by Zee Monodee
When the laughter had subsided, Magnus reached for a handful of fallen popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth. He then loosened his tie and ditched his jacket before settling down beside her on the sofa.
“What is going on?” Elsa Trammell asked from the threshold. “No, you know what, I don’t want to know. Oh, wait, you’re watching The Royals?”
Even she joined them, pushing Tindra from one extended part of the sofa. This got Tindra and Elin bickering, and Magnus shuffled a little so his sisters could have enough space. In doing so, he drew dangerously close to Megha. Her breath caught in her throat when he stopped just inches from her. If she inhaled too deeply, their shoulders would touch. And if she moved away now, it would be obvious, and also very rude. She had to bear this …
Except this was no hardship to be borne. His gentle warmth radiated out to her, and unbidden, her mind went back to when he had held her the day before. He’d been solid, all hardness and heat, though there had been nothing sexual about the connection. No, it had all come from the heart, and with every day that passed, she was seeing more and more how much of a beautiful soul Magnus Trammell possessed. He cared, something she hadn’t expected from someone like him. But truth be told, they all had it wrong about him—he wasn’t at all the flighty man he showed the world. He had hidden layers, buried depths inside him, and as much as it awed her to be getting to see these reveal themselves to her, it also scared her.
Because Magnus had a soft heart beating beneath a tremendously fit and chiselled body, and when factoring in the striking eyes and gorgeous looks, he was the whole package. She refused to look at the money angle, because a filled coffer did not guarantee happiness, but such a man? He sounded perfect. Too perfect, maybe? Or was she putting him on a pedestal?
Either way, she was screwed. Because, if she let herself, she could too easily fall in love with Magnus Trammell.
But what did she have to give him? She clung to the tattered remnants of her soul, her heart overburdened, her body mutilated and battered by disease and treatment that was supposed to make her better but was in fact making her sicker. Indeed, what did she have to give, to him or to anyone else? She hadn’t been able to give Liam what he’d deserved, and she’d been whole back then.
As her gaze landed on him, his studious profile scrunched in concentration as he tried to make sense of the happenings on the screen, a tear formed at the corner of her eye.
Yes, she was falling in love with him. And she could never let that happen. For his sake. For his own happiness.
Chapter Six
It felt good to have her so near him. His arm itched to open itself and gather her to him, like he’d done the day before at the hospital, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it, possibly. This wasn’t the beaten and forlorn Megha. No, this here was his warrior girl. Not only was she battling cancer and the aftermath of chemo, she was also putting up with the womenfolk of his family. That alone would be enough to recommend her for sainthood.
His step had faltered when he’d come in, seeing her lying there on the sofa with his sisters, dressed the same as them, as if she belonged completely in this setup. A part of his family. The girls seemed to adore her, and so did his mother—she’d told him downstairs how much she liked the young woman sleeping above in one of their numerous guest bedrooms. She had praised Megha’s perfect manners and genuine heart, and in a way, it had felt like the compliments had been bestowed on him rather than her. Because he was the one who had brought her here. At the time, it had seemed like the best thing to do, but as the day had gone by, he hadn’t been able to hide from the truth.
He’d wanted her there—a part of him had needed to see how she would fit in his world. If only … But there wouldn’t be any of that, would there? Megha tolerated him at best. Who was he to even imagine that a strong, beautiful woman like her would ever look at the empty husk of a man he was?
But this, having her this close, he’d take it. He wouldn’t get more, and he’d resigned himself to that. People thought things had come easy for him, but they hadn’t. Yes, he was rich, with a family name that would open even the doors of Buckingham Palace simply through being spoken at the gates. Poor little rich boy, they’d say. But rich boys had feelings, too. They were people, as well. People with very common yearnings and needs. Like the love of a good woman … You didn’t choose love; it chose you. Bloody hell that he’d had this slammed into him this way. He seemed to have everything, except for her.
As she squirmed next to him, he directed his attention back on her. Wrong move—if he tilted his head just so, he would be able to touch her lips with his. He still remembered how cracked and dry they had seemed last night, and upon that sight, he had prompted her to swallow some warm water he’d dribbled into her mouth. She’d had a light fever, too, not enough to warrant medical attention, but Siobhan, the nurse, had told him this could happen. So he’d kept watch, bathing her face with a cool cloth until the fever had appeared to break and she’d fallen into a deep sleep.
She hadn’t given any indication she knew he’d been there, and this was just as well. No one but Carson was aware he’d spent the night in her room, the faithful butler being the one who had supplied the water and linens throughout those long hours he’d kept vigil by her bedside. Try as he’d wanted—he’d known it was wrong, stalker-ish even—he hadn’t been able to pull himself from that chair and leave her side. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone. And good thing he’d stayed, because she shouldn’t have been left on her own. Nausea and vomiting had plagued her, despite the meds they’d given her at the hospital. Guess they had run their course. Megha wouldn’t have been able to hold herself together in her state. Even dry-retching appeared to take so much out of her, energy she simply didn’t have.
What must she be going through?
He ached to make it right. True, the plight of those suffering had always saddened him, but never like this. Lars’ words returned to haunt him—because this time, it’s someone you know. This time, it was someone he cared about, and even loved. The get-together today with the company that would provide the ovum and sperm storage for the clinic had been utter hell. For the first time, he who’d been used to nights and nights of no sleep had had a hard time keeping his shit together during the day after a sleepless night. The meeting had even lasted well into the afternoon, when it should’ve been wrapped up by noon. His mind hadn’t been there but here, with her.
“It’s not making much sense to you, is it?” she asked softly, close to his ear.
He blinked, shattering out of his thoughts, and offered a non-committal grunt. No, he did not understand how he had fallen for her so fast and so completely.
“They have a rocky start, but they wade those waters and end up falling in love,” she continued.
“Huh?”
A small giggle left her throat. “Jaspenor.”
Oh, that. She was talking about the show. He focused his attention on her, shifting a little to his left so his shoulder would burrow more into the cushion and thus allow him to better see her.
A gentle smile graced her beautiful face. Seemed like this silly show was taking her attention off her post-chemo woes. A quick glance at the tray now on the side ottoman showed him a bitten piece of toast, the spoon next to the clear broth bowl wet and glistening with some of the fat from the soup. So she’d eaten something, at least. Good. Could he try to make her better? He so wanted to engage with her, but didn’t have a clue how. Around her, he became a bumbling school boy, light years from the smooth and sophisticated society lad he could be everywhere else.
Then it struck him. He nodded at the screen. “You watch this thing?”
“One of my faves, yes.”
Finally, kindling for some conversation. “What is that whole Jaspenor thing even about?”
“Shh!” hissed his sisters.
Megha laughed again, softly, then tilted her head towards him. “So, she’s the princess, all right? He is her bodyguard. Later on, they find out
he is no bodyguard at all but in fact an American con artist who came here to literally steal the family jewels.”
“And he’s blackmailing her for sex?” He remembered Tindra saying that.
“At first, yes. He made a sex tape so she’d keep sleeping with him, otherwise he would leak it out.”
“And they end up falling in love, anyway?” Sounded like Stockholm syndrome to him so far.
“Yes, because he ends up telling her there’d been no tape. He’d just wanted her.”
“She forgave him?”
Megha nodded. “She also forgave him for sleeping with her mother, the queen, once.”
At this, he had to blink. “He cheated on her?”
“He had no choice. Her Majesty’s orders, you see.”
“Yeah, right. And this is supposed to be an epic love story?”
“Shh!” hissed someone.
“Because he repented, Magnus. He fell so totally for her that he gave up everything else for her. All he wanted was a second chance to prove to her that her love had made him better, had changed him. That he would do anything for her.”
He’d had strings of affairs, loads of one-night stands, a slew of female friends, most of them with benefits. Still, he’d never understood love. Because he’d never been in love before?
“And that’s all it takes? That you would do anything for this person?” he asked.
She frowned. “I think … every woman wants this. At least, a part of her wants this. To be loved like that.”
“And you? What do you want?”
The question had left his lips before he’d been able to think it through. Damn.
She stared up at him for a long time, and then, she nodded. “To be loved like that, yes.”
“You say it like it’s a pipe dream.”
A snort escaped her. “I’m not betting on it, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because …”
When she let the word dwindle, something in him knew he shouldn’t pry more. Her face had darkened, her gaze growing faraway.
Right there and then, he wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wasn’t sure if he’d go to the lengths of Jaspenor to win her favour, but he wanted to do whatever was in his power to make her better, to make her happy.
But this wasn’t the time, nor the place. It would have to be a hushed declaration, yes, but not with his three sisters and his mother less than a foot away.
“You’ll always have my friendship, you know,” he said softly.
She remained silent for a while, then she smiled up at him. It seemed sad, but he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that she was getting tired and overtaxing herself. Her eyes were sinking into their sockets, her dark circles becoming more pronounced. She should rest.
He shuffled on the sofa, and suddenly, her head lowered onto his shoulder. Seconds later, he could hear her breathing slowing and growing steady. She had fallen asleep.
The others hadn’t noticed. He should get up and take her to her bed.
But the feel of her against him proved too blissful. Her soft, warm breaths tickled the sensitized skin of his neck every time she exhaled. As he focused on that rhythmic pattern, he found his eyes closing, too, and he gave in.
When he next blinked his eyes open, it was to find the room bathed in the glow from the screen and everyone else fast asleep where they had nodded off on the sofa. Megha still slept close to him, now burrowed into his side—in his sleep, his arm had come up to wrap around her and tuck her to him.
What time was it? As he glanced around, the scene playing out on the TV caught his attention. Jaspenor again, in what appeared to be stone tunnels. It seemed the Jasper bloke was breaking up with the princess, telling her she was too good for him. Rather than slap him for that nonsense, Eleanor told him that she wasn’t too good for him but actually perfect for him.
And that’s when he got it. Princess Eleanor was as much bodyguard Jasper’s weakness as she was his strength.
Maybe he should really look into this pairing for love to finally make sense.
A peek at his watch showed him it was well into the early hours of morning. He should put Megha to bed—she needed her rest more than anything. So he shuffled away, gently so as not to wake her, then stood and pulled her with delicate reverence into his arms. Even in the dimness, he could see that the back of her hand where the I.V. needles had gone in had turned a battered blue, the veins of her forearm having taken on a sickly dark hue. They’d pushed poison into her through those veins, no wonder.
With light steps, he made it out of the sitting room, down the spiral staircase, and through the corridor to her room. He held her to him with one arm as he smoothed the bed sheets with the other, then softly deposited her onto the mattress and tucked her in. For good measure, he went in search of the basin in the bathroom and placed it by her bedside on the small table he dragged from the corner.
For a moment, Magnus stayed there and watched her. He refused to think how creepy this could appear, but he wanted nothing but the best for her.
Truth be told, it was starting to look as if Megha Saran was as much his strength as his weakness. And so be it. Because even though she was perfect for him, she was also way too good for the likes of him.
He couldn’t saddle her with everything he was—was not sounded more like it. But he could be her friend. And this, he would never relinquish.
***
A cacophony of sounds tore Megha from her sleep. Before she could situate herself, the breath whooshed out of her as something heavy landed with a plop on her bed. More oomph noises followed as other people joined the fray.
She peeled her eyes open to find the three Trammell sisters sprawled out on the mattress around her.
“Let me look!” one of them said. It sounded like Tindra.
Indeed, Agneta had something in her hands and which she kept away from the others’ grasp.
“Out! Let her rest!” came Magnus’ deep voice as he waltzed into the bedroom.
Her eyes could suddenly only register that he was dressed in boxer shorts and an old Linkin Park T-shirt. She’d been seeing him in suits, or with the jacket off and the shirt sleeves rolled up, lately, a far cry from the man she still recalled meeting at the Kensington flat not so long ago. It didn’t seem like the same person—as if by cutting his long hair, and getting rid of the man bun in the process, Magnus had shed his old persona and started to morph into a different, more fully-realized man.
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. And it’s already past noon, Sleeping Beauty,” Agneta said in Megha’s direction.
“She had chemo less than forty-eight hours ago,” he countered.
Agneta whipped her head around to her. “But you’re better, right? I still say you best get out of bed and get moving, take your mind off everything.”
“And this is the perfect reason,” Tindra said as she swooped in and snatched the magazine from her older sister’s hands.
“Give that back, I wasn’t done!”
To this, Tindra stuck her tongue out and then started to read aloud.
As her words registered in Megha’s mind, she began to figure out what this was all about. Goodness, no. It had caught up with them. She had completely forgotten about the article.
“That was today?” she managed to croak.
Magnus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The locks were so short, it didn’t appear he’d even ruffled them.
She missed his longer hair, and God help her, the man bun. It had suited him.
“It slipped my mind,” he said. “The magazine sent the proof a few days back, but with all that was happening, I forgot.”
A few weeks ago, they had sat together in the private viewing room at the Daimsbury Trammell’s shop with a reporter from a glossy with a huge feminine readership. There had been a photographer along, who had snapped candid pics of the two of them as well as formal shots that were supposed to grace the article about Magnus’ initiative and how the fer
tility clinic was tying in with his family’s company outreach program. Thank goodness it had been scheduled a few days before her chemo cycle—she had looked rather human back then, and some makeup had done the trick.
“Hey, it’s even online on their site,” Elin said from where she had sat up with an iPad in her hands. “Getting a lot of hits, too.”
Megha blinked. What had they gotten involved in? All this had seemed like the right thing to do back when he’d approached her and after her terrible experience getting her eggs frozen. But had they really thought it through? She’d never pondered how this would shine a spotlight on her, on them.
Tindra was reading the article aloud, even changing her voice when she got to Magnus’ lines or hers. Drat, did she sound so much like a husky-toned but posh cow? People often told her she had the BBC accent, but if Tindra had coined her right, she should do something to change that, ASAP. She must sound horrible.
The further the girl read, the more Megha cringed. Because she had spewed empty platitudes and polite drivel throughout the conversation. There’d been the apprehension of the interview, yes, but she’d wanted to come across as calm and composed. She appeared nothing short of a robot now.
“You did good, you two,” Tindra finally said as she finished reading.
A snort escaped Megha.
Agneta smiled at her. “Not bad at all for a first time in front of the camera and that dreaded dragon. You’ll do better next time.”
Yes, there would be a next time. What had she gotten embroiled in? She wasn’t cut for this. The Trammells came into this world under the spotlight; they knew from their very first steps how to deal with being in the public eye.
“Ooh, wait. Someone’s commented on how chummy you and Magnus look, Megha,” Elin piped up, her head still directed towards the tablet, finger scrolling the screen. “And it’s getting picked up by other people, too.” She looked up then. “Something you two are not telling us?”
Megha blinked. Wait, what? She shook her head, suddenly too shy to glance at Magnus. He’d told her yesterday he was her friend, and that was just it. She might’ve yearned for something more at some point, but that’s what they were. Friends.
