Page 79 of The Princess Trap
“Lydia,” Harald said again, his voice iron. “Pour Ruben some tea.”
Ruben could feel Cherry's eyes on him, probably confused, but no doubt hiding it well. He could hardly turn and explain that his brother liked to watch his hands shake. That the older man fed off of any sign of discomfort like a parasite. Ruben had dropped his cup once, scalded himself and stained his trousers, firmly embarrassed himself in polite company after one biting word from Harald, the significance of which no-one else had even understood. Harald rather shamelessly lived for the day that the occurrence might repeat itself. It wouldn't, of course. Ruben had been a young man then, still under his brother’s thumb.
And yet, he’d allowed the mental scars his brother had inflicted to push Cherry away. So it seemed Harald still hadthe power to destroy everything Ruben held dear. Things hadn't changed much at all, had they?
“We're very pleased to be introduced,” Lydia said, pouring Ruben's tea. She took care not to fill it too high, because she was kind to a fault, and she knew exactly what her husband wanted.
How Lydia had ended up trapped with a man like Harald, Ruben still wasn't entirely sure.
“How did the two of you meet?” she asked as Cherry sipped her tea.
Ruben cut in. “Cherry works in the educational sector,” he said. Hoping that would be enough.
“Still rescuing urchins, brother?” Harald murmured. “It's good to stay in touch with one's roots.”
“Yes,” Cherry said brightly, lowering her cup. “I agree. Charity is so noble. It’s the perfect occupation for the son of a king.” Her words stained the air like red wine across white silk. With barely a breath, she moved on. “I met Ruben in a professional capacity, but he pursued me outside of work, of course.” She gave him a warm, teasing look, as if they were sharing a secret joke.
With a jolt, he realised that theywere. The memory of marching into her staffroom and dragging her off for lunch brought a smile to his face. And then, somehow, even with the weight of his brother's presence crushing his lungs, Ruben managed to laugh.
“Something like that,” he said, and she grinned, and he felt like himself. He felt likehimself. What a fucking gift.
As the meeting went on, stilted and awkward and dogged by Harald’s jabs, Ruben held that blessing to his chest, and it became his shield.
After a painful hour, they were finally released. Cherry smiled politely as they excused themselves, and she left clinging to his arm as if they were joined at the hip. She stayed that way as an assistant led them through the halls to their private quarters, as they were shown their suite and informed of the dinner hour—like Ruben didn’t know it.
But as soon as the door to their quarters swung shut, locking out the outside world, Cherry let go. She stepped away from him. And the laughing intimacy she’d shown him moments before, the smile on her lips and the warmth in her voice, disappeared.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “I didn’t think we’d have to share.”
Ruben tried to hide the way those words hit him, like fists to the gut. They were right back where they’d started. She didn’t want to be alone with him.
“We’re engaged,” he said. “Of course they’d put us together.” Then he realised that he’d said precisely the wrong thing.
The glare she gave him could’ve felled a fucking tree. “How could I forget?” She drawled. “And where the hell is Demi? Or Hans, for that matter?”
Ruben shrugged. “I try to keep my brother unaware of my personal connections.”
For a minute, her gaze softened, and she nodded. But then, as if remembering herself, she set her jaw and turned away from him. “I’m taking the bedroom.”
He watched her storm off through the suffocatingly luxurious parlour, heading towards the huge bedroom they weresupposedto share.
He had a feeling that wouldn’t go so well this time around.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Neita.” Ruben’s sister dragged out the name, her accent softening theT.
Cherry smiled politely and sliced her sautéed chicken breast into tiny fucking pieces, waiting for the punchline. Beside her, she felt Ruben stiffen. He must have heard that predatory quality in his sister’s voice, like a shark sniffing out blood.
“What aninterestingname,” Sophronia continued, her voice dripping with mockery. She was one to talk. “Wheredoesit come from?”
“Sophy,” Ruben said, his tone warning.
“Calm yourself, little brother. I am speaking with my future sister-in-law.”
Sophronia’s real sister-in-law, the pale and birdlike Lydia, had spent most of this strained dinner doing everything she could to avoid Sophronia’s attention. And her husband’s.Cherry rather thought that said it all. Still, she forced herself to smile at Ruben’s painfully beautiful sister. She faced off the porcelain skin, the ice-blue eyes and the golden hair, so unassuming on Lydia and so very devastating on Sophronia. “The Caribbean,” she said.
“Ah! You’re from the West Indies.”
