Nothing could put that genie back into the bottle. But maybe it would tell him exactly how unacceptable she’d be as a royal if the pictures were ever leaked.
“Blackmailed over what, Anais? By whom?” The way he looked at her made it impossible to look away.
“I have nude photos. Out there. Someone else…has them.” The words came out broken, and just having to say them made her feel broken. “You can’t have those and be a princess without getting a blackmailer. That’s just a little fact of life I learned about ten months after we eloped. There’s no way to spin that into a fairy tale. Cinderella only had to overcome being the help. Not being incredibly stupid one regrettable night.”
“Ten months?” he repeated, his brow pinching as the cogs started clicking into place.
“Yes. Ten months. And for a whole month I tried.” The air had gone thin; she breathed too hard and had to swivel her eyes upward to keep the stinging tears from falling. “Never mind. Just accept that I have this, and he will come back. Now that you’ve done this, he’ll come back. He’s… He’s coming back.”
“Someone you were dating?” He wasn’t backing off.
“No. Kind of. I was a teenager. He was just a guy in my neighborhood.”
That answer took away some of the tension from his frame. “And?”
“And what?” She ducked from beneath his clamping hands, and darted across the room again. “He found me after we were married and demanded money or he’d sell the photos; he carried a huge grudge over some other things, and I didn’t know how to make him go away. At first I told him it would take me a while to get the money—and, considering the amount he wanted, he accepted that. I tried to work out how to fix it, and how to tell you, and I tried so many times, but it never worked. So, I left. Okay? I removed myself so at least if he did come out with them you’d be blameless. Because what could you do then? I’d already be gone and my leaving would’ve been good news to the people.”
Despite the wild look in his eyes, Quinn didn’t chase her this time—her first nod to hope. He got it, or he was getting it. “You never told me any of this.”
“I tried. Every time I brought up the terrible public outcry against my very existence, you’d change the subject or we’d end up naked.”
“Quinn, I’m being blackmailed,” he said. “That’s all you had to say to stop my coping mechanisms.”
“Oh, sure.” She stilled, the spike drilling down into the top of her head jabbing again. “Because that’s the way to make your new husband eager to feel helpful and protective. We didn’t talk about things. We didn’t. We played, we flirted, we teased, and we spent more time naked than we spent clothed together.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It doesn’t feel like one.”
He stopped the question with a wave of his hand. “Just give me his name. Where does he live?”
“Like we’ve been pen pals all this time? I don’t know where he is and won’t until he comes at me again. I don’t even know why he never sold the photos after I left without paying him. That whole first year away, I expected it to show up on my Internet alerts but it never did.”
Quinn crossed to her desk, picked up a pad and pen from the tidy top, and handed it to her. “Write down his name, approximate age, where he used to live, whatever you remember.”
“What are you going to do?” She took the pad, but didn’t yet start writing.
“I’m going to fight for my wife. You don’t need details, unless you’re worried I might hurt him.”
“I don’t care if you hurt him.” She wrote Wayne Ratliffe’s name, the address of his former dingy apartment around the corner to where she’d grown up, lingered briefly over the five-year age difference between them… Then handed the pad back to Quinn, unsure how to feel about it. He hadn’t gotten it yet; maybe he still needed to work through it. Until then, Quinn had access to people to handle these sorts of situations, she didn’t, and it would serve him and the family if this didn’t come out.
Even if those weren’t legit reasons to accept his help, it would do her sanity good—that prickling feeling that Wayne was waiting just around every corner had resurfaced the instant she’d learned they were still married and the world knew it.
Quinn ripped the top sheet off and set the pad back on the desk, then fished a small box from his pocket and set it on top of the paper.
Without asking or opening the box, she knew.
Engagement ring.
Another sinking in her stomach she’d have to ignore.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“ANAIS, HONEY, HE’S HERE, and he’s brought the whole brigade with him.”
Anais sucked in a deep breath and rose from the least comfortable and least wrinkle-inducing chair in her living room, and smoothed her hands over the pretty white eyelet lace dress she’d purchased yesterday for today’s outing with Quinn. “Do I look okay? I feel silly, wearing such a dress for a walk in the park.”
“You always look beautiful, and the sandals make it a little more sensible.”
“All that’s missing is a big floppy hat and oversized glasses,” she joked and leaned over to hug the worry out of her mother.
The squeeze she got in return bolstered her courage. It had only taken three days of constantly weighing Quinn’s proposal to decide there were more pros than cons. Mom’s worry was what finally made her come around. She couldn’t run again. Mom deserved to have her and her sister in her life. If the heart condition had frightened Anais enough to go to Philip for help, she’d find the courage to do whatever she had to do to stay.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can leave. Any country would be lucky to have a talented, caring doctor come to them.”
“I know, Mom.” She kissed her mother’s cheek, glad she’d kept her big list of reasons to herself. Mom’s heart reacted badly to stress; the situation already worried her enough she’d been popping in and out of rhythm since the press first showed up on their doorstep.
It would all be worth it to stay and keep her healthy; no matter what Mom said about leaving together, this was her home.
As long as Quinn could take care of Wayne.
“It’s going to be okay. Things might still change, but you know Quinn’s never been cruel to me. I’m going to play it by ear. You’re not going to have to leave home or Aunt Helen. Try not to worry, okay?”
She made some sound that both affirmed her intention to not worry while highlighting her disbelief that Anais thought it was possible not to.
The bell rang, Anais smoothed her hands over the cheerful princess dress again, and paused by the entrance table to eye the velvet box there. She still hadn’t opened it, and couldn’t even say why. After grabbing a small matching handbag, she carefully picked up the box as if it were rigged to explode, put it into her bag, and stepped out of the house and into Quinn.
Without missing a beat, he kissed her cheek and took her hand in his left, the usual way they’d held hands. “You look beautiful. I think I’m underdressed.”
Threats last time, charm today. And she’d ignore the heart flip that happened when he’d kissed her. The threat didn’t need to be forgotten; it was a reminder why she had to go with the flow until he caught up with her on the only sensible, peaceful way their lives could go. The one where he dumped her this time, and the media lost interest.
She stepped back far enough to get a look at him. The gray slacks he wore were obviously made for the man, crisp and lightweight but still tailored. His white button-down sat open at the collar, revealing the thick masculine neck that…said as much about his transition from boy to man as anything could. He’d gone from slim and lithe to broad and strong, and the definition in his neck made it clear to her how the rest of his body would reflect this strength.
“You look
great.” She didn’t comment on his freshly shaved jaw, the curls starting in the thick brown hair that had grown out of the neat military cut he would have worn since enlisting. Ignore that too; she didn’t need reminding of the boyish, carefree fop she’d always delighted in running her fingers through.
“Somehow that didn’t sound like a compliment,” he murmured, then looked at their joined hands, paused a beat, a measuring slant to his brow, then let go with his damaged hand and switched sides to link five fingers with her own.
“Why did you just switch sides?”
He squeezed her fingers with his whole hand and gave a little tug toward the cars, answering quietly. “It looks better, draws attention away from the imperfect, messy parts. And I thought you might prefer it.”
“You seriously think I feel revulsion for your injury?” She could buy him wanting things to appear perfect—a walk through the city’s largest green space on a sunny summer afternoon would yield photos of some kind—but his suggestion she’d feel disdain over his missing fingers made her stomach turn heavy and she couldn’t keep the annoyance at bay. “I work with amputees—”
“I didn’t soften the situation for you when I told you,” he cut in, his voice staying low despite there being no one near enough to hear them. She had to remind herself he’d probably never considered how she’d faced his injury. He continued when they’d settled in the back seat, “I did for everyone else. Only you, me and Ben know how that went. The rest of the world, including the current and future king, believe the fingers cleanly came off and we just had to bandage it up and carry on.”
Talking about it hurt. So did thinking about it.
Unable to stop herself, Anais reached for his left hand and clasped it in both of hers, suddenly needing him to really know that the only negative she felt about it was that he’d gone through it and that her ring had probably made it worse. “You don’t trust me, so why did you tell me a truth you don’t want known?”
“Anger.” He turned his hand in hers and gripped, strong but not hard, dexterous control as good as she could hope for anyone. “You were too calm, and inside I was boiling.”
She’d looked calm? Every part of her had been shaking, but maybe fear and regret could be hidden better than rage. Arguing her state at the time wouldn’t do anything for them, so she just let silence fall as he gave orders to the driver and the black sedan entourage pulled onto the quiet street.
He’d hurt, and he’d wanted to hurt her too so he’d lashed out, lending weight to the notion he could strike at her again if she refused him now.
Where could this kind of marriage leave them in ten years? After children? After their volatile passion had run its course?
There’d been no one since him, and he’d said the same. Seven years of celibacy was a long time. Felt like some version of love, maybe…if he truly could become involved, if he was going to help with Wayne because he wanted her safe more than the idea of it ruining his plan to undo that black mark that divorce left on his royal record.
She retrieved the ring from her handbag and handed the box to him. “Should I wear this?”
“Do you like it?” Quinn asked, a tone in his voice hinting how important it was for her to say yes. “If you’d prefer a different ring…we can make that happen.”
“I haven’t looked at it,” she admitted, keeping her hand flat for him with the box sitting on her palm until he took it.
Whatever he thought about that, he opened the box and presented the ring to her.
Anais had expected ostentatious, to feel self-conscious about the size of the stone—Quinn’s way always involved big gestures—but she hadn’t expected to feel. Or the way the air became so thin.
She hadn’t expected a blue-green stone, hadn’t even known such a stone existed. Large, yes, but not horrifying. And there were two additional but smaller princess-cut diamonds flanking it in a platinum band so delicate it didn’t look strong enough to support the gems.
Heartbreakingly beautiful.
“It matches your eyes,” he offered softly, and the ring bomb went off as he plucked it from the velvet pillows and slid it onto her finger.
Eyes burning, she took a slow breath then clamped her mouth shut to stop her lower lip trembling.
A beautiful ring shouldn’t make this harder; she wasn’t that person. She’d never cared about that stuff.
Another breath as she felt her hand fist, keeping the ring from moving, keeping her from gazing at it as if she were star-struck. “Sapphire?”
Please be a sapphire.
“Alexandrite.”
A stone she hadn’t even heard of. Probably magnificently rare and jimmied off some ancient crown or necklace, one bit of the family jewels to show how serious he was.
“New?”
“Seven years old.” He turned her chin toward him, leaned in and kissed her mouth lightly; again her lip trembled. “Can I infer you like it?”
“Seven years?”
“It was an anniversary present.”
Pow.
“It’s beautiful.” She swallowed, cursing herself for how dejected she sounded over being given a magnificent ring.
He’d kept it the whole time. He’d picked it out when they were still together. An engagement ring, for the engagement they’d never had.
Damn him.
The weight of it all drowned out everything ricocheting through her mind, and Quinn let her drift into silence until they got to the park. He kept her hand; his thumb brushed her finger, slightly moving the ring this way and that, playing havoc with her emotions.
No threats, just charm, sweetness and romance. She’d almost prefer the angry man who’d trapped her into this arrangement to this shimmer of who she’d fallen so hard for that she’d let herself live in the fantasy that she could ever fit into his world. She’d found a place in the medical world, more than she’d ever found anywhere, including where she’d grown up and those first seventeen years of never fitting in.
The car pulled into the park and Quinn helped her from the back. Taking his place again on her left where he could hold her ringed hand in his whole hand, guiding her down a cobblestone path through the trees ringing a large meadow and central pond.
The security detail walked several meters behind, close enough to respond quickly in case of emergency, but far enough for a modicum of privacy. About the same distance ahead of them, another couple walked, blissfully unaware through the cool afternoon shade of the silver birch trees.
“Have you had any luck tracking down Wayne?” She opted for a shorthand, normalized manner to ask about the bane of her adult existence. The horrified delight she still felt from the ring needed countering.
“Yes, but I haven’t met with him yet,” Quinn answered, his voice so quiet and sedate she had to look at him to work out whether to attach positive or negative meaning to his words.
Nothing. Just calm.
“Have you contacted him?”
“Not yet.” He released her hand, stepped around to the side he preferred and wrapped his arm around her waist instead, anchoring her to him.
In the cool shade, his body pressed heat against her skin. No, not heat. Warmth. A sense of security despite the lack of movement on Wayne. “Why not?”
“He’s not in a position to cause damage right now. We have some time.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s incarcerated,” Quinn answered, the calm in his voice fracturing briefly with a note of disdain. “Solitary confinement for another few days. He attacked a guard.”
Jail? That shouldn’t shock her. Blackmail wasn’t the man’s only crime. “What did the police get him for?”
Giving a minor alcohol?
Inappropriate contact with a minor?
Talking a drunken teen into nudie shots?
Even though Anais knew she was smart, she’d still had her thinking corrupted by the desire to belong somewhere…to someone. So her crime was worse than other girls he’d just tricked. She’d known better and done it anyway.
“I’m having his record sent over tonight but, with what I’ve learned, he sounds like a great guy. Do me a favor and don’t tell me how you ever dated with someone like that.”
Dated. They’d never dated. The implication caused her to bristle, even though she was supposed to want Quinn to be coming to exactly this kind of conclusion—the one that would lead to him thinking her not suitable for the royal family.
This was her opening to tell him the truth—pathetic and tired after a childhood of bullying and verbal abuse, she’d walked herself right off the cliff and was still falling. To point out the way it mirrored her decision-making when she and Quinn had eloped. Willful ignorance, ridiculous self-deception.
“We’ve all been stupid teenagers once.”
The words refused to come.
“Once I know what he’s been convicted of, and if there has been any previous incarceration, I’ll know how to approach him.”
All sensible. And surprisingly proactive, but too new a character trait to trust. “Please keep me in the loop. I need to be involved in this. To know what’s going on.”
“I’m handling it.” He didn’t sound angry, even leaned over to brush his lips against her temple. The couple ahead of them had finally noticed who walked behind them and now had a cellphone out. “You wanted me to help with it before.”
“I did. I do,” she whispered, smiling at the couple, still several meters away, then leaned up to kiss his cheek in return. Because it felt as if he’d kissed her head as part of his PR thing. “I trust you to handle it. It’s just been eating at me for so long; being afraid of it, of him, is hard-wired.”
The quiet confession earned her a longer look, a spike of irritation in his eyes. “I’ll fix it. I’m used to storming barriers.” This should be seen as a romantic walk with sweet touches, and she really hoped the cameras didn’t pick up the quiet, tense conversation. All they needed was a video to deal with.
Midwife's Longed-for Baby & the Prince's Cinderella Bride & Bride for the Single Dad (9781488022142) Page 25
