Page 32 of Striking
—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts
My head jerks up at the knock on mybedroomdoor. 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.
