He straightened, arms folded. ‘We both got what we wanted out of this union, Alyse.’
She lifted her chin a notch. ‘Which is?’
‘To restore the monarchy’s reputation and provide an heir.’
‘Ah, an heir.’ She folded her arms, mirroring his own implacable stance, and stared him down. ‘And sex with you is such an appealing prospect, considering you just told me you have no interest at all in getting to know me.’
‘I don’t know why it would make a difference,’ he answered coolly, and she let out a high, wild laugh.
‘I should have known you’d say something like that.’
Leo raked a hand through his hair. He needed to perform some damage control, and quickly. ‘Look, I told you, I didn’t mean it quite like it sounded. I just never thought about—about friendship.’
‘Actually, I think you did mean it. You just didn’t mean for it to sound as brutal as it really is.’ She walked past him back to their table, her dress nearly brushing his legs, and he inhaled the scent of sunshine and sea as she passed.
After a moment Leo followed her back to the table; she’d sat down and was eating her salad with a methodical diligence that suggested no enjoyment in the food at all.
Leo sat down as well, although his appetite had, annoyingly, vanished. Gazing at her pale, drawn face, he still felt guilty, as if he’d disappointed or even hurt her somehow. It was a feeling he’d experienced in varying degrees since they’d said their marriage vows, and he didn’t like it.
He didn’t want her to be hurt, and more to the point he didn’t want to care if she was. Yet somehow he knew both were true, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
‘I honestly didn’t mean to offend you,’ he finally said, his tone terse, when Alyse had ploughed through half her salad. His remained untouched.
‘I suggest we be friends and you say you have no interest in such a thing,’ she returned, not even looking up from her food. ‘How is that not going to be offensive?’
‘You took me by surprise,’ he snapped, goaded into revealing a temper he’d barely known he had. ‘For six years we’ve been as strangers to each other, and you seemed fine with that. Why should I expect anything to change now?’
‘Because we’re married.’
‘It’s nothing more than a promise and a piece of paper,’ Leo said brutally, his temper now well and truly lit. ‘It doesn’t actually change anything. It doesn’t have to.’
She looked up then, her face pale, her lush mouth bloodless. ‘Because you don’t want anything to change.’
‘No, I don’t.’
She shook her head slowly, biting those bloodless lips as she looked away. ‘Why not?’ she asked softly. ‘What do you have against me?’
‘Oh, for...’ He sighed wearily. ‘Nothing. I don’t have anything against you.’
‘Just women in general, then?’
Leo suppressed a curse. ‘No, I have no problem with women, Alyse. I don’t have a problem with anything. I simply want what I thought we’d agreed on all those years ago—a relationship of convenience, managed and manufactured for the sake of restoring the monarchy.’
‘Do you really think I care about the monarchy?’ she asked, her voice turning ragged with emotion, reminding him of ripped and ruined things, things torn by desire and broken by need.
He’d felt it once in himself, long ago, that endless ache of disappointment and sorrow. He intended never to feel it again, and he certainly didn’t want it coming from his wife. The whole point of this marriage had been to avoid such messiness, such pain. That was the benefit of pretending, never mind the cost.
‘I suppose you care,’ Leo answered evenly. ‘Since you agreed to marry me and perpetuate this charade.’
She glanced away, and in the darkness he could not make out her expression at all. ‘I’ve never cared about the monarchy. Or being queen. Or—any of it.’
The bleakness of her tone had the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He believed her, and he didn’t want to. It would be much simpler to believe she’d agreed to their arrangement because of the material benefits she’d enjoy. So much simpler. ‘Then why did you agree to a pretend engagement? A pretend marriage?’ he asked, the words drawn from him reluctantly. It was a question he’d never asked her, never wanted to ask her. It had been enough that she’d accepted. Now, with an increasing sense of foreboding, he braced himself for her answer.
‘Why?’ Alyse repeated, and her voice sounded far away, her face still averted. She let out a long, shuddering breath. ‘It doesn’t really matter now.’
And, even though he knew that was no answer at all, Leo chose not to press. He really didn’t want to know.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the silence strained and somehow sad. Then Alyse turned to him, her expression carefully veiled, yet Leo still felt the hurt emanating from her. It exasperated him, how much he felt now, both from her and in himself. For years he’d managed perfectly well, not feeling anything. Not wanting to.
‘I still don’t see how friendship will complicate things,’ she said quietly. ‘I would have thought it would make things easier. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, after all. We are, God willing, going to have children—’ She broke off suddenly, her voice having turned ragged again, and he could feel the need pulsing through her.
That was why friendship would complicate things—because it would open a door he’d kept firmly and forever shut. ‘You knew all this before, Alyse,’ he said. ‘You knew what you were getting into. What you were agreeing to.’
‘Knowing something and actually living it are two different things.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Do you really not feel any differently, Leo? That actually being married makes a difference?’
He wanted to say no. He should say no, and nip all this talk of friendship and feelings in the bud. Yet he couldn’t because, damn it, he did feel differently. He just didn’t want to.
Impatiently, he tossed his napkin on the table. He’d barely touched his meal, but he wasn’t hungry. ‘Look,’ he said flatly. ‘The reason I said what I said is because I’m not sure I can even be your friend.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t— I’ve never really had a friend before.’ That sounded so utterly pathetic, he realised furiously. He hated, hated that she’d driven him to such a confession.
Alyse gaped at him, her jaw dropping inelegantly. ‘You’ve never had a friend?’ she said in disbelief, and Leo felt his own jaw bunch, teeth grating.
‘Not really.’ He was lying, though. He’d had one friend at least—the best friend and brother whom he’d loved more than anyone else. The one person he’d been real with, the one person he’d trusted.
And look how that had turned out. The most real relationship he’d ever had had turned out to be as fake as all the others.
‘Why not?’ she asked and he just shrugged. She waited: a stand-off.
‘When you live your life under the microscope, genuine friendship isn’t easy to come by,’ he finally said, his voice brusque. When you lived your life in the spotlight. When the only time anyone was interested in affection or emotion was for the cameras...
He wasn’t about to explain all that. How could he? He’d hated the glare of the spotlight, yet he’d chosen it for himself and his marriage. Willingly...because at least