“A month,” he rejects immediately. “And only if you do nothing to cause me concern in that time.”
“So I’m on probation?”
The side of his mouth lifts again, but just for a second. He’s fighting a smile – he doesn’t want to think I have a sense of humour either.
“Fine.” I hold his gaze. “Then have the contract amended to reflect that and I’ll sign it.”
A spark of something like respect shifts across his face.
“Is that everything, your highness?”
I know I’m not imagining the heat in his eyes. My pulse races and I look away, needing desperately to put some space between us.
“Not quite.”
I wait, on tenterhooks. “No?”
“This marriage is not simply for show.”
My pulse kicks up about a dozen gears. I say nothing; I’m not sure I’m capable of speech.
“To cement the peace I hope our wedding will bring about, we will need a child.”
My knees feel weak. “A…child?”
Now it’s his turn to be silent.
“Whose child?”
Though I know, of course.
“Ours.”
My eyes sweep shut.
“To this end, we’ll take a three-night honeymoon once we’re married.”
I stare at him as though he’s lost the plot. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”
His eyes narrow. “You agreed to marry me.”
“Yes, so you could say we’re married and people would stop looking to my father as some kind of rebel leader,” I snap. “And so that my dad can finally come home and live out his days in the only place he thinks of as home. But I never agreed to a real marriage.”
His head tilts back and a short, sharp laugh drops from his lips. “As I said, you are naïve.”
I suck in a deep breath of surprise. “Why? Because I took you at your word?”
“Because you misunderstood my word. I proposed marriage – if you thought it was not to be a real marriage then that is your mistake, not mine.”
I’m rendered completely mute by this revelation. And annoyingly, I’m torn. Part surprise and fear of the unknown but there’s also a portion of me that feels a rush of anticipation, a hot, sensual wave that makes my abdomen squeeze.
While I’m silent, he moves to the door. “Aliya will prepare you for the wedding ceremony. Try not to be late.”
I stare at him, irritation clipping at my heels. I do not like surprises and I particularly don’t like being dismissed. I glare at him, contemplating refusing to leave, wondering what he’d say if I stood my ground, and deciding there’s something I want more than to antagonise him: some time alone to think, and prepare.
2
Amy