LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ANDRES CALLED HIMSELF ten kinds of fool on his way back to his chamber. He couldn’t go back into the luncheon, not after that. Anyway, Zara had destroyed his shirt.

      He had left her there, similarly destroyed. Altered.

      But he didn’t fix things, he only broke them further, so there had been no point in him staying. He hadn’t been able to.

      He hated isolation. Hated it. But it was the only way he could regain control after something like that. A fact driven into him from childhood.

      It was why his mother had always locked him in his room after an outburst. Why he was condemned to staying in the palace when the royal family went out.

      Now he was doing the same to himself. Because he had to do something, anything, to calm the raging monster inside him that had claimed control of his actions.

      An image flashed through his mind, her hands wrapped around the fabric, tugging hard, sending the buttons onto the marble floor. The look in her eyes, dark, determined. As with all things she had been uncivilized, untutored, and wholly authentic. For a man who had no idea what his own personal authenticity might look like, it was alarming.

      But that wasn’t what disturbed him now. Wasn’t what caused rage to roar through his veins like a ravening beast.

      He had lost control.

      Civilizing Zara was one thing. It was himself...that was where he failed. He was cracking apart inside. The years spent forming himself into the man he was seemingly washed away on the tide of lust Zara had inspired in him.

      The woman was new. The failure was not.

      His best effort had never been good enough. When he was a boy he had been the one at the formally set table dropping silverware, fidgeting in his seat. Crawling underneath the table to pick up a crouton he had dropped. And when the thought to get up struck him, he had never been able to control the impulse. Sometimes he would think of something to say, and it would just spill out of his mouth. His father would simply glare at him, his eyes ice. Kairos would pretend it wasn’t happening.

      His mother would cry. As though he had done it to her personally. As though he had done it to hurt her.

      She had felt everything so deeply. He would make a loud sound and the poor woman would tremble. He wondered at that now, though he’d never understood it then.

      Finally, they had stopped allowing him to attend events. The solitude had been frustrating, but better than being set up to fail. Every luncheon, every church service, ever concert...it all seemed designed to doom him.

      Then the last Christmas banquet had come. The last one his mother had been at.

      He had destroyed that too.

      He had tried, and it hadn’t been good enough. He had made her cry one too many times. And he was certain that his father, that Kairos imagined it had been like every other time before. But Andres had felt it. When his mother had wiped that final tear off her cheek, he knew that it would be the last year she ever cried for him.

      Of course, in order for him to stop making her cry, she couldn’t see him anymore.

      None of them saw her again. Because of him.

      Kairos never blamed him, because Kairos was too honorable to ever think about doing such a thing. Kairos only blamed him for the loss of his fiancée when it suited him, and then, never as much as Andres felt he deserved. Given that, he would never, ever blame him for their mother leaving.

      Their father had. Angrily. Loudly. And Andres hadn’t even been able to feel sorry for himself because it had been true. He had known it then; he knew it now. You will never amount to anything. You’re nothing but a disappointment. If that was your best, if that was you trying, then you will never, ever succeed.

      He had known it to be true then, and so he had simply gone off to do what he wanted. He hated trying to conform to palace life anyway. Who did he have left to please? His father believed him to be beyond redemption, his mother was gone. Kairos cared, if only in a long-suffering way, and didn’t seem to mind what Andres did as long as it didn’t affect him.

      His indiscretion with Francesca had not been acceptable as far as Kairos was concerned, but then, Andres was not terribly surprised by that.

      It was because of that that he was trying. Because of Kairos. Because if nothing else his brother had always cared for him, in spite of the fact that he had been nothing but trouble. Nothing but a disappointment. He was trying, and Zara was intent on seeing him fail.

      That was why he had dragged her out of the ballroom. That was why he had allowed her to push him into this power struggle. Allowed her to push him into trying to one-up her.

      And then she had grabbed him. She had meant it to be a threat, and he was not naive enough to think she wouldn’t follow through with it. Zara was a survivor. A fighter. He would not underestimate her. Had not underestimated her from the moment he had walked in and seen her in his bedroom.

      He had anticipated that she would be difficult. That dealing with the engagement, the upcoming marriage, wouldn’t be an easy thing. He had never anticipated he would lose his mind completely and take her up against a wall in the palace. In public, where anyone could have found them. Yes, they were in a slightly hidden alcove, but all it would have taken was someone to wander out of the banquet and get lost looking for the restroom.

      That was not how a prince was to treat his future princess. It was certainly nothing Kairos would ever have done with Tabitha. Of course, his brother was the authority on unhappy marriages. That was becoming more and more apparent.

      That was also Andres’s fault.

      His actions had forced Kairos into the speedy marriage in the first place.

      The reason he had to atone now.

      And Zara was making things impossible for no reason other than her own bloody-mindedness. She had nowhere else to go. He didn’t treat her badly.

       What happened back there wasn’t treating her badly?

      He gritted his teeth, shoving the thought down deep. Trying to ignore the growing unease in his chest.

      He threw open the doors to his bedchamber before slamming them behind him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and only then did he realize that his hands were shaking. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have allowed her to push his control like that?

      How could he allow her to prove that he was still nothing more than the boy he’d been? The boy who couldn’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes. Who couldn’t fight any impulse that came upon him. He had wanted her, and so he had taken her.

      Without a condom.

      He swore, taking his suit jacket off and casting it onto the floor. He had never in his life forgone the use of protection. In truth, he was quite controlled in his debauchery. He didn’t keep himself from doing anything he wanted, but if he wanted to resist something, he was able. Sure, he didn’t have to exercise self-denial very often, but he was capable of it. Was capable of making responsible decisions.

      Not today.

      In public. In the middle of the day. Without protection.

      The door burst open behind him and he whirled around to see Zara standing there, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression stormy, her dark eyes glistening. Her glossy black hair, which had been expertly schooled into a bun earlier, was disheveled now, all but shouting

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