Page 47 of Crowned For The King's Secret

Sandro turned from her, strode to the windows, where he looked out into the darkness. ‘You’ll both be looked after.’

The horror of this moment...it began ripping her to pieces. Each word like another assault. In that moment of near-terminal pain, she began to fear what she felt for Sandro was not merely respect and admiration, but something that had latched on to her soul and wouldn’t let go. The feeling of soft warmth, vibrant elation, jagged misery. She might never have been in love before, but she feared that was what this was now. How could it be anything else? She’d probably been a bit obsessed by thoughts of him in the weeks after their one night. That had faded to shock, joy and disappointment, but deep in the most secret parts of her she knew. She’d wanted him from that night to now. Nothing had really changed.

But that was an adult problem. They had a child who didn’t understand the machinations of his parents.

‘I don’t need to be looked after. I can look after myself. I can look after Nic. I did well before, I can do it again. That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about a little boy who loves his father. Nicci lovesyou. Doesn’t that mean anything?’

‘Nicolai is young...he’ll adjust. Memories dim over time.’

Sandro may be able to reject her. She understood; she’d suffered enough rejection in her life. From her parents, who’d never really wanted her and would likely have preferred another boy. From her husband, who’d seen her as a means to an end until she’d ceased to be useful. But Nicci didn’t deserve this.

‘Did you adjust to the loss of your parents? Are you trying to tell me that your memory of them dimmed? Because I seem to remember you have a photo of them on your phone. And not just any photo, is it?’

Sandro blanched. ‘Enough!’

‘No, enough from you! Your memory hasn’t dimmed. You’re consumed by it. You claim no lies were told but you’re lying right now. To yourself. You’re hiding who you really are.’

‘It’s who I’ve always been,cara.’ He slapped his hand to his broad chest, which had been her resting place over so many evenings together. ‘I’ve never changed. You simply didn’t see me for the man I was. Now that you do, what do you think of him? Has he met your fanciful expectations? I’m a king. My responsibility is to my people. Nothing and no one else is important. Given this, am I the person you want aroundyourprecious son?’

So Nic had ceased to be his as well? That stabbed like a knife to her chest. All those times he’d insisted Nic was theirs and now, when they’d lost their usefulness, he meant nothing?

‘I can forgive most things. There’s little you can do to hurt me.’ She shook her head, tired, ashamed that she’d fallen for a handsome face and pretty words that promised what her heart secretly desired, even though she’d denied it to herself. ‘But the moment I held Nic in my arms I knew I’d protect him with my life. You told me you were the same, and yet you do this? I can’t ever forgive you for choosing to hurt him.’

The strangest look passed across his face. The crumple of what looked like devastation before it morphed into something cold, resolute. Resigned.

‘There’s no more to say. I’ll ask my private secretary to be in touch. Should you choose to stay in Santa Fiorina there’s a cottage in the grounds which was a retreat. It has a garden which is perfect for a little boy.’

She shook her head. He wanted to start thinking about Nic now? Enough of this charade. She’d lived through fakery. People smiling whilst stabbing you in the back. Laughing over your misfortune because thank goodness it wasn’t their own. She’d believed she’d found something here. Some kind of truth, stability. A man who knew what he wanted and put those desires into action. Now she’d begun to see that he was as fake as any of them.

She looked him straight in the eye. That blue which would always haunt her memories, like golden summer days of a long-gone childhood.

‘There’s really nothing I need from you. I never have.’ She dropped into the lowest, most perfect curtsey she’d ever delivered. It wasn’t meant to honour. It was meant to mock because not once in that movement did she dip her gaze in reverence or supplication.

‘Thank you for your benevolence,Your Majesty.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

VICTORIAWATCHEDNICas he sat on the floor of her palace suite. Tempting as it was, she’d refused to be moved to a cottage in the grounds. In truth, she didn’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t to be discarded. Had she been on her own she’d have left Santa Fiorina immediately, but she had a child, and any decisions she made involved him too.

Nic squealed as he waved a feather-topped stick about, a creamy bundle of a kitten leaping after it. She’d managed to tame the whole litter in the walled garden. The rest she’d rehomed with the help of staff, but Luna had been the favourite. She’d adopted her soon after Sandro had cast her out of his life. Shy at first, slowly coming out of her shell. Growing into herself. Snuggling on Vic’s lap in the sunshine, fearless around Nic.

She was always saving something, she realised. Looking after broken creatures when she hadn’t been able to look after herself. Yet despite those skills, she couldn’t save Sandro. She was tired of it, tired of being unwanted. Yet, having replayed their final conversation so many times in the dark and dismal silence of lonely nights, something niggled in the back of her brain that she couldn’t put her finger on. Till it hit her with a slow, creeping realisation.

She’d come to love Sandro, deeply.

She’d fought it, and outright rejected it in the beginning as delusional, not recognising how far and how completely she’d fallen for him, hidden as it had been by the intensity of their passion for each other. But the indescribable peace when she’d been in his arms, the joy around him, the tearing pain when he turned away from her... There was nothing else it could be to make her feel this way, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

She’d never truly loved before, not like this. Certainly not her husband. She’d tried to fall in love like any young woman might when getting married. The big wedding, a beautiful dress, sparkling jewels, made her believe there could be a happy ending even if the marriage had been arranged for her. What she’d had with him was insecure, fuelled by his gaslighting. There had been nothing like the level of emotion she experienced with Sandro. Had felt it the moment he’d sat next to her in a club and told her she looked as if she was running dry.

She was running dry now, on empty. Everything about this too much, too difficult. She was in a foreign place and, although she had Dora, there was no real support here. She was as isolated as she’d ever been.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her introspection. She leaped up. Sandro? She hated the pounding of her heart that sense of hope elicited. How she still wanted him after everything he’d done. She ran to the door and flung it open. When she saw who it was, the last vestiges of her strength crumbled.

‘Lance.’

She burst into tears. Everything she’d held in, trying to be strong, she let fall.

Lance walked in and shut the door behind him. Gave her a hug like the big brother he’d always be, but it wasn’t the same. He was strong and safe and familiar. But he wasn’t who she wanted, and she felt terrible about that when he’d clearly come to help her, as he’d always done.

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