Page 34 of Crowned For The King's Secret

What did it mean?

‘Sandro,’ she whispered, not knowing what to do, what to say, the conflicting emotions churning inside her. But that note in his drawer was like a punctuation. A full stop to the worst of her fears in this moment. She dropped it back into its place. Whether he’d seen her find it, she didn’t know.

‘Tell her.’

Sandro’s voice was the barest whisper. As if he was asking for his greatest shame to be admitted.

‘Sir, you’re in no state to make a decision like this when—’

‘Tell her.’

He lay on the bed then. Stretched out. This vital man was clearly suffering, his arm flung over his eyes as if to block out the last vestiges of light. His doctor glared at her, walked about the room, switching off the en-suite light, ensuring there was no crack in the curtains, till the room was cloaked in darkness.

‘Come. Let him sleep.’

They went into the sitting room and Victoria shut the door to the bedroom with a soft click. Sandro’s doctor rubbed his hand over his face.

‘I don’t like this.’

‘I’m the mother of his child. I deserve to know what’s going on, and he’s your king. He was explicit in what he wanted.’

She walked to the curtains and opened them, letting some light in, taking slow, steady breaths, trying to stop the trembling, to evict the memories of what she’d gone through in her own struggles from her head. One good thing she could say, was she didn’t react to seeing the medication as she once had. The cravings had gone. Her fears now were all for Sandro.

The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose.

‘Six months ago, His Majesty was in a car accident. He suffered post-concussion syndrome, which left him with migraine-like headaches, particularly when he is under significant stress.’

Which would be all the time, given he was a king trying to rebuild his country. But she suspected that their earlier conversation was a trigger too. How pale he’d become. She recognised now that he’d been in physical pain when he’d left his office so suddenly.

She blamed herself.

‘Who cares for Sandro when he’s like this?’

‘Me. There’s no one else he trusts. You need to understand, he demands this be kept secret. He fears the instability—’

Vic held up her hand. ‘I understand. I’ll stay with him. Leave your number, and if I’m concerned I’ll call you.’

She looked at the closed door of his bedroom. Her presence, Nic’s presence in Sandro’s life would be a stressor too. His drive to marry made more sense now as well, to fit everything into neat boxes of solutions so he could wrestle control of his life again.

Nothing about their current situation was neat or ordered.

The doctor pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘He’ll sleep. When he wakes he’s usually well again. Tired, but pain-free. If he’s not, I need to know.’

She nodded, and the man hesitated for a moment, then left the suite.

Vic turned, and gently opened the door to Sandro’s room, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. He lay sprawled on the bed. Even unwell, his body was powerful. She hated that he’d been felled like this, how it must make him feel, a man who always tried to project strength, perfection. Vic moved closer. His breathing was slow and steady, but she knew this type of sleep wouldn’t really leave him feeling refreshed. Already she could see a sheen of perspiration gleaming in the dim light. She gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, taking care not to wake him. A lock of hair had fallen across his damp forehead, and she reached out her hand, swept it away. He shifted under her touch.

‘Shh. Go to sleep.’ Vic gently slid her fingers through the hair. He exhaled in what sounded like a pleasured sigh before he settled again and was still.

She was sure that he wouldn’t want her seeing him like this but suffering in hiding was where the problems began. She watched him in his slumber, and placed her hand on his cheek, the skin warm to the touch.

She wouldn’t let him hide any longer.

Sandro gripped onto the snatches of consciousness that were as ephemeral as mist. How long had he been out this time? He clawed his way back from the haze that had been a blessing but which he loathed. It left him vulnerable, weak. There was no room in his life for it and yet he was still a slave to the injury he’d suffered six months before.

Even worse, there’d been someone else to witness his infirmity. The moment this news escaped his inner circle everything was placed at risk, and Victoria was the biggest risk of them all because he couldn’t control her. He opened his eyes, lids still heavy. It would take a little while for him to wake fully. The headaches always left him feeling scraped out and a little raw. He needed a coffee, a shower. Sandro rolled over onto his side to sit up. There was movement from an armchair in the corner. A shadow bleeding out of the surrounding darkness. His doctor, who always stayed. The only person he ever allowed to see him so vulnerable.

‘How long have I been out?’ His voice was rough and thick with the leftovers of a drugged sleep. Hehatedit.

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