Guarding His Royal Bride. C.J. MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
if she’d awoken in his arms.
She took a shower, pleased to see he had provided women’s shampoo and toiletries for her. That small gesture erased the lingering disappointment of waking without him.
She dressed in the clothes that Serena had brought for her and went in search of her husband. Just thinking of him in those terms made her shiver.
She found Demetrius on the main floor in his office. She entered without knocking. He was wearing a suit, as he often did, standing at the window and was on the phone, his headset clipped to his ear. She circled his desk and slipped her arms around him.
He was speaking French. She hadn’t heard him speak it before. She’d had some basic French lessons in her youth but didn’t remember enough to follow the conversation in any meaningful way.
When he disconnected a few minutes later, she kissed him. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Eight.” His voice was cold, and he removed her hands from around him. “I need to speak with you about a grave matter.”
He had to leave on a trip. Trouble in the Mediterranean. Concern whipped through her. “Are Serena and Casimir all right?”
“They are fine. I would have woken you if this matter involved them. This does involve your family, though.”
Since her parents had died in a tragic car accident years earlier, she hadn’t been able to shake the dread that someone else she loved would be taken from her abruptly. That sense of loss and fear gripped her now. “Please tell me quickly.”
“The king of Valencia is dying.”
Not what she was expecting to hear. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t mean to be callous, but how does that involve me?” She knew the king by name, but they hadn’t met. “Do you want me to prepare something to send to his wife and family?” Was this her duty as Demetrius’s wife? She could relate to what the king’s family may be going through, and if she had words of comfort to share to ease their pain, she would.
Demetrius sighed. “I do not want you to send anything. The king wants to see you.”
“Why?” Demetrius was being evasive. Where was the soft, warm and passionate man she had married the night before? It was as if she was with public Demetrius, and she didn’t like it.
He didn’t answer. Something dark and uneasy settled over her. “Demetrius, you need to tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me and acting cold.” It was on the tip of her tongue to mention slipping from their bed without saying good morning, but she didn’t want to fight with him over a trivial problem and she still didn’t understand what this was about.
“You are not the biological daughter of the man and woman who you know as your parents,” he said.
Iliana shook her head. She was. She had pictures from the day of her birth to prove it. “That’s not true.”
“You are the biological daughter of the king of Valencia and his late mistress, Persephone Paphiti. She died in childbirth, and the king asked your parents to adopt you. A blood test will confirm what I’m telling you, or I can provide you the DNA results I have already run.”
So many questions and so much hurt pummeled her at once. She struggled to make sense of it all. “You checked my DNA without telling me?”
“It was a simple matter to ensure I was correct about you and the king.”
Betrayal pulsed through her. “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” he asked, this time his voice a little softer.
She retreated a step, putting distance between them. Why was he breaking news of this magnitude in such a cold manner? “How long have you known?”
“For over a year.”
Her jaw slackened. As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, they presented an ugly picture. She had ties to the royal family in Valencia. What did Demetrius want from those connections? She knew Demetrius’s reputation for doing everything with meaning and for a purpose. She had been naive to think he had married her without an agenda.
She had been desperate for a family and for someone to care for her, and she had bought into his ploy. Hard to believe that five hours ago, she had been curled in his arms, moaning his name and falling head over heels for him.
His face was impassive. “I realize that you are upset. I will help you come to terms with this.”
Anger coursed through her, hot and violent. “How do I come to terms with this? You just told me that the people I called Mom and Dad aren’t my parents. Have you thought about my feelings?”
“The people who raised you are your parents in every way that matters. Nothing will change that. All I bring to your attention is that your biological father is dying. If you have questions, answers will only be available as long as he has breath.”
Despite her rage, the words comforted her. Her parents, the people who had loved and raised her, would always be her parents. This curveball did nothing to change that, meant nothing next to their unconditional and unrelenting love for her. She had felt it every day in the way they spoke to her and cared for her.
“If you want to see the king, we need to go now. His condition has worsened, and his days are numbered.”
Though Iliana was furious with Demetrius and still reeling from the bomb he had dropped, she wanted to see the king. It may be her last chance.
* * *
Aboard Demetrius’s private jet, Iliana sat as far from Demetrius as possible. It bothered her that it didn’t seem to bother him. He was working on his laptop, taking calls. He didn’t glance in her direction once. They were traveling with a couple of his servicemen and some of his advisers. Five other men on the plane, not including the pilot and the copilot. So much testosterone.
Iliana glanced at her outfit. A pair of simple black pants and a green top, fitted but not revealing. She was meeting a king after all. She had intended the outfit to catch Demetrius’s eye. Getting his attention had been easy before, and it had pleased her how quickly he had turned his attention to her in any situation when they were together. Now that they were married, not even twelve hours after their wedding, he seemed indifferent to her and that stung.
Had it been an act? Iliana didn’t have great judgment when it came to men. This latest fiasco proved it. She had made an epically bad decision. Not just a bad date, not her sneaking out of a man’s bedroom in the early-morning hours with regrets. This was a whole other level of bad.
She had married the president of Icarus. He was using her as a tool, and she hated that. She still didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but when she figured it out, she would make sure he received the opposite from her.
Was she in love with Demetrius? She had thought so. She desired him. She cared for him. He occupied much of her time, and there was a warm feeling that accompanied thoughts of him—wasn’t that love? Iliana wasn’t sure she had ever been in love before. She loved her parents, her cousins, her family, but romantic love had eluded her. She’d confused lust and passion with love before, and it had ended badly every time.
Everything she felt for Demetrius was called into question. She had imagined their relationship to be a sweeping romance with grand gestures of affection. She’d had that from Demetrius for a short time. Now she had the awful sensation of being exploited and ignored.
Ignored like her biological father had ignored her, handing her off and pretending she didn’t exist. Iliana loved her parents, and while she couldn’t imagine being raised by anyone else, it hurt to know they had kept this secret from her. Perhaps they’d thought they were protecting her. With them gone, she would never have the answers.
Demetrius was telling her the truth about the king of Valencia and Persephone Paphiti. The information could be too easily verified for him to lie about it. Blood tests would be conclusive, and Demetrius