Victoria wakes up to an aching spine and crusted thighs. Her first thought is, How gross. Her second thought is, Where is he?
Because the bed is empty, save for her, and she cannot hear the television or the radio playing in the main sitting room. Disappointment sweeps over her.
He didn't stay? That's strange.
Strange is the only word that comes to mind. Matt came all the way over here, and he left, just like that.
Gingerly, she sits up. Victoria casts around for her slippers but cannot find them. “Damnit,” she hisses. “Is nothing going to go right?”
The mess between her legs is bothering her. The floor is cold under her feet. Victoria rakes a hand through her hair and pulls a face.
She needs a shower desperately.
Much to her surprise, Matt's clothes are still in the living room. The bathroom door is sitting partially ajar, and the sound of water slamming against porcelain floods the air. Curious, she peeks into the room. “Matt?”
Victoria can just barely make out his form on the other side of the fogged-up glass. He's all broad shoulders and fine muscles with scars on his back and tattoos on his skin.
He doesn't hear her come in. Victoria, feeling giddy and bold, gets a towel out of the cabinet and lays it on the bathroom counter next to Matt's. “I'm coming in,” she says, even though there's no way he can hear her.
Quick steps carry her across the bathroom. Victoria goes before she loses her nerve. She rips open the sliding glass door and steps inside. A cloud of hot, humid air slams her in the face. She laughs, nervous, and says, “I hope you don't mind.”
“What, a chance to look at you? Fuck no.” Matt grins, wraps an arm around Victoria's waist, and pulls her close. “Your folks left a note under the door. They're out for the day, something about a meeting with Uber-whatever.”
“I'm not even going to bother trying to correct you,” says Victoria, laughing. She stretches up on the tips of her toes, pressing a soft kiss against Matt's mouth. “I'm just glad you didn't leave.”
“Like you did?” Matt puts a hand on Victoria's waist, another on her shoulder. Without warning, he spins her around and slams her up against the blue and white checkered tile of the shower. It stings a little, but the kiss that follows it is enough to wipe that away.
Her arms wrap around Matt's neck. Hair clings to the back of her neck and spreads out across her shoulders. It flattens out when it's wet. He smells like coconut, like the hand-crafted shower gel she loves so much.
“Like I did,” says Victoria softly. The words are muttered against Matt's mouth. She feels bad for taking off like that, but it's what had to be done. “You sound upset over that.”
Matt gives her a light, meaningless slap on the shoulder. “Do you want me to make you leave?”
“It's my shower,” chides Victoria. “If anyone's going to leave, it's going to be you.”
Matt snorts. “You think you can make me leave?”
“Maybe.”
“No.” He shifts, pressing his erection against Victoria's water-slicked thigh. “I really, really don't think so. But you could give it a shot if you want.”
“You want me to try to leave?”
Matt's only answer is to tug on her hair, to ply her mouth with fierce, stinging kisses. Her lips bruise beneath the onslaught. Without thinking, she presses her palms against Matt's soap-covered chest.
There's no way she could get out from under him, even if she wanted to, which she doesn't. Already, there's pleasure pooling in her gut; there's heat spreading between her thighs. Victoria thinks she could do this forever, but then Matt is pulling on her hair again, and all she can think about is getting him closer.
Nails rake over his shoulders, finding the scars and the divots of his muscles. A hand lands on her hip and slides back to cup her firm ass. Teeth nip at the side of her throat and suck at her pulse point.
Distantly, Victoria knows hiding these marks is going to be hell. But mostly, she thinks this is wonderful—being splayed open here, pinned up against the wall. Matt's other hand curls around her left wrist, pinning it to the bathroom wall. His nails leave white crescents on her skin.
“Fuck,” she says, the word little more than a draining breath. She’s still tired from the night before. She isn't used to this, but Matt is clearly raring to go, and there's no telling when they might see each other again.
In fact, there's no telling if they will see each other again. That thought makes something in Victoria's chest clench up. Her heart skips a beat and she shifts, rubbing her thigh up against Matt's cock.
“No shit,” says Matt. “You can be a little slow, huh? Did it take you this long to figure out that's what we were going to do?”
Victoria gives a stuttering moan. “Here?”
“Right here. Right now.”
“I don't—”
Nimble fingers slip between Victoria's cheeks. They run down, slipping into her cunt from behind. A single finger, that's all it takes, then Victoria is melting, only held up by Matt's strong arms and the wall of the shower behind her.
“Shut up,” says Matt firmly. “Just shut up, Victoria.”
His grip is firm. A second finger slips into Victoria's cunt. Her head falls back to rest against the wall. The word okay is caught in her throat, wedged between a soft sigh and a trembling breath.
If it means keeping Matt around, she doesn't think she'll ever talk again.
The water is hot, almost burning. He makes quick work of stretching her out, though their romp the night before did a good enough job of that. Then he takes hold of one of Victoria's leg and wrenches it up to rest around his waist.
It makes her hip hurt, makes her eyes sting. But then Matt's balls-deep in her, and that pain is gone, and it doesn't matter because she's already knocked up. Even with the threat of a wedding looming in her future—right now, right here—this is perfect.
Victoria's head drops forward, resting on Matt's shoulder. “I love you,” she says, but the words are muffled by water-slicked skin and the sounds of the shower. “I think I love you.”
# # #
They have to part ways in a rush. Victoria's parents come home early, while they're still in the shower. It takes a scramble of limbs to depart from each other, and a life-long practice of hiding her feelings, to push out of the bathroom—shower off, lights off, Matt trying to catch his breath—and face down Gabriella.
The Queen is lingering in the main sitting room of the hotel near the door. For a second, Victoria thinks her mother has surely seen the discarded clothing of her maybe boyfriend, but the older woman is clearly just lost in her own thoughts.
Victoria adjusts the soft yellow cotton towel wrapped around her body. “Really, Mother? Do you just not know how to knock?”
“Be grateful I'm letting you stay in here on your own,” says Gabriella. “It could be worse. I could make you keep the door open.”
There's a note of humor in Gabriella's voice. If Matt weren’t still hidden away in the bathroom, Victoria might find herself intrigued. Her mother seldom joked, and she almost never smiled.
And yet here she is, with the faintest of smiles on her face. She gestures towards the couch. “Can I talk with you, Victoria?”
“Of course,” says Victoria stiffly. She pushes the bathroom door shut and joins her mother on the couch. “But you could have picked a better time. I was enjoying myself. They have wonderful showers here, and I was thinking about taking a bath now that I am clean.”
Hopefully, it will look like her skin is just flushed by the red water. Belatedly, Victoria realized there is no way to hide the obvious bruises on her shoulder and neck.
It is obvious Gabriella sees them, and yet she carries on in a light tone, as if they aren’t there. Gabriella says, “When I was your age, I hated my mother. I thought she was controlling, demanding, and ignorant of my own needs.”
Victoria's heart stills, just for a moment. She seldom hears stories of her grandmother, the late Queen of Bavaria.
“I didn't understand, just like you don't understand. Sometimes, I forget about that,” continues Gabriella. Clearly, she's been thinking about this for a long time. “My mother was strict, and she didn't explain anything. She told me what to do and expected I would follow her blindly. At first, I did...just like you did when you were younger.”
“I'm not young anymore,” says Victoria softly. The bathroom door creaks open. She can hear footsteps padding lightly against the tile. “I don't want to listen to your every order, Mother. I want to be my own person.”
Gabriella sounds close to tears when she says, “I wish you could be but, darling, you cannot. I haven't been honest with you, just like my mother wasn't with me. And that's wrong. I cannot keep the secret from you any more, Victoria. We need you to marry the Duke of Cambridge. The country needs it.”
“I don't want to! Mother, I don't love him!”
“It's that or a potential war.”
In the silence that follows, Victoria can hear everything— the front door opening when Matt slips outside of the hotel room, the water dripping from the spray nozzle of the shower, her own blood rushing through her veins. When she talks, her tongue feels like cotton. “What?”
“There has been great unease between our two countries over the borderline. Cambridge is demanding it be changed, moving in their favor, of course.” Gabriella closes her eyes. She breathes in deeply and then exhales. It sounds ragged, like she's been holding that breath in for far too long. “This would solve that. If our two countries bonded together via marriage, then the border wouldn't be a problem. There would be no threat to our people. That is why I married your father, and this is why you will marry the Duke. Please. Please. Don't argue with me on this matter anymore.”
Gabriella stands up, then presses a kiss against her daughter's forehead and leaves.
Victoria wishes she had never come inside.