The Goddess (16 page)

“I suppose…,” he said. “A moment then.”

While the baby slept a few feet from their heads, she and Leandros curled up together
on the cushions. With one arm curled around her head, he stroked her hair and nuzzled
her brow until she couldn’t help but believe everything would be all right.

“I haven’t been able to keep from my mind,” he murmured, “that last night we spent
together.”

“In our bay.” Sighing, she lifted her lips and took her time tasting his. “I’ve never
been so happy.”

His fingers twining through her hair, his mouth dropped over hers, and as the kiss
deepened, longing swelled until she burned for him with her body and soul. Her touch
traced his hot muscles as she arched into his hard length. When she reached beneath
his shirt, fanning fingers over his chest, his throat rumbled and lips dragged away.

“I want nothing more from this world than to be with you,” he said.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “Kiss me again. Don’t leave me yet.”

But when her mouth grazed his, his hand on her shoulder held her firm.

“We’ll be married. Soon there’ll be no need for shadows, not for any reason.” Their
foreheads touched. “One day soon, you’ll be my wife.”

“Dear love,” she found his hand and pressed it to her heart “let me be your wife tonight.”

…

When Acacia opened her eyes, it took a moment to grasp where she was. The space around
her rippled with flickering shadows, her body was free of clothes, and Leandros stood
nearby with his back to her. his shoulders locked, and his fists balled at his sides.
Hand on her brow, she pushed up on an elbow.

They were holed-up in a cave on the second island. She looked across. The baby was
awake too, but quiet, as if he were listening. On the far wall, nestled among the
shadows, the figurine seemed to smile over at them all. Then Acacia recalled the riot,
the confusion, and the pain, and her stomach plunged as if she’d just jumped off the
balcony, too.

How long had they slept? And Leandros was so still.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He held up a hand, a signal to hush, and her stomach lurched again. As a royal princess,
she was used to getting answers, and she needed one now because that feeling of falling,
of deepest dread, filled her so fast she thought she might drown.

She snatched her dress, punched her arms through the sleeves, and then she pulled
on her undergarment, the item Leandros had slid off when she’d persuaded him to hold
her as closely as he could. In those few moments when they’d made love, she’d never
known a greater joy, a stronger connection. Their joining only proved they were meant
to be together. The bond—the love—was too powerful to deny.

A thought bloomed, and her gaze shot over to the fertility figurine at the same instant
her hand went to her belly. But this wasn’t the time to wonder about legends or consequences.
Clearly Leandros was worried; perhaps he had heard something. A rat or flapping bat?

Acacia fitted her shoes, chastising herself. She shouldn’t have asked him to stay.
Yet in her heart she couldn’t regret it. She hoped he didn’t either, even if he was
wary now.

A sound—the distant falling of pebbles—filtered toward them, and Acacia stiffened.
Carefully she reached for the baby, standing as she drew him in near to her breast.
He was soaked through and no doubt hungry. This moment she could help him with neither.
Her gaze glued to the shadows beyond the chamber entrance, she shushed against his
little ear.

“Stay quiet, dear heart. Be good a little longer.”

The sound of scuffling pebbles came again, then the echo of a weight splashing into
a puddle. Her heartbeat thudding now, Acacia edged back.
Not rats.
Others had discovered this cave. Whoever it was, they might make different turns,
may not even reach them in here at all—but then the baby whimpered and the noise reverberated
as loudly as the rumble of thunder. At least it seemed that way to her ears.

A deathly silence followed. Everything stood frozen. Acacia prayed. If she didn’t
breathe, maybe she would wake again and this time find Leandros returning from the
villa with enough provisions to help them reach safety. She wouldn’t be standing here,
quaking, offering her soul in exchange for escape—for another chance.

As time wound on, her eyes began to sting. She blinked, and in that instant the gates
of hell were thrown apart.

A bear of a man appeared at the chamber’s entrance. Leandros yelled at him to stop,
but the man plowed on. Then they were clashing, growling like dogs, throwing punches.
Acacia tossed a frantic glance around. She needed to help, in some way needed to fight
too.

She lay the baby down and jumped on the intruder’s broad back. Bucking, he threw her
off into the air. Her chin hit the rock floor and spinning stars exploded before her
eyes.

When the flashes faded, she rolled onto her side, crawled to her knees, and then to
her feet. Out of the darkness, the goddess’s form, the figurine, appeared like a prize
before her, wise and benevolent.

The men were scuffling, rolling and skidding over the ground. Leandros held a dagger
but the other man had a gun. Someone was about to die, and Acacia needed to make certain
who—

They’d reached the last page, but clearly the story didn’t end there.

Helene groaned. “Guess we have another search on our hands.”

“If it takes me ten years,” Tahlia said, “I’ll find the rest of that story.”

Helene raised a brow. “That sounds as if you’re going to hang around.”

“This is my home. It’s where all my memories begin. No matter where I go I’ll always
come back, even if it’s just to visit.” Tahlia squeezed Helene’s hand. “Particularly
when nieces and nephews are involved.”

Later that evening, when Helene saw Darius again, she told him about the bookshelf
and about the story, but she didn’t pass on Tahlia’s words because she believed that
in his heart he already knew. In time, he would accept it, too. Tonight, however,
he was still fighting the inevitable.

Sitting at the foot of their bed, Helene filed her nails and watched Darius pace.

“Tahlia and Otis are going on a
vacation
,” she finally said, but gently.

“And if she doesn’t come back?”

Helene smiled. “She will.”

“I’ll make it clear to Otis that he needs to keep his hands to himself.”

“Perhaps you’d be better making certain he uses protection.” He snapped a horrified
glance her way. She shrugged. “I’m only being practical.”

A look of grudging resignation filtered over his face. Exhaling, he took a seat alongside
of her. “It really is out of my hands.”

She rubbed his thigh. “Think of it as practice for this one.”

He glanced at her tummy and half grinned. “I haven’t gone past panicking about the
diaper stage. Seeing Alexio’s granddaughter…she’s so small.”

“Our baby will have a strong father to protect her.”

“And a loving mother to change those diapers.”

She laughed softly. “Sorry to be the one to tell you but daddies change diapers, too.”

He stole a kiss that turned into a warm then simmering embrace. Together they fell
back onto the mattress. When the kiss slowly broke, he fanned a hand over her head,
watching the movement.

“I think I’m done pacing.”

“In that case, I’m done with my nails.”

His gaze shifted down to her navel. His palm traced the flat plane as if it contained
the world’s greatest and most mysterious treasure—which it did.

“I wonder whether we have a boy or a girl.”

“Could be both.”

“Twins?” His head lowered, and he kissed the spot his hand had caressed. “Lots of
diapers.”

“Twice as much to love.”

His gaze drifted up to hers. His jaw shifted, and then he took a breath as if he had
something he needed to say. Helene wondered if he wanted to confess that his feelings
for her had deepened. Not because he needed to reassure her, but because he’d truly
fallen in love with her, like she’d fallen in love with him. Lately, she wondered
if there’d ever been a time when she hadn’t loved this man.

Tugging the sash from around her waist, he was about to kiss her again when the bedroom
extension rang.

“Who’s calling at this time?” she asked.

Darius reached for the phone. “There are only a handful of people who know this direct
line.”

He picked up and muttered a greeting. Soon his face turned dark and he pulled himself
up to sit on the edge of the bed.

…

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Helene moved into the attached bathroom and slipped into
a white lace negligee, brushed her hair and her teeth, dabbed on French perfume from
an ornate bottle Darius had given her then, opening the door, moved back into the
bedroom.

Finished with his call, shoulders rounded, Darius was still sitting in the same spot.
As she drew closer, he didn’t move, didn’t look up. A shiver rolled over her skin.
Who had he spoken to on that special extension?

His voice was low, graveled. “That was Galen. He’s decided not to wait until the coronation
to visit. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

Sinking down beside him, Helene digested the news and lightly gripped his thigh. “Will
he bring his wife?”

“He’s coming alone for a short stay, he said.” Groaning, Darius dropped his head in
his hands. “I want to see him, but he couldn’t come at a worse time. I wanted to announce
our engagement this week. We don’t need any bad memories stirred up.”

“Maybe his being here will help. Everyone can see for themselves that whatever the
reason your uncle was pushed out, that episode’s in the past. They’ll know you’ve
both moved on, made amends. They’ll see that times have changed.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

After rising from the bed, he crossed to a sideboard, poured a scotch, and tossed
back half. He looked almost dazed. More agitated than she’d ever seen him.

“It’s been so long. I wonder if anyone will even recognize him. You can’t do anything
about it now.” She propped up a pillow, patted the sheet. “Try and get some rest.”

His smile was wry. “You think I can sleep? I told you about the group who tried to
take my mother hostage,” he said. “That they were rallying to get rid of us all. There
are always those types lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to dredge
up trouble.”

When his gaze traveled from her face to her belly, Helene’s hands automatically covered
the spot. This was all speculation. Calm and peace had reigned here for decades, and
it could continue to reign during and after Galen’s visit. They just needed to think
clearly. Put things into perspective.

She left the bed and crossed over to him. “Sometimes thinking about something is worse
than when it actually happens.”

He began pacing again. God, she hated seeing him like this.

She tried again. “You should try to keep calm.”

“I’m as calm as I can be.”

He threw back the rest of the scotch and reached for the decanter again. Her hand
gripped his.

“Sit down,” she begged.

“I need to think this through.”

“I just want to…”

“Help?” Looking defeated, he closed his eyes. “You can’t.”

Because she’d only make things worse? Because she didn’t really understand?

He was agitated. She ought to simply get under the covers and wait for him to settle
down and join her when he was ready. But was this a taste of what her life here with
Darius would be? They’d just become engaged and she felt as if she’d been relegated
to a space.

She watched him set off again, refilled glass in one hand, decanter in the other.
He was thinking more about yesterdays than tomorrows.

Both his parents had passed on recently. He was to be crowned king, to be married
and to become a father in the next few months. With Galen’s proposed visit bringing
back fragile memories, she understood he was under pressure, but storming around wouldn’t
help.

“Darius, please, just take a few deep breaths.”

He continued to pace.

“Nothing can change the past,” she said. “Your father would understand that. Your
father would want you to—”

“God, please, leave me
be!
”

At the same time he snapped, Darius hurled the glass at a wall and slammed the decanter
down hard while Helene stood frozen. After a moment, he shook his head. He glanced
at the shattered glass and dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I didn’t mean to—”

He was walking toward her when a noise—a thud—filtered through the room. His brow
wrinkled then eyes widened. As if guided by radar, he strode directly to the cabinet
that housed the figurine. He parted the curtain. When he leaned against the wall for
support, Helene covered her mouth but the gasp still escaped.

The figurine was on the floor. Her head was separated from her body, which was cracked
through in half a dozen places. Rubble was littered around the main chunks.

Darius sank to his knees. Carefully, he collected a piece and cradled it in his hands,
close to his chest. The figurine wasn’t the only one broken. Darius looked destroyed,
too.

“She was set well back,” he rasped. “I-I don’t understand.” His gaze drifted up from
the rock and, frowning, he blinked. “Did you take her out? Were you hurrying to put
her back and didn’t push her back far enough? God, if you wanted to see her again,
Helene, why didn’t you just say?”

Helene was floored. “I didn’t go anywhere near her.”

“Someone must have. She didn’t topple off by herself.”

The way he glared into her eyes made Helene’s chest ache.

…

Darius knelt there, feeling destroyed. At his deepest level, he was a Vasily, a man
whose veins ran with centuries of royal blood. For all his education and talk about
the progress of his country, he’d been taught to respect tradition and at least half
listen to superstition. To believe prophecy. The cave-in, the pregnancy, Galen coming
home, now the figurine lying there destroyed…