CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T RAVIS FLIPPED THE grilled cheese sandwich in the pan, then stiffened as he heard a throat clear nervously behind him.

He turned to find the woman he’d been thinking about all night standing in the living area, looking guarded—and hot—in a pair of tailored pants and a simple sweater. She’d tied her hair in a ponytail, her fresh skin devoid of make-up... Which only made her look more artless. And innocent.

Probably because she was, you chump.

The fierce possessiveness that had freaked him out the night before hit him all over again.

‘Good morning,’ she said, with her perfect manners, which he now knew were a cover for an emotional intelligence he lacked.

He cleared his own throat. ‘Hi,’ he murmured. ‘And merry Christmas.’

‘Yes, merry Christmas,’ she replied with about as much enthusiasm as he felt, which wasn’t much.

He swung back to the stove and pulled the grilled cheese off the heat. He was a master of no-stress mornings after. Because he’d had a lot of practice at striking the perfect balance between ‘I’ve had fun’ and ‘I’m out of here now’.

But he’d screwed up so badly last night, this threatened to be the most awkward morning after in the history of the world ever.

He’d made an ass out of himself. He’d browbeaten Belle, when the person he’d really been mad with was himself. For not reading all the signs that had been staring him in the face since he’d met her.

The tentative, curious way she’d kissed him that first time in her office... The eager passion of their stunt kiss in Sariyelva—which hadn’t felt like a stunt the minute he’d put his mouth on hers. The artless passion that had overwhelmed her on their wedding night, then the way she’d panicked and run out. Her vibrant, vivid but totally unstudied responses to him yesterday—which had blindsided them both.

He should have figured out he was the first guy to touch her—but he’d enjoyed her responses so damn much he’d chosen to ignore the signs to satisfy his own lust. So whose fault was it really that taking her virginity had turned this relationship into a much bigger deal than it was supposed to be, and turned him into as big a bastard as his old man?

‘How is your knee?’ she asked, the caution in her voice making him hate himself that much more.

‘Good. How are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Not too sore?’

‘Oh... No... It’s... I’m fine,’ she said, her cheeks lighting up like the Christmas tree behind her as the awkward quotient hit a hundred. ‘You were very careful.’

‘Not as careful as I should have been,’ he murmured. ‘And I behaved like a jackass afterwards,’ he continued, trying to get the knots in his gut to untangle.

He could see he’d surprised her, even as she tried to cover her shock.

‘Which is why I’ve got a peace offering for you this morning,’ he continued, sliding the grilled cheese sandwiches onto the plates he’d laid out on the breakfast bar. ‘Take a load off and dig in.’

He took one of the stools on his side of the kitchen island and pushed her plate and cutlery across to her side.

She hesitated, clearly unsure of his mood. He knew how she felt. He wasn’t super sure of his mood either. He’d never felt this awkward or exposed before. But then he’d never been a woman’s first lover either.

‘It’s okay, Belle. I promise I won’t bite you,’ he said as he grabbed his fork and started chunking up his sandwich. ‘Not unless you ask me to,’ he added, trying to lighten the mood.

She blushed—because of course she did—but relief crossed her features.

And he wanted to kick himself some more, for trying to make her feel bad when he was the one who hadn’t been able to get his reaction to her virginity into perspective.

He wasn’t even sure what had made him feel so raw. Clearly, he had more hang-ups about his old man than he’d ever realised. Plus, Christmas Day had always made him feel kind of crap about himself after the way he’d treated his mom that last Christmas. But even so, his knee-jerk freak-out—and the weird surge of emotion that he was pretty sure had helped trigger it—didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

‘I...’ She paused again. ‘Thank you,’ she said graciously. Then she climbed onto the stool opposite him. Relief gushed through him. Maybe this didn’t have to be that big a deal after all. If he could just get last night into perspective again. She’d said it was just sex. And that was what they both wanted. Wasn’t it?

‘I appreciate it,’ she added, then lifted her knife and fork and sliced off a corner of the sandwich. She tucked the bite-sized piece into her mouth—and licked the sheen of melted butter off her bottom lip. The inevitable bolt of lust shot straight into his groin.

He set about demolishing his own sandwich while ignoring it.

He finished way ahead of her and poured himself a cup of black coffee. ‘You want some?’ he asked, lifting the pot.

She nodded. He poured her a cup then pushed the cream and sugar her way and watched her add a generous helping of both to the coffee. She took a hefty sip, before tucking back into her sandwich. Making him wonder if her throat was as dry as his.

Probably.

‘Thank you,’ she said for about the tenth time between bites. ‘This is absolutely delicious. What do you call it?’

His lips quirked, the question as cute as it was surprising. ‘You’re pretty sheltered, aren’t you?’ he said. Then felt like a jerk when she stiffened.

‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ she said with her typical honesty.

‘Hey...’ He reached across to place his hand over the fingers she had clenched tight on her fork. ‘I didn’t mean that as a criticism. Or an insult. Just an observation. Okay?’

She nodded, and her fingers relaxed. Resisting the urge to stroke the soft skin, he shoved his hand into the pocket of his sweatpants.

‘It’s grilled cheese on rye,’ he said while she polished off the last of the sandwich. ‘My mom taught me how to cook them when I was around seven. It was one of our favourites. I’d make them for both of us on Christmas morning and we’d eat them in our PJs. It was our favourite Christmas tradition—right up there with grabbing the last tree on the lot next to our trailer park and decorating it on Christmas Eve.’ He paused, realising he was the one babbling now. ‘So it felt appropriate today, that’s all...’ He trailed off, feeling kind of dumb. Why was he rambling on about his mom and their Christmas traditions? Especially as he hadn’t even been there to cook the grilled cheese sandwiches she loved for her on her last Christmas because he’d been too busy being a selfish bastard to read the signs then, too.

‘That sounds like so much fun,’ Belle murmured, the understanding in her eyes something he knew he didn’t deserve. ‘You must miss her terribly, especially at Christmas, then.’

‘Yeah.’ He shrugged, uncomfortable with her sympathy. After all, she’d lost both her parents long before he’d lost his mom.

‘Did you have a lot of Christmas traditions?’ she asked, the warmth in her gaze turning her green eyes to a rich emerald.

‘I guess. Doesn’t everyone?’ he said.

‘Yes, I... I suppose they do,’ she said, but the curiosity in her eyes died as her gaze slipped away from his—to land on the tree across the room.

Reaching across the bar, he covered her hand again.

Her head turned back to his.

‘What’s the issue with the tree?’ he asked, aware of the unhappiness swirling in the emerald green even as she tried to mask it.

She drew her hand out from under his. ‘Nothing.’

He propped his elbows on the bar and studied her face.

‘You do know you’re a crummy liar, right?’ he countered, and her face went an interesting shade of pink. ‘Is Christmas when you lost your folks?’ he probed, wanting to know what had put that wistful look in her eyes.

Which was a novel experience for him—normally he wouldn’t be interested in figuring out what made a woman tick.

But Belle had always been different. She fascinated him on so many different levels. Not just the livewire chemistry they shared, or that captivating innocence—his OTT reaction to which he was still trying to figure out—but also all her contrasts: the shyness behind the competence, the innocence beneath the reserve, and all those tantalising glimpses of the reckless girl, the vulnerable woman behind the mask of the confident queen.

‘No, they died in a helicopter crash right before my ninth birthday in July,’ she said.

‘That must have been really tough,’ he said, his chest tightening at her carefully guarded expression. He knew what that felt like, trying to hold it together, so no one could see you bleed.

‘Yes, the country went into deep mourning. It was a dreadful day for Androvia,’ she said, her voice still carefully devoid of emotion. ‘They were both such exemplary monarchs—always so focussed on their duty to the throne. I’m not sure the country and its citizens have ever really recovered from the loss.’

He frowned. ‘I meant, it must have been tough for you. You were just a little kid. And you’d lost both your parents.’

Her brows rose slightly, almost as if she were surprised at the question. ‘Yes, but...’ She paused. ‘Of course, I missed them terribly,’ she said, but her voice sounded hollow, almost as if she was trying to persuade herself. ‘But ultimately, I was glad they died together, as they loved each other very much.’

Huh?

It was Travis’s turn to frown. Wasn’t that sentiment way too mature for a kid of eight? But he could see from the brave acceptance in her gaze she had come to terms with her loss a long time ago. Then again...

‘So, what’s the deal with the tree, then?’ he asked. Even curiouser now. Surely it had to be something to do with her childhood, because he’d sensed her lack of sentimentality about the season right from the start.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. But then she shrugged and stared down at her plate, to toy with the last bite of her grilled cheese. ‘It’s silly, really.’

And then he knew it wasn’t nothing—because she wasn’t meeting his eye, and he knew that was the tactic she used when she couldn’t hide her emotions behind the shield of manners.

‘Is it nothing, or is it silly? Because it can’t be both,’ he asked gently, curious now not just about the woman, but also the little girl. Had she covered her grief then too, behind a shield of polite conformity? And duty.

The thought made him sad for her. And angry.

Shouldn’t every kid be allowed to act out, especially at a time like that? She would have been thrust into the public eye even more after her parents’ death. The pressure to be perfect would have been a massive burden. Had they ever even given her a chance to grieve? And how could she not have buckled under the strain?

Her gaze met his at last. ‘Honestly, it’s very silly and also quite self-indulgent. I’m embarrassed to talk about it.’

‘Try me,’ he said, beginning to wonder if she had always thought her feelings, her needs, were less important than her duty to the Androvian throne.

Because it was certainly starting to look that way.

Why else would she have suggested marrying a total stranger? When she’d never even had a proper relationship before now. Never even dated.

Did she have any idea how damn vulnerable she was? Especially to a guy like him.

A man who had spent his whole life taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, without a thought to how it might impact anyone else. Not even his own mom. While she’d subjugated her own desires to assume the burden of a whole country’s expectations when she was only eight. He’d always been proud of how single-minded he was, how he’d always kept his eyes on the prize, his take-no-prisoners approach to everything from his business to his love life. But his drive and ambition were starting to look kind of selfish now, compared with her loyalty and dedication to her subjects and her country and her parents’ legacy.

She gave an impatient huff. ‘Okay, but you must promise you won’t laugh, or think less of me,’ she said.

‘Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,’ he said. But when she sent him a sceptical look, he crossed his little finger over his heart and kissed the tip. ‘Pinkie swear.’

Her gaze strayed back to the decorated tree across the room. ‘Seeing Christmas trees, all lit up like that...’ She gave a wistful sigh. ‘They’re so festive and bright, but they make me feel so lonely. Which is ridiculous, of course.’

Why was it ridiculous? ‘Do you know the reason why they make you feel that way?’

‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘The reason is even sillier actually. And also very selfish... I used to get terribly upset when I was a child that my parents couldn’t be with me on Christmas Day.’

‘That’s not dumb at all,’ he said, vehemently defending feelings she seemed unable to defend herself. ‘Of course you missed them. I still miss my mom on Christmas Day and she’s been gone for over a decade.’

She turned to him, her cheeks reddening. ‘You misunderstand. This was before they died. Christmas was very important to them as a couple. They loved each other very much and they got so little time to spend together, because they had such busy schedules. My father explained to me the three days over Christmas were very precious—and the only time they could spend together just the two of them—which was why they left me at the palace with the staff on Christmas Eve. But I always cried anyway. He would get annoyed with me, making such an unnecessary scene. And now that’s one of the few memories I have left of him—which is awful really.’

‘You’re not serious?’ he murmured, his voice tight with shock—and anger for that kid who had been gaslighted by her own dad. ‘Who the hell leaves their only kid home alone at Christmas, so he can go off on a three-day booty call with his wife?’

Her eyebrows launched up her forehead, her cheeks darkening, but at least he’d shocked the guilt right out of her eyes.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said, the misplaced loyalty making him hate her father even more. ‘That’s not how it was at all.’

‘The hell it isn’t,’ he said. Because he understood just fine. Not only had her old man left that dumb instruction in his will that had forced her to marry, but he hadn’t even stuck around for Christmas when she was a kid, and he’d taken her mom off with him. Leaving his daughter with nobody but people who were paid to be there. ‘Your father sounds like an even bigger jerk than mine, and that’s saying something.’

‘But you’re wrong,’ she said, although she didn’t sound quite as sure any more. ‘Obviously, he loved me very much,’ she added. ‘And after their death Mel and her mother came into my life and that helped immeasurably. We became such good friends, even though we are quite different. Of course, they couldn’t spend Christmas with me either,’ she added, in that matter-of-fact tone that didn’t dim the sadness in her eyes. ‘Because it was the only time Mel’s mother could take her to visit their family in London. Maybe that is also why Christmas still makes me feel lonely, which is doubly selfish of me.’

‘That’s garbage, Belle,’ he said, getting more annoyed by the second. ‘Maybe Mel and her mom couldn’t stay with you. But your father could have, and so could your mom. What you’re describing isn’t love, it’s neglect. If you love someone, you spend time with them—you make memories that matter with them. My mom worked three jobs, but she never missed a single competition I was in. And we always spent Christmas Day together. Just the two of us.’

The anger twisted in his gut, becoming sour and bitter as it turned inward. And he recalled his mom’s email to him that last Christmas—every word of which he still remembered with crystal clarity.

Travis, honey, will you be able to make it back for the twenty-fifth? I’d love to see you if you can. But don’t sweat it if you can’t. I’ve put the enormous spruce you sent me and all the presents in pride of place in my new lounge. I intend to decorate the tree tomorrow, now I’m finally over the chemo. Knock ’em dead on the half-pipe, that title is already yours.

Love Mom x

The courage and selflessness in that email still sickened him.

Who was he to judge her old man, or his own, when he was just as much of a selfish jerk?

‘Except her last Christmas,’ he blurted out, not sure why he was confessing to her.

But when he saw the misguided sympathy cloud her eyes again, he knew why.

Isabelle’s selflessness—her willingness to blame herself for something that had never been her fault—put his own selfishness into context. Plus, it was way past time he confronted the crappy way he’d behaved back then—to the only woman who had ever made the mistake of loving him.

‘She must have known the cancer was terminal,’ he said, the guilt twisting in his gut, the hideous fear and panic after that initial diagnosis still there after all these years. ‘But I was way too focussed on winning some dumb competition to notice what was right in front of my eyes. I didn’t ask about her prognosis, because I was scared to hear the answer. So, I stayed in France over that whole Christmas, convincing myself I needed the extra time in training to work on my jumps. But the real reason was that I didn’t want to go home and watch her struggle. I didn’t want to have to confront the truth. It was cowardly and mean. And I still regret it. Which is why I’m not much fun to be around at Christmas either.’

Instead of seeing what he was trying to tell her—about what selfishness really looked like—Isabelle’s eyes darkened even more, with a compassion he had no right to.

She reached out and clasped the hand he had resting on the bar. ‘But, Travis, you were just a boy. And she was so important to you. Of course you were terrified,’ she said, the empathy in her voice rich with emotion.

He tugged his hand free to cup her cheek, feeling her tiny shiver of awareness. And wished, if only for a moment, he could be a better man. A man worthy of a woman like her.

Not the queen, but the woman beneath. Her loyalty to the people she loved could never be shaken, even when they didn’t deserve it. She was much stronger than he had ever been.

‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Belle,’ he said. ‘I don’t deserve it.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but he slid his thumb across her bottom lip to stop her. And felt her delicious shudder.

‘The point is, if your folks had really loved you, if they had deserved you, they wouldn’t have abandoned you like that,’ he said. ‘They would have stuck around to be with you. Especially at Christmas.’

Just as he should have stuck around for his mom.

‘That they didn’t is on them. Not you,’ he finished.

The glitter of tears in her eyes crucified him a little more, especially when she eased out an unsteady breath and nodded. ‘I guess... Yes, perhaps they really shouldn’t have been quite so willing to leave me like that,’ she said. The sadness was still there, but somehow the hopelessness was gone.

He was glad.

‘Ya think?’ he murmured, and she smiled, the bright sweet smile that lit up her whole face.

‘Come on,’ he said, walking round the breakfast bar to grab her arm, suddenly determined to make this Christmas the best she’d ever had—which wasn’t going to be much of a challenge, by the sound of it. After all, it was the least he could do after the crummy way he’d treated her, too.

‘I can’t go nuts today thanks to my bum knee,’ he said. And as much as he would love to, they couldn’t lose themselves in sex either, because she was probably still a little sore. Although he saw no reason not to make the most of this chemistry now they had come to an agreement about what this meant and what it didn’t. ‘But how about I teach you how to snowboard so we can both get through today without any more drama? I’ve got some spare kit you can use.’

Her eyes gleamed, the sparkle of excitement as captivating as it was refreshing. ‘Actually, I think I would like that very much,’ she said.

His own excitement soared. But as he dragged her into the mud room, to get them both tooled up, he could almost feel his mom looking down on them both and hear her voice—her tone loving, and supportive, but also well aware of all his flaws.

About damn time you stopped moping around, Travis. I swear, what are Christmases for but to have fun? You’ve wasted far too many of them since I’ve been gone.

As they messed about in the snow for the rest of the day, the guilt that had crippled him at Christmas for so long let go its hold on him. Because they ended up creating new memories, full of laughter, while they wrestled together in the snow, and he taught her the basics of boarding while trying to prevent them both from falling on their asses.

But that night, while they stripped off in front of the fire—and he watched her give herself over to the explosive passion they shared—the emotion he still didn’t understand, that surge of protectiveness and possessiveness, blindsided him all over again.

And scared the heck out of him. Again.