Page 40 of Coronation
My attempt at a smile looks more like a grimace. “I’ll cancel if you like. Tell everyone a sewer pipe burst in the rose garden.”
Zelda’s lips twitch, and I feel like I could soar. “That would definitely be a good deterrent, but isn’t it kind of a big deal? Lots of important people come?”
“You’ve met me,” I reply dryly. “Do you think I give a damn about socializing? Tell me to cancel, darling. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Ah, so you’re not trying to make amends, you’re hoping I’ll give you an excuse to get out of it.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Obviously. Is it working? Let me know sooner rather than later, would you? The palace kitchens haven’t put in the food order, you see, and the whole business is frightfully expensive.”
Finally—fucking finally—the wall Zelda erected between us gives way, and my heart lurches at the sight of the full, breathtaking smile that spreads across her face. “When do you need your answer, exactly? I’ll be sure to give you mine very shortly after.”
Fuck—Fuck,I adore her. It’s almost effortless to slip back into the same playful intimacy we had from about fifteen seconds into meeting, back when I believed I could have one night with this woman and leave it at that.
Unbidden, the memory of the dream I had at Fernmoor House appears in my mind’s eye.
Zelda wandering into my study at Ashwell Palace.
Zelda with my ring on her finger.
Zelda calling me husband.
Zelda asking me to get her pregnant.
It becomes more difficult to breathe as the seconds pass, and at long last, Zelda lowers her gaze from mine in the mirror and gets back to her feet, stretching. I watch as she pads across the trailer, picking up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt folded on a side table, and vanishes back into the bathroom.
The moment she’s out of sight, my head drops back, a quiet groan issuing from deep in my chest.
What is wrong with me? This visit was supposed to be an apology, and no more. Yet here I sit, hours later, imagining kissing the freckle behind her ear and fantasizing about dreams that will never come to fruition. I’m doing just as I did when we met, greedily clawing for every second I can spend with this woman, unwilling to relinquish my hold on her until I have no other choice.
“Are you alright?” I hadn’t heard her coming back, and my head snaps up as I’m knocked off balance yet again by Zelda’s presence.
She’s watching me cautiously, now dressed in a pair of rolled-up blue jeans and a loose white T-shirt. Her feet are still bare, though, and my throat tightens as I notice the pink polish on her toes.
It’s difficult to swallow as I search for the right thing to say, and even more difficult to speak when I do. “No,” I admit, dragging forth each word with incredible effort. “To be honest, I’m trying to find a reason to stay here, and I can’t think of one.”
Zelda looks back at me, her expression unreadable. “I don’t understand, Ben.”
No, I wouldn’t expect her to. Not when I can hardly understand it myself. Before all this, my life felt settled. I might not have liked it, might not have chosen it for myself, but thething was done. Then, in the space of a few days, it changed. Or maybe it was me who changed, but in the end, it all comes down to the same thing:nothing has changed, and yet my settled, predictable existence has shifted somehow. It’s as though someone went into my rooms to switch all the drawers around without me realizing, and now, nothing is quite where I remember it being.
“You left,” Zelda continues, a slightly hysterical note to her voice now. “You took what you wanted, and you left. I wasn’t going to chase you, I wasn’t going to tell anyone, so why come at all? Why are you still here? What do you want from me?”
Everything. I want everything from you, darling.
“To apologize,” I manage, gripping the countertop behind me with white knuckles.
Zelda’s response to this is instantaneous. “Bullshit!”
I cough, “Pardon?”
Lips pursed, she glares at me. “You heard me, Benedict. I saidbullshit. As in,you are full of shitand I don’t believe you.”
It’s perverse, but I find this woman absolutely breathtaking when she’s pissed.
“Zelda—”
“Nope.” She stops me, planting her hands on her hips and lifting her proud little chin to glower up at me. “We aren’t friends, you made it very clear you didn’t want to be in any kind of romantic relationship with me, so why come? I want an answer right now, or you can leave.”
It’s as though a switch has flipped in her, and I can sense I’ve pushed my luck too far. I want to stay. More than anything, I want to stay right here and take every last second I can with her. Unfortunately, to be allowed such a privilege, I would need to give her answers, and I don’t have them.
