His Majesty's Mistake

Emmeline headed for their bedroom aware that Makin watched her every step until she disappeared inside the house. He knew something was wrong. He’d press her for the truth this next time, and she would tell him.

It happened just the way she’d expected. They were still at breakfast, lingering over coffee, talking about what they wanted to do that day when Makin abruptly told her he knew she was upset, that he’d been awakened last night by the sound of her crying.

“Don’t tell me nothing is wrong,” he said flatly. “Obviously something is. What?”

He didn’t skirt problems but ran directly at them, head-first. Emmeline felt a rush of intense love and admiration. He really was good, strong. He needed someone at his side who was as good and strong.

She was neither.

Nor would she ever be.

“I changed my mind,” she said quietly, toying with the handle on her cup. “I changed my mind,” she repeated, louder, more firmly. “I can’t do this after all.”

“Do what?” he asked, almost too gently.

She steeled herself against regrets, wouldn’t tolerate second thoughts. “Do. this. be here with you like this, as if I’m really your wife.”

“You are my wife.”

She forced herself to meet his eyes, hold his gaze. “I’m not, not truly.”

His shoulders squared. He seemed to grow even taller. “You said the vows. You have my ring on your finger.”

Emmeline glanced down at the enormous stone weighting her finger. Her heart turned over. His mother’s ring. Suddenly frantic to be free of all this emotion, fear and pain, she tugged the ring off her finger and held it out to him. “Take it, then. I won’t wear it again.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this. I thought I could. But I was wrong. It won’t work. I’m not the right woman for you, I’m not a woman who can love you the way you want—”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I do. You want a woman like your mother, you want a good woman, a loving woman, a woman who will make your life magical and special, who will love you no matter what … but I don’t know how to love like that.”

He studied her for an endless moment, his expression grave, gray eyes empty. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re just scared—”

“I don’t love you, Makin.” It killed her to say it. It was a lie, an absolute lie, but she knew she had to be brutal, knew she had to hurt him, and she did. She saw his expression change, his features harden because she knew then with absolute certainty that she did love him. But he couldn’t know or he’d never let her go. She battled for composure. “I will never love you.”

Again he looked at her, no emotion in his mouth or eyes. “Why not?”

If she was going to cut the ties that bind, if she was going to set him free—set them both free—she couldn’t just go through the motions. She had to make the cut sharp and deep.

Brutal, she told herself, be brutal and finish this.

Her lips curved and she forced a mocking note into her voice. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged carelessly even as her heart burned. “You’ll never be Alejandro.”

He didn’t even blink. He made no sound. He just looked at her, intensely, searchingly, and she kept her smile fixed, her lips curving cruelly. “I loved him,” she added. “You know I loved him—”

“You told me you never did.”

Another indifferent shrug. “I know what I said, but it was a lie. An act. I was playing you the entire time.”

Finally, a flicker of emotion in his silver eyes. “Why, Emmeline?”

The husky note in his voice was almost her undoing. She struggled to breathe when her throat was squeezing closed. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t be so hurtful and hateful. But if she didn’t hurt him badly, he’d forgive her. He was that kind of man. So she had to be hideous. Terrible. Beyond redemption. She had to make sure he let her go.

Forever.

“Because sometimes we play games to get what we want.”

“And what did you want?”

“A name for my baby. A story to give the press.”

“And I’m that story?”

She nodded. “Even when we divorce, I will tell everyone you fathered my child. When the baby is born, I will give him or her your name. I can be a divorcée and have a good life. I just couldn’t as an unwed pregnant princess.”

“I could demand a paternity test, make the results public.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You married me to do the right thing. You are a man who believes he can make a difference, and you do.”