by Maisey Yates
“Not as I know it either. Staying in control is usually so much easier.”
“I test your control?”
“Do you not see?”
“I haven’t—” she took another bite of her cookie “—not for five years.”
“I suppose I became much more desperate when I thought I might lose you. I could feel this,” he said, the admission raw, “this thing between us. I realize now that I could always sense it there.”
His words echoed with truth, reflecting everything she knew down deep inside.
“But I never wanted... It is not what I wanted for my marriage,” he continued. “My parents were never happy. My father was distant, a man who put his country before all else, because what is a king but a servant to his people? He was not a loving father. He was not warm. He could be very hard. Especially on Andres. But I considered what he gave to me to be guidance. Necessary. He knew that I would someday be as he. A king. But he was not married to you. He was married to a temperamental, flighty woman who let every bump in the road upset her. Who felt things too deeply. I vowed that I would find a woman who was different. You were perfect. Such perfect reserve. And then, the first time I ever touched you, the first time we made love, there was something else there. The very thing I didn’t want. That kind of uncontrollable desire that leads to poor decisions made in anger and desperation.”
“I didn’t want that either,” she said, her voice soft.
“I know you didn’t want it. Now you resent me for making sure that I did what we both claimed we needed in a marriage? For keeping you at a distance when you asked for that distance?”
“I told you,” she said, studying her wrecked manicure, “it doesn’t make sense. It’s too tangled up in all of my issues to approach sense.”
“I suppose it makes as much sense as me being angry at myself. I had you on that desk when you presented me with the divorce papers and most of my anger was directed at me. For having a chance to have you, five long years to make love to you in any way I chose. Squandered. In the interest of control. Control I felt a deep conviction over, but that in the end I despised. You tell me how that makes sense.”
“I can’t tell you how. Only that it does. Because it mirrors much of what I feel.”
“I think that’s enough honesty for one evening, don’t you?” he asked, his tone growing hard suddenly, his dark eyes shuttered.
“I’m not done with the cookies,” she said, taking another one out, this one dipped in chocolate.
“Then, I will wait. Because I find I’m not done with you.”
“Oh,” she said, putting the cookie back in the tin. Suddenly, she didn’t care much about the cookie.
“Come on, agape. Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
Kairos had never spent the night with a woman. Not even his own wife. He questioned why he hadn’t now. Because it was a thing of brilliant luxury. Luxury and satisfaction he had never known, to wake up with a soft, beautiful woman twined around his body. During their nap the evening before, they had not touched while they’d slept, but sometime during the night she had moved nearer to him, or he nearer to her. Her soft legs were laced through his.
Last night he’d had her more times than he could count. Every time he thought he was satisfied, desire would reach up again and grab him by the throat, compel him to have her. Another side effect of not sleeping with your wife was that intimacy was confined to a single moment. Something planned, something carefully orchestrated. There was always a definite start time. Then an end when he returned to his own bed.
The lines blurred when you didn’t leave the room.
He found he quite liked the lines blurred.
He drew the covers back slightly, the pale morning light washing over her curves, revealing bruises on her skin. One on her back, four at her hips. His fingerprints.
He gritted his teeth, regret warring with arousal inside of him. There was something primal and masculine in him that celebrated the fact his mark remained. The fact that he had declared her his with these outward signs. She no longer wore his wedding ring, but she wore his touch like a brand.
What kind of monster was he?
“Tabitha,” he asked, “are you awake?”
“No,” she mumbled, rolling over onto her stomach, her blond hair falling over her face like a golden curtain. “If I were awake my eyes would be open.”
His chest tightened, his stomach twisting. There was something charming about her like this. Not bound by her typical control, not conscious of the fact that she thought of him as little more than a stranger.
“You answered my question,” he said.
“It would be rude not to,” she muttered.
“I suppose that’s true.”
She turned over again, baring her breasts to his gaze, and he felt himself growing hard again.
She must be sore. He needed to practice restraint. He found he did not want to. For the first time in his life he was starting to think restraint was overrated. At least, where sex with one’s wife was concerned.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, opening her eyes to a squint.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to...eat me. Or perhaps ask me deep questions.”
“It is a bit early for either, I’m afraid. I require caffeine.”
“I don’t suppose I’m allowed to have very much caffeine,” she said, her tone regretful.
“One cup of coffee will hurt nothing. Let’s go downstairs.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “I don’t know. Because it seems like the thing to do?”
“Certainly don’t dress on my account.”
She shot him a deadly glare and got out of bed, crossing the room completely naked and making her way to the wardrobe. There was a white, silk robe in there, and she retrieved it, wrapping it over her curves much to his dismay. “This will do,” she said.
“I suppose.” He got out of bed, retrieving his pants from the night before and dragging them on, not bothering with underwear or his belt.
He had the strangest urge to pick her up and carry her downstairs, just as he had done when they’d gone upstairs last night. That made no sense. And if Kairos was anything, it was sensible. At least, he had been before the past few weeks. Impending fatherhood and divorce did that to a man, he supposed.
They made their way down the stairs in silence, setting about to prepare cereal and coffee, keeping it simple as both of them preferred to do. He was not accustomed to lingering over large breakfasts. Typically, he was eager to dive into his day. He realized now that he had abandoned the palace with only Andres in his stead, and very little explanation for why.
He dismissed the thought, for the first time in his life dismissing the weight of his responsibility.
That’s what a spare was for, after all. To be used in cases of death, dismemberment or divorce. Divorce that needed to be stopped.
It was time Andres took his position a little bit more seriously anyway.
“And what plans have you made for us on this fine day,” Tabitha asked, seated across from him at the table inside the dining area. He would have preferred to eat outside, but he had not yet cleaned up the mess of glass and food they had created last night. A drawback to not having staff in residence. The consequences of his actions were very much his own. Fine when he was engaging in normal activities. Less so when he was throwing his wife atop the most convenient surface and consigning anything in his way to the category of collateral damage.
“What makes you think I have some kind of grand plan?”
“Well, I would have thought my captor might be running the show.”
“Your captor,” he said. “I thought that we had moved beyond that.�
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“You are still holding me here, are you not?”
“You have agreed.”
She sniffed. “Under sufferance.”
“Oh, yes, your suffering is great. I believe I made you suffer a minimum of five times last night.”
He was gratified to see her cheeks turn a deep shade of rose. A strange sense of satisfaction overtook him. He enjoyed her like this.
He did not think she was goading him because she was angry, not seriously. Rather, he had the feeling that she liked the sparks that crackled between them when they sparred. It was new. Like the unleashed sexual energy between them, this unveiled annoyance was new. Typically, they both buried their barbs much deeper.
“I didn’t think a gentleman spoke to a lady in such a way,” she said, her tone arch.
“I have found that being a gentleman is boring. Surely you must find being a lady similarly dull.”
“In certain environments, yes.”
“The bedroom being one of them.”
“You may have a point.” She lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a sip. She turned her head, gazing out toward the ocean, the sun bathing her face in a warm glow. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, the breeze rippling through her blond hair.
It was a foreign moment, unlike any he’d had in recent memory. Where they were both relaxed. Companionable, even if only for a few moments.
“Perhaps we should go for a walk?”
“Not while I’m in my robe,” she said.
“No. Of course not. But perhaps, you can look and see if my staff were so kind as to provide you with a swimsuit, and we could go down to the ocean.”
“We never do things like this.”
“I know. But this is the time for us to explore things we’ve never done. That is the purpose.”
“Yes, so you said. I just didn’t think it extended to long walks on the beach.”
“Why not? Perhaps you will discover we enjoy it. Perhaps it is something we will want to do with our child.”
Her smile turned sad. “You do play dirty.”
“I will play however I must. If I can make myself seem indispensable to your vision of a happy family, then I’ll win. I’m not above using any means necessary.”
“I did not take you for being cutthroat, Kairos.”
“I hide it well. I rarely need to use it. My title insulates me from much pushback. From much criticism at all. Even if it exists, the teeth aren’t sharp enough to do me any harm.”
“Will you be wearing a swimsuit? I’m wondering if I can look forward to a show.”
“I suppose it would be impractical of me to attempt to swim without one.”
“Okay, now I’m starting to fear that you’ve been body snatched. My husband is talking about spending leisure time on the beach. And also, participating in recreational activity.”
“No, sadly for you, I remain Kairos. I have not been snatched and replicated by a more biddable man. But if nothing else, I hope this proves to you that even if it is not in my nature to behave a certain way, I can try to change. I can try to accommodate your needs, even if I don’t understand them perfectly.”
She nodded slowly, and he had a feeling that she found something in his speech unsatisfactory. But then, that was not terribly unusual.
“All right, I’m going to go change. I’ll meet you back down here,” he said. Because if he joined her in her room, they would never leave.
Not that he minded. But he supposed it ran counter to appealing to her emotions.
“All right. Let’s see if either of us can rise to the challenge of being leisurely.”
* * *
Whoever had done the shopping for Tabitha’s wardrobe deserved a raise. That was all Kairos could think as he walked behind her on the beach, taking in the sight of all the bare skin that was on display for his enjoyment. It was a white bikini, one that scarcely contained her perfect figure. The sort of thing she would never have worn on a regular basis.
But this was not a regular basis. This was outside the status quo. And he meant to take advantage of that.
For the moment, that meant admiring Tabitha in her bikini.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, not looking back at him.
“How do you know?” he asked, feeling a stirring of humor in his chest.
Such a rare feeling. He felt light, happy almost. Yes, things were unsettled between them, but the chemistry they were exploring was off the charts. And right now, he was on a pristine, private beach and she was barely clothed. There was nothing to dislike about the moment.
“I can feel you looking,” she said.
“I was not aware you had a sixth sense, agape. I learn more secrets about you every moment.”
“I don’t have all that many.”
He caught up to her, keeping pace with her strides. “But you do have some?”
“I told you the biggest one,” she said, the humor leaching from her tone as she said those words.
“Are there more? Surely there must be. You are not defined by one traumatic event. Tell me. I want to know more about you.”
“I was born in Iowa.”
“I don’t know anything about Iowa.”
She laughed. “No one does. Join the club.”
“Did you like it there?”
She laughed. “Do I still live there, Kairos?”
“No. But one cannot be the queen of Iowa. So I suppose in your case, you did not have to dislike it to leave.”
“The queen of Iowa does have a nice ring to it, though.”
“Perhaps not as elegant as the queen of Petras.”
“Perhaps not.”
He leaned closer to her, taking her hand in his, pausing for a moment when she went stiff beside him. “Tell me more.”
“My mother was single until I was eight. Then she married my stepfather. You know how that ended. It was... It was not all bad. She wasn’t. He wasn’t. He was...the only father figure I ever had. He was kind to me.” She closed her eyes. “I remember once he bought me a present for...no reason. My mother never did things like that.” Her eyes fluttered open again. “But they were very wrapped up in each other, and I was an only child. Mostly, it was lonely.”
“What about friends? Didn’t you have friends?”
“Some. People studying advanced subjects in school. Other students who actually enjoyed getting good grades.” She paused, a fine line creasing her brow. “Someone came to speak at the school when I was young. A doctor. She had grown up in the area, with no money, nothing. It was a very poor town, and seeing someone come out of it and do what she did was inspiring. She told us that if we worked hard enough we can all achieve it. She talked to us about scholarships. About the kinds of things we could hope to find if we needed to succeed on merit rather than on status or money. I felt like she was speaking to me. I was smart, but we had nothing. My resources were all inside of me. And I was determined to use them. It was all I was given on this earth. I didn’t want to waste them.”
“From where I’m standing, I would say you didn’t.” How had he ever seen this woman as soft? She was pure steel. Brave as hell. She was braver than he was, truth be told. All he’d done was fall into line with what was expected of him. She had defied expectation at every turn. Had been brought into this world with no opportunity and from it had fashioned herself into royalty. He imagined there were very few people who could say the same.
“But you don’t get into good universities without hard work,” she said.
“I would imagine not. I got in with a pedigree.”
“People do, but I got in by being exceptional. I had to be. There’s so much competition for scholarships. Especially the type I needed. Full rides. Living expenses paid. I needed every bit of help I coul
d scrounge up for myself. My mother went to prison for killing my stepfather during my last year of school. But I just...kept working. I was so close to being eighteen, social services sort of let me be. And I...stayed in the house by myself.”
“Tabitha...” His heart ached for her. For this woman who had been so lonely for so long.
“It was all right. I mean, it wasn’t in some ways, but in others... I could study in peace. I just kept going to school. And when I got to university, keeping what I had was dependent on maintaining a near-perfect grade point average. I could never afford to have boyfriends. Couldn’t waste any time or energy on parties. I had to be single-minded. And I was.”
“And a year into school you decided to move to Petras to take a job as my assistant,” he said. “Why exactly?”
“As I said, I wasn’t after a university experience. I wasn’t about making friends. I wanted to secure my future. The internship allowed me to complete my classes, and to gain the kind of work experience that most people would give a body part away to acquire. To work for the royal family? For someone with my background that’s more valuable than money. That’s a connection. The kind of connection someone like me can’t typically hope to ever obtain.”
“And then you married me instead.”
“You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
His heart expanded, a sense of fullness pervading his chest. He could hardly breathe. “You’re very brave, Tabitha. I never fully appreciated that.”
She looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know if I’m especially brave. I was just more afraid of repeating the same life I’d already had as a child than I was of striking out on my own and failing.”
“I’ve heard it said that courage isn’t the absence of fear.”
“No. Without fear we would not move very fast.”
“Is that why you were running from me?”
She frowned, turning away from him and continuing on down the beach. For some reason that action pushed a long-ignored memory to the front of his mind.
* * *
“Don’t go.” He was twelve years old. He might as well be a man. He never cried. And yet, he could feel emotion closing down hard on his throat, strange prickling feeling pushing at the backs of his eyes.
