“I wasn’t reckless. You sent a team of guards with me.”
“But you would have gone alone if I hadn’t.”
She doesn’t argue. We both know I’m right.
I hold her gaze. "Reckless."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her cheeks are pink. She’s pissed. Maybe embarrassed.
"I want my own room," she blurts out.
She’s digging for control. This goes back to that night.
I watch her struggle for words. She's trying to reclaim control after I called her out, and she's going for the nuclear option.
"We consummated the marriage," she says, her voice sharp. "That's done. But we won't be doing it again."
Ouch. The words actually sting. That never happens. I don't let it show on my face, but something in my chest twists. Last night had been—I don't have words for what last night was. I thought she felt it too. The connection. The trust.
Apparently not.
I keep my expression neutral. "I had the guest room made up for you. It’s on the third floor."
It's not entirely a lie. I did have it prepared, assuming she’d sleep in there. But after last night, after the way she'd curled into me and slept peacefully in my arms, I'd thought?—
Doesn't matter what I thought.
"Good," she says. Her voice wavers slightly. "That's good."
I return to my chair, letting her have the power in the room from her standing position. She's hurt. Lashing out. Trying to draw lines because her father just gutted whatever was left of their relationship and she needs to feel in control of something.
I can give her this.For now.
"You will have my child, Sofia." I say it calmly. Matter-of-fact. "That only gets done one way."
Her eyes flash. "You won’t touch me."
"It's part of the arrangement. You agreed to it. A legitimate heir solidifies both our positions. Makes this marriage unassailable."
"I didn't agree to be your broodmare!"
"No, you agreed to be my wife. Children are part of that arrangement. We discussed this."
She snarls at me and turns on her heel. She storms out of my office, and I hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs.
I allow myself a small smile.
Better she's angry than broken. Better she's fighting me than sitting somewhere drowning in the pain of her father's indifference.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. The guest room is on the third floor. Far from my bedroom. Far from me.
It's what she wants.
It's not what I want.
Last night had been a fluke. The way she'd looked at me with those blue eyes full of trust. The soft sounds she'd made. The way she'd fallen apart in my arms.
Not a fluke. I will have her again. She will say my name while she comes apart.