‘I’m perfectly capable of walking.’
‘And maybe I’m afraid that you just might run off again.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous!’
‘Ridiculous, am I, cara? I don’t think so.’
By now they had reached the dry sand, but still he had her in his arms—and her heart was racing with a tumult of confused feelings as she felt her skin sizzling against his wet clothes. ‘Look, will you put me down?’ she said breathlessly. ‘I promise I won’t run anywhere. Please.’
‘No.’ Still holding her, he continued to walk over to where a crop of high overhanging rocks provided a shaded haven beneath. Only then did he lower her gently to her feet, but he stood his ground, legs parted, his body gleaming with droplets of water. Fixing her in the spotlight of his gaze, his dark golden eyes captured and held her. ‘So what happened, Melissa?’ he repeated softly. ‘I want to know.’
But Melissa shook her head, suddenly loath to tell him of all the doubts and fears which haunted her and made her feel so hopeless about the future—for now that the chips were down, it seemed too big a gamble to take. Wouldn’t an admission like that make her more vulnerable still? A slave to his imperious mood if he knew that somehow she couldn’t help herself from loving him. Hadn’t he made it clear from the very start that he was not the kind of man who wanted that love—and hadn’t his actions since only driven that fact home?
‘Why are you here?’ she asked bluntly.
He was aware that she was stalling. Batting back his questions in a way he wasn’t used to—for the King always received immediate answers. But not from his wife, it seemed. His gaze raked over her face and suddenly Casimiro saw the apprehension widening her green eyes and an overwhelming sense of remorse filled him.
Still he hesitated, knowing that he had to tell her everything—but how to begin? How did a man start to express feelings when he had done his level best to deny their existence all his life? ‘Because I need to talk to you.’
The words sounded symbolic—but maybe that was just a figment of Melissa’s imagination. She could hear the rhythm of the waves, but they sounded a long way away—just as everything seemed a long way away at that moment. It was only her and Casimiro thrashing out differences which had always seemed insurmountable—and the bitter truth was that they still did.
She stared at him. ‘Why—what have you got to say?’
The coolness in her voice chilled him as he realised that this wasn’t going to be easy. That he must bare his soul to her if he was to have any kind of chance for the future—and never had a single action seemed quite so daunting. ‘What if I told you that I’ve been a stupid, unthinking fool—that I’ve put up so many barriers and risked losing the most important things in my life, which are you, and Ben? And what if I told you that I want to trust you?’ he questioned quietly. ‘That I’ve realised we can’t have any kind of marriage without trust and I can’t bear to watch the growing sadness in your eyes as I throw back everything you keep trying to offer me.’
She shook her head. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered. ‘Just stop it. You don’t have to saythings you don’t mean—just because you think I want to hear them.’
‘You believe that?’
Her laugh was tinged with bitterness. ‘Can you blame me?’ Melissa stared down at the sand so that he wouldn’t see the traitorous tears which had blurred her eyes. ‘Why should you suddenly have changed?’
The whispered accusation hurt, but he could not deny its accuracy. No, he couldn’t blame her. Not for any thing. He thought of how he’d lashed out at her—at how his coldness and his refusal to communicate might have driven her away. Might still drive her away.
And as he stared at her bent head he felt a pain at his heart—a terrible tearing pain he had felt as a teenager when his father had fiercely told him that princes did not cry. That he must be dry-eyed as he walked behind his mother’s coffin on that cold and leafless winter day. He had vowed never to feel that kind of pain again—to protect himself from its merciless onslaught—and yet he was feeling it now. He recognized now that pain was the price you paid for love. And recognized, too, that a hurt even greater lay waiting unless he could convince his wife that he was prepared to change.
He became aware that she was shivering. ‘Wait here,’ he said tersely, returning just seconds later with his discarded jacket, from which he shook stray grains of sand, and then looped it gently about her should
ers.
Melissa inhaled deeply—she just couldn’t help it. Because the jacket smelt of him—his own distinctive scent—all musk and sandalwood and pure, unadulterated male. She felt surrounded by him—cocooned by him—and wasn’t that a perilous way to feel?
‘Sit down,’ he said softly.
Aware that he was trying to cajole her—and she still wasn’t quite sure why—Melissa sank down onto the shaded sand and stared up into his golden eyes. ‘Okay, I’m sitting down and I’m warm. So why don’t you tell me what it is you want to say, Casimiro?’
Casimiro saw the way she had crossed her arms tightly over her chest—in a gesture which unmistakably said go away. He wanted to reach out and touch her but somehow he recognised that touch would blur the edges of what he knew he had to say—that he needed to do this without any reliance on the senses.
‘When I left this morning I was furious.’ There was a pause as he struggled to articulate it. ‘Mainly because you had forced me to look at myself and the way I was living my life. Forced me to confront the way I was feeling—actually, the way you made me feel, if only I was prepared to let go and admit it. And I realised that if I didn’t act quickly, then there was a very real chance that you might leave me and the thought of that rocked the foundations of my world.’
‘Casimiro—’
‘Shh.’ He stared at the faint tremble of her lips. ‘I’ve realised that you were right—that my life has been consumed by my kingdom and that isn’t a good thing. Not for me, nor for you—or Ben—not even for Zaffirinthos. I’ve realised that I have to find a new way to govern—a way which will still allow me to be a good, strong King, but which will also allow me to be a good husband, and father. Because balance is important—to every human being. And I realised that I couldn’t possibly let my son inherit a crown that I had grown to resent.’
Melissa looked at him, hardly daring to acknowledge the sudden leap of hope in her heart. ‘But…how is it going to change?’
‘I’m going to speak to my brother. At our wedding he told me that it had taken a move away to make him realise just how much he cared for Zaffirinthos. I don’t know how much is possible—all I know is that I’m going to work something out. Do you believe that?’
‘Yes, Casimiro,’ she affirmed softly. ‘I do.’