A Queen for the Taking? by Kate Hewitt Page A

‘Eventually.’
    ‘I slept remarkably well.’ He brushed another tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering.
    Liana resisted the urge to lean into that little caress. ‘What are we going to do today?’
    ‘We have a few engagements.’ Smiling, Sandro sat up in bed, raking his hair with his hands, so even though she was trying to avoid looking at him Liana found her gaze drawn irresistibly to his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles, the taut curve of his biceps. Her husband was beautiful—and fit.
    ‘What engagements?’ she asked, forcing her brain back into gear.
    ‘A brunch with my delightful mother as well as my sister and my brother and his wife. An appearance on the balcony for the adoring crowds.’
    He spoke with a cynicism she didn’t really understand, although she could probably guess at. ‘You don’t like being royal,’ she said, ‘do you?’
    He sighed and dropped his hands. ‘Not particularly. But hadn’t you already figured that out, since I shirked my royal duty for fifteen years?’ His gaze met hers then, and instead of anger she saw recrimination. She recognised it, because she’d felt it so often herself.
    ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Why, Liana.’ He touched her chin with his fingers, tilting her face so their gazes met once more. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever apologised to me before. Not sincerely.’
    ‘I am sorry,’ she answered. Her chin tingled where he touched her. ‘I was just trying to hurt you, so I said the first thing that came to mind.’
    ‘Well, there was truth in it, wasn’t there?’ His voice came out bitter and he dropped his hand from her face. ‘I did shirk my duty. I ran away.’
    And she knew all too well how guilt over a mistake, a wrong choice, ate and ate at you until there was nothing left. Until your only recourse was to cut yourself off from everything because numbness was better than pain. Was that how Sandro felt? Did they actually have something—something so fundamental to their selves—in common?
    ‘But you came back,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve made it better.’
    ‘Trying to.’ He threw off the covers and rose from the bed. ‘But we should get ready. We have a full day ahead of us.’
    He was pulling away from her, she knew. They’d had a surprising moment of closeness there, a closeness that had intrigued her rather than frightened her. And now it was Sandro was who shuttering his expression, and she felt a frustration that was foreign to her because she was usually the one who was pulling away. Hiding herself.
    So maybe this was why Sandro had been feeling so frustrated. It was hard to be on the receiving end of someone’s reticence—especially when you actually wanted something else. Something more.
    ‘Where are we meant to get ready?’ she asked. ‘I’ve only got my wedding dress or this nightgown here.’
    Sandro pushed a discreet button hidden in the woodwork of the wall. ‘One of your staff will show you to your room,’ he said and turned away.
    A few minutes later a shy young woman named Maria came to the honeymoon suite and showed Liana her own bedroom, a room, judging from its frilly, feminine décor, Sandro clearly wouldn’t share.
    So this was what a marriage of convenience looked like, Liana thought, and wondered why she didn’t feel happier. Safer. She’d have her own space. Sandro would leave her alone. All things she’d wanted.
    Yet in that moment, standing amidst the fussy little tables and pink canopied bed, she wasn’t quite so sure she wanted them anymore. They didn’t feel as comforting as she’d expected.
    Maybe she was just tired. Feeling more vulnerable from everything she and Sandro had said and shared last night. The memory of his hands gently stroking her from shoulder to thigh still had the power to make her quiver.
    Enough. It was time to do the work she’d come here to do, to be queen. To remember