Page 29 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

Sixteen

Benedict

I n the hour that I’ve been here, the rain falling on the roof of Zelda’s little trailer has grown from a sprinkle to a deluge.

I fully expected her to throw me out, but my apology must have redeemed me at least a little, because I was permitted to stay.

Admittedly, sitting on the toilet and peppering her with questions about the film through the shower curtain wouldn’t have been my first choice on how to spend the time.

I didn’t mind. Being in the same room with her, hearing her voice, and seeing her face has made me properly warm for the first time in weeks.

Zelda didn’t attempt to hide her body from me when the shower finally shut off and she pushed aside the plastic curtain again, her skin flushed and free of fake blood.

All I could do was stare, struck dumb with lust as she toweled off and pulled her robe back on, pretending she didn’t notice that I had to reach down and adjust myself .

Now, I’m sitting on the cheap couch, my feet on the coffee table as I watch Zelda at her makeup table, carefully running various products through her damp hair.

It’s fascinating, getting a glimpse of her private time, seeing the brands she favors and the music she selects to play softly through the wireless speaker.

She’d received an email just after getting out of the shower, informing her that filming was postponed due to the storm, so she’s taking her time, and so am I.

Part of me wondered whether I was misremembering, not just the effect she had on me, but how effortless it was being around her. My brothers are the closest people to me on earth, and even they put my teeth on edge before long. With Zelda, though… I can fucking breathe.

I think I could sit here forever, just watching her, but forever isn’t something I have.

Our time is already running short, and I know that any minute now, I’ll get a call to remind me of my next pressing engagement, and that will be it for us yet again.

Another perfect, stolen moment over, and only the fucking garden party to see her again.

“Shouldn’t you be going?” Zelda asks as she sets down a final bottle of serum, addressing me with the same cool, guarded tone she’s been employing all afternoon.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Soon.”

Too soon.

Lowering my feet to the floor, I stand, and my footsteps sound hollow as I walk over the cheap vinyl, coming to a stop beside her makeup table.

She doesn’t look at me, keeping her gaze lowered to the tabletop as she replaces all her products in a little basket, pretending she doesn’t care or notice my presence.

“Will I see you at the garden party?” Her hand stills on the last bottle for a long second before she recovers enough to continue. There is a tiny freckle behind her right ear that I somehow missed before, and I imagine bending to kiss it, watching her bright eyes flutter shut as I do.

After an age, her gaze lifts again to meet mine in the mirror. “It’s been put in as a press stop for the movie. I have to.”

I hate the thought of her having to do anything.

My attempt at a smile looks more like a grimace. “I’ll cancel if you like. Tell everyone a sewer pipe burst in the rose garden.”

Zelda’s lips twitch, and I feel like I could soar. “That would definitely be a good deterrent, but isn’t it kind of a big deal? Lots of important people come?”

“You’ve met me,” I reply dryly. “Do you think I give a damn about socializing? Tell me to cancel, darling. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“Ah, so you’re not trying to make amends, you’re hoping I’ll give you an excuse to get out of it.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Obviously. Is it working? Let me know sooner rather than later, would you? The palace kitchens haven’t put in the food order, you see, and the whole business is frightfully expensive.”

Finally—fucking finally—the wall Zelda erected between us gives way, and my heart lurches at the sight of the full, breathtaking smile that spreads across her face. “When do you need your answer, exactly? I’ll be sure to give you mine very shortly after.”

Fuck— Fuck, I adore her. It’s almost effortless to slip back into the same playful intimacy we had from about fifteen seconds into meeting, back when I believed I could have one night with this woman and leave it at that.

Unbidden, the memory of the dream I had at Fernmoor House appears in my mind’s eye.

Zelda wandering into my study at Ashwell Palace .

Zelda with my ring on her finger.

Zelda calling me husband.

Zelda asking me to get her pregnant.

It becomes more difficult to breathe as the seconds pass, and at long last, Zelda lowers her gaze from mine in the mirror and gets back to her feet, stretching.

I watch as she pads across the trailer, picking up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt folded on a side table, and vanishes back into the bathroom.

The moment she’s out of sight, my head drops back, a quiet groan issuing from deep in my chest.

What is wrong with me? This visit was supposed to be an apology, and no more.

Yet here I sit, hours later, imagining kissing the freckle behind her ear and fantasizing about dreams that will never come to fruition.

I’m doing just as I did when we met, greedily clawing for every second I can spend with this woman, unwilling to relinquish my hold on her until I have no other choice.

“Are you alright?” I hadn’t heard her coming back, and my head snaps up as I’m knocked off balance yet again by Zelda’s presence.

She’s watching me cautiously, now dressed in a pair of rolled-up blue jeans and a loose white T-shirt. Her feet are still bare, though, and my throat tightens as I notice the pink polish on her toes.

It’s difficult to swallow as I search for the right thing to say, and even more difficult to speak when I do. “No,” I admit, dragging forth each word with incredible effort. “To be honest, I’m trying to find a reason to stay here, and I can’t think of one.”

Zelda looks back at me, her expression unreadable. “I don’t understand, Ben.”

No, I wouldn’t expect her to. Not when I can hardly understand it myself.

Before all this, my life felt settled. I might not have liked it, might not have chosen it for myself, but the thing was done.

Then, in the space of a few days, it changed.

Or maybe it was me who changed, but in the end, it all comes down to the same thing: nothing has changed , and yet my settled, predictable existence has shifted somehow.

It’s as though someone went into my rooms to switch all the drawers around without me realizing, and now, nothing is quite where I remember it being.

“You left,” Zelda continues, a slightly hysterical note to her voice now. “You took what you wanted, and you left. I wasn’t going to chase you, I wasn’t going to tell anyone, so why come at all? Why are you still here? What do you want from me?”

Everything. I want everything from you, darling.

“To apologize,” I manage, gripping the countertop behind me with white knuckles.

Zelda’s response to this is instantaneous. “Bullshit!”

I cough, “Pardon?”

Lips pursed, she glares at me. “You heard me, Benedict. I said bullshit . As in, you are full of shit and I don’t believe you.”

It’s perverse, but I find this woman absolutely breathtaking when she’s pissed.

“Zelda—”

“Nope.” She stops me, planting her hands on her hips and lifting her proud little chin to glower up at me. “We aren’t friends, you made it very clear you didn’t want to be in any kind of romantic relationship with me, so why come? I want an answer right now, or you can leave.”

It’s as though a switch has flipped in her, and I can sense I’ve pushed my luck too far. I want to stay. More than anything, I want to stay right here and take every last second I can with her. Unfortunately, to be allowed such a privilege, I would need to give her answers, and I don’t have them.

Outside, the wind howls, spraying the side of the trailer with another heavy wave of rain.

My heart seems weighed down when, at last, I see no other option than to nod. “Okay,” I agree, even as I’m still searching for the words I can feel but not articulate. “I’ll leave.”

Zelda doesn’t respond, watching as I take my phone from my pocket to text my driver. He responds immediately, letting me know he will be at the access road where he left me in two minutes.

Two fucking minutes.

The next time we see each other, it will be in a crowd of people at the garden party. I’ll be lucky to exchange a few pleasantries with her, never mind pull her away for a moment alone, and even if I could, it seems unlikely she would want it.

I tuck the device away and watch as Zelda crosses her arms, expression set and determined.

She’s protecting herself, and even if I hate it, I can’t fault her for it, either.

Not when I’ve made such a goddamn mess of this, blundering through our brief relationship like a bull in a china shop, wrecking every precious opportunity that I encounter.

If I were her, I would want me gone, too.

It takes a monumental effort to force myself to move. Stiff and heavy, I will my reluctant limbs into action, moving past her to the set of stairs that lead to the trailer’s front door. It’s only when my foot has found the first step that I pause, looking back to meet her eyes.

Even swallowing is difficult. “I really am sorry, Zelda.”

For a moment, she barely gives any indication she’s heard me. Then, something behind her eyes seems to change. Her bottom lip trembles.

That tiny show of hurt is akin to a dagger through my sternum.

Until this point, I’ve seen her feigned indifference and her anger, but to see this tiny glimpse of the pain I caused… I truly fucking hate myself.

The apology was merely an excuse, disguising my selfish desire to lay eyes on this woman again. Deplorable. I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as Zelda Flowers, never mind take up another second of her time.

So, for perhaps the first time since we met, I do what is best, not for myself, but for her.

I turn away, open the door, and leave.