Page 83 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

But when he pushed open the door to his bedroom there was no sweet scent lingering in the air, and no warm, silky little body in his bed.

It was clear that she had gone elsewhere to sleep, and though he told himself it was her right, and that he wouldn’t go searching for her, it was hours before he finally slept. Even giving himself relief didn’t help. It was as if some part of him was still hungry for her. A part that had nothing to do with his need for sex. A part that wanted more.

The next morning he rose at dawn and spent yet another day in meetings, still trying and failing to get his new wife out of his head.

At midday an aide approached him with a message from the Queen, reminding him that he’d promised to give her a couple of hours of his time and that she’d be waiting for him in the orchard that afternoon.

He had no idea why she’d chosen the orchard, and knew he’d made her no such promises, yet when the hour approached he found himself watching the clock, felt his body gathering itself in anticipation, his heartbeat accelerating.

Ludicrous to feel this way about a meeting with his wife. And yet no matter how ludicrous he told himself it was, that didn’t stop his excitement from building. Or stop him from excusing himself when the time came with far more alacrity that he should have.

He made his way quickly to the orchard—it was a gorgeous, sun-drenched day—and found her sitting under the orange tree he’d pushed her against the week before, on a rug spread out over the grass. She was in one of her pretty dresses, this one loose and floaty, the colour of fresh lavender. The front of her blonde curls had been tied back, the rest flowing down her back, and she looked so lovely and delicate and fairy-like that his heart almost stopped beating.

She was in the process of laying out food from a basket, and when she sensed his presence she looked up and gave him the sunniest, most devastatingly pretty smile. His heart, in fact, did stop.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said. ‘I had the kitchen put together some afternoon tea for a picnic.’

His muscles tensed and he felt obscurely angry for some reason—as if her sitting there, pretty as a picture, with a delicious picnic all around her, was an affront. Maybe it was. Because, deep inside him, the part of him that had missed her the night before wanted nothing more than to sit on the rug and enjoy her picnic.

But he couldn’t. It felt wrong. His mother hadn’t died for him so that he could sit in the sun without a care in the world, and neither had his father. There was too much work to be done.

‘Come and sit down,’ she invited when he didn’t move. ‘Would you like some coffee? Or maybe a glass of champagne?’

‘A picnic is not—’

‘A picnic,’ she interrupted calmly, ‘is exactly what you need. I promise this will take no more than two hours, and if you’re going to be teaching me all about being a queen then it won’t matter if we sit in the sun with a picnic. You’d have to spend that two hours with me somewhere, hmm?’

He couldn’t argue with that, so he found himself moving over to the rug and sitting down on it, watching her put some sandwiches on a plate and then leaning over to put it on the rug beside him.

‘Why here?’ he asked shortly as she piled food onto a second plate. ‘My study would be more appropriate.’

‘More appropriate, yes, but I’m tired of being inside.’ She twinkled at him. ‘It’s much nicer being outside in the sun and the fresh air, don’t you think? Especially when you’ve been cooped up inside all day.’

He wanted to deny it, but that was difficult when the sun shining down was warm on the back of his neck and the air was full of the smell of warm grass and oranges and the cool tang of the mountains around them.

Letting out a breath, he picked up a sandwich from the plate and began to eat, because he was actually quite hungry. ‘Where were you last night?’ he asked, even though he’d told himself he wasn’t going to and that he didn’t care.

‘I felt like some time to myself,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think it would matter to you if I wasn’t there.’

‘It didn’t,’ he replied, knowing it was a lie even as he said it. ‘I only wanted to know where you were.’

She regarded him for a moment, her blue gaze assessing. ‘I slept in the little room. You could have come to find me.’

Tiberius finished the sandwich, then picked up another. ‘It was late. I didn’t want to wake you.’

‘Okay.’ She ate her sandwich in tiny bites, and his gaze was drawn to the softness of her mouth and her small white teeth as she bit into the bread.

‘You will be there tonight.’ He’d meant it to sound like a question and instead it came out as a command.

‘Will I?’ She popped the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘That will depend on whether you’re going to treat me as a wife or a toy.’

This again. Annoyance twisted inside him. ‘I am treating you as a wife.’

‘No, you’re not. A husband and wife generally spend time together, and we do not.’

‘Because we’re the rulers of a nation. Our marriage will not be like other people’s.’

She gave him a level look. ‘And if I want it to be?’

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