Page 40 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

After all, he was correct—she had never cooked more than the most basic meals for herself, and that had been several years ago in college. But far worse than the realisation he thought so little of her was the news that for the next ten days she was going to be entirely alone with him.

And she would have nothing to do or think about other than her inability to look after herself, and how much his attention still disturbed and excited her.

What if having to celebrate the festive season with him risked exposing the vulnerable little girl again, behind the façade of competence and composure?

Had her fake honeymoon—which was always likely to be a challenge—just morphed into a full-blown Christmas nightmare?

‘Could you show me to my room?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone firm and even.

‘You don’t want anything to eat?’ he asked.

She stared back at him blankly. Was he going to demand she cook a meal now? To test her culinary skills?

‘I’m really not hungry,’ she said, which was true, because her stomach was currently tying itself into tight greasy knots at the thought of what the next ten days had in store for her.

He shrugged. Then pointed past her shoulder. ‘Elevator is over there. Guest rooms are all on the top level. Take your pick.’

She grasped her suitcase handle and began to wheel the bag to the lift.

‘I’ll be out boarding tomorrow. So, help yourself to food,’ he called out, forcing her to turn again. ‘The chef will have left some meals in the freezer, which you can nuke in the microwave,’ he added, with that note of judgment she was already starting to hate. ‘Feel free to check out the house. Pretty much everything is voice activated because I hate reading instructions.’

She nodded. From the rigid look on his face, she suspected he was regretting having to spend his Christmas alone with her now, too. But given he was the one who had insisted on putting them both in this untenable position, she had no sympathy for him—whatsoever.

She stored up the spurt of anger, hoping it would help fortify her for the days ahead.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely, because good manners had always been the shield she used to hide wayward emotions. And inappropriate urges.

A cynical knowing smile edged his lips.

And too late, she remembered her handy shield was about as useful as a thimble of water in an inferno when it came to not getting burned by her counterfeit husband.

‘Relax, Belle. We agreed, this is a marriage without conjugal rights...’ His gaze drifted down her figure, making her panic—and the curl of heat—flare alarmingly. ‘But if you change your mind again, let me know. I’m always looking for an entertaining way to let off steam.’

‘I won’t,’ she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel but was determined to fake.

But as she turned her back on him again, the desire to hide until New Year from that mocking smile—and the hunger that refused to die—made her race towards the lift in another unseemly retreat.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two days later

TRAVISDUMPEDTHEheavy snowboard in the mud room. He tugged off his boots, and his outer wear, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg.

Once he got down to his shorts and T-shirt to examine the swollen knee though, he swore under his breath.

No wonder it hurt like a bitch.

He’d pushed himself way too hard over the last two days. Boarding from dawn to dusk, then working out in the pool or the gym like a madman to take the edge off a lot more than just his excess energy.

He chugged two heavy-duty painkillers. Keeping out of his wife’s way—since that crack when they’d arrived had made her blush like a nun—had seemed like a smart move. He didn’t know what had possessed him to bring up their one night together again, even as a joke. Perhaps he wasn’t over the rejection as much as he thought. Because each day, after he’d exercised himself into a coma so he could sleep peacefully, he’d still woken up hard and ready for her.

He walked—or rather limped—through the house, heading for the kitchen and the ice machine. The tree lights glittered on the granite flooring, reminding him of her weird reaction when she’d spotted the fir on that first night.

What had that been about? Because he’d seen devastation in her eyes.

His heartbeat slowed. Now he thought about it, her private apartments in the palace had not been decorated, despite Androvia being the Christmas capital of Europe. Did she have some phobia about the season?

He’d considered taking the tree down the next morning. But in the end had decided against the idea. It would be a major job getting the ten-footer out of the house. And he liked it there, because it reminded him of how far he’d come since those Christmases with him and his mom when they’d had to settle for the last scraggy tree on the lot on Christmas Eve.

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