier, as his sales weren’t the best on Grand Serenity. There weren’t many thriving artists here, so Val had to order most of her supplies online. She’d done that, but while she waited for them to arrive she knew she could start preparing her canvases.
Val had two ideas for paintings foremost in her mind, and they were both competing to get done first, so she was priming two canvases this afternoon and then she was going to select her background paint for each. The stark white color of the canvases wasn’t going to work with the mood of the pictures she had in mind.
Soon her father had joined her outside. She was in the backyard because the gesso she used to prime had a strong scent that sometimes gave her headaches if she did not have proper air circulation. What could be better than open air on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon?
“You look like your mother standing there, so intent on your work,” Hugo said as he came closer.
“Thanks,” Val replied. She turned partially to look at him and then went right back to going through her box of paints. She preferred to use oils.
She hadn’t seen or spoken to her father since the morning after the poker game in which he’d attempted to use her as payment. Even though he’d apologized to her then, his words had seemed empty, and Val was so tired of hearing them that she’d actually relished the silence between them. Now, looking up to see his bushy brows meeting as he frowned and the hunch in his shoulders made her feel like the world’s worst daughter.
“I wanted to see you and to apologize again,” he said before lifting a hand and scratching his head.
His hair, what was left of it, was slicked back with the same oil he’d been using all her life. It was too heavy for his thin hair and smelled like car grease.
“You don’t have to say it again, Dad,” she insisted.
He nodded and sighed. “I know I have many times before. But this time I want you to know I’m serious. I am sorry and I will not do that to you again.”
Val was pretty sure she wanted to use the viridian hue for one of the paintings, so she dropped that and the other tube she’d been holding into the case and looked up at her father.
“You say that all the time, Dad and then you go and do something like it all over again. And, by the way, it’s called lying,” she informed him.
Her tone was harsh and she was sure the look on her face was, too, but she couldn’t help it. Not only had her father been embarrassing her all of her life, but this time he’d walked her right into a mistake she feared would do more than ruin her reputation.
“I’m not going to lie again,” he replied. “I can even admit now that there was no engagement agreement. Well, not on behalf of the royal family, anyway.”
His shirt was wrinkled. He said whenever he tried to iron, the hot device would inevitably rub against his protruding stomach—because, of course, he stood very close to the ironing board and usually ironed while only wearing his boxers. Val shook her head at the memory.
“I don’t need to marry a prince. I’m okay on my own,” she said, and then moved closer to straighten his collar.
“Alone is not good,” Hugo announced. “I know because I hate every minute that I am alone.”
“Dad,” she whispered as she recalled how upset he’d been when she insisted on moving out and finding her own place when she was twenty-one.
Four years later, Val thought it had been the best decision of her life. Hugo, on the other hand, was still hurt by her move.
“I mean that I hate every minute your mother is not with me,” he corrected. “She was my everything. I have never loved anyone like I loved Michele, and our love was beautiful. Every second that we had together was the absolute best. I want that for you.”
Val could only nod because she wanted that for herself, as well. That thought had only surfaced in the last couple of days. After she’d told Roland that she wanted more than to be someone’s lover, she’d started to think of how true those words actually were for her.
“I’ll have it, Dad. One day, I’m sure of it.”
She was sure. One day the right man for her was going to come along and sweep her right off her feet, just like in her dream. Of course, first she’d have to get over the fact that she’d already begun to fall in love with Roland.
* * *
Roland listened to Gary talk while he drove. His cell was on speakerphone, his fingers grasping the steering wheel tightly. He’d slowed down since receiving the call, because even he knew that it wasn
’t healthy to push the speed of his sports car while listening to his brother-in-law talk about the woman they all knew was out to get their family.
“From what I’ve heard from the guards, she’s been sticking close to the palace and to the prince since he was released from the hospital,” Gary told him.
“Really?” Roland questioned. “No more impromptu trips to the States? No more cryptic emails?”
“None,” Gary replied. “I would say it’s odd, but for a woman who is getting married in three weeks, it makes sense that her attention is focused on her fiancé and her wedding.”
“Right, the wedding.” Roland didn’t bother to hide the edge in his tone at the mention of the big royal wedding. “I presume she’s been receiving more deliveries to the palace. Things for the wedding that are going down to that storage room.”
He could hear papers shuffling and figured that Gary must be in the office he used at the palace.
“Yeah, I have delivery receipts for six boxes earlier today. After you told me about your encounter with her down there and the number of boxes you saw, I decided to start monitoring all the deliveries myself. The guards had been keeping a log and checking out each deliveryman and their company, but I wanted to have a look myself. I agree, there are just too many boxes down there, and while it looks like fake flowers and linens and other wedding decor, it does seem like way too much. Especially since she could easily have an event planner taking care of all of this. There’s no reason she should be accepting all these deliveries herself. I don’t care how controlling she seems. Any woman with money and resources at her disposal like Malayka has would be sitting back allowing others to do all this grunt work.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Roland agreed. “So, what was in the new boxes?”
“Drapes,” Gary said. “Custom-made drapes. I instructed the staff not to accept any deliveries over the weekend, hoping to derail something in particular. So first thing this morning, a truck was granted access and came through the security gates. One of the guards signed for the package after inspecting the delivery truck and the driver. I found that the delivery slip was originally dated for Saturday.”
“And when they couldn’t deliver it on Saturday, they came back first thing Monday morning,” Roland said as he made a turn onto a familiar street.
“Correct,” Gary replied. “The guard called me and I came down to inspect the boxes before alerting Malayka to their arrival. She instructed the staff to take them to her storage room.”
Her storage room. The sound of it irritated Roland even more.
“You said you found something in the financial statements?” Gary asked, switching the subject.
“I did,” Roland replied. “I know Kris is up-to-date on all the banking business. But I also know my dad told him not to worry about those accounts with the Vansig name. Kris was still concerned. I’m glad I decided to take a look to keep my father from coming down on Kris for spending his time on the project. I don’t know what it all means just yet, but I’m going to email them to you. Pay close attention to the highlighted portions and then let me know what you think.”
“Will do,” Gary said. “Be sure to send them through the special secured accounts I set up for everyone.”
“No problem,” Roland told him. “After all that’s been going on I deleted all my other accounts. Expect them in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Cool,” Gary responded. “And I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”
Roland made another turn and thought about what his brother-in-law had just asked. “Ah, no. Not tonight. But I’ll be there by noon tomorrow, in time for our final fittings.”
“Yes, the final tuxedo fittings.” Gary sounded as excited as Roland did about that. “Three weeks until the big day.”
“Three weeks to stop the big day,” Roland replied.
“Problem is, I don’t think we’re the only ones counting down for that reason.”
Roland agreed as he ended the call. He had to admit that he liked Gary Montgomery. Although he hadn’t been terribly excited about handing over the care of his sister to an American, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Gary was a soldier, just as Roland had been. Even though Roland was certain that his years with the Royal Seaside Navy were vastly different from Gary’s time with the United States Army, he respected the military connection just the same. Besides that, Gary loved Sam and she loved him. Their emotional connection was undeniable. It was also enviable.
Kris and Landry’s relationship was, too. Together, the foursome were a big part of the reason Roland hadn’t spent a night in the palace for the past month. The feeling he continuously had—that aching in the center of his chest that he knew wasn’t physical, but more emotional—each time he saw his brother and sister with their spouses. The nights he’d been unable to sleep, the rice pudding that had lost its taste because he couldn’t stop thinking about the day he’d enjoyed it with her. The first picnic he’d ever had on a beach. The first night he’d spent with a woman wrapped in his arms, in her house.
Roland parked his car and sat there, wondering.
Why was he here?
When he’d climbed into his car it had been with the intention of riding the winding roads around the mountain, possibly getting out and walking along the cliffs. He loved the air there. Sure, the views were magnificent, but the air was fresh and crisp and rejuvenating. He’d needed something to kick-start him again. The text messages inviting him to another poker game weren’t appealing. Eating wasn’t appealing. Driving was becoming a necessity. What the hell was wrong with him?
She was home. Her red compact car was parked right in front of her home. It seemed in good condition, just as her house was. She took care of herself and her belongings. Independent and attractive. Why hadn’t some lucky guy snatched her up already? The instant sting of jealousy circling the pit of his stomach at that thought almost made him laugh.
What the hell was he doing?
This wasn’t like him. It wasn’t like Roland...the Reckless Royal...to be indecisive. He wanted this woman. He’d had her. That should have been it. Yet, there was something else. A something that had guided his car back to the house he’d left three days ago with the intention to never return.
She’d said it couldn’t be. They couldn’t be...
Roland removed his keys from the ignition and stepped out of his car. He walked up to the front door. The blue door that, for some reason, made him smile. There were colorful homes throughout Grand Serenity, so this vibrant shade of blue should not have caused any reaction. But it did. When he reached up his hand to knock, it was with purpose. He’d made up his mind.
And once Roland DeSaunters made up his mind about something, there was no stopping him.
“Oh,” she said when she opened the door.
“Hello to you too.” He greeted her with a smile, then leaned in quickly and kissed her on the cheek.
He was walking inside before she had a chance to invite him in.
“I was working today and suddenly remembered I was hungry,” Roland said as he moved into the living room and took a seat on her couch. “That led me to recall being offered some chicken and macaroni salad. However, I don’t believe I ever had the chance to partake.”
She’d closed the door and walked slowly until she stood a few feet away from him.
“What are you doing here, Roland?”
“I’m collecting on a dinner offer,” he replied.
She shook her head. “I threw that chicken out and the macaroni salad is gone.”
He nodded. “Okay, well, what else do you have?”
“Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “I hadn’t decided what I was having for dinner yet, so I haven’t cooked.”
“That’s cool.” He stood to walk toward the kitchen. “We can cook something together.”
Roland heard her talking, but he kept walking.
“I don’t know why you’re here, Roland, or what you’re trying to do, but—”
He stopped walking and turned quickly because he knew she’d followed him and would be right behind him. She was, and he slipped his arm easily around her waist, effectively cutting off her words.
“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “Tell me you’re not having the same problem. Tell me that those two nights we spent together, that first kiss, the first touch...tell me all of that meant nothing to you. That you haven’t lain in your bed every night since then wondering what could have been.”
She’d looked up at him the moment he touched her. She hadn’t touched him. Her arms remained down at her sides, but her eyes, they couldn’t look away. Her lips parted slightly as if she were going to speak at any moment. Or was it because she wanted to be kissed? He hoped so, because he was dying to kiss her. Holding on to what was left of his manners and waiting for her to give him the okay was slow torture. Roland would have sworn he was the royal who had it all together, but Valora Harrington had weakened him. She’d chipped at the facade and Roland doubted she even knew that she had, or how serious that act was turning out to be.
“It’s not a good idea,” she finally whispered. “No matter what I want, what I feel, what... I dream.”
The last was spoken so softly, if Roland weren’t standing so close to her he might not have heard it.
“I dream of you, too,” he admitted. “Vividly. Every night. It’s you and me and nobody else. Nothing else. Just us.”
She was shaking her head now. “No, Roland.”
“Yes,” he told her as he leaned his face closer to hers. “Yes.”
“It’s impossible,” she insisted when her hands came up to grasp his arms.
