Olivia Gates - Billionaires - The Royal

Her words rebuilt some of the wall inside of him. It was good. It reminded him of why distance was imperative. Why control mattered.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

He walked out of the bathroom and dressed quickly in her room, before leaving and heading to his own quarters. Once he was inside, he stripped his clothing off again, heading straight for the shower. He turned the cold knob as far as it would go, stepping beneath the icy spray, gritting his teeth.

He would not repeat the same mistakes again.

He would not.

* * *

“I’m here.” Tabitha’s voice drew his attention to the top of the stairs. She was there, looking more beautiful than he could ever remember. Was this change happening inside of her beginning to affect her appearance? Her blond hair was loose, bouncing around her shoulders. So different to the usual restrained bun she often chose to wear.

Her dress was also completely unlike anything she would’ve worn back at the palace. But then, the instructions he’d left for the personal shopper tasked with amassing a small wardrobe for her here in the island hadn’t been any more explicit than her size.

The dress had skinny straps and a deep V that made the whole gown appear to be resting precariously over her full breasts. It looked as if the slightest tug would snap those straps and see the dress falling down around her waist, settling on her voluptuous hips. She had applied a bare minimum of makeup, a light pink gloss to her lips, a bit of gold on her eyes. It was a more relaxed look than he was accustomed to seeing.

His body responded with a hunger that was becoming predictable.

“I’m glad you decided to join me.”

“Well, now you won’t need to put a lock on the pantry.”

She began her descent, her delicate hand resting on the banister. His eyes were drawn to her fingers, to her long, elegant fingernails, painted a delicate coral that matched her dress.

“I’m pleased to hear that, agape.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, her tone sharp.

“What?”

“Love. It’s always been a little bit of a farcical endearment, but it just stings all the more at the moment.”

She breezed past him, heading outside to where the table was set for them. He followed after her, trying not to allow that helpless sensation to overtake him again. How did she do this to him? He ruled an entire nation. He was the master of his, and every domain, within its borders. Somehow she made him feel as inept as a schoolboy who didn’t even have dominion over his own bedtime.

“I am sorry, I shall try to endeavor not to call you nice things,” he said through clenched teeth.

She paused, looking over her shoulder, one pale eyebrow raised. “Just don’t call me things you don’t mean.”

It was hard to think of a political response to that. Of course he didn’t love her.

He cared for her, certainly. There was nothing duplicitous about his lack of emotion. He had made that clear when he proposed to her that afternoon in his office after his engagement to Francesca had blown all to hell. He had outlined exactly what the relationship between Tabitha and himself would be. Had told her he intended to base it upon the mutual respect they had for each other.

That thought, of just how honest he’d been, of how she had known fully, and agreed to this, reignited his anger.

And he forgot to search for the political response.

“Actually, my queen,” he said, “I could instead call you exactly what you are. Not a queen. Simply a woman that I elevated far beyond her station. Far beyond what she was equipped to handle.”

“Are you going to malign my blood now you’ve mixed your royal lineage with it? Perhaps you should have thought of that before you used my body as the vessel for your sacred heir.”

She continued to walk ahead of him, her shoulders stiff. She took her place at the table, without waiting for him to come and hold her chair out for her. For some reason, the lack of ceremony annoyed him. Perhaps because it was yet more evidence of this transformation from his perfect, biddable wife, into this creature.

It wasn’t perfect. And you know it.

He didn’t like that thought. It only damaged the narrative he was constructing in his mind about the truth of his marriage. The one that absolved him from any wrongdoing.

The one that said he had told her how their marriage would work, and now she had an issue with it. That, the fact she had been warned, meant that now the fault rested on her alone.

It allowed him to open up all sorts of boxes inside of him, boxes he normally kept closed, locked tight, and pull out all the hurt and anger kept there, examining it, turning it over, holding it close to his chest.

He took his seat across from her, lifting his water to his lips. For a moment, he regretted not serving alcohol out of deference to her condition. She didn’t deserve his deference.

“How is it you expected we might discuss things with more success cut off from civilization?”

“For a start,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I very much appreciate having you somewhat captive.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself. I’m not worried about how you feel.”

“No, of course you aren’t. Why start now?”

He set his water glass down hard enough that some of the clear liquid sloshed over the side. “I’m sorry, have I done something recently that conflicted with our initial marriage agreement?”

“You are...” She looked up, as though the clear Mediterranean sky might have some answers. “You’re distant. You’re cold.”

“A great many people might say that about you, agape.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, blue eyes flashing.

“I don’t recall agreeing to your edict, Tabitha.”

“You want a list? I’m working on a list,” she said, ignoring his words. “The only time in five years you ever bothered to get angry with me was when I told you I was going to leave you.”

“You want me to get angry with you?”

“I want you to feel something. Anger would be a start.”

“You have your wish. I am exceedingly angry with you.”

“You barely speak to me. You only touch me when attempting to conceive. I am essentially part of the furniture to you. If you could have had an heir with a bureau in possession of childbearing hips, I’ve no doubt you would have done so.”

“The same can be said of the way you treat me. Moreover, I never promised you anything different. What vow have I broken?”

A slash of color bled out over her pale cheekbones. “A woman expects her husband to treat her a certain way.”

“Does she? Even when the husband told her exactly how things would be? If your expectations differ from the reality I lined out for you early on, I fail to see how that’s my fault.”

“Nobody imagines their marriage is going to be a frozen wasteland.”

“A frozen wasteland is exactly what I promised you,” he said, his tone biting. “If I had promised to love and cherish you, then I suppose you would have every right to feel cheated. To feel lied to. But I promised you respect, and I promised you fidelity, I promised that I would treat you as an equal. If I have failed on that score then it has only been in the days since you violated the promises you made to me.”

“I know what you said. What we said, but... Five years on things feel different. Or they feel like they should be.”

“I see. Were you ever going to tell me that? Or were you simply going to freeze me out until I was the one who asked for an end to the marriage?”

She curled her fingers into fists, and looked away from him. “That isn’t...”

“Do you not enjoy being held accountable for the breakdown of our union, Tabitha? Because if I recall, you spent the past five years doing much the same thing you accuse me of. If an honest word has ever passed between us, I would be surprised. Did you think I didn’t notice that you have grown increasingly distant? Did you think it didn’t bother me?”