LITMIR.BIZ

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rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_b97bd43c-c362-5c9c-a832-99a83a9badf6">CHAPTER EIGHT

      SHOSHAUNA looked around her bedroom. It was a beautiful room: decorated in turquoises and greens and shades of cream and ivory. Like all the rooms in her palatial home, her quarters contained the finest silks, the deepest rugs, the most valuable art. But with no cat providing lively warmth, her space seemed empty and unappealing, a showroom with no soul.

      She was surrounded by toys and conveniences: a wonderful sound system; a huge TV that slid behind a screen at the push of a button; a state-of-the-art laptop with Internet access; a bathroom with spa features. But today, despite all that luxury, all those things she could occupy herself with, her room felt like a prison.

      She longed for the simplicity of the island, and she felt as if she had been robbed of her last few hours with Ronan. She had thought they would at least have one more motorcycle ride together. No, she had even been robbed of her chance to say goodbye, and to ask the question that burned in her like fire.

      What next?

      The answer to that question lay somewhere in the six days of freedom she had experienced. She could not go back to the way her life had been before, to the way she had been before.

      Where was Ronan? She still felt shocked at the abruptness of his departure. After that final night they had shared, she had wanted to say goodbye. No, needed to say goodbye.

      Goodbye? That isn’t what she wanted to say! Hello. I can’t wait to know you better. I love the way I feel when I’m with you. You show me all that is best about myself.

      There was a knock on her door, and she leaped off her bed and answered it, but it was one of the maids and a hairdresser.

      “We’ve come to fix your hair,” the maid said cheerfully, “before you meet with Prince Mahail. I understand he’s coming this afternoon.”

      Shoshauna did not stand back from the door to invite them in. She said quietly but firmly, “I happen to like my hair the way it is, and if Prince Mahail would like to see me he will have to make an appointment to see if it’s convenient for me.”

      And then she shut the door, her maid’s mouth working soundlessly, a fish gasping out of water. For the first time since she had come back to this room, Shoshauna felt free, and she understood the truth: you could live in a castle and be a prisoner, you could live in a prison and be free. It was all what was inside of you.

      A half hour later there was another knock on her door, the same maid, accompanied by a small boy, a street ragamuffin.

      “He said,” the maid reported snippily, “he has something that he is only allowed to give to you. Colonel Peterson said it would be all right.”

      The boy shyly held out the basket he was carrying and a book.

      Shoshauna took the book and smiled at him. She glanced at the book. Chess Made Simple. Her heart hammering, she took the basket, heard the muted little whimper even before she rolled back the square of cloth that covered it.

      An orange kitten stared at her with round green eyes.

      She felt tears film her eyes, knew Ronan was gone, but that he had sent her a message.

      Did he know what it said to her? Not “Learn to play chess,” not “Here’s a kitten to take the edge off loneliness.”

      To her his message said he had seen the infinite potential within her.

      To her his message said, “Beloved.” It said that he had heard her and seen her as no one else in her life ever had.

      But then she realized this gift was his farewell gift to her. It said he would not be delivering any messages himself. Had he let his guard down so completely on that final day together because he thought he would never see her again?

      Never see him again? The thought was a worse prison than this room—a life sentence.

      She wanted to just slam her bedroom door and cry, but that was not the legacy of her week with Ronan. She had learned to be strong. She certainly had no intention of being a victim of her own life! No, she planned from this day forward to be the master of her destiny! To take charge, to go after what she wanted.

      And to refuse what she didn’t want.

      “Tell Prince Mahail I will see him this afternoon after all,” she said thoughtfully.

      She realized she had to put closure on one part of her life before she began another. She did not consult her father or her mother about what she had to say to Mahail.

      He was waiting for her in a private drawing room, his back to her, looking out a window. When she entered the room, she paused for a moment and studied him. He was a slight man, but handsome and well dressed.

      She saw the boy who had said to her, years ago, as he was learning to ride a pony at his family’s compound, “Girls aren’t allowed.”

      He turned and smiled in greeting, but the smile faltered when he saw her hair. She deliberately wore short sleeves so he could see the chunks of skin peeling off her arms, too.

      He regained himself quickly, came to her and bowed, took both her hands.

      “You are somewhat worse the wear for your adventure, I see,” he said, his voice sorrowful, as if she had survived a tsunami.

      “Not at all,” she said, “I’ve never felt better.”

      Of course he didn’t get that at all—that how she felt was so much more important than how she looked.

      “I understand you have been unaccompanied in the presence of a man,” he said. “Others might see that as a smirch on your character, but of course, I do not. I understand the man’s character is unimpeachable.”

      She knew she should be insulted that the man’s character was unimpeachable, but in fact it had been Ronan who had exercised self-control, not her. Still!

      “How big of you,” she said. “Of course that man saved me from a situation largely of your making, but why think of that?”

      “My making?” the prince stammered.

      “You were cruel and thoughtless to Mirassa. She didn’t deserve that, and she retaliated. I’m not excusing what she did, but I am saying I understand it.”

      The prince was beginning to look annoyed, not used to anyone speaking their mind around him, especially a woman. What kind of prison would that be? Not being able to be honest with the man you shared the most intimate things in the world with?

      “And that man, whom others might see as having put a smirch on my character, was absolutely devoted to protecting me. He was willing to put my well-being ahead of his own.” To refuse everything I offered him, if he felt it wasn’t in my best interests.

      “How noble,” the prince said, but he was watching her cautiously. She wasn’t supposed to speak her mind, after all, just toss her hair and blink prettily.

      “Yes,” she agreed, “noble.” Ronan, her prince, so much more so than this man who stood in front of her in his silk and jewels, the aroma of his expensive cologne filling the room.

      What would he say if she said she would rather smell Ronan’s sweat? She smiled at the thought, and Mahail mistook the smile for a change in mood, for coy invitation.

      “Are you well enough, then, to reschedule the day of our marriage?” he asked formally.

      So, despite the hair, the skin, her new outspokenness, he was not going to call it off, and suddenly she was glad, because that made it her choice, rather than his—that made it her power that had to be utilized.

      She needed to choose.

      “I’ve decided not to marry,” she said firmly, with no fear, no doubt, no hesitation. A bird within her took wing.

      “Excuse me?” Prince Mahail was genuinely astonished.

      “I

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