Page 111 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

Unwanted Royal Wife

Clare Connelly

“What would happen if I kissed you now?”

“Why would you kiss me?”

“Because I’m your husband?”

“So? You’ve been my husband for five months, and with the exception of our wedding day, we’ve never come close to kissing. Try again.”

“Because you want me to?” he taunted, and her gasp now was one of indignation.

“I do not.”

He laughed. A short bark that made her skin flush with goose bumps.

“And because I want to.”

Her heart slammed into her ribs. “You do?”

“Sure.”

She bit down into her lower lip, eyes hooked to his. “Why?”

“Why not?”

And damn it, Rosie couldn’t think of a single reasonnotto kiss him. A kiss was just a kiss. Not sex. Not a baby. It was just a kiss, a brushing of lips. He had laid down the gauntlet, and Rosie wasn’t going to be the one to back away.

CHAPTER ONE

NOTONCEINthe five months since marrying the heir to the throne of Cavalonia had Rosie come close to considering it a love match. Nor, however, had she realised quite how much she would hate her husband, perhaps for the chief reason that Rosie had never hated anyone before in her entire life. And yet here she was, married to a man she couldn’t stand, walking a constant tightrope of faking affection as necessary for the public, and barely looking at him when they were alone—which was rarely ever. After all, if she hated His Royal Highness Sebastian al Morova with every fibre of her being, then the same could surely be said of his feelings for her.

‘You wished to be informed when His Highness arrived?’ Laurena, Rosie’s most trusted aid and advisor spoke softly into the large and elaborately furnished office Rosie had claimed upon becoming the princess of this small yet wealthy and respected kingdom.

‘He’s here?’ Her voice, usually poised and calm, took on a thicker quality.

‘Yes, ma’am. He arrived ten minutes ago. On the bike.’

Rosie gritted her teeth. There were many things she’d attempted to explain to her husband since their engagement was formalised—after all, a large part of their marriage was based on her supposed ability to reform his ways and turn him into a suitable heir to the throne—but the damned motorbike was apparently non-negotiable. In fact, despite her efforts, most things in Sebastian’s life had turned out to be. He had an infuriating habit of listening as Rosie calmly and thoroughly explained why things were done a certain way, his expression always blank, impossible for her to interpret or understand, then smirking. Just the smallest lift of one side of his mouth, barely a flicker, really, but enough to convey not only his disdain for her and her advice, but also their marriage.

She expelled a rough sigh, her nostrils flaring with a hint of frustration. If he would only listen to her, she knew she could help him be more successful with the people of the country, could help him be welcomed, regardless of his husky American drawl and years of estrangement from the king.

‘He’s on his way to me?’

‘No, ma’am. He’s going to see the king first.’

‘Of course he is.’ She squeezed the fingers of one hand into a fist. Rosie had planned to tell Sebastian about the king’s episode herself. Though there was no love lost between them, informing Sebastian of his grandfather’s health scare seemed to fall into the box of duties a wife might be expected to fulfil. The king would have wanted her to break it to Sebastian.

Not that theirs was a love match either.

Sebastian was tolerated by the king—allowed his unwelcome but necessary return to the country and palace after the unexpected death of the king’s younger child.

While Fabrizio lived, the king had been confident the erstwhile royal would marry and settle down, one day producing the babies necessary to continue their line. Fabrizio, though, had been on a downward spiral for many years, and had wrapped his sports car around a tree in the early hours of the morning after partying all night. Though exiled from Cavalonia, an exception had been made for Sebastian and his mother, Maria—the king’s only surviving child—to attend the funeral, and directly after, Sebastian had struck.

You need an heir: well, now you have one. All it will take for me to walk away from my life in the States and take up my place in Cavalonia is the assurance that my mother will be free to return to this country, that her exile will be permanently revoked.

The king could have accepted then and there. Sebastian held many cards, but the king had understood how badly he wanted to bring his mother home, and so he’d wielded a bargaining chip of his own, demanding that in order for Sebastian to be named Prince of Cavalonia, he would first need to marry a bride of the king’s choosing. He was not going to risk history repeating itself—losing Fabrizio in such a manner had made the king cautious, and even more determined to exercise control. Control he exerted over everyone in his sphere, even Rosie.

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