by Maisey Yates
“Four weeks.”
That she heard, loud and clear. Her six-month window had been drastically reduced.
The room pitched violently to the side. Except nothing was out of order, everything on her father’s desk was still laid out precisely, and her feet were still solidly planted on the whitewashed stone floor. Everything was as it should be. Everything around her. Everything in her screamed like a wounded animal.
Marrying Bastian had always seemed wrong. The idea of marrying him now … after falling for Mak, after giving all of herself, body, heart and soul to him—it was repulsive.
“I need to go,” she said, her own voice as fuzzy and distant as her father’s.
She stumbled out of the office and past Mak, down the long, winding corridor and out the glass parlor doors into the garden. Air, maybe the air would help. She breathed in deeply, waiting for the salt and brine to penetrate the horrible fog that had descended.
It did. And when it did it left the cold sting of reality in its place. Harsh, painful, bright, like the white sunlight that pounded down on the grass. She kept walking, stumbled down the path and into the alcove shielded by grapevines.
She dropped to her knees and simply stayed. She waited, for tears, for something. There was nothing. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, willing a sound of pain to come out, to relieve some of the pressure inside of her.
But it wouldn’t come. She was frozen, trapped in herself. All she could manage to do was gulp in air in halting gasps, a feeling of panic gripping her, holding her down.
A hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting, drew her back from the abyss. “What happened?”
She tried to swallow more air, but couldn’t find any way to speak.
Mak knelt down with her, his hand sliding over her back, around her shoulders, drawing her to him. She rested her head on his chest and breathed in deeply. She memorized his smell, the way his heart sounded beneath her ear, the way he breathed. Why had she thought she could just say goodbye? That it could end? How had she not realized just what the separation would mean? How badly it would hurt?
Mak pulled her up onto his lap, settling in his black suit in the dust, uncaring for the expensive fabric.
She clung to him. She hadn’t wanted support earlier. Hadn’t wanted to do anything beyond standing on her own feet. But right now, she needed to be held up. Just for now. And she was glad she had him.
She didn’t know what she would do when Mak wasn’t there to keep her from falling.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ONLY madness could come from this. From touching her. He had sworn he would let it go. Let her go. That those last moments in the chalet would be his last moments of insanity.
Because she needed him. Because she had no one else. Because he needed to.
Touching her like this, without touching her the way he truly desired, was a new kind of torture. It should be old and familiar now, the denial of his body’s needs. But this wasn’t the same. This was about closeness. About her skin against his.
He wouldn’t. He would just hold her.
He moved his hands over her back, frustrated at the feel of silk beneath his fingers, instead of soft, bare skin.
He held her like that for a long time. Then she stiffened, pulling away from him and moving into a standing position.
“There’s no use crying about it,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “It’s done.”
“It’s not done yet,” he said.
“It’s as good as done.” She looked at him, the depth of emotion in her eyes stabbing him straight in the heart. “What other option do I have?”
His chest seized tight. “Eva … I can’t …”
“I’m not asking you to rescue me, Mak. I’m not locked in a tower. Look … doors everywhere, I could walk out if I liked. But I don’t know why I would. For … fun? You’ve said it many times, happiness is transient but doing something for the right reasons, something rooted in honor, that means something, doesn’t it?”
“It’s supposed to,” he said. Unsure now if it was true. Unsure that it meant anything.
“So I’m trying to matter. Trying to help erase the scandal I put on my family name. Trying to do something right for my country.” She blinked rapidly. “And I hope…. I hope it’s enough.”
She turned and walked out of the courtyard. He felt as if the color went with her.
He wanted to tell her he was wrong, to tell her to be happy. But he didn’t know the first thing about finding happiness. How could he direct her to find something he wasn’t certain existed?
She’d made her choice. She would marry Bastian.
And he would find a way to rebuild the walls that had surrounded his heart for so many years.
Go out. Have fun. Or at least pretend you’re having fun.
That was Eva’s directive. She and Mak were on assignment. Going to shop in the city without any scandal cropping up. Mak was supposed to shadow her, keep the press from mobbing her and, Eva was certain, keep her in line.
It was silly, but she was desperate for the car ride. Desperate for the moment when the door would close and she and Mak would be alone. She liked their arrangement, where it was just the two of them.
When Mak settled in beside her and they were closed into their bubble, a knot tightened in her stomach. “I … I didn’t think, Mak. Should I ask a driver to take us in one of the larger cars? You don’t like driving and I …”
“I’m fine, Eva,” he said.
“I wanted to be alone with you. Just for a bit,” she said, quietly, as he started the engine.
“Is there really any point to that?”
“No. I suppose not. Although, maybe there is. It’s nice to be with someone you…” She stumbled over her words. “… like a lot.”
“Is that so?” His tone was filled with bland disinterest. Just as it had been in the beginning.
“It is.”
He put the car into gear and started driving away from the palace. They were silent for a while, then Mak spoke. “So what is it you like about me?” he asked. A strange question coming from Mak. One that revealed a vulnerability she wasn’t accustomed to seeing.
“A lot of things,” she said. “You don’t complain if you have to prepare your own food, which is rare.”
“Really?” he asked dryly.
“In royal circles it’s very rare,” she said. “And I like talking to you. You’re judgmental sometimes, but you listen anyway. Also rare.”
“You flatter me.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I guessed.”
A bubble of happiness started to fill up in Eva’s chest. She was with Mak and they were talking. And the wedding was four whole weeks away. In her mind, she imagined that date stretching far into the future. Visualized twenty-eight days lasting as long as possible.
Mak pulled the car up to a boutique that offered valet parking and put the car in Park with the keys still in the ignition. “Anything else?”
Eva unbuckled and paused, then pulled on the door handle. “You’re very good in bed.” She opened the door and got out, closing it behind her, heart pounding a bit faster than normal.
She heard the driver’s side door slam, and then heard Mak barking orders to the valet before stalking after her. She didn’t turn to look at him as she strode into the boutique, all of her efforts focused on ignoring him. Keeping her eyes in front of her.
She paused at a rack of sweaters.
“Careful, Eva,” Mak growled out the words as he walked by her, headed into the back of the shop to do that blending he was so good at.
“No thanks,” she said sweetly.
A shop assistant came over to Eva, her eyes widening, mouth falling open for a brief moment before she made a quick recovery, as she realized who Eva was. Once the discovery was made, clothes were brought out en masse. She wasn’t trying to fly under the radar, which was an odd experience, and she wasn’t making use of the family stylist, which was equally rare.
Mak stayed on the fringes, keeping his eyes on her, but staying away from her and the saleswoman as they systematically made their way through the jeans, tops, slacks and skirts.
“And I need a gown,” Eva said, aware she was about to invite speculation. “A very special event. One we’re planning at the last minute.”
The official announcement that was happening over the weekend. The one where she would have to pretend she felt something for Bastian. The one that would cement everything in place.
“How exciting!” The girl did a little clap and ran to the rack of gowns.
Eva watched Mak’s face as she tried the gowns on, one by one: some with structured bodices, some with filmy skirts that clung to her legs. One was nearly backless.
Mak’s jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes blank. And she knew it was because he wanted her. Because the heat that was crackling between them was palpable, even from across the room.
It was a strange mix of heaven and hell, knowing Mak wanted her as he did. Knowing it when she couldn’t have him. When he couldn’t make good on the promise in his eyes. It made her body ache, made her hands tremble.
She turned slightly in the cream-colored gown she was wearing, so that Mak could see her from the side, feigning interest in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too low?” she asked.
It was strapless with good structure beneath a layer of filmy chiffon. The neck scooped down, revealing quite a bit of cleavage, the color making her golden skin glow.
“No, it’s lovely. Just the right amount of sexy,” the saleswoman offered.
“Great. Then this is it.” She could see Mak swallow hard. “I’ll take all of this,” she said, indicating the clothing that filled an entire rack that stretched across the dressing area. “Mak,” she said, directing her attention to him. “Can you arrange the details?”
One dark eyebrow arched and he stood, walking over to where she was. “I should think you’re quite capable.”
“Mmm. Quite, but I don’t carry this much money. I thought you might have some means of using my father’s credit card?”
“No.” He turned to the saleswoman. “I’ve got it.” He took a wallet from his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a credit card. One with his name on it. “Charge it all. She’ll take …” His eyes landed on a short, silvery dress that was on a mannequin. “… that one too.”
The other woman’s eyes widened. “Of course, Mr….”
“Nabatov.”
“Right.” She took the plastic and headed to the back of the store, where she could handle something as bourgeois as money in private.
“What was that about?” she asked, when they were alone.
“Is the dress for him?”
“No,” she said tartly. “It’s for you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Anyway, why did you … pay?”
He shrugged. “Because I can.”
“Still, you’re going to start rumors.”
“Possible.”
Eva’s eyes were glittering with fire, and Mak couldn’t deny he was intrigued. He’d been stupid, producing his card and paying for her clothes. A surge of possessiveness, intense and dark, had taken over. A kind of possessiveness he’d never known he had the capacity to feel.
To show that she belonged to him in some way—a foolish thought. He crushed the things in his life. Broke the things he loved.
The word, the one he tried never to say, never to think, assaulted him. Tore at him like a rabid dog. He denied it. Tried to harden himself against the attack.
“You don’t care, do you?”
“Not a bit,” he said.
“So much for protecting my reputation.”
“That ship has sailed, don’t you think? Sunk, actually,” he said.
“I’m rebuilding it. In fact it’s set to float in about four weeks.”
The saleswoman came back with dollar signs in her eyes, clearly happy with the total, and her expected commission. “We can have all of it delivered to the palace for you,” she said.
“Do that,” Mak said. “And add a tip.” He named a figure that made the woman’s jaw drop.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll come back sometime,” Eva said.
Mak could sense her loss of elation, the settling in of reality. Eva, for all that she was playing her smiley happy self, was not happy. And he could feel it. “Ready?” he asked.
“More than.” The light in her eyes had dimmed. She’d even lost that little spark of mischief, the one that had flared when she was teasing him. When she’d been sure she was playing casual, trying to make her flashes of cleavage look accidental.
“So am I,” he said, the words hard to force out around the tightening in his throat. When her thoughts turned to her impending marriage, and he was certain they had, it made a kind of feral rage boil inside of him.
The thought of another man’s hands on her body … it couldn’t happen. She had branded him, marked his body with her touch. For him, there could be no other woman. The thought hit him with a certainty he’d only felt once before.
Just as he’d known he would honor his vows, care for Marina until she’d taken her last breath, he knew he was committed to Eva. The very idea of another lover seemed wrong.
Sex, for him, could never be about a simple physical release. It had become something sacred in his mind. His experiences with Eva had confirmed it.
But she would take Bastian. He would be her husband. In every way.
Mak gritted his teeth. “Let’s go. Outside.”
He opened the door for her and followed her out, checking all sides of her, watching for any possible threat. The car was delivered within minutes and he opened the door for her before getting in on the driver’s side.
“I hope now you’re happy. You have some clothes that you chose. Clothes that are you.” He gunned the engine and merged with traffic, taking a sharp right, headed back in the direction of the palace.
“You … you remembered me saying that,” she said, her voice filled with shock.
“I remember everything you’ve said.” He meant it to come out harsh, a reminder that he didn’t forget things. That details, in his mind, were imperative. It came out soft. More a reminder that she was special than anything else.
“Me too,” she said.
A good thing, since very soon, memories would be all either of them had.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE engagement party was a glittering affair. No formal announcement had been made, but rumors had been rampant from the moment it had leaked that there was going to be an event held at the palace on short notice.
The guest list had been kept brief, accommodating only the most influential families from Kyonos and from Bastian’s country, Komenia.
Eva hung back, peering into the ballroom from the outside, watching the party at a distance. No one noticed or cared. They wanted gossip, they wanted to be seen. And once they realized the event centered around her, then they might care about her presence. But until then, she was another face in attendance.
It was well known that she was a rebel. The youngest. The least influential. She wondered if that would change when she had a husband with power.
The thought galled. That she would matter more because of the man she married.
A man she wasn’t even tempted to scan the room for. No, the man she was looking for was one of the people she hadn’t seen since she’d arrived.
The back of her neck prickled. She turned, the chiffon of her ball gown swirling around her legs as she did. Mak was there, looking harder, leaner. Looking like a stranger. Except for his eyes. Eyes she’d always taken to be emotionless. But she knew now, suddenly and with clarity, that that wasn’t true.
It was simply emotion too deep to read easily.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you. So do you.” She indicated his custom-cut suit, her heart thundering
as she took him in. He was so perfect. And tonight, any dream she harbored of a future with him ended.
“Do you know how things are going tonight?” he asked.
“Yes. In an hour my father will make the announcement and Bastian and I will go and allow him to present us before the guests. The engagement will be … official then.”
“I see. So you have some time?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
She didn’t know what he wanted or why he wanted it. She didn’t really care. She just wanted to be with him. It didn’t matter if it was for five minutes, or for an eternity. No, it did matter. She wanted forever, it was just that she wouldn’t be getting it.
“Where?”
“The garden.”
He held out his hand and she took it, warmth rushing through her as his fingers closed around hers. That simple touch spread a bone-deep ache through her body, a need that transcended anything she’d ever known. And it wasn’t just sex. It was something more, something deeper. Something that frightened her because she knew that soon, very soon, she would be denied Mak’s touch in even the simplest capacity.
He led her through the vacant corridor. They passed staff, members of security. But staff was paid to ignore what they weren’t meant to see, and Mak was the superior of every security team member there. That meant no one questioned them. They hardly looked.
They went out into the garden behind the glittering ballroom. People were milling around on the balcony, chatting, laughing and drinking, the sounds filling the night air. She and Mak skirted the outside of the trees, walking deep into the garden, to their place, hidden back in the grapevines.
It was the last place he’d held her in his arms. The place she’d given in to despair. The place where her hope had left her. He’d come to her then, braced her, helped her stay strong.
“Dance with me,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I should not,” he said.
“We shouldn’t be here at all. We’re courting impropriety, and we’re doing it very deliberately.”
