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“I wasn’t pretending at Gabriel’s wedding,” I say. “I swear. What happened between us…it felt…”
Real.
The words don’t come. We stand there, in silence, with her body melting into mine as I pull her near. Her lips part, and everything in my heart screams at me to kiss her.
“Pen, I really want to kiss you right now.” My voice is a growl. A rasp. It’s pure need.
“We can’t,” she whispers.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the Queen, Asher.” Her eyes are closed, her voice so soft.
“You’re Penelope Stone.”
“But I’m the Queen first.” She pulls away, and it feels like she’s ripping the air between us in two. Like the atmosphere is being shredded, throwing up an invisible shield between us.
I inhale deeply, dropping my head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“We can’t.”
“I know.” I know but oh, I hate it. I hate the fact that she’s the Queen, and I need to work with her. I hate the fact that I care about the future of my company, and I know I need this diamond mine to inherit my father’s business. I hate that not telling her about the Donovan merger feels a lot like a lie. I hate all the barriers between us.
I lift my hand to my neck, feeling the too-smooth skin of my scar. Penelope doesn’t know it covers a third of my body. She doesn’t realize I’m not like other men. I’m not beautiful and flawless like her husband was—perfect for photo opportunities and official paintings. I’m not worthy of her.
“For this to work, we have to keep things professional,” Penelope says. The breeze flutters through stray strands of hair again, but I resist the urge to touch it.
I nod. “You’re right. I apologize.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “It’s my fault. I never should have done anything with you.”
Her words pierce my heart, spreading an ache through my chest. I clear my throat and turn away from her, but I know the truth.
She doesn’t feel what I feel. This connection I thought existed? It’s one-sided.
Penelope needs me to employ her citizens, and I need her to earn my inheritance.
It’s business.
11
Penelope
Mind reeling, I walk back to the castle with Asher and excuse myself. I hurry to my chambers and lock the door, dropping my head in my hands.
I’m in trouble.
How can I say I want to keep things professional when my body screams at me to act? To lean in and kiss him? To take his face in my hands and run my fingers over his lips?
How can I pretend to be a worthy queen when I’m so easily prepared to turn my back on my responsibilities for the sake of...lust? Or is it something more?
When Xavier died, I turned to my duty for comfort. The part of me that was open to love got buried in the ground beside him, and I resigned myself to my fate.
But now…
Shaking my head, I strip off my dress and take a shower. I need to wash off the embers Asher sprinkled all over my skin. I need to cool down my heated core and remind myself why I’m here. Who I am. What I need to do.
The water does nothing to temper my feelings. I find myself sliding my hands down lower, bracing myself against the tile wall. My fingers slip through another kind of wetness—one not caused by the shower. I shouldn’t. I can’t.
