The Marriage Pact Page 11

  I prepare my glass of water, watching her from the corner of my eye. Her hair is tousled, waves cascading over her shoulders. And her matching pink satin pajamas bring out the natural rosy hue of her full lips.

  “Please tell me you’re not reading those comments again,” I say when I spot her phone lying next to her tea cup.

  “I’m reading a book, actually,” she says. “On an app.”

  “That’s your issue. Too much screen time. No wonder you can’t sleep.” I pull up a bar stool and position it across from her. “The blue light interferes with your natural melatonin production.”

  “You Googled insomnia, too, I see.” She takes a sip of tea, closing out of her app. “Actually, seeing Liam earlier sort of brought up some old feelings … from that summer.”

  Tension invades my muscles, but I don’t say a word.

  If she actually developed feelings for that prick …

  I was under the impression they’d only hooked up that one time, and it wasn’t long after that that I forced my parents to send him home. He was getting too chummy with her, she was too smiley whenever he was around, and he made her laugh.

  I’ll never forget the sound of her laughing at one of his impossibly pathetic jokes and the two of them acting so casual, as if they were so clever going behind my back and doing what they did.

  To this day, they still don’t know that I saw them coming out of that room at the Belleseau house.

  Emily rotates her cup, shoulders lifting and falling as she draws in a long breath. “Julian, can I ask you something? I know we said we were going to leave the past in the past, but I just need to know something, and if you answer it, I promise I won’t bring it up again.”

  There’s a slight tremble in her fingertips and a hint of a quake in her voice, and when she looks up at me, I realize her eyes are glassy.

  “Of course, Emelie. What is it?”

  “Why did you do what you did?” she asks.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I’ve done a lot of things …”

  “That summer,” she says, her voice pillow soft as she chokes back emotion. “Things were going so well between us and after we slept together, you turned cold and heartless. You wouldn’t even look at me and when you did, you’d look straight through me. Just like that, you changed, and without any warning or explanation. I don’t think you realize how deeply that affected me. The fear of abandonment and rejection haunted me for years after that, affecting every relationship I ever tried to have—”

  “—Emelie,” I say, lifting my hand and rising from my bar stool. “Emelie, what are you talking about? We never slept together.”

  She pauses mid-sentence, her shiny eyes narrowing at me. “Yes, we did.”

  “No. We didn’t. I’m quite sure I’d remember if we had. Actually I’m positive I’d remember.”

  Her gaze skims to the left, like she’s trying to recall old memories, and she’s lost in thought for a moment.

  “You left me that note,” she says. “Under my pillow. You told me to meet you that night in the movie room after everyone went to bed …”

  “No?”

  “Yes, you did,” she says, like she so desperately wants to believe it.

  “What did it say? This note?”

  Her face is winced. “We’d been talking about sleeping together right before that and then I got your note … something like tonight is the night. I went to the room that evening after the rest of the house was asleep. It was pitch black. You were waiting for me. You kissed me and the room started spinning because I was still drunk from that wine we stole from your mother earlier in the night.” Her fingertips trace her lips and she squints as she continues, “You started undressing me … and touching me … I could smell your cologne …”

  This has Liam written all over it.

  “Jesus Christ, Emelie.” I drag my hands through my hair before resting my elbows on the island countertop. “I swear on my life, on my kingdom that was not me.”

  Her lower lip quivers.

  Everything’s beginning to make sense.

  “I saw you coming out of the movie room that night,” I say. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was going to make a run to the kitchen for a glass of water. You stumbled out of the room and into the dark hallway. Your hair was a mess and your dress was crooked and you had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling. I whispered your name a few times, but you didn’t hear me, and then you disappeared into your bedroom.” I pause. “And then I saw Liam. He came out of the same door as you, his shirt bunched in his hand as he dashed back to his room.”

  “Oh, God.” She buries her head in her hands.

  All these years, I thought she cheated on me. I thought he stole her out from under me. I thought they’d snuck off together after we drank wine by the campfire. I felt betrayed. I felt like a fool. And I vowed never to let anyone make me feel that way again.

  I’ve spent the past eight years hating Emelie for something she didn’t do—at least something she didn’t do intentionally.

  I think back to that night and how it felt like I’d been dropkicked and then some. And then I think about how cruel and merciless I was to her after that, how she had tried to talk to me the next day and I blew her off. I remember the confusion in her eyes that eventually transformed into hurt as the summer progressed. And I remember the hatred in her eyes when we attended a party down the street and I kissed another girl in front of her just to spite her. I wanted her to feel the way I felt when I saw her and Liam that night and I wanted the satisfaction of seeing it in real time.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I say, jaw clenched.

  She lifts her head, damp eyes resting on mine. “All this time you thought I cheated on you?”

  Lips pressed flat, I exhale, nodding. “Yes, Emelie.”

  “And that’s why you were so heartless to me after that night?” She covers her face with her hands once more, shaking her head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I’ve never been good at offering comfort in trying moments, but without giving it a second thought, I go to her. I pull her into my arms. And I hold her.

  “He’s going to pay for what he did. I promise you that.” I hold her tighter. I’d murder him right now if he were standing in front of me. “He’s not going to get away with it, Emelie. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Liam assaulted Emelie without her knowledge.

  He slept with Dayanara.

  And then he had the nerve to march into my palace and demand that I not go through with the marriage.

  It makes sense though—I’m sure he was worried that the two of us would talk and figure out the truth. He wasn’t worried about Emelie. He wasn’t here to be noble. He was here to make sure his secret was still safe.

  All this time, my plan to marry Emelie had multiple purposes. Firstly, it would allow me to inherit the throne once Parliament removed my father. And secondly, by marrying Emelie, I could show Dayanara how meaningless she is to me and make Liam believe that Emelie ultimately chose me over him in the end—something that would torture his competitive ego and make him seethe with jealousy all over again. Lastly, I wanted to Emelie for myself. I never got to have her that summer, not the way I wanted, and by forcing her to marry me, I could take back what should have been mine, even if only for a few years.

  But I had it all wrong—at least with her.

  She was innocent in all of this.

  The only mistake she ever made was falling for me all those years ago.

  Dragging in a ragged breath, I realize Emelie is sobbing, quietly, against my shoulder, so I don’t move. I stand here and hold her and I let her cry.

  Chapter 27

  Emelie

  My eyes are puffy and swollen Thursday morning as I wash my face over my sink. Bits and pieces of last night come to me like a flickering movie screen. My head throbs and my throat aches.

  I’m still in disbelief.

  And a part of me doesn’t want to belie
ve …

  They say the truth hurts.

  This truth damn near killed me last night.

  I’ve never been so blindsided, so wrought from the inside out.

  Julian held me in his arms while I cried, promising vengeance on my behalf, but what can he do? It’s been eight years. All the evidence is long gone. And no amount of time spent behind bars will make up for the eight years Julian and I lost.

  The eight years we spent hating one another with every fiber of our souls.

  Who knows what would’ve happened after that summer?

  We could have been wonderful.

  I get cleaned up and change into running gear, though I don’t quite feel like doing much of anything today. I’ve never been one to wallow in self-pity or sit around feeling sorry for myself, but I’m still shell-shocked. Waves of emotion so intense I can hardly stand come over me with no warning, only to be replaced a second later with numbness.

  All this time, Julian thought I cheated on him.

  All this time, I thought Julian used me and threw me away.

  We had each other all wrong.

  And it’s all Liam’s doing.

  I pass my bed on the way out, noticing one of the pillows is lying at the foot of the bed. Julian carried me upstairs last night after I’d had my hard cry in the kitchen, and all I remember after that was passing out.

  He must have stayed.

  He didn’t want me to be alone.

  My father always told me to look at the bright side of each and every difficult situation. While it isn’t exactly easy in this case, I have to admit, the heaviness of resenting Julian all these years is dissipating. It’s been lifted. Despite last night’s revelation, this morning when I woke, there was a different kind of lightness about me that I haven’t felt in forever.

  The darkness within me that was once reserved for Julian has now been transferred to Liam, and when the time is right, we’re going to ensure Liam has his day in court.

  The clock on the nightstand reads half past ten in the morning. If Julian went running, he’s probably back by now. I imagine he didn’t want to wake me after last night.

  I take the stairs to the private kitchen, and when I get there, I open the shades on each and every window.

  I don’t want this room to be a reminder of last night, so I flood it with light.

  When I’m finished, I stand over the sink and gaze out the window toward the rose garden, and for the first time, I feel hopeful about the next five years. Truly hopeful. And that’s something Liam will never be able to take away from me.

  “Emelie. You’re up.”

  I turn to find Julian standing in the doorway, dressed for the day in his dress shirt and navy slacks, his hair shiny with brill cream and styled in his usual billboard model way.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For last night.”

  Being in his arms last night was surprisingly nice. I want to take a step closer to him, but I don’t know if we’re there yet. I feel like we’re starting from the beginning in a way. We’re closer than we were, but we’re not close. Not yet.

  But I have hope.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. He stays where he is, keeping a careful distance, like I’m some fragile china doll.

  “I will be.”

  “I was going to ask you,” he begins to say, “if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

  “We have dinner together every night …”

  “No, I mean a proper date. Out of the palace.”

  My heart somersaults.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’d love that.”

  Chapter 28

  Julian

  The entire rooftop of Artemis is ours tonight, and we dine beneath a blanket of stars, wrapped in a warm summer night’s breeze, nestled between the flicker of candlelight. I’m not a romantic person by any stretch of the imagination, but a man could get used to this.

  “You’re radiant,” I tell Emelie as she takes a sip of her dessert wine.

  “That’s what my mother always says.” She places her glass aside, a delicate bracelet dangling from her dainty wrist. Two diamond studs glimmer from her ears. “But thank you.”

  “It’s true. You’re lit from within.”

  There’s something lighter about her tonight, like a weight’s been lifted, and I think of last night. The Liam revelation. Emelie sobbing against my shoulder. Carrying her to bed. Lying with her until she fell asleep. I thought for sure she would be broken, that she would be downtrodden and numb for a while, but she woke up today in better spirits, which I can only attribute to the fact that her unadulterated hatred for me has dissipated into nothingness. I imagine it’s been weighing her down for the past eight years, believing that I would have used her like that.

  Our summer fling was brief, but it was emotionally torrid.

  I try not to think about what we could have had and what we lost all because of Liam. There’s no point in wallowing in the past, at least not now with all of the wedding excitement on the horizon.

  Besides, Liam will get his.

  I haven’t told Emelie yet, but I have my legal team looking into how to proceed with prosecuting Liam. There’s no statute of limitations for sexual assault in North Carolina and I vowed to Emelie that Liam would pay for what he did to her, so I’m not the slightest bit worried. The only reason I haven’t brought it up with her yet is because we’ve been having such a wonderful night together that I don’t want to sully it with the mention of that rat bastard.

  “I’m going to check out the view,” Emelie says, rising from her chair and heading toward the rooftop railing that overlooks the ocean. The moon is full tonight, painting the water with its soft glow, and I join her because I can’t remember the last time I stopped to admire a view like this.

  I can’t take my eyes off her—the form-fitting black dress, the shiny blonde waves, the eyes that smile even if her lips don’t …

  Her sweet perfume is carried on a salty ocean breeze, and I inhale, wanting to remember this moment forever. This is the first time in eight years we’ve been around one another and not held a hint of hidden animosity. It’s an ordinary moment—dinner for two—but it’s also beautiful because it marks the end of one era and the beginning of another.

  Emelie hugs her sides, her palms running up and down the length of her bare arms.

  “Are you cold?” I ask, slipping my jacket off my shoulders.

  “A little.”

  I place the coat over her, our hands brushing.

  “Thank you,” she says, returning her gaze to the ocean.

  “This might seem a bit out of the blue,” I say. “But I wanted to tell you I admire your strength. I admire a lot of things about you, Emelie. Truly. You’re real and approachable. You’re not pretentious. You’re never pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re always putting others first. And you’re so sure of yourself, of who you are. I’m afraid that’s a quality I lack.”

  She turns to face me, her back against the railing. “What do you mean? You don’t know who you are?”

  “Some days I don’t feel like I quite have a grasp on who I’m supposed to be,” I say. There’s a lump in my throat, but I ignore it. I’ve never shared this with anyone before, but it feels good to share it with Emelie. She isn’t the type to judge. “Other days I’m so sure of who I am that it isn’t even a question.”

  “I think everyone has those days.” She smiles, head tilted, like she finds my confession endearing.

  “So in other words, I’m not a special snowflake.”

  “You’re special, all right.” Her mouth pulls wide. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me. “And extra too.”

  “Extra what?”

  She laughs through her nose. “Never mind.”

  Ours eyes lock and a soft gust of wind blows a strand of hair across her face. I brush it from her cheek, my heart hammering in my chest. If she were any other woman, I’d have kissed her by now. I’d have made my move and never looked back, never given it a
second thought. But Emelie isn’t any other woman.

  My lips are on fire with want, and I drag the pad of my thumb along her soft mouth. It already belongs to me, even if I haven’t claimed it yet.

  “Julian,” she says, breathless, before she leans in just enough to let me know she wants this too.

  I’m two seconds from tasting her lips when we hear, “So sorry to interrupt. I was just checking in to see if there was anything else you needed.”

  Our server is standing behind me.

  The moment is ruined.

  I let my hand fall from her cheek.

  “We’re good, Marco. Thank you.” I speak to him, but my eyes are trained on her.

  “We should probably head back,” she says, stepping away from the railing and back to the table where she gathers her clutch and slides it under her arm. She’s swimming in my jacket, but everything about her remains luminous. “It’s getting late, and I know we’re meeting with Ms. Divine in the morning.”

  “I’ll have Rafa call for the car,” I say.

  She slips my suit coat off her shoulders and places it in my arms.

  It smells of her now.

  My bride.

  My future queen.

  My Emelie.

  Rafa meets us by the door and leads us to the valet stand where my driver awaits. It’s half past eleven, and it’ll be at least midnight by the time we get to the palace.

  A few moments later, we’re situated in the backseat of the car when our hands brush against one another’s. I don’t move mine. She doesn’t move hers. And at some point in our journey home, our fingers interlace.

  It isn’t a kiss.

  But it is something.

  Chapter 29

  Emelie

  I lie in bed Thursday night, fingers tracing over my lips. I was so sure he was going to kiss me earlier tonight at Artemis—and we were close—but the moment was lost when our server came to check on us.

  Maybe it’s better this way, taking things slow.