‘Thank you.’ Rafe nodded and sat to eat as his coffee was poured. Rifling through the newspapers spread out in front of him. She hated the papers now, talking about her on the front page, every day...
‘The narrative reads well.’ Rafe took a long sip from his cup. Closed his eyes for a moment as if savouring the drink, then concentrated on the news again.
‘What do you mean?’
He turned one towards her. A picture of them in Rafe’s car returning to the palace. Both of them smiling at something. She couldn’t remember the moment, but there it was, caught on camera for everyone to see, with words about a ‘romantic escape’ and ‘new era’.
‘Running a country’s like running a billion-dollar company. Shareholders are most confident when the management’s working together. Your people are most happy if they believe we are.’
Of course, with him, everything reverted to business. Even their relationship, such as it was. Fodder for the hungry masses. This thing between them, nothing more than an illusion of happiness. She was just another deal to him.
‘I’m pleased we can give everyone the pretence.’ She scrunched the napkin on her lap. Tossed it to the table. Swallowed down a different sort of ache, a sharp kind of hurt that sliced away inside. Paring away pieces of her. That was always her value, as part of the business of the Crown, not as a flesh and blood woman. Never that. She stood, wanting to escape the tightening inside her. ‘I think I’ll go for a run. Or a swim.’
Rafe stood as well. ‘It’s not a pretence for me. I hope one day you feel the same.’
‘Yes, if I did it would help fit with the narrative you’re so fond of.’ She waved her hand over the papers on the table. Hating that this was what her life had become.
‘There’s a lot to being a monarch that’s deliberate and calculated.’ He caught her fingers, traced his thumb gently over the back of her hand. Beyond her control a thrill of goosebumps shimmied along her arm. ‘It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to feel something real.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ She slid her hand out from his, confused. He could be so passionate, all consuming. Then so businesslike and circumspect. It was hard to pin down who the real man was.
Another of the palace staff came into the room and Rafe slipped his arm round her waist. Dipped his head and gently kissed her cheek. Her skin tingled where his lips had touched but this was all for show. It meant nothing.
‘Why don’t I come for a swim with you? Show you exactly how I’m feeling,’ he said. His lips traced the shell of her ear and a blast of heat whooshed through her. Rafe’s body hard and uncompromising against hers. She imagined him slipping into the water. Pushing her up against the side of the pool. His muscular body slick against hers. The pleasure of it all. Touching her. Not stopping till she screamed his name.
But she needed to make some order of all this. The confused, jumbled kind of sensations he invoked. She slipped from his grasp. Pulled away. Gestured to his plate. ‘Please, finish what you’re eating. I may take a while to decide what I’m doing.’
He smiled, the warm indulgent tilt of his lips the same one that had greeted her on that couch in the mountains in front of a crackling fire, right before they’d kissed, and her world had tilted on its axis. She wasn’t sure it would ever right again.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and find you when I’m done.’
She turned her back and walked away, wishing she didn’t want him to do so, all the while hoping that he made the wait worth it.
A run hadn’t helped clear her head, not even jogging through the topiary garden, one of her favourite places in the vast palace grounds. In desperation she’d tried texting Sara but there’d been no response, the silence louder than words. Lise’s thoughts once again twisted and knotted, impossible to unravel. Guilt over her friend’s loss. Confusion that Rafe might understand her because he’d been through punishing grief himself, but could she really trust him? She walked down the corridors of the palace towards the pool, bathing suit in hand. A swim, she’d do that now. And maybe he’d join her. A whisper of pleasure slithered through her at the thought. Treacherous body of hers. It knew what it wanted, and he was at the top of its wish list.
As she approached the competition-sized indoor pool, Albert stood near the doorway. She raised her eyebrows.
‘I thought you’d like to know that the prime minister is here, talking to His Majesty.’
Lise frowned. There’d been no official appointments in her diary, this being her first morning back in the palace. Everything had been scheduled for the afternoon. Anyhow, she was the Queen. Shouldn’t the prime minster be talking to her?
‘Did Mr Hasselbeck say why?’
‘He said the King would know what it was about. But His Majesty appeared...surprised.’
Albert was an astute judge of people, but she knew how fine an actor Rafe could be. The blood chilled in Lise’s veins. There was no way anyone should circumvent her, and that was what was happening here. ‘Where are they?’
‘The study, Your Majesty.’
Herstudy. The other end of the palace. ‘I think I should be there. How long have they been talking?’
Albert nodded. ‘About fifteen minutes, give or take. Were you planning to change, and should I alert them to wait?’
She looked down at her clothes. If they couldn’t handle a bit of spandex and sweat, then to hell with them. She took off at a jog. ‘No, and no need to follow,’ she shouted over her shoulder. Protocol be damned. There’d been more than enough secret chats about her in that study, with Rafe involved. No more.
As she ran through the corridors staff stopped, bowed, curtsied, stared. She tried to acknowledge them but had to be quick. Something was going on and she needed to find out what. It was the thing that had pricked her consciousness for a while now. There was a reason her father had demanded she marry Rafe. She didn’t know why, but he’d wanted Rafe close.
As she approached the door to her study, she skidded to a halt. Took a few moments to catch her breath, check her hoodie was zipped up to a respectable level. Inside she heard Rafe’s growl.