Be well.
Timothy Keller
How very like her father. Brusque and to the point. No emotion. Not for her. Not for her mother. Not for anyone or anything. The most emotion she’d ever seen from him had been relief when he told her the marriage contract had been signed.
Without her knowledge or consent.
But what was done was done.
She set the note to the side, but didn’t pick up the envelope from her mother. The first stack of papers was the thickest of the stacks and contained her parents’ application to the adoption agency. There, under medical information, was the answer to one question.
Why her parents couldn’t have children.
Her mother had a car accident as a teenager, resulting in a hysterectomy as an adult. No more details about why it took so long after the accident for her to have the surgery. Perhaps complications that didn’t arise until after she got married and wanted children?
Maybe more of her mother’s medical records would shed light on things, but those would be at the house, if they were anywhere.
Jessabelle continued to look through the application. Nothing much surprised her. Perhaps the income her mother had made before choosing to stay home after they adopted her. She did notice her mother had filled out the entire form. The only handwriting of her father’s was his signature.
The next paper packet was the information about her. Very little to go on. Her birthdate. Not even the name of the hospital, though given that she seemed to have been born in Erres, it would limit the choices to only two or three. At least, the yellow sticky note on top indicated her mother believed she’d been born in Mevendia’s capital city.
Another sheet indicated only the birth mother had been involved in the adoption. There was no mention of the birth father or if the mother had known who he was.
Jessabelle continued looking through the pages, struggling to grasp what it all meant. By the time Malachi returned from his run and the shower started, she’d determined only one thing.
She wanted to know more.
Chapter 13
When Malachi emerged from the closet, redressed in presentable clothes, Jessabelle had left their bedroom. On her desk, he noted the manila envelope and the adoption paperwork scattered across it. Good. Maybe she’d find the answers she needed.
His cell phone buzzed again. After ignoring it for more than an hour, he knew he’d eventually have to talk to his father.
Groaning, he pulled it out of his pocket. “Hello?”
“I thought I said to be discreet.”
“Good to hear your voice, too, Dad. And there’s nothing to be discreet about. There is nothing between me and Lizbeth that would require discretion.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No, but it’s the truth. And I told her there was never any expectation that she and I would end up together. Her father and my father are friends. We serve together on several charity committees. We attended a few functions together out of convenience. I never held her hand. I never kissed her. I never gave her any indication there was more than friendship between us. If you or Mother indicated more to her family, I had nothing to do with it.”
“I never said anything to her father about a potential marriage agreement between you two.”
“Good.”
His father seemed to be thinking out loud without realizing it. “Though I suppose there was one conversation, one time, where we joked about it. That was years ago.” He seemed to shake himself out of it. “Regardless, be more discreet and, whatever you do, don’t get her pregnant, especially before your wife has a child.”
Malachi’s head began to spin from the different directions his father kept heading. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to get close enough to my wife for her to have a child. But I’m not cheating on her. There is less than no chance Lizbeth will ever have my child. I really wish you would stop encouraging me to cheat on my wife.”
“I have to go. Just be careful.” The line clicked dead.
Malachi stuck the phone back in his pocket and headed for his office. The upcoming fundraiser for Adoption Option needed more of his attention than it had been getting. The next three hours were spent on the phone with potential sponsors. By the time he left his office for dinner, things were coming together nicely.
Malachi had hoped dinner with Jessabelle would become a highlight of his day, and he did enjoy spending the time with her, but since her father’s death, she’d done little except push food around on her plate.
“How are you?” He needed to try to get the conversation going.
She shrugged. “About like you’d expect, I guess. My father just died. I just gave the most hideous speech in the history of the royal family. I would imagine your father will have something to say about it sooner or later. Your mother, too. They’re probably wondering what they were thinking agreeing to my father’s insistence on a marriage contract but very glad I won’t be the next queen. They’re also wondering if you’re going to be discreet with Lizbeth or if you’ll get her pregnant before me, thereby allowing you to set me aside and marry her.”
He started to protest but she held up her hand without looking at him. “I’m not saying you’re having an affair. I’m saying that’s what they’re thinking.”
At least that was something. She believed him - or appeared to. She was the only one, it seemed, but he didn’t know what he could do about that.
* * *
Jessabelle doubted anyone had ever been so glad to clean out a cluttered house. She would have preferred to stay at her new home and avoid the paparazzi all together. Malachi offered to help her, but she’d turned down his repeated offers. Instead, she braved the dozen or so reporters and photographers by herself every day. They waited at the main palace gates as well as outside her father’s home. They were there when she arrived and still there when she left. Daily, photos of her appeared on the tabloid sites, along with speculation of trouble in her marriage. Most of the pictures were taken as she climbed out of the chauffeured car and walked into the house. A few were taken through windows until she realized what was happening and closed the drapes. She always wore a ball cap and big sunglasses in an effort to remain as hidden as possible.
When she emerged in the evenings, she was often dusty and disheveled, but she didn’t care enough to freshen up before leaving. The king probably had some thoughts on the matter, but so far he’d kept them to himself.
The prospect of being done pleased her, but once it had all been taken care of she would have no more excuses for not playing a fuller role in the royal family. Her absence at charity functions had already been noted, along with scathing comments about why the family might not want her to attend. The tabloids wanted it both ways, it seemed. They wanted her to attend so they could lambaste her some more, but when she didn’t they ripped her to shreds for that. If she cared enough, she might have figured out a way to get the press to like her a bit more, but, for the moment at least, she didn’t.
At least not until Malachi brought it up.
They sat across from each other at the large dining room table in their apartment when he broached the subject.
“Jessabelle, there’s something we need to talk about.”
She didn’t reply. They’d been married over a month, and he still intimidated her. Instead, she pushed her food around her plate in an effort to make it look like she’d been eating.
“I know this has been difficult for you. I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
No matter how she tried to make herself lay still and not bother him in their shared bed, she must not have been as successful as she thought.
“But my father is insisting that you need to do more public appearances.” Through her lashes, Jessabelle saw him sigh and lean back in his chair. “He wants you doing at least one a day. I fought him on that as hard as I could. He agreed to back off for now if you’d do at least two or three a week. I can be with you at most of them and will do m
y best to make sure you’re not asked to speak. The first, non-negotiable event, is Tuesday.”
She pushed a piece of tomato toward the edge of her plate, turning his words over and over in her head.
“Are you going to say something?” Her tomato had made it all the way around the circumference of her plate.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Are you okay with this?”
She traded the tomato for a piece of something green to push around instead. “Do I have a choice?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then what is there to say?”
Even without looking, she could tell he stifled a sigh. “I’ll make sure the details are in your tablet.”
“Thanks.”
“It’ll be mid-morning so if you want to go to your father’s house afterward, you’ll have time to get some work done before dinner.”
Her head shot up. “Dinner?” They didn’t normally have special dinner plans. They ate together at whatever time was convenient for Malachi. His schedule was much busier than hers, after all. She worked at the house until she was told it was time to go, usually about an hour before they ate. She had time to return to the palace and take a quick shower in one of the spare bathrooms. By doing so, she ran less risk of running into Prince Malachi when she was only half-dressed. He would never intentionally walk in on her, but it gave her more peace of mind. Then they ate dinner together.
Malachi took a sip of his wine. “We have dinner Tuesday night with my family, remember?”
Right. The obligatory once weekly dinner she’d managed to avoid by working at her father’s house. “I remember.” It seemed that accidentally working late again wouldn’t happen.
“I know you’re not crazy about it. I’m not either. I know how trying my family can be. But at least it’s not just my immediate family.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope. My great-grandmother will be there. She’s always there unless she’s feeling poorly. My grandmother will be there, as well. Usually some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins are there. Occasionally, great-aunts or great-uncles and assorted progeny come as well.”
Great. In some ways, it would be better than just his immediate family. More people meant less undivided attention focused directly on her. More people also meant more potential interrogators.
She’d already heard the king’s mother wonder when they were going to have children, a statement Jessabelle knew she was supposed to overhear.
“I’ll be there,” Jessabelle assured him.
“I know you will.”
Opposite the large opening to the living area was the sole door into the dining room. It came from the offices where Malachi conducted business. She supposed she would be required to furnish and occupy the other one in the near future. It was the only direct connection between the offices and the living quarters. Two quick raps sounded on the door before it was opened by Malachi’s assistant.
“My apologies for disturbing your dinner, sir, but you have a phone call regarding a somewhat pressing matter.”
Prince Malachi wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and tossed it on the table. “I will see you later this evening, Jessabelle. Thank you for not raising a fuss.”
And he left.
Jessabelle slumped back in her seat. Not raising a fuss? She had never raised a fuss about anything in her life. Not even when the king insisted on changing some of the funeral arrangements she’d made in accordance with her father’s last wishes. Nothing major. The order the songs were played. The kind of flowers on the stage. Little things, but it still annoyed her.
And she hadn’t said a thing. Not even to her husband. He probably wouldn’t be happy to know that either.
Pushing back from the table, she was grateful for the reprieve from his scrutiny. She rinsed her dish before putting it in the dishwasher herself. No need for anyone to know how little she’d actually eaten.
She found herself in the other bedroom and decided it was time to curl up in a chair with a good book. She’d never told anyone, not even her father, about her e-reader and the copious amounts of books on it. She’d taken the allowance her father had given her and saved up until she could buy an old one from one of her teachers. She put money onto a gift card to use online to buy the books. Without good internet access at the house, she had depended on free Wi-Fi at local libraries and coffee shops to download the books she wanted.
It became her escape into a world that didn’t require her to be social on any level, even with her only surviving family member. Instead, she chose to fight dragons, and settle the American West, and hopped aboard a seemingly doomed flight to Mars. Her reading taste, though limited to Inspirational or “clean” fiction, was surprisingly eclectic. With a blanket pulled around her to ward off the chill that came from a large stone building and a room with an unlit fireplace, she turned her e-reader on and decided, this time, she would go to small town USA. The Goose Harbor books were written by Jessica Keller, and the similarity in their names had first drawn Jessabelle to them. Once immersed, she found herself wishing it wasn’t a purely fictional town.
This time, though, the fictional Goose Harbor firefighter, no matter how fabulous he was, couldn’t hold Jessabelle’s attention. Instead, she found herself staring out the one window that didn’t have the curtains drawn. Before long, she didn’t fight it but let the weariness overtake her, and she slept.
Chapter 14
Malachi pinched the bridge of his nose. One more worry he didn’t need. “Fine. Put it on the calendar.” One more worthy charity. One more dinner. One more speech. One more thing he wasn’t passionate about.
The charities his family supported were all worthy ones, but that didn’t mean he was excited about any of them.
“Anything else this evening, sir?”
Malachi looked up to see Carson holding his now-closed notepad. “No. That’s it as far as I know.”
“Your suit is on the hook. There are three shirt and tie combinations for you to choose from.”
“Great.” Malachi stood and itched to stretch his back, but a prince didn’t stretch in front of others.
Carson turned his tablet back on and tapped a couple of times. “There are three dresses set out for the princess. They match your shirt and tie combinations. It would be best if the two of you coordinated.”
“I’ll discuss it with her.” If the dinner conversation was any indication, she would nod and do whatever he asked of her. Not what he wanted in a wife, but what he had for now.
Carson left using the outer door to the office suite. Malachi went straight to the dining room. It didn’t surprise him to see Jessabelle had cleaned up the meal. Though he’d reminded her repeatedly that palace staff were employed to do just that, she continued to do things herself. She never stood up to him, never said, “I’m fully capable of doing the dishes.” She just did them anyway when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes even after he went to get ready for bed, she’d come out and clean up.
The apartment was surprisingly dark. Only a couple of lights were on, just enough to see to get to their room. Malachi steeled himself before going in, knowing they would have to talk about clothes for tomorrow. His nervous anticipation turned to confusion when his wife was nowhere to be found. He pulled out his phone to call hers, but when it rang, he found it lying on her side table. It took him several minutes of wandering around and calling to her, but he finally found her asleep in a chair in another bedroom.
It confused him, but he’d realized she often freshened up in another room. He crouched at her side, smiling at the peaceful look on her face. He picked up the device on her lap and noticed it was a dedicated e-reader. He’d need to have the tech guys make sure it was safe. It likely hadn’t even occurred to his wife that she’d need to.
He set it on the side table and decided to carry her to bed. He lifted her easily into his arms and carried her into their room. She seemed to wake slightly as he set her down, but he couldn’t underst
and her murmurs. Instead, he pulled a quilt over her shoulders and let her rest. They could talk clothes in the morning.
But when Malachi woke, she was already gone, leaving a note on his side table. She needed to run an unspecified errand and would meet him in a couple of hours. All right. That could work. He checked the closet to see which dress she’d chosen only to realize all three were still hanging there.
He called Carson to see if she was planning to return to the palace and change or if he needed to resort to plan B. Then they needed to come up with plan B.
After a quick shower and even faster breakfast, he spent some time in the office. His father was pressuring him to have an actual career using his business degree. Malachi wanted to, but he hadn’t found the right project yet.
At ten-thirty, he arrived at the Mevendian History Museum praying everything would go as well as his father hoped. Lizbeth wasn’t scheduled to attend, so it couldn’t go any worse than that last one.
Malachi waved to the bystanders as he walked into the building. A text from Carson said Jessabelle would be arriving in a few minutes so he decided to wait in the anteroom nearest the door.
“Prince Malachi!”
Malachi turned to see an old school friend walking his way. “Robert.” They shook hands. “It is good to see you.”
“You, too. Is your wife here?” Robert looked around. “I was told she would be.”
“She’s on her way.”
“Did you really not even meet her until she walked down the aisle?”
“You know the law.” Everyone did.
“It doesn’t say you can’t meet the girl. It doesn’t even say you can’t basically arrange your own marriage.”
“Yeah. Well.” And that was all he had to say about that.
“It’s going well then?” Robert pressed.
“Very. As long as no one asks her to speak when she’s not ready.” He shot a sideways glare at his friend. Robert hadn’t been the one to ask her to speak, but he’d been part of the decision making process.
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