One Night Before The Royal Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘I’m interested to know what’s making you bite your lip as if you have all the cares of the world on your shoulders.’

  Imprisoned in the grey spotlight of his narrowed eyes, Zabrina hesitated. Should she tell him what she’d been thinking? This was to be nothing but a marriage of ‘convenience’, which presumably meant they could keep things on a very superficial level. But what was the point of keeping everything buttoned up inside her? Wasn’t one of the benefits of a live-in relationship supposed to be that you were at liberty to confide in your partner? And surely it would be good to talk to someone who might actually listen, rather than her mother—on whose deaf ears Zabrina’s concerns had always fallen, so that she’d given up expressing her fears a long time ago.

  ‘If you must know, I admire your ambitious plans about a region which has lain neglected for so long...’

  ‘But? I suspect there’s a “but” coming?’

  ‘I guess I’m also slightly frustrated that my country didn’t think of doing it first.’

  ‘Either nobody considered it, or they didn’t have the wherewithal to carry it out. Presumably the latter.’ He looked at her with a steady gaze. ‘It usually boils down to hard finance, Zabrina.’

  ‘I know it does.’ She puffed out an unsteady breath. ‘I suppose I’m also concerned about the amount of money you’re paying for the land. And for me,’ she finished drily.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t think it’s enough?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘Nobody in the world could think that. It’s an extremely generous amount of money. I’m more worried about what’s going to happen to it when it lands in my father’s bank account.’

  ‘He could spend it wisely. Make sure it’s ploughed back into the country.’ He gave a shrug. ‘You know. Invest in some new infrastructure.’

  Zabrina could feel her cheeks colour as she wondered whether it might be wise to close the subject down. Anyone who had been to Albastase knew it was getting very frayed around the edges, but few people knew just how inept the King was at managing finances. Sometimes she wished this money had been transferred directly to the government, bypassing the royal coffers, giving him little opportunity to fritter it away—but she could hardly denounce her own father.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You don’t sound very convinced.’

  She had obviously failed to inject a tone of enthusiasm into her voice but Roman’s perception surprised her. She hadn’t thought of him as a student of nuance. Just as she hadn’t expected him to continue to regard her with what looked like genuine interest.

  And somehow she started telling him about it. Stuff which she never talked about with her family, because there had been no point. Her mother could not or would not act, her sisters were too young and uninterested and her brother... Zabrina swallowed. Her brother was already having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that one day he would be King and she didn’t want to be the one to add to those concerns. They had been like the family of someone with an unacknowledged drinking problem...as if by ignoring it, the problem would somehow go away.

  ‘My father can sometimes be...extravagant.’

  ‘That is surely one of the perks of being a king.’

  Her jaw worked and somehow all her fears about leaving everyone back home to fend for themselves came tumbling out. ‘No. This is more than having a garage full of fancy cars, or a fleet of racehorses which he keeps overseas.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ he said wryly. ‘Or I might find myself the subject of your obvious disapproval.’

  She shook her head slightly impatiently. ‘It’s more than extravagance. He’s surrounded by a coterie of stupid advisors and the trouble is that he listens to them. They keep getting him to invest in their friends’ supposedly amazing business schemes, only they never quite work out the way they’re supposed to and he gets his fingers burned. Every time.’

  ‘Then one has to ask the question as to why he keeps doing it,’ said Roman coolly. ‘Don’t they say that the definition of madness is to keep repeating the same mistake, over and over again?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t believe in his own fallibility and when it happens, he needs something to reassure him that he’s as clever as he thinks he is,’ said Zabrina quietly. ‘Which is why, after every failure, he grabs at that guaranteed age-old ego boost so beloved of men.’ And wasn’t it crazy that she still felt a sense of guilt as she admitted the truth to the man she was soon to marry, as if she were wrong to criticise her own father. Yet in the midst of all these misgivings, it felt a huge relief to be able to confide in him like this.

  ‘And you’re worried because your country is gradually being run down?’ Roman questioned.

  ‘Of course I am. But I’m more worried that by the time my brother Alexandru inherits, there won’t be anything left. He’s a delicate young man,’ she whispered. ‘And super-sensitive. I’d hate for him to take on the burden of kingship if he was also saddled by an enormous debt!’ she finished, her lips wobbling a little with the impact of expressing all that usually bottled-up emotion. She looked into the King’s face but, as usual, its cool impassiveness gave nothing away.

  Instead he raised his fingers and the servant brought him another cup of coffee, before Roman indicated he should leave—signalling that this breakfast might go on longer than anticipated. And that surprised Zabrina, because usually these meal times were strictly regulated and chaperoned—as if the man she was to marry couldn’t bear to be alone in her company a second more than he needed to.

  ‘I can understand that,’ he said slowly. ‘But now you’ve triggered my interest.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He lifted his gaze to hers. ‘What exactly is the age-old ego boost your father always resorts to?’

  She guessed they’d always needed to have this discussion, so why not now, even though it wasn’t really the kind of thing she’d ever imagined discussing calmly over the muesli? Because Roman was a king and what she was about to talk about was what all kings did. It came with the territory and she was surprised he even needed to ask.

  ‘Affairs,’ she said simply. ‘He has affairs.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROMAN STUDIED ZABRINA’S expression with a curiosity he didn’t bother to hide, because something about the calm acceptance he read there surprised him. ‘Explain,’ he clipped out. ‘About your father’s affairs.’

  She shrugged with studied carelessness, but he didn’t miss the fleeting look of apprehension which crossed her eyes.

  ‘They usually come about as a reaction to one of his disastrous business investments,’ she began slowly. ‘You see, he loses huge amounts of money and promises himself it will never happen again.’ She stared at the pink roses in the vase at the centre of the table, before lifting her gaze to his again. ‘But in the meantime he needs something to make him feel better—to take his mind off what he’s done. And women can do that. They can fill that emotional hole—just like a drink or an unnecessary plate of food. And, of course, he’s a king. So he can do what the hell he likes.’

  ‘Isn’t that a rather sweeping generalisation?’

  She laughed. A sound he had heard only infrequently and usually he was forced to steel himself against its soft lure, but now it was edged with the hard ring of cynicism.

  ‘I’m only basing my comments on experience, Roman.’

  ‘Of observing your father, you mean?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not just that. Don’t forget my mother is a princess herself and she and her sisters all married monarchs and, according to her, they have all “strayed”. I always thought that was a funny expression to use,’ she added reflectively. ‘It reminds me of a horse or a cow somehow managing to get out of its enclosure.’

  He guessed that was supposed to be a joke but the brittl
e note in her voice suggested she wasn’t as comfortable with the subject as she wanted him to think.

  ‘So your mother just accepted this state of affairs, if you’ll excuse the pun?’

  She didn’t laugh, just shrugged. ‘In a way. She said it was easier to accept than to constantly rail against something she couldn’t change. She told me that husbands always returned—eventually. Especially if there was a calm and non-accusatory welcome for them to come back to. And especially if there were children involved.’

  He felt the chill of something dark. The indelible shadow of his childhood making itself known without warning. His heart clenched with pain but he was practised enough to be able to eject the thought and corresponding emotion as far from his mind as possible, and to continue to subject Zabrina to a steady stare instead. ‘And what about wives?’ he questioned softly. ‘Do they also stray?’

  Either she was genuinely shocked by his question or she was a superb actress, for her lips fell open and she frowned.

  ‘Well, no. She never did.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because men are different.’

  ‘In other ways than anatomically, you mean?’ he challenged, disproportionately pleased to see the blush which made her cheeks colour so thoroughly.

  She glared. ‘That’s not funny. It’s a biological thing, or so my mother always said. I’m not saying that infidelity is necessarily a good idea—more that it’s understandable. Nature’s way of ensuring the human race continues, because men—’

  ‘I get the idea, Zabrina. There’s no need to spell it out,’ he interrupted drily, taking a final sip of coffee before pushing his cup away. ‘So will your extremely liberal views on fidelity impact on our own marriage?’

  She paused. For effect, Roman suspected, more than anything else. Because surely she must have given this subject some consideration in the light of her own experience.

  ‘This is a duty marriage,’ she said at last. ‘And I don’t have any unrealistic expectations about that side of it. I know that men often get bored when they have been intimate with one woman for any length of time, and that they crave new excitement.’

  ‘Who the hell told you that?’

  ‘My mother. She’s a very practical person.’

  Roman thought these views cynical rather than practical, but he didn’t say so. ‘I see.’

  ‘What’s important to me is providing a secure base for the family we both hope to have.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, at least,’ he said and maybe some of his own cynicism had become apparent because she shot him a quick and rather worried look.

  ‘You do want a family?’ she verified. ‘I mean, I know we touched on it on the train—’

  ‘We did a lot of touching on the train, Zabrina.’

  ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘I wish I could forget that trip.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said, with more force than he had intended.

  ‘All I ask...’

  He could see her throat constricting and she appeared to be conducting a struggle to find the right words. ‘Don’t upset yourself,’ he said, with a sudden wave of empathy which surprised him. ‘We don’t have to talk about this right now.’

  ‘But we do. We need to get all these things out of the way. All I ask,’ she continued stolidly, ‘is that you’re discreet—both before, during and after any affair you may choose to have. That you don’t rub my face in it.’

  ‘This is extraordinary,’ he breathed, raking his fingers back through his shorn hair which, thankfully, was beginning to grow a little. ‘You’re basically giving me carte blanche to be unfaithful?’

  She didn’t appear to be listening, for her gaze was locked to the movement of his hand and he found himself remembering the way she had pressed her fingers into his scalp when she’d been coming, crying out something softly in her own language. He wondered if she had been remembering it too. Hell. Why think about that now? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, thankful that the sudden jerk of his erection was concealed by the snowy fall of the tablecloth. But his thoughts quickly shifted from desire to evaluation. He tried to imagine how other men in his position would react if confronted with the astounding fact that their wife-to-be was prepared to look the other way, if he were ever unfaithful. But her words gave him no heady rush of freedom or anticipation—in fact, his overriding feeling was one of indignation and a slowly simmering anger.

  ‘Why, Zabrina?’ he demanded. ‘Are you planning to do the same? To take other men as your lovers and expect me to be understanding in turn?’

  ‘Of course not! If you want the truth, I can’t imagine ever wanting any other man but you.’

  He sat back in his chair, surprised by her candour. This wasn’t the first time this particular sentiment had been expressed to him by a woman—yet instead of his usual irritation he found himself ridiculously pleased by her sweet honesty. ‘I see,’ he said, again.

  ‘Obviously I would prefer our marriage to be monogamous, because I’ve seen the havoc these affairs can wreak. I’ve seen the damage they can inflict on a couple’s relationship.’ She tore off a fragment of croissant and lifted it to her mouth before seeming to change her mind and putting it back down on the plate again. Her eyes were very dark and very direct. ‘And since we’re on the subject. You haven’t told me anything about your own parents.’

  Instantly he was on the defensive. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. It’s all on the record, as I’m sure you know. I imagine you’ve seen it for yourself.’ Roman could feel his throat thicken and cursed the pain one woman’s desertion could still cause him. No wonder he never talked about it. No wonder he had closed his mind to it a long time ago. ‘My mother left when I was three years old and I never saw her again,’ he said baldly. ‘My father never remarried.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But what?’ he interrupted, forcing all the bitter emotion from his words and replacing it with a tone of cool finality. He reminded himself that this was a conversation they needed to have only once and he could make it as short as he wanted. ‘Those are the facts, Zabrina. I’ve never gone in for analysis and I don’t intend to start now.’ He stared down at the inky brew in his coffee cup before lifting his gaze to hers. ‘And since we’re being so remarkably frank, there’s something else we should address. I think we both need to know where we stand on the subject of divorce, don’t you?’

  Zabrina grew still as his words filtered across the table towards her, stabbing at her like little arrows. She should have been prepared for this question but, stupidly, she wasn’t and as a result she found herself filled with another rush of uncertainty. Had she thought that if she was so reasonable on the subject of fidelity, Roman might declare she would be his wife for life? And wasn’t there some inexplicable part of her which wanted that—because while she might feel unsettled around him, weirdly she felt really safe? As if Roman could protect her from some of the terrors of the world. That as long as he was by her side, nothing really bad could happen.

  Why think something as irrational as that?

  She stared at the sunny gleam of her half-eaten mango, trying to work out what had changed inside her, but it was difficult to put her finger on, mainly because she didn’t understand the softening of her feelings towards the man she was soon to marry. It wasn’t just the amazing sex they’d shared on the train—although that had obviously been the most incredible thing which had ever happened to her. It was more to do with his subsequent behaviour and the conversations they shared whenever they took their meals together. He spoke to her as if she were his equal. She realised that sometimes Roman could seem as sympathetic as ‘Constantin’ had been. He made her feel as if her views counted. As if she was an intelligent person worthy of consideration. And nobody had ever done that before.

  But that didn�
��t mean she should allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security, because, although his attitude towards her might sometimes be sympathetic, his feelings hadn’t changed. He didn’t have feelings towards her, remember? Of course he would wish to address the subject of divorce, because it was relevant. This wasn’t an emotional discussion, she reminded herself, but a practical one. They were a modern monarchy and there wasn’t a royal family in the world which hadn’t been affected by marital breakdown. Divorce no longer held any real stigma—other than the devastating heartbreak her auntie had told her about after she’d gone through it herself. Perhaps that was what had made her mother so determined to hang onto her own marriage, no matter what. And surely she couldn’t be condemned for that.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, meeting the question in his eyes, ‘but I would prefer to avoid divorce, especially if there are children involved. Though obviously,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘if circumstances were to change—’

  ‘In what sense?’ he questioned coolly.

  The words were threatening to stick in the back of her throat, so that each one felt as if it had been coated with tar. ‘If, say, you were to meet another woman,’ she began. ‘And to fall in love with her. Then obviously I wouldn’t stand in your way, if you wanted to end the marriage.’

  His face was shuttered. ‘How very understanding of you, Zabrina. I had no idea I was marrying such a libertarian.’

  ‘Why, what would you prefer me to do?’ she demanded. ‘Display an undignified rage and rake your cheeks with my fingernails?’

  ‘Honestly?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Right now what I would prefer you to do involves being locked in my arms.’

  But it was less of a question and more of a statement and the short silence which followed was broken by the smooth glide of his chair against the marble floor. Zabrina’s heart began to thunder and she felt the curl of excitement low in her belly as he rose to his feet.

  ‘Roman,’ she said—and this too was a statement, because he was walking around the table towards her, moving with a natural grace and stealth which was incredible to watch, and the look of intent on his sensual features cried out to something deep inside her. Something which scared and excited her. She tried to bat the feelings away but somehow it wasn’t working. Beneath her silk dress, she could feel her nipples tightening into hard buds and surely he must be able to see that too? There was a syrupy tug in her belly and suddenly she longed for him to touch her there. She swallowed and felt her cheeks colour. Yes, there—where the aching was at its most intense. Did he see her blush? Was that why his lips curved into that seeking smile?