Page 54 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)
Thirty-Four
Zelda
“ W hat exactly does one wear to a wrap party ?”
I pause mid-lipstick application, pressing my lips together to hold back my laugh as I watch Ben’s reflection pull items of clothing from the bar in my closet, his expression disgruntled at being forced to use such a terribly Californian combination of words.
Socialization is never high on Ben’s priority list, so I’m taking his offer to accompany me tonight—to a room full of drunk industry people—as a very romantic gesture.
“The blue one,” I advise, biting my lip as I watch him throw the shirt in question onto the bed and strip off the one he arrived in.
This man always manages to make me desperately hot for him with practically no effort, and the sight of him standing barefoot in my bedroom of Fernmoor House wearing only a pair of low-slung dress pants is practically pornographic.
Did I have a thing for chest hair before Ben?
I can’t remember finding anything about it particularly appealing or unappealing, but now I’m definitely in the pro camp for the dark dusting of hair in the center of his broad chest and trailing below his navel.
Heat spreads through my lower belly as he lifts his gaze, catching me checking him out in the mirror.
The smirk definitely doesn’t help matters.
It’s been a week since Julia’s gallery opening, the night which became an unexpected turning point in our relationship, and despite the practical challenges, Ben and I haven’t slept apart since.
He’s stayed here at Fernmoor for a few nights, but since The Dark House finally wrapped on Tuesday, I’ve been spending most of my time at Ashwell Palace.
It’s a necessity to accommodate the faintly ridiculous amount of sex we’ve been having.
“You know, all the warnings I received from my brothers about seeing a younger woman seem to be quite on the mark,” Ben tells me mildly as he turns away, returning his attention to his wardrobe.
I scoff. “I’m sorry, is this something you really want to complain about? Did you want me to be less horny for you?”
The dark, disbelieving expression I receive in response to that question has me giggling as I look back at my reflection in the little makeup table I’m seated at.
Tonight, we’re going to a wrap party for The Dark House , which is being held in Balloch Castle itself.
I can only assume that the set has undergone a pretty thorough breakdown to accommodate such an event, because the last time I was inside, there definitely wouldn’t have been space for a party.
While I’m not particularly fond of any of the other cast members, I will desperately miss Davina when she returns to the States tomorrow, and am looking forward to having a last few hours with my friend.
Ben’s bare chest appears in the mirror behind me, and I watch as he leans over to kiss my cheek. “I’m going to take a shower,” he murmurs, his beard rasping against the sensitive skin beneath my ear as he lowers his lips to my neck as well.
“We need to leave soon,” I warn him, even as my heart flutters at the possibility of skipping it entirely.
Ben hums, still intent on leaving slow, agonizing kisses over my neck and jaw. “I’ll be quick.” He presses his lips to my skin one more time and straightens up, moving off toward the bathroom.
“That was really mean!” I call, even as I feel my face splitting in a huge smile. “Just for that, I’m going to be significantly less horny for you!”
The shower turns on, and though he’s out of sight, I can imagine the fond, exasperated expression that must come over Ben’s face when he calls back, “No, you won’t!”
It’s only when I hear a change in the sound of the shower, signaling he’s gotten in, that my smile falls.
The guilt that has lingered constantly beneath the surface since learning of my pregnancy seems to be becoming more oppressive by the day. Probably because I have officially run out of ways to justify keeping this to myself.
Ben isn’t the man I feared he was. He never used or manipulated me, and I know he feels horrible guilt for ever making me believe that he did.
So much so that the man made it his mission to make me feel safe with him again, and I do.
I feel safe and special, and like I’m falling for someone who is going over the edge right alongside me.
I’m happy. Or, I would be, if I weren’t literally carrying a secret with me everywhere I go. A secret that’s growing bigger every single day, eating all my food and giving me a constant, low level of nausea, which won’t go away no matter what I try.
At ten weeks along, time seems to be slipping away at an alarming speed. Soon, I’ll have to tell my parents and my agent and start changing my whole life around to make room for a small person who will need me for everything. But, before all that, I need to tell Ben he’s going to be a father.
He isn’t going to be angry with me. I know that. Shocked, maybe, but not mad. Likely, he’ll approach it with that grim, pragmatic way he does everything, talking through our options and being incredibly reasonable while I cry my eyes out, being incredibly emotional and unreasonable by contrast.
When I actually stop to dissect my feelings and examine why I haven’t told him yet, it’s the lack of options that’s scaring me the most now.
While I’m not exactly an expert on Stelland’s constitution, I know it’s illegal for a sitting monarch to marry a non-citizen.
Even if Ben wanted to, he couldn’t do it without abdicating, so it seems almost inevitable that our baby will be born the illegitimate son or daughter of a king.
Which means my options are to hide away from the world, reducing my son or daughter to a dirty little secret.
Or, to continue on as we have, and probably make both of our lives a lot harder with the media storm that would surely come if anyone caught wind of my pregnancy.
Other people have children out of wedlock or unplanned pregnancies. Not kings.
What people will say about me doesn’t bother me so much, but my heart aches whenever I imagine my baby being called what their uncle Damien callously called himself: bastard .
These big decisions shouldn’t be all on me anymore, though. Ben needs to be a part of the conversation, too, and I can’t stand living with this guilt anymore. He has to know, and with the coronation only a little over a week away, it has to be soon. Really soon.
Tonight?
My stomach reacts violently to the self-posed question.
No. Not tonight.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, lost in my thoughts, when I finally hear the shower turn off and the sounds of Ben moving around in there. Shaking myself, I fix a smile on my face, just in time for him to emerge, his hair damp, and dressed only in a pair of checkered boxer shorts.
“When will the car be here?” he asks me distractedly, stepping into a pair of dark trousers.
I check my phone. “Ten minutes. You know, men have all the luck. It will take you all of sixty seconds to dress and comb your hair, then tomorrow, some article is going to be published commenting on how nice we look. We .”
Ben chuckles. “One might argue that women have all the luck. I can’t think of a single occasion I’ve had to wear a rhinestone-encrusted suit.”
“Oh, I know a designer who would do that so well ! I can have one made for you if you feel like you’re missing out. Kings deserve to feel fabulous too, Ben.”
“Perhaps for my next birthday,” he replies dryly, fastening the button of his trousers.
“So, you said the blue…” His question about shirt color gives way to a frown as the muffled sound of a phone vibrating fills the room.
Muttering contemptuously under his breath, I watch him reach for the device where it’s lying abandoned on the bed and take the call.
My mouth goes dry.
“Yes?” Ben answers, an impatient bite to his voice. He listens intently to whatever the person on the call is saying, expressionless. There’s nothing at all to make me think there is anything to worry about, and yet with each second that passes, my stomach sinks a little lower.
I try to ignore it, try to convince myself this is nothing to do with me, but when Ben’s eyes flick to me for a fraction of a second, then away, I know something is wrong.
It feels like my entire body has been plunged into icy water, and the shock of it is so acute that it tears the air from my lungs.
Oh, god. Someone knows.
He can’t find out this way .
What have I done?
The walls spin, and my lungs are burning as I struggle to suck in insubstantial lungfuls of oxygen.
It doesn’t seem to matter how deeply I breathe or how quickly; there just isn’t enough .
Even as the panic and horror become inescapable, I can’t look away, watching as Ben paces the room, his frown deepening with every step.
He glances at me, but almost as quickly as he looks away, I find his eyes on me once again.
As I watch, paralyzed by the certainty I’ve just ruined everything, his expression transforms from annoyed to horrified in less than a second.
His phone falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Zelda,” Ben hisses, falling to his knees at my feet and reaching up to take my face in his hands. “Darling, I need you to breathe slower for me.”
I can’t. Nothing makes sense. The whole world is crashing down around me, and all I can think of is my struggle to breathe and my fear that I’ve ruined everything. They play on a horrible, endless loop in my mind, one fueling the other until they’re both big enough to swallow me whole.
Except, Ben isn’t letting that happen.