Page 25 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

She signalled instantly to Arne, the stick-in-the-mud courtier who had been directing the schedule all evening.

The man hastened to her side and bent low. ‘Your Majesty? How can I assist you?’

‘Arne, myself and Mr Lord would like to repair to our private quarters now,’ she said.

Hang on a minute... They werebothleaving?

Her face had gone the same shade as the beets his mom had once badgered him to eat. He’d hated them then, but he was liking them a lot more now.

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Your Majesty, the event schedule does not conclude until—’ the guy began stiffly.

Travis’s temper spiked. ‘Forget it, Arne,’ he interrupted. ‘We’re out of here.’

Arne went scarlet, but then bowed. ‘Yes, certainly, Your Highness. I will make the necessary arrangements immediately.’

Your Highness?

He cringed, uncomfortable with the form of address all the staff had been using since the wedding.

Arne the stickler backed off—then began directing traffic to facilitate a speedy exit. It took less than ten to get the go-ahead, because Arne was nothing if not efficient.

Travis escorted Isabelle from the banqueting hall—through the throng of people giving them a standing ovation and sending them looks that suggested they knew exactly why they weren’t hanging around.

But as they left the hall, Travis could feel her trembling under his guiding hand. Leaving him wondering again, what was going on?

Had the corset comment been a come-on or not?

Did she want him to strip it off her, as he’d been dreaming of doing all evening? Or did she want to stick to the original deal? She’d kissed him as though her life depended on it in Sariyelva, and their flirty text convo over the last couple of months had exposed more of that girl who intrigued the hell out of him. But she’d barely looked at him since they’d met again at the altar.

The staff finally left them as they reached the door to her private apartments in the palace’s east wing.

‘Alone at last,’ he murmured as he shoved open the door, and she walked into the ornate salon ahead of him.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked into the elaborately furnished space. She banded her arms around her waist, her stance rigid, then flinched as he shut the door.

Why did she look like a lamb being led to the slaughter...? Because it was making him feel like an overbearing jerk or, worse, the kind of guy he had always despised. Men like his old man, who seduced women for the hell of it.

He dumped his jacket on one of the overstuffed antique chairs, loosened his cravat—and decided to address the elephant in the room, which was now sitting on his chest.

‘We need to talk, Belle.’

She swung round. ‘About... About what?’ she asked as their gazes locked for the first time since they’d declared their vows. Theirfakevows—which didn’t feel quite as fake as they should as she stood there in her wedding dress, trembling like a leaf, her expression a captivating mix of awareness and anxiety.

‘About whether you want to change the terms of this agreement? Or not?’ he asked.

The pulse in her neck beat double time. ‘Which terms are you referring to?’

He yanked off the cravat, undid the top buttons of his dress shirt and frowned, not sure if she was playing games now, or if she was actually serious, because her expression had gone carefully blank.

He wanted her, and he was fairly sure she wanted him. But she was sending him a ton of mixed messages. Messages he needed to decipher before they went any further.

Because, unlike any other woman he’d ever dated, they were going to be stuck together for a year, so he didn’t want to screw this up right off the bat.

He sighed. Plain speaking it was, then.

‘The no-sex terms,’ he said bluntly. ‘What else?’

‘You... You wish to have sex with me?’ Isabelle said, so shocked—and, God help her, excited—by the blunt statement, she didn’t realise how gauche she sounded until his lips quirked.

---