The pressure of his fingers over one buttock increased by a fraction to become a warm squeeze ‘And how was this?’ he questioned softly.
She knew exactly what he meant this time but was curious to know how he would phrase it. ‘This?’ she echoed. ‘Perhaps you could be a little bit more specific.’
‘The consummation of our marriage vows.’
It was possibly the most cold-blooded way he could have described it but, since she had asked the question, there was no one to blame but herself. ‘It…’ Melissa swallowed. ‘It was perfect. You know it was.’
‘Really? You mean there’s no room for improvement?’ he teased.
‘I didn’t say that.’ She rolled over, leaning on her elbow to look at him, knowing that the first night of a honeymoon was special. That this was the night when, traditionally, words of love were exchanged. But what had Casimiro said to her that very morning? I hardly think we’re a shining example of traditionalism.
So what would he say if she told him that women loved men for all kinds of reasons? They loved them even when they probably shouldn’t have loved them in the first place. He would probably turn round and say that nobody could possibly ‘love’ after those few passion-filled days which had been nothing more than time out from their normal lives. But he would have been wrong—and every woman in the world would testify to that. Just as every mother would admit that you never really stopped loving the father of your child; for how could you?
And what would he say if she confessed that she could still love him if only he would give her half a chance? That she wanted to love him, if only he’d let her.
Perhaps kings never really let anybody close. Maybe the only way he would
ever let her get close to him was in the purely physical sense. So couldn’t she just settle for that?
‘I think there’s plenty of room for improvement,’ she whispered. ‘In fact, I think we could start improving right now.’
And he groaned as she bent her head and began to kiss the shadowy hollow at the base of his throat.
CHAPTER TEN
THE following morning—feeling a little self-conscious from lack of sleep—Melissa stood on the steps of the villa as Ben arrived in a small fleet of cars, accompanied by Aunt Mary. He gave a little shout as he launched himself at his mother and clung to her neck but it was with a pang that Melissa realised she didn’t recognise any of the clothes he was wearing…and that made her feel even more disconnected from reality than her blissful wedding night had done.
‘Who bought him that suit?’ she asked her aunt as she carried him inside.
‘Oh, wait till you see—there’s a whole new wardrobe for the little fellow,’ replied the older woman. ‘Which he’ll have grown out of before he can possibly wear all of it. I do hope it won’t go to waste, Melissa,’ she added anxiously. ‘There are plenty of babies in the world who really need new clothes.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find we are not so profligate as to squander babies’ clothes, Mary,’ came Casimiro’s wry comment as he walked into the salon, and Melissa saw her aunt sinking down into a deep curtsey.
‘You don’t have to keep curtseying to Casimiro, Aunt Mary!’ she protested.
‘Oh, but I do—and I want to,’ said her aunt firmly. ‘I’ll be back in the supermarket aisles on Monday wondering if I dreamed the whole thing—and anyway, it’s just respect. And tradition.’
‘You’ll find that Casimiro has very strong views of traditionalism,’ said Melissa, holding the mocking gleam of his golden glance.
‘Indeed I do. Speaking of which—do you know that your niece didn’t curtsey when we first met, Mary?’ he murmured. ‘In fact, her very first words to me were: “Go away”.’
Melissa shot him a beseeching glance, aware that her aunt’s face was wreathed in smiles at what must have sounded like a fond lover’s memory—and how misleading was that?
‘Mu-mu-mu-mu-mu!’ babbled Ben, clearly feeling ignored and choosing just this moment to grab a fistful of Melissa’s hair and to tug on it as if he were training for a career in bell-ringing.
‘Say hello to…to…Daddy,’ she said, aware that she was blushing and aware how bizarre it sounded. But what else could she say? The King? His Majesty?
‘I would prefer Papa,’ said Casimiro, as if he had read her thoughts.
Papa. It was only a little thing—but it wasn’t a word Melissa was used to. ‘Of course.’
Casimiro turned to Mary with an urbane smile. ‘You will stay for dinner, I hope?’
‘Thank you, but no, ‘ said Mary. ‘Much more of this and I might get a bit too used to it. I’m flying back to England this afternoon—I can’t get out of my stint on the hospital book trolley that easily!’
Melissa felt an unexpected wave of sadness as she hugged her aunt goodbye and had to gulp back tears as the four-wheel drive disappeared in a cloud of dust down the snaking track. She stood there watching until it was completely out of sight, looking up to find Casimiro’s thoughtful gaze on her.
‘She can come and stay any time she likes, you know,’ he said softly.