Page 71 of Coronation
Easier said than done.
With the movie only a week from wrap, my career seems to have been catapulted to unprecedented heights. The roles I’m being offered—no audition, screen test, or strings attached—come with paychecks that are about double what I’m making onThe Dark House, and Cindy is officially over me being so non-committal. While I can’t exactly blame her, I also can’t tell her why. Not yet.
Thirty-One
Benedict
Zelda staying at Fernmoor House has turned out to be a perfect arrangement. The property isn’t well-known as one of the family’s and wouldn’t be a place the paparazzi would think to look for her. On top of that, it’s a tolerable drive to her work, and only five kilometers away from a small airfield, which is convenient for the amount of traveling back and forth required for maintaining our public relationship.
It’s working, too. In the eyes of the press, ours is a whirlwind romance, and I am a man besotted.
For once, public perception and reality aren’t terribly far off. Our private relationship isn’t quite as settled as I’d like it to be. Zelda’s guard is still very much up, but we’ve been on two more dates since she moved into the house, and I can sense her defenses softening a little more every time we’re together.
I’m mad about her.
It’s a strange phenomenon, watching my mood transformfrom varying degrees of misery to excitement and resolve. Even the daily tasks I once dreaded don’t seem quite as tedious as they once did, interrupted frequently by swirling thoughts about the woman I am now determined to win over.
Tonight could be an excellent opportunity to nudge things along and continue moving in the right direction. Unfortunately, our destination is so grim that even the promise of seeing Zelda does little to lift my spirits.
Whereas my new relationship makes me want to be better, my old one made me want to be worse. Julia and I were never happy. Even at our very best, our marriage could only be described as cordial. At our worst, it was toxic and cruel. When one of us said something nasty, the other felt compelled to top it, until the hostility was more than even I could bear.
I’ve seen my ex-wife on several occasions since the divorce, usually overlapping social calendars, or the press office’s attempts to quell rumors of why our marriage ended. It’s never pleasant. The best I can hope for this evening is getting through the whole affair with some dignity intact, and to keep Zelda from seeing the ugliness my ex-wife so easily brings out in me.
We’re due to be at the gallery in under an hour.
It was arranged that Zelda would meet me here so we could arrive together, and I’ve been pacing the upstairs corridor for fifteen minutes, straining my ears for the telltale signs of her arrival. At long last, when I catch the notes of a gentle female voice carrying up from the lobby and the overly loud, nervous laughter of the royal guards, I turn on my heel, striding toward the stairs.
As I expected, Zelda is standing beside the security desk, and though I can’t see her face, the way she’s dressed—damnit. The way she’s dressed is going to make this a much longer night than expected. The dress is strapless, black, and fitted to the waist before flaring out into a full white skirtthat stops just above a pair of dangerously high heels. Her dark hair is piled atop her head, and the line of her bare shoulders has my mouth going dry and blood rushing to my cock within seconds.
I haven’t the slightest idea how she manages to be, simultaneously, the picture of elegance and the most desirable thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s rather damning that the guard’s laughter stops when they see me coming. Fortunately for them, my mind is elsewhere as, apparently noticing the sudden absence of fawning from her new admirers, Zelda turns. I’m halfway down the staircase when her gaze finds mine, and I deserve a reward of some sort for not falling over my feet when her red-painted lips split into a breathtaking smile.
I am a king, but at this moment, it couldn’t be less consequential. I would crawl on my hands and knees for this woman.
“Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” she calls when I’m nearing the bottom of the stairs, eyes glittering as she sinks into a perfect curtsy.
“Good evening, Miss Flowers.” It’s an effort to keep myself from reaching for her as I stop beside the security desk. Since I made my intentions clear on the night we moved her into Fernmoor House, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to keep my hands to myself.
When we’re behind closed doors, at least. In public, in full view of the cameras, I take a lot of pleasure in making it clear the relationship I have with this woman is not even remotely platonic.
“Shall we?” Zelda asks, offering the guards a little smile as I start toward the door.
My heart lurches as her hand slips casually through my elbow, allowing me to lead the way out to where the car is already waiting. It’s the same one that took us to FernmoorHouse the first time, and the air feels a little thin when I get in after her. Zelda clearly remembers it, too, because her cheeks are pink as she looks around the luxurious interior.
Yes, darling. This is where I impaled you on my cock and played with your clit until you were begging me to come.
Neither of us speaks as the car begins to move, but we haven’t even reached the gates before Zelda lets out a nervous little giggle. “So, elephant in the room…”
“Is it an elephant?” I muse, endeavoring to hold back my smirk. “I thought it was an intense degree of sexual frustration.” Past, present,andfuture, if I don’t find a way to get us back on track.
Things must not be too grim, however, because at my words, I see that Zelda is fighting a smile. “Yes, that too.”
The car turns out onto the street, and, apprehensively, I begin the conversation I swore to myself I would have with her before we arrive. “I want to apologize. In advance.”
Zelda looks over at me in clear surprise. “For what?”
“My ex-wife and I weren’t a love match,” I explain, determinately ignoring my embarrassment. Zelda and I have made so much progress over the last few weeks, I refuse to allow us to slide back into dangerous territory because I’m not proactive or realistic about this situation. “I’d turned thirty and still had no significant romantic links. My father had recently received a terminal diagnosis, and we were all preparing for Arthur to take over. The importance of having me married to someone who would help in the family’s transition and improve my public image was stressed. Julia and I knew each other, she seemed tolerable, and I agreed.” Finding someone I loved, who loved me in return, wasn’t something I ever expected for myself.
