Page 42 of Crown of Thorns
“Yes!” Phillipe cries.
“Now we just need a party gown for the Princess Royal, and we’re set here,” Maeve says.
“Oh, I have that covered,” Dahlia says excitedly,flipping through the book they chose her dress for the wedding from. “I want this navy strapless number with the mermaid silhouette and the beaded brooch on the front of the belt. That is, if that’s all right with Stella…”
“Of course,” I agree. “That blue will make your eyes pop.”
“Excellent,” she says. “Then maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“Oof. Do no’ let your brother hear you talk like that,” Maeve chortles. “He’ll burst an aneurysm.”
“That’s probably true,” I mutter. “He’s kind of a serious guy.”
“You could say that again,” Dahlia laughs.
“We’ll take all four gowns,” Maeve says. “Now what can you do on short notice for a garden party?”
I let out a sigh. This freaking garden party.
“I have just the thing…”
Chapter 14
Bees
If today is the day that holds all the hopes and wishes for our future together, it is not starting out promising. I stare out the window while the same maid who watched Rhys fuck me in the hall not so long ago—silently asking if he wanted her to join in, to share him with me—delivers my breakfast tray.
“Will there be anything else?” she asks and thankfully, I know that she’s not asking me for my opinion, but instead Rhys, the king, the one who holds all of our futures in the palm of his hand and he and he alone will decide.
“That’s all,” he says kindly before she bobs a quick curtsy, a blush staining her cheeks, and then scurries out of our rooms.
I don’t watch and I definitely try not to notice the details of their interactions. If I do, I’m liable to losemy mind. I don’t want to be jealous; I don’t want to think that while my husband is out of my sight, he could be with anyone he chooses. Even if this marriage is the culmination of a top secret planning committee and the dark machinations of a dead king and his son for power.
I hate it and I hate feeling like this. This isn’t me. This is not who I am or who I want to be.
Instead, I watch rain fall from the gray skies in a heavy drizzle and wonder if it will always feel like this. In another lifetime, today would be a happy day, one where I could celebrate my impending nuptials to a man I love with all my whole heart, one who I could trust with my life. He would be kind and caring, probably not rich by any means, but I don’t need that. We’d eat spaghetti in our pajamas and socks and watch movies in my small apartment.
But this isn’t that lifetime. In this one, I love him, but can I trust him? I want to, but then I’m reminded of one of the reasons why I shouldn’t. Like the housemaid.
“You’re going to have to let that go, hen,” he says with a sigh.
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask.
He sighs and re-folds his newspaper, setting it down on the table where he spends his early mornings before heading to his office. Today he’s here in my rooms, waiting for the weather to clear and the grounds to fill with the who’s who of European aristocracy forthe beginning of our wedding celebrations.
Rhys pushes back from the table and walks over to where I’m standing with my arms wrapped protectively around myself. I feel the heat of his body against my back as he wraps himself around me, his strong arms pulling me back into his chest, whether in comfort or protection, I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s real or an illusion, but I’ll take it. I need it desperately.
“In this life, there are things we don’t want to do, but we have to,” he says, his gravelly voice filled with both regret for what cannot be changed and fortitude to move forward through the tough things. I hate that I have to learn to fight through the awful parts of this life that I never asked for. “I’m sorry you never learned to cope during your childhood but am more than grateful that you were granted a childhood free from the heavy mantle of duty that we must carry. Just as I hate knowing that with age, your youthful exuberance will dim.”
“You make me sound like a child,” I reply sadly.
“In some ways you are,” he says causing my spine to stiffen, readying for another fight. “I do no’ mean it as a bad thing, hen. You are young; much younger than I am.”
“Then why marry me?”
“Because I can’t no’,” he says as if that explains everything. If anything, it both warms my heart and leaves me more confused.
“You talk in circles.”
