Chapter Twenty-Six: Lord and Permission
The morning light through the curtains found me smug.
Adrian was already awake, propped on an elbow, watching me with that intense, unreadable gaze. The storm of possessive passion from last night had settled into a quiet, simmering warmth in his eyes. I stretched, a slow, deliberate movement, and met his look with a small, coy smile.
"Good morning, husband," I purred, the title a deliberate reminder of his words last night.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Good morning, wife," he echoed, his voice still rough with sleep. He traced my collarbone with a fingertip. "Sleep well?"
"Mmm. Very." I rolled onto my side to face him fully. "So. About today. I'm thinking of leaving around eleven. That should give me plenty of time with my mother before Lucia drags me off to be bankrupted by handbags."
His finger stilled. The warmth in his eyes banked, replaced by a careful neutrality. "Is that so?"
"Yes. Your father gave his permission. Very graciously, I might add." I let my smile widen, injecting it with a dash of playful challenge. "He said it would be good for us. A little normalcy."
Adrian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. "We discussed this last night, Arisha. You come to me."
"And I am," I said, sitting up as well, pulling the sheet to my chin. "Informing you. It's all settled. Security is arranged."
"It is not 'settled' until I say it is." His voice was low, but the edge was back. The playful reclamation of the night before was gone, replaced by the hard line of a man used to command. "I don't like the idea. The city is a circus right now. Hale's people are everywhere, looking for a new angle. You, vulnerable, emotional, out shopping? It's a risk."
"Vulnerable? Emotional?" I raised an eyebrow, the coyness sharpening into attitude. "I'm going to see my mother and buy shoes, Adrian, not negotiate a peace treaty. And I have the Prime Minister's permission. Do you know who my father-in-law is?" I tilted my head, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "William Madden. The Greatest Icon. Our pride. His word is basically law, isn't it? Huh."
I saw it—the flash of irritation, quickly masked, but also, buried deep, a flicker of something else. Pride. He loved that I had charmed his father, that his family had taken me into their fold so completely. He loved that his choice of a wife, so defiant and unlikely, had been so heartily approved. He was testing me, teasing the boundaries of his control, secretly thrilled that I was bold enough to push back, to claim my own space within his world.
But he couldn't admit it. The fear was too real, too close to the surface after the scare of my health.
"His word runs the country, Arisha," Adrian said, his tone hardening. "It does not run my marriage. And in this marriage, I am telling you, it's not a good day for it. Stay home. Rest. You were dizzy just yesterday."
"I feel fine," I insisted, my own temper beginning to spark. "And I'm going. I don't need your permission. I was being considerate by telling you."
"Considerate?" He let out a short, humorless laugh, swinging his legs out of bed. "Walking into a potential media ambush after I expressly voiced my concern is not considerate. It's reckless."
"It's living my life!" I shot back, scrambling out of bed after him. "Or am I just a doll to be kept in this gilded bedroom, only let out when you decide it's safe?"
He turned to face me, and the last vestige of patience snapped. "For God's sake, Arisha, will you just listen to me for once?" The words weren't a shout, but they were sharp, clipped, and carried the full weight of his frustration and fear. It was the first time he'd ever used that tone with me—not teasing, not passionate, not even angrily possessive. It was pure, unvarnished impatience.
I flinched as if struck. My breath hitched. The playful bravado evaporated, leaving me feeling suddenly very young and very small. My eyes, wide and filling with traitorous tears, locked on his. My lower lip began to tremble.
"You…" My voice wavered. "You're scolding me?" A hot tear spilled over and traced a path down my cheek. "You're shouting at me?" The drama of it fed the hurt. I took a step forward and slapped my hands weakly against his bare chest. "How can you do this to me? I'm your newlywed wife! We've been married for weeks and you're already shouting! You don't love me! You just want to control me!"
I was fully crying now, the tears coming in earnest, my shoulders shaking with theatrical, heartbroken sobs. "I hate you right now! You're a brute! An old, grumpy man!"
The second the words left my mouth, I saw the anger drain from his face, replaced by instant, horrified remorse. "Arisha—no, baby, don't cry. God, I'm sorry." He reached for me, but I twisted away, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Don't touch me! Don't talk to me!" I sniffled dramatically, turning my back to him. "I'm going to complain to Father. I'm going to tell William Madden exactly what you did to me! How you yelled at your poor, innocent wife who just wants to see her mama!" I peeked over my shoulder, tears streaming. "See if his permission still stands then!"
"Arisha, please." His voice was soft now, pleading. He approached me cautiously, as one would a spooked animal. "My wife. My angel. Look at me."
"No!"
"My sweet girl. My innocent little thing. I didn't mean to shout. I'm just… I'm scared. The thought of you out there, with everything hanging over us…" He gently turned me around, his hands cupping my wet face. His thumbs wiped at my tears. "You're not a doll. You're my heart walking around outside my body. And it terrifies me."
I kept my face turned down, my lower lip jutting out in a magnificent pout, but my sobs had quieted to hiccupping sniffles. "You snapped at me," I whispered, the genuine hurt peeking through the performance.
"I know. And I am so sorry." He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me. I didn't fight him. I let myself melt into the solid warmth, my tears soaking his skin. "Forgive me, my love. My impossible, beautiful, maddening wife. I can't think straight when I imagine anything happening to you. I can't sleep if you're not in my arms. I can't breathe."
He was saying all the right things, his voice a low, soothing murmur against my hair. "Baby… please. Don't hate me."
I snuggled deeper into his embrace, my dramatic storm subsiding as quickly as it had arrived. I let out a final, shuddering sigh. "You're still an old man," I mumbled into his chest, but the sting was gone.
He chuckled, the sound relieved and tender. "Your old man," he agreed, kissing the top of my head. "Who is a fool for shouting at the sunniest part of his life." He leaned back, tilting my chin up. "Go. See your mother. Go shopping with Lucia. Take a battalion of security. But be home for dinner. And call me when you get there and when you leave. Every time."
It was a surrender, wrapped in conditions. A lord granting a favor to his queen. I finally met his eyes, a small, watery smile touching my lips. I nodded.
He kissed me then, softly, a seal on the peace treaty. "Now," he said, his old mischief returning as he looked at my tear-streaked face. "What are you going to tell my father I did, exactly?"
I gave him a look of pure, dripping innocence through my damp lashes. "That his son is very… passionate about scheduling. And that he owes me a new pair of shoes for the emotional distress."
Adrian threw his head back and laughed, the tension of the morning finally shattering. He pulled me close again, shaking his head. "God help me. I've married a siren and a schemer."
I just smiled, nestling against him. I had won. I had my outing. And he had the reassurance of my safety, and the quiet, secret thrill of a wife bold enough to fight for it—and clever enough to win.