Page 12 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)

BELLAMY

Thousands of people will come in and out of your life and mean nothing.

But it’s the one you never saw coming who changes everything.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

M y head jerks up at the knock on my bedroom door. Although I should use the term bedroom loosely. I’m in what should more accurately be described as a suite of rooms.

The bedroom is pretty and feminine, with a four-poster canopy bed draped in gauzy white fabric tied at each post. Beautiful paintings line the walls, and a thick, woven carpet in pale greens and creams anchors the room.

A vanity is on one side, a writing desk on the other, and stained-glass French doors open to a balustraded balcony overlooking a snow-covered garden that I’m sure would be even more beautiful in the spring.

Not that I’ll be here to see it.

The walk-in closet is massive, with far too many clothes lining the walls, as well as drawers upon drawers stacked with lingerie and accessories, like Rhys thought he was clothing me for a year instead of a few days.

And the shoes... there are so many shoes.

Each with a more expensive designer label than the last, which would even have my sister-in-law, the fashion designer, drooling into her coffee.

I pad through the double doors of the bedroom into the sitting room, bypassing both the sofas and the dining set, then rest my shaking hand against the outer door, suddenly nervous to open it.

I’ve stayed out of sight all day, as much for Rhys’s peace of mind as for my own.

With more self-control than I thought I had, I managed to avoid calling Caitlin or my brothers and don’t plan on pulling that particular trigger until I’ve had a chance to speak to Rhys.

There’s no reason to have a conversation when I’m not even positive our marriage is legal, and I need to know that before I say anything to anyone.

Especially my brothers. Hockey season be damned, I wouldn’t put it past Cross and Ares to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to get me the hell out of here at the first mention of me being married to— well hell —the king.

My heart sinks again.

I don’t know how this happened.

I mean, I do . . . but?—

“Ms. Wilder, Ms. Armstrong is here to see you.”

“Joss?” I murmur and crack open the door.

A man twice the size of a tank stands in another black suit on the other side, blocking my view of Joss.

Pretty sure this guy would block out the sun.

He’s massive. “Thank you,” I manage before I yank Joss into the room and slam the door shut behind her, careful to stay out of sight. “Umm... who was that?”

Joss crosses one leg behind the other and dips slowly down before straightening. Was that—? Did she?—?

“Did you just curtsey?” I gasp, horrified.

“Am I the first one?” she asks, almost giddy, leaving me wondering what alternate reality I’m actually in because in no possible world should anyone ever curtsey to me.

“Yes, you freak. You’re the first one, and you’d better be the only. Why would you do that?” My heart hammers in my chest as I reach back for the couch with a shaky hand and drop my ass down before my knees give out.

Joss sits on the coffee table in front of me and holds my hands between hers, resting them on my knees. “You’ve got to understand this is my world, Bellamy. Curtseying to the queen is as natural as breathing for me.”

The color drains from my face. “I’m not...”

“Oh, sweetie...” She squeezes my hands, and my blood pressure skyrockets. “I was there. Atticus and I both signed on the dotted line as your witnesses. The minute Rhys became king, you became queen.”

“But I...” I’m not sure what’s worse, the fear or the reality. “I can’t be queen.”

She slides next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You can and you will, and I’m going to help you. Consider me your fairy godmother with much better fashion sense and far fewer woodland creatures at her disposal.”

“Josselyn...” My words die in my throat as the door opens again, only this time it isn’t a tank blocking the light, it’s Rhys. And for some reason I’m too overwhelmed to think about, seeing him allows me to take my first deep breath in hours.

He immediately moves in front of me, and I realize Joss has stood and dipped back down into another well-practiced curtsey.

“I don’t even know if I have the balance to do that,” I murmur, and Rhys smiles.

“We can work on it,” Joss offers with a sympathetic smile. “Although, I’m not sure it will be needed.”

She and Rhys exchange a look that sets what little nerves I have left on edge. “I think that’s a great idea. Joss can help get you acquainted with all things Mornea.”

“What?” I question as my head spins. “I was just here to consider a change of career,” I murmur, and the two of them share another silent glance. “Stop doing that. Please don’t talk in front of me unless I can hear it.”

“Sorry.” Rhys’s hand cups my face, and there goes that damn spark that got me into this mess in the first place. “I could get you color-coordinated note cards, love.”

I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry at this point. But something about the look on Rhys’s face worries me.

“Are you okay?” I run my thumb over the tight lines tugging at his eyes, and he relaxes into my hand.

“Okay.” Joss clasps her hands and takes a step back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll just let myself out.”

“Joss—” Rhys stops her. “I’m serious. She’s going to need your help.”

“Anything...” Joss offers with a warm smile. “My king.”

Rhys shakes his head as he watches her leave before pulling me against his chest and resting his chin on my head. “I have to be back at the palace in two hours. Have you eaten anything?”

“Not really,” I admit quietly. “I haven’t wanted to leave the rooms. Mrs. Smythe offered to bring me something, but I wasn’t hungry.”

Rhys opens the door and speaks with someone before closing it again, then shrugs out of his suit coat and loosens his tie. He shoves his sleeves up his forearms and sits down, pulling me with him. “Dinner will be brought up soon.”

“Rhys...” I start, not sure what I’m supposed to say.

“I know,” he reassures me. “I know how much I’m asking of you right now, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but please, Bellamy, give me a few days.”

“I have to go home.” The words are quiet as I fit myself into the corner of the couch and face him.

I want to be able to look at him while we have this conversation.

“I know none of this is great timing, considering... well everything you’re dealing with.

But Rhys, I can’t stay here. You have a grandfather to mourn and a country to worry about.

I’ll only be in your way. Maybe in six months when everything calms down, you could show me the foundation, and I could help you structure something.

I could maybe even help you find the right person?—”

“And what if I’ve found the right person, love?” The breath he takes is palpable, and frustrating because when he says things like that, he looks at me like he might just believe it.

And worse, he makes me want to believe it too.

“You can’t seriously be saying you want to stay married?” And why does that question twist something in my gut? It makes no sense. None of this does.

“Bellamy...” He grabs my fuzzy-sock-covered feet and pulls them into his lap. His thumb works my arch, and damn, that feels good. “I’m telling you that as of about thirteen hours ago, I became head of the Church of Mornea, and it doesn’t recognize divorce.”

I yank my feet away and jump off the couch, then spin on him.

“This is a joke, right? The one and only time I’ve ever done something impulsive cannot really have this kind of catastrophic consequences.

” I pace in front of the couch, trying to wrap my head around the past forty-eight hours.

My spiraling thoughts grow with each second. “I’m going to kill your brother.”

“Atticus?”

“Yes,” I snap. “Atticus. He just had to insist we play darts.”

Rhys stands and gets in my way. “You remember darts?”

I stop and spin, narrowing my eyes. “Yes, I remember darts. I remember everything. I didn’t have amnesia. I had a hangover and then sex-induced brain fog without the payoff of sex.”

Okay, that may not have been the nicest way to say any of that.

“I remember the whole night. I just needed to wake up and shake off the shock of seeing wedding rings on our fingers,” I snap. “Drunk. Not concussed. Though concussed would have been a way better excuse than drunk, horny, and impulsive.”

Rhys laughs, and his eyes go wide, like he didn’t expect that to happen.

Like maybe he thought it would be a long time before he laughed again, and the anger mixing with my hysteria lessens.

He reaches for me, but I step out of reach. “No. You touch me with your stupidly sexy hands, and I do dumb things.”

His lips tilt just a touch on one side, and his eyes crinkle. “My hands are sexy?”

That voice... After everything today, that voice shouldn’t sound like that. It shouldn’t affect me that way. But damn it, it does.

“You’re missing the point,” I argue, but I’m already losing my steam.

“What’s the point, love?”

“We’re married,” I half whisper, half cry. “We’re married, and we’ve only known each other for a few days. We’re married... and we barely know each other.”

I don’t bother saying we’re married and we’re not in love.

We both know that.

“We’re married, and you’re telling me we can’t get divorced, but can we get an annulment?

” I stay safely on the other side of the room, where I’m not in touching distance because I swear one touch from him is all it takes for my brain to shut down and my body to say yes please , and we haven’t even had sex.

“No. Annulments aren’t recognized by the church, and we were married in the church.” Rhys stands his ground but looks two seconds away from closing the distance between us.