But once that floaty, dreamy feeling had left her Melissa remembered the long, empty evening she’d spent—without even a phone-call from her new husband.
‘Casimiro?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Where have you just been?’
‘Inside you, cara,’ he murmured, and tightened his arms around her. ‘Or hadn’t you noticed?’
In the darkness, she blushed. ‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’
Fractionally, he loosened his grip on her, and yawned. ‘Just what did you mean?’
‘What have you been doing all evening?’
‘I had a stack of paperwork a mile high to tackle.’ There was a pause. ‘I have just been away on my honey moon,’ he added softly.
‘I know.’ But she could tell that he was being evasive and she could not hold in the faltering little sigh which seemed to come from the very bottom of her lungs.
‘You’re tired. It’s been a long day.’ He pulled her against him and smoothed her hair. ‘You need to sleep and so do I. Goodnight, Melissa.’
He said it in a kind way. But it was the way in which you might speak to someone who wasn’t terribly bright. It was dismissive and it was kindness cloaked in steely control—and Melissa had never felt more patronised in her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘WILL you be back for dinner?’ The smile on her face was fixed and bright and beneath the table Melissa’s fingers twisted the napkin in her lap as the butler poured Casimiro another of the inky little coffees he favoured in the morning. ‘It’s just the two of us tonight. Nothing in the diary for once!’
Casimiro glanced up from his study of the pages of the Zaffirinthos Times and shrugged. ‘I will try, cara, but I can’t promise anything. I have wall-to-wall meetings with ministers all day—and later I am due to visit the naval base and will stay for cock tails on the new freighter afterwards. So if I’m not back then just carry on without me. Don’t bother waiting.’
Don’t bother waiting. Melissa’s smile didn’t waver even if she felt one of those faint flickers of rebellion which had become increasingly frequent of late. Because didn’t those few words perfectly capture the very essence of a royal marriage which was little more than an empty shell? A forced union with a man who ticked the boxes as being a perfect lover and part-time father.
And one who displayed all the emotional depth of one of the marble statues of his ancestors! She twisted the napkin a little more, knowing that it was a better outlet for her frustration than biting her nails.
She was trying her best to be upbeat and mostly she succeeded—even though it had been a baptism of fire settling into her new role. Royal life was certainly packed and—although she had known that every single second was ac counted for—she had not expected it to be such a challenge.
There had been balls and tea parties with visiting ministers and dignitaries to meet—each engagement requiring a different change of clothes and a briefing about each person who would be introduced to her. And she’d been given a list of charities so that she could decide which of these she planned to support as patron.
Had this constant pace—this social merry-go-round—been one of the reasons why Casimiro had been so close to abdication when she had reappeared in his life? The abdication which had never again been mentioned—as if the very real prospect of it happening had been nothing but make-believe. Every time she had at tempted to bring the subject up, she had been stone walled by a cool censure delivered in an icily aristocratic tone by her husband.
Melissa took a sip of coffee—trying to tell herself that her feelings of inadequacy and confusion were understandable. No transition from commoner to Queen was ever going to be straight for ward, but when you factored in that she had borne the King’s child, in secret—well, that made the people of Zaffirinthos view her with understandable curiosity. Will she make our King happy?—their eyes seemed to say, and Melissa wanted to tell them that, yes, she would—oh, she would—if only he’d let her.
And that was the crux of the matter—he just wouldn’t. All too quickly she’d discovered that Casimiro had been independent for too long to allow anyone to get really close on a normal daily basis. Isolated by an accident of birth which had placed the crown on his head, he seemed supremely comfortable with his own company.
Deep down, she didn’t have a clue what was going on behind the beautiful golden mask of his face. A lifetime of protocol had taught him the most effective methods of blocking unwanted questions and making those questions feel like an intrusion, so that in the end she gave up asking.
Sometimes it felt as if her life with him consisted of a series of formal engagements, punctuated by meals or receptions. Where she would see him seated on the opposite side of a room or a table—unless hers was a solo engagement, in which case she didn’t get to see him at all.
And, yes, he still played with Ben—but all the routine of the close father-son relationship they’d forged on the honeymoon had evaporated. These days he saw Ben only on his terms—while she ended up feeling like the lowest priority of all in his life.
Only in the bedroom did she ever feel his equal—even if it was purely in a physical sense. There he would kiss her. Cajole away any concerns with the soft caress of his fingers before she had a chance to air them. He would lift her up in his arms and make her feel all woman as he brought her down slowly onto his aching shaft. Melissa swallowed as vivid erotic recall flew into her mind. You wouldn’t nee
d to be experienced to realise that Casimiro was an exemplary lover and that she was the most fortunate of wives in that respect.
So why did it increasingly seem as if it wasn’t enough? Why, despite Ben’s obvious happiness and her own material comfort, did she sometimes feel emptier than she’d ever done in her tiny little apartment back in England? Was it because there at least she’d known who she really was, whereas here…
Here she felt as if she were a ghost of a woman who had chased an illusion, wanting it to be something else—only it had turned out to be an illusion all along.
But Casimiro had never pretended to be anything else, had he? He had warned her off emotion and she had stupidly carried on hoping and hoping that things might some day change. Nothing was going to change—or, rather, he wasn’t. He wasn’t about to turn into a different man over night—the kind who discussed everything with his wife, who confided all his thoughts and hopes and fears. Who wanted the kind of close-knit and warm relationship she’d secretly longed for. He was as closed off as he’d ever been maybe because he didn’t know any other way.