Natalie Anderson - The Royal House of Karedes - One Family

They weren’t even an hour into it when James discreetly gestured for her to join him. She fell into step, her body tightening, teased by the thought of being alone with him. He led her out of the ballroom to one of the little meeting rooms down the corridor.

He waited for her to go in ahead of him. ‘How do you think it’s going?’

She smiled as she heard him close the door behind them and her level of excitement rose another notch. ‘It’s marvelous, isn’t it?’

She looked at him and lost her smile immediately at the hard glare in his eyes. What? What was wrong?

‘You don’t think there’s anything missing?’

She couldn’t think of anything. Incredible food, incredible wine, incredible company—what else was there?

He nodded at her blankness. ‘Why are we having this ball, princess?’

She really didn’t like the way he said ‘princess’. ‘To celebrate the opening of the hotel.’

‘Right. Why else?’

There was another reason for the celebration?

‘To promote it, right?’ He spoon-fed her the answer.

‘Yes.’And it was a wonderful promotion—everyone would see how fabulous the hotel was.

‘So what’s missing?’

She really couldn’t think—everyone who was anyone was here.

His temper started to show then as slowly, super sarcastically, he spelt it out for her. ‘What about cameras, princess? Photographers. Journalists. TV people.’

Oh…

‘This wasn’t just some jolly for you to arrange for all your mates, Elissa. I’m running a business here. I wanted it in every glossy magazine on the planet. Remember?’

Yes. That bit was coming back to her now.

‘You didn’t arrange flights and accommodation for any press, did you?’

Feeling too sick to speak, she simply shook her head. She’d been too busy planning all the exclusive stuff and inviting the who’s who.

‘What did you think was going to happen—that the world’s media would flock just because you’re in attendance? Well, sorry, sweetheart, this wasn’t about some blurry paparazzi shot showing you worse for wear.’

The words knifed deep into her heart.

‘It isn’t all about you, princess.’

The knife twisted.

‘I just can’t believe you could screw this up. What on earth were you thinking?’

She’d been thinking of him.

‘When I ask you to do a job, you do it— properly .’

She’d tried, she’d really tried but…

‘It’s my own fault.’ He spoke more to himself than her. ‘I should never have left this up to you. I should never have thought for a second that you could manage it.’

She had no answer to that.

He pressed his fingers to his temples, visibly trying to contain his temper. She’d really rather he yelled and stomped around the room a bit. But he was too much of a man for that—with too good a rein on his emotions.

And it really hurt. She stood still, not wanting to move, not wanting to breathe in case he flared and said something else in that horrible way. And she couldn’t think of a thing to do to make it better.

‘The champagne is good,’ he finally spoke again—quiet, colourless.

She nodded, hoping for a lightening of the atmosphere. No way could he find fault with her taste. ‘Cristal.’

‘And the decoration on the napkins for the caviar—what’s that?’

‘Real gold leaf.’ She managed to get her voice higher than a thread that time.

He grunted. Maybe it was a snort. Either way it didn’t sound positive. ‘So tell me.’

Tell him what? Hell, this was such a nightmare and he was stringing it out.

‘How much?’ he asked, as if it were obvious.

‘Pardon?’

‘How much did this party cost me?’

‘Um.’ She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t got all the bills and receipts together yet. In truth she didn’t know what most of them would be.

‘Do you even know what the budget for this was?’

Budget? Oh, right. There had been a spreadsheet in the file James had mentioned. She hadn’t really got round to studying it. ‘I didn’t—’

‘What, think?’

Damn it, she’d done nothing but think about this party. ‘You said you wanted the best.’

‘You have no idea, do you, princess? A modern-day Marie Antoinette—utterly clueless.’

‘James, I…’ have no idea what to say.

‘Good thing I’m a wealthy man and can carry the blow.’ He looked, his eyes skimming over her, all dreaded sarcasm and nil humour. ‘You seriously need to grow up, Elissa.’

She bit hard on the inside of her lip. She’d heard that one before—from her father, from her brothers. But it was different this time.

She was not going to cry. Not going to. Not going to act like the spoilt, sulky girl he thought she was. She’d take the caning like a professional. And cry later.

He was serious. And she knew it was all over. This wasn’t something she could laugh off with a flippant comment. And for once she didn’t want to. She felt terrible. She’d let him down. She’d let herself down.

She really was a waste of space.

‘I’m sorry, James.’

He stared at her, definitely no forgiveness or ease in those hard, dark eyes. No sign of the golden lights. He didn’t reply, just stalked out of the room.

JAMES practised a relaxed smile all the short walk back to the ballroom. Failed. Knew he was snarl central. He stopped just outside the room and took in a deep breath. A drink. That’d help. He collared a waiter. The expensive bubbles hit the spot but didn’t soothe quite the way he wanted. He could feel the steam coming out of his ears. It wasn’t just the wasted opportunity for coverage that had him riled. It was her—if anything he was even madder because she’d been so close to succeeding. He looked around. It was one damn impressive party. From the guest list, to the catering, she had arranged the best for the best.

And yet she’d forgotten the basics. He wanted to shake her.

She arrived back in the ballroom a few minutes after him. Looked a little flushed, headed to the other side of the room—soon in conversation with several guests.

He looked away then. Got to working some guests too—there was much that could be salvaged from the evening and he might as well get something out of it. A few hours passed and he steered well clear of her, knowing both his temper and temperature would stay cooking on high if he saw too much of her.

But she wouldn’t leave his mind—and his frustration rumbled.

Eventually he caught sight of her quietly discussing something with one of the waiters. Angry as he was with her, he didn’t like to see her so subdued. The sparkle had gone. The smile was still there but he could see the hint of strain. The flush had faded; now she was pale.

If only she’d made the media arrangements. It would have been a perfect night. She would have been so thrilled—and rightly so. He’d wanted her to taste that satisfaction, to know she’d done a good job and was capable of success.

Then he’d wanted to see her satisfied in a whole other, deeply personal, deeply physical, way.

He still wanted both to happen.

He didn’t like that it wasn’t going to be tonight.

Damn it, despite everything he still wanted to rip the dress from her and feel her warm and naked against him. Why did she have to be so bloody attractive?

He took a stroll about the room, trying to get to simmer level and not still be on rapid boil. But there was only one way to rid himself of this energy.

Unable to resist, he looked again. Now she was talking with some guests. She was aware of his scrutiny; he could tell by the way she stiffened slightly. But she wouldn’t look him in the eye. He didn’t like that either.