Page 112 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

But that wasn’t entirely fair. This loveless marriage of convenience had appealed to her too, even as she’d decided that her husband was as unlikable as he was drop-dead gorgeous. The sheer fact she found his personality repellent had assured her the marriage would be a safe haven. No risk of caring for someone like him, no risk of letting his physical charms overwhelm her. No risk of being like one of her father’s mistresses, stupid in lust, discarded when it suited him. No. There was no risk of attachment here: She had married for the kingdom, for the good she could do it, and she’d leave on her terms, when she’d achieved what she wanted, and was confident Sebastian was ready to rule in his own right.

Rosie drew her clear gaze back to Laurena’s face. ‘He knows I asked him to come?’

‘Yes.’

She sighed again, softly this time. ‘Then he’s been informed by someone else.’

‘The palace leaks,’ Laurena confirmed.

‘Even to him?’

‘I suspect especially to him. He is, after all, next in line to rule. There are many who would seek to curry favour with him by proving their loyalty at every turn—particularly when the king’s health is—’ Laurena tapered off, wincing sympathetically. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Rosie had been with the king since the early hours of the morning, when his chief advisor had called to let her know he had required defibrillation to deal with another incidence of arrhythmia. He’d suffered from this for years, but since Fabrizio’s death, he seemed to have lost the ability to fight. Or the will.

Rosie’s blue eyes glittered like the stunning Adriatic Sea just visible in the distance, beyond the thriving capital city. Laurena was, as always, right. ‘Fine,’ Rosie tamped down on her impatience and employed a voice with as much calm authority as she could muster. ‘Please have him come to me as soon as he’s finished.’

‘Of course.’ Laurena dipped her head slightly in a deferential bow as she left the room.

It was an hour later when the heavy oak door to her office pushed inwards. She didn’t turn around to confirm it was Sebastian; she didn’t need to. There wasn’t a single soul on earth besides her husband who would be presumptuous enough to invade her private space without waiting for an invitation. The shock of their first meeting, shortly after the king had implored her to marry Sebastian, had also made her senses hyperaware, and everything about the man had been imprinted on her. She’d been struck by his size—so tall with broad shoulders that had been filled out by his years on the rowing squad of the elite Ivy League college he’d attended on an academic scholarship; he looked like the kind of man that could fell ancient trees with his bare hands. And for all he’d been raised in America, there was no mistaking his Cavalonian heritage: He had a deep caramel tan, black eyes, thick lashes and bore the same cheekbones as the king—high and angular, as if carved by a master craftsman. His obvious physical appeal had set her on edge; she wasn’t prepared to marry a man she was at risk of being attracted to. But then he’d spoken, and he’d been so arrogant and rude, so dismissive of the king, she’d realised there was no risk here, and never would be.

Dislike frothed in her belly, the sensation familiar. She didn’t bother to conceal the enmity from her features as she turned to face him, lifting one slim hand to check her blond hair was still neatly tucked into a low bun. Her stomach clenched, the same dislike churning in a way that made her wonder just how long she could keep this up.

They hadn’t agreed on a time limit for their marriage. For Rosie, she’d been handed, almost literally, the keys to the kingdom. In exchange for marrying Sebastian, she had been granted an enormous amount of latitude to spend time and money working on her key charities and projects. It was everything she’d wanted. But having to pretend to be in a relationship with this man was already starting to wear thin...

‘Wife,’ he said, in that horrible way he had, the way he used the term just to irritate her.

She tried not to rise to the bait, but on this day, of all days, her usual composure deserted her. ‘I’m not in the mood,’ she responded, lifting her fingers to her temple and pressing there lightly. ‘I take it you’ve seen the king?’

Sebastian’s eyes were as dark as the night sky that now draped the kingdom. They gave nothing away when they locked to hers. ‘Yes.’

‘How is he?’

‘As usual.’

‘Oh, good!’ Her enthusiasm and relief were genuine, and so consuming that she missed the way something like displeasure sparked in Sebastian’s eyes. ‘I’m so glad. He was very pale when I left him to nap this afternoon.’

Sebastian’s jaw was naturally square, almost as if chiselled from the marble that formed the cliffs to the east of the country, dropping away down to the ocean in parts. But in this moment, it was particularly geometric, as though he was holding it that way on purpose.

‘He was not pale. In fact, he was rather lucid. Full of interesting ideas. I presume he has already discussed them with you?’ Something curled in Sebastian’s voice, something that might have set off alarm bells if Rosie weren’t so intent on hearing this good news about the king.

‘I presume,’ Sebastian continued, ‘because you and he discuss practically everything. It’s hard to imagine my grandfather coming up with a single idea that you hadn’t planted as a seed in his mind.’

Thataccusation, though not new, got her attention. ‘That’s doing a disservice to him, me and our relationship.’

Sebastian stood very still, his whole body held as tight as his jaw. He wore a suit, jet black with a snow-white shirt and a stiff collar, and yet, he didn’t look remotely formal. He never looked as though the fabric contained him; not as it was supposed to, anyhow. He was too big for that, his physique kept in shape by a love of the outdoors. She couldn’t open a newspaper without seeing a paparazzi photograph of him sprinting through one of the nature reserves in the capital city, and those same newspapers delighted in commenting on his prowess as an athlete—they surely exaggerated how far he ran each morning.

‘Is it?’

She’d been thinking about his body to the point she’d lost focus on their conversation. Her cheeks felt warm as she forced herself to concentrate.

‘I must admit, I was surprised by his suggestion. You were the one who insisted children would not form part of our marriage.’

The world seemed to grind to a halt. She was conscious of the pulse in her veins, thready and weak, then far too fast and overpowering. She could hear blood washing through the fine capillaries of her ears, like a terrifying drum. ‘Children,’ she repeated, eyes wide, struggling to compute his statement.

‘I clearly remember the paragraph you inserted into our agreement. In terms of the line of succession, no children, but you would divorce me in due course, allowing me to marry someone else and beget however many heirs I desired. Or words to that effect,’ he drawled.

Rosie’s skin paled. It had been a bone of some serious contention with the king. He hadn’t wanted another scandal, another divorce, but Rosie had been adamant. She wasn’t going to risk pregnancy, nor was she going to risk any kind of emotional attachment to her husband. This was a clean and simple arrangement, a practical marriage she had agreed to enter into purely because of how important it was to the king, and how it would benefit the kingdom. She had some boundaries though, and this was one of them. The king had reluctantly agreed, Sebastian hadn’t seemed concerned, and Rosie had taken it as a victory. ‘You’re only twenty-nine—you have plenty of time.’

‘But the king is sick.’

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