CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘W HAT DO YOU mean you haven’t heard from her, either?’ Isabelle demanded as the anxiety that had been clawing at her throat for over twenty-four hours started to restrict her breathing.

The last day had been nothing short of horrendous. Returning to Androvia had been hard enough, the responsibility of monarchy weighing her down as soon as she stepped off Lord Culture’s private jet on the White Palace airstrip, to be greeted by her staff and several members of the Ruling Council, all with new problems to solve, or duties to fulfil.

But it had been so much harder to leave Colorado—and the woman she had become in Travis’s home—behind.

The days there had merged into one long escape from reality, which made her life now in Androvia seem like so much more of a burden than before. But far worse, she had plunged down the rabbit hole of believing she and Travis might have been able to build something more out of their relationship. Because she couldn’t look at him now without the yearning coming back, not just the physical desire to be held, to enjoy the pleasure he could give her, but more than that.

How could she have allowed herself to become so reliant on his companionship, too?

They had generally avoided any thorny topics about their pasts—or their emotions—after Christmas Day, but even so, simply talking to him about the resort project, his business, the intricacies of her role in Androvia, which he had begun to show an interest in as the days wore on, had allowed her to share at least some of the burden for the first time in her life.

And she hadn’t even realised how much that had meant to her until she had thrown it away in her panic, on their last night in Colorado.

But as she glared at Arne now, she had to believe she had made the right decision to end their intimate relationship. She couldn’t rely on Travis, couldn’t lean on him, couldn’t risk confusing the endorphin rush of sex with the development of a real relationship. Because that would mean a commitment from him that he had made it clear he was not willing to give—from the way he had so easily accepted the end of their intimate relationship.

In the days since, he hadn’t made any attempt to change her mind. As they’d left the house and travelled back to Europe on his jet, their conversations had been stilted and far too polite—which was ironic given how much his lack of boundaries had once unnerved her.

She had missed the casual touches—and his irreverent relaxed way of speaking to her most of all. Even more than the physical intimacy. But she had forced herself not to reach out to him simply because she felt lonely again.

But she had been unable to sleep again last night, knowing he was in the room on the other side of the bathroom. It had been a titanic effort not to knock on his door and beg him to make love to her again. Just one more time.

She needed her friend Mel. She had to offload about all this. Because bottling it all up was only exhausting her more. But she hadn’t been able to get in touch with her PA since she had left on her not-so-fake honeymoon with Travis. Mel always took a Christmas and New Year break—if not to see her mother, then to some sunny clime where she could get away from the winter—and Isabelle had always respected her privacy. But it was beyond odd that if Mel had chosen to take leave after the ball, she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Not even Arne, who was in charge of the palace personnel and their schedules.

‘Her phone has not been answered since the New Year Ball, Your Majesty. And she has not sent word about her whereabouts, but Prince Rene’s security detail said he relieved them of their duties in the early hours of New Year’s Day and has not reappeared either. So we suspect the two incidences are most likely linked,’ Arne finished.

Isabelle’s heart sped up. ‘What are you trying to say?’ she managed, her already agitated stomach starting to churn. Why was Arne behaving as if this were all perfectly normal?

‘Ms Taylor and Prince Rene were photographed leaving the ball together, Your Majesty. He dismissed his security detail it is believed to escort Ms Taylor back to Androvia alone.’ Arne cleared his throat, a dull red staining his cheeks, confusing Isabelle even more. ‘But when they didn’t return to Androvia it was assumed they...’ He trailed off.

‘For goodness’ sake, Arne, please just say whatever it is.’

He coughed. ‘They decided to have an assignation together.’

Disbelief came first, swiftly followed by a new wave of anxiety.

‘As you know, Prince Rene has a tendency to...’ Arne continued in that strained tone ‘...disregard his schedule when he is in the mood for...female companionship.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Isabelle cut into Arne’s painful explanation. ‘Mel would never go off with Rene.’ Because she hated him.

For the first time, fear gripped her throat.

‘Are you telling me no one has seen either one of them since they left the ball three days ago?’ she demanded.

‘Well, not specifically,’ Arne announced. ‘But I have been assured by Prince Rene’s private secretary it is not at all unusual for the Prince to be unavailable on occasion.’

Isabelle simply stared. She’d known Rene was troubled, and that he struggled with his role, but she hadn’t realised he went AWOL on a regular basis.

‘I don’t care if it’s not unusual for him,’ she said, knowing that while Rene might be extremely unreliable, Mel certainly was not. ‘It’s utterly unprecedented for Mel to disappear without a word. We need to contact the police,’ she said, her fear rising. Mel simply would not do something so irresponsible as to go off like this, especially with a man she could barely say two words to without starting an argument. ‘And start a search for them both.’

Arne’s eyebrows rose. ‘But, Your Majesty, that will create unnecessary press speculation. And be an embarrassment for the Saltzaland monarchy.’

‘I don’t care if it’s an embarrassment,’ she shouted, forced to raise her voice. Why wasn’t Arne listening to her?

‘Hey, Belle, what’s all the yelling about?’

Isabelle turned to see Travis leaning against the door frame of her office. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him—so tall and indomitable—and the wild rush of pleasure followed... He had called her Belle. Her heart bounced into her throat. Stupid to think she had missed that silly nickname so much, too. But before she could find the words to explain to him why she was so anxious, Arne bowed deeply and began speaking in that patronising tone again.

‘Your Highness,’ Arne said, addressing Travis. ‘The Queen is concerned about the whereabouts of her personal assistant, Ms Taylor, but I have assured her there is nothing to worry about.’

‘Arne, I think I should be the judge of that...’ she began, becoming increasingly annoyed with her courtier. He had always had issues with female authority, but she had never had her direct requests countermanded before.

As Travis pushed away from the door and walked towards them both, the flood of yearning only increased the emotional turmoil inside her.

What was happening to her? Why was she so happy to see him? Was she overreacting? As Arne suggested? She didn’t think so—her concern about Mel was totally justified. But somehow the sight of Travis was playing havoc with her composure, as well as her convictions. Especially when he reached her and she got a lungful of that familiar scent. The yearning surged, but right alongside it was the foolish feeling of hope that had been crucifying her for days now.

‘I want you to contact the police, Arne,’ she said to her chief courtier again. ‘There is no need to contact the media as yet. But we may need to arrange a press conference if the two of them cannot be found,’ she said, determined to ignore her overwhelming reaction to Travis’s nearness to focus on the problem at hand.

‘But, Your Majesty—’ the courtier began again.

‘Arne, do what she tells you,’ Travis interjected, the commanding tone brooking no argument.

To Isabelle’s relief Arne bowed again, finally having got the message. ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ he said to Travis, before leaving the room.

But as the office door closed behind the courtier, and she found herself alone with the man who was not supposed to be her real husband, the relief twisted inside her, becoming hard and jagged. Why did she feel so weak and needy all of a sudden? She shouldn’t rely on Travis’s support. Any more than she should be grateful Arne had listened to him and not her—when she was his queen, and Travis wasn’t even a real consort.

‘Okay, so what’s the problem? And why do you feel you need to involve the police?’ he asked. But she could see the shuttered look in his eyes that had made her feel so alone in the past few days.

‘Mel has gone missing,’ she said, retreating behind her desk, her feelings far too close to the surface. ‘She and Rene haven’t been seen since they left the New Year’s Eve Ball, which I forced her to go to in my stead,’ she added, the guilt washing over her.

Travis propped his hip against the desk and crossed his legs at the ankle, the casual stance displaying a confidence she had never felt around him.

Why was this so easy for him? When it was so hard for her?

‘So why isn’t Arne concerned?’ he asked.

She sat down, and stared out of the window onto the gorge, determined not to feel intimidated by his relaxed demeanour. Or to second-guess her reaction again.

The snow had been falling since New Year’s Day, blanketing the country and making travel increasingly difficult. What if Rene and Mel had somehow got lost in the white-out? It was a five-hour drive through the high country to the White Palace from Gaultiere Castle in Saltzaland. And they would have been driving at night. But when Travis continued to wait for her answer, she was forced to admit the other explanation.

‘Because Arne—and apparently everyone else on my staff and Rene’s—thinks that Mel has suddenly lost her senses and gone off on an...’ she lifted her hands to do air quotes ‘...an “assignation” with a man she has never liked.’

Travis let out a gruff chuckle that stabbed at the heart of all Isabelle’s insecurities. It angered her that Arne hadn’t taken her seriously, but it hurt to see him do it too.

‘The Playboy Prince strikes again, huh?’ he murmured.

She stood to slap her hands on the desk. ‘Don’t you dare laugh, or make light of this,’ she said, allowing her temper to seal up the empty space, at least a little bit, which was always there now when she was near him.

‘Cool it, Your Majesty.’ He lifted his hands and levered himself off the desk, the mocking gesture belied by the hard glitter in his eyes. ‘I’m just offering an opinion.’

‘I don’t want your opinion,’ she said, determined to finally stand up for herself. ‘And don’t call me Your Majesty when you have no respect for my office whatsoever.’

The hard glitter darkened, the flash of emotion behind the mask of casual charm somehow vindicating. Until he spoke.

‘That would be the office you use as a shield, so you don’t have to feel any real emotions, is it?’ He ground the words out, his anger as shocking as the chasm opening up in the pit of her stomach at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You’re damn right I don’t have any respect for it. But hey, your friend’s booty call is not my problem. I only came to tell you I’m heading back to Colorado for a couple of weeks.’

He turned to leave.

‘But you can’t leave.’ She dashed around the desk to grasp his arm. ‘I need you here.’

The chasm expanded when he glanced down at his arm, where her fingers gripped the cool fabric of his suit jacket.

She wished she could grab the words back when his gaze met hers. And what she saw there threw her back to her childhood, when she had begged her father to stay, to care for her, and he had looked at her the same way—with pity and impatience—as if she were an inconvenience to be managed, a burden to be handled.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Belle?’ he murmured. ‘This isn’t a real marriage.’

She released her grip on his arm, even as the yearning in her heart sank into the chasm too. Along with the last of her strength and resilience.

As he walked away, without a backward glance, fear and sadness shattered her heart and made her feel like that broken child all over again. Wanting—and hoping for—something she could never have.

‘Take me to the airport in Androlov,’ Travis demanded, slinging his bag into the back of the cab.

‘Your Highness?’ The driver seemed stunned as he climbed in.

‘The name’s Travis Lord,’ he snarled. It had taken over two hours to get packed and arrange a flight out of Androvia—because his company jet had returned to the States—and he needed to leave now, before he lost any more of his cool. ‘There’s a hundred-buck tip in it if you can get me there in under an hour.’

He’d lost his temper with Belle, something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. Ever since she’d turned to him in Colorado and told him—in that carefully polite tone—that she really didn’t think they should share a bed any longer. And made him feel like nothing.

He got that he’d overreacted. Theirs could never be more than a sexual relationship—they’d agreed to that, hadn’t they? But he’d thought they’d eventually become friends during their time together in Colorado. Every time she’d turned to him with need in her eyes, every time she’d trusted him to hold her safely while he’d taught her some moves on the snowboard, every time he’d watched her go over and he’d held her afterwards... It had started to feel like—more.

He still wanted her, sure, but he could get over that. What he couldn’t handle though was the feeling of being used.

So, when she’d told him he didn’t respect her, he’d let her have it. With both barrels. But he refused to feel guilty about it.

The cab pulled through the gates of the palace, but had to stop on the verge to let through a couple of trucks with a US news channel’s logo on.

He glanced over his shoulder as the cab headed out of the royal compound. Then leaned forward to tap on the glass.

The driver slid open the divider. ‘Yes, Your... Mr Lord,’ the man said, correcting himself.

‘What’s with the news trucks?’

‘They have been arriving for the last hour. Her Majesty is giving a press conference in ten minutes,’ the man replied, sending Travis a puzzled look. Probably because he was supposed to know what was going on in his wife’s life. That would be the wife he’d just walked out on in a storm of hurt feelings.

‘I need you here.’

The plea echoed in his skull—as it had been doing for the past couple hours while he’d been slinging stuff into his bag and rearranging his schedule commitments to make his getaway to Colorado—but this time he couldn’t seem to convince himself she’d been playing him.

He’d seen the panic in her eyes, felt the tremble of her fingers holding onto his suit—and he’d decided it was all an act. Just like all the other moments when he’d sensed the volatile emotion under the polite indifference.

He couldn’t pose as her loving husband any longer. Not until he could stop wanting her, all the damn time. Not until he could get over his obsession with her—which had grown to impossible proportions since their marriage. Not just the constant need to touch her, and caress her, and make love to her... But worse than that, the desire to listen to her voice—so precise, so determined, so honest and forthright—talking about everything from palace business to the crummy way her old man had treated her as a kid—and see the emotions swirling in her eyes. The emotions he had kidded himself she had hidden from everyone but him.

But uncertainty rolled around in his chest, along with the great big boulder that had been lodged there ever since their heart-to-heart on Christmas Day.

He glanced at his watch. Then grabbed his phone out of his pocket, to switch on the local news app. Within seconds, the newsfeed was interrupted for a ‘special report’ from the White Palace.

The conference had been set up in one of the palace’s many staterooms, the same room he had walked through close to three months ago now.

Isabelle appeared in front of the desk, and the camera flashes went off instantly.

He enlarged the picture, to gauge her expression. She looked demure, controlled, reserved as always. But behind the facade of composure, he could see the cracks. The smudges under her eyes, which he had spotted during their argument but chosen to ignore. The slight tremble in her fingers as she read from a prepared statement.

The words didn’t really compute. Something about the disappearance of her assistant, Mel, and the Playboy Prince—the police’s concern that not a trace of them had been found.

Guilt made his throat ache, her distress clear to him now. Why the hell had he let his temper stop him from seeing what was so damn obvious?

Maybe because he hadn’t had the guts to confront his own feelings, about her.

After the local police chief added his information about the investigation, the palace’s press secretary opened the floor to questions. There were a couple about Prince Rene—seemed this wasn’t the first time the guy had disappeared without warning—but then the reporters from the international press broke ranks.

‘Where is your new husband, Your Majesty?’ one of them asked. ‘Is it correct that he has left you to deal with this situation alone while returning to Colorado?’

Anger burned in Travis’s gut. How the hell did they know about that already? He’d only made the decision to go a couple of hours ago.

But before he could figure it out, the camera closed in on Belle’s face—and what he saw had nausea rising up to replace the fury he wanted to feel, with her, with himself, with the whole damn situation.

That same sick sense of guilt that had crippled him as a kid of nineteen—when he hadn’t stood by his mom. Because he’d been so damn terrified of admitting he might need her too.

‘He had important business to attend to,’ she offered.

But colour rose in her cheeks, and she blinked furiously, to compose herself, the reserve slipping to reveal the vulnerable, devastated girl beneath.

He could feel her struggle to remain aloof, to remain a queen, but he could see the shield crumbling before his eyes and something broke open inside his chest.

It’s not a damn act, Travis, you dumbass.

She looked so scared in that moment. And he understood finally that it was Mel’s disappearance that was freaking her out. Hadn’t she told him how much the woman’s friendship had meant to her as a kid? She had to be terrified.

But he had refused to see her distress, hadn’t acknowledged it, not least because of the little flicker of jealousy at the mention of Rene. But it wasn’t Rene she cared about, it was Mel... And it wasn’t Rene who she needed with her now, it was him.

Dropping the phone, he leant forward and rapped on the glass. ‘Take me back to the palace,’ he demanded, his heart rising into his throat. ‘And if you can get me back there before this damn presser ends, I’ll double the tip.’