‘Remember, Lise. You don’t have to do things alone. I’m—’
‘What?’ She whipped round, gripping the folder tight in her hands. ‘Here to help? Or the truth, here to keep more secrets? Because that’s what everyone’s been doing. Hiding things. And why wouldn’t they? I’m the Queen nobody wanted.’
‘Do you really believe you’re so hard to love?’
She turned and left the room without answering, the question still spitting like a vicious cat in her ears. Because the answer was clear. People only loved what she represented. No one had ever truly loved her.
Rafe sliced through the cool water, pushing harder and faster till his muscles screamed. He’d been a fool not to call for Lise immediately. He’d allowed his own arrogance to ignore the obvious, that she would see the meeting with the prime minister as another betrayal. Whatever fragile trust he’d been hoping to build, it had been smashed in one morning.
He hauled himself out from the edge of the pool, chest heaving from fifty brutal laps to burn through his fury. Fury that he wasn’t in the water with Lise right now, fury at himself because the perfect opportunity to discuss this had arisen on their weekend away and he’d selfishly kept the truth hidden. But most of all, fury towards a prime minister who should have briefed his Queen. That man was one to watch, and carefully. He’d seen Hasselbeck’s spark at Lise’s cold rage. Fear for his own job no doubt, but a silent glee with her anger at Rafe as well.
Rafe knew the government didn’t rate her, and they barely tolerated him. He scrubbed a towel through his hair. Rough-dried the rest of his body then lashed the towel around his waist. The lot of them were vermin. Rats who’d grown fat whilst the country suffered. It had all worked well with a complacent, lazy king. Lise was an unknown, and people knew his reputation too well. If they worked together, the things he and Lise could achieve were mind-boggling. One crack, and people would try to tear them apart. He refused to accept that. He’d be written into the history books as the commoner King who saved the nation.Everyonewould know his name. He’d accept nothing less.
His phone rang from the table he’d tossed it on before diving into the water. He snatched it and swiped to answer before checking who’d called.
‘Yes!’
‘Hello to you too, Your Majesty.’ Lance’s amused voice clipped at him. ‘I’m guessing married life is going swimmingly?’
Rafe took a slow breath. His friend was one of the few people with whom he could be completely honest, however even this was a stretch. He went with the anger still crackling through him.
‘Why the hell are you calling so soon after my wedding?’
‘Why are you answering?’ Lance chuckled. ‘Haven’t you got better things to be doing? That beautiful wife of yours, for starters.’
Regaining broken trust, though he’d never tell Lance, even if the man was his best friend.
‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve a favour to ask in person. It’s a delicate situation.’
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. The universe conspired against him. Still, if his friend needed a favour Rafe would always answer the call. One thing he and Lance had promised each other all those years ago whilst at school was that when one of them asked for assistance, the other would honour the request. Neither of them had failed their boyhood promise yet. He wouldn’t be the one to start.
‘When do you want to meet?’
‘Tonight. Around eight.’
‘I’ll arrange it with Security. We can have dinner.’
‘Thank you, my friend. I promise that I won’t intrude on your wedded bliss for too long.’
‘You’d better not,’ Rafe growled, and disconnected the phone to Lance’s laughter.
He took another deep breath to tamp the anger down before walking out of the swimming pavilion, through the palace and towards his rooms, the marble floors cold beneath his feet. He didn’t care that he was half dressed, didn’t give a damn about propriety. He needed to find Lise and start the dialogue to regain her trust.
As he passed one of the hundreds of anonymous doorways in the place, he saw her. Pacing across a conservatory overlooking a perfectly sculpted topiary garden. In her hands she held the red folder, flicking through it with restless energy. Dressed not in the exercise clothes that lovingly covered every inch of her exquisite body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Driving him close to distraction, which had meant he couldn’t stand when she’d burst into the room but had remain seated to get his body under control lest he disgrace himself. No, now she paced in a demure, high-necked, long-sleeved black dress. Once again steeped in the colour of mourning, a deep frown marring her brow. She seemed so pale and fragile, trying to absorb the news. Without thinking, he stepped into the room.
Lise whipped around at his approach, wide-eyed with surprise. She looked at him, over his torso, down his body. It wasn’t a cursory survey either. Her eyes snagging on his chest, lingering on his abdomen, finally hitching on the knot of his towel. He walked slowly towards her, because she seemed as skittish as the deer who inhabited the wilder mountain regions here. Ready to run at the first sight of trouble.
‘What are you doing dressed like that?’ Her voice was a soft rasp against his skin.
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been swimming.’
‘Could you not have...?’ She flapped her hand about in front of her. She wasn’t looking at him now. Her eyes were everywhere else. The bloom of red creeping up her throat.
‘What?’ he asked. Knowing exactly what. Despite all her righteous anger, he affected her, and desire was something he could work with.
‘Nothing.’ She held her head high in glorious defiance of everything he knew she still felt for him. Passion such as they’d experienced didn’t die easily and sometimes anger only inflamed it.