Chapter 47 47
MARIGOLD POV
Okay.
I know this game. I’ve been playing it since the moment I agreed to wear Margaux’s skin like a second dress. Fake the bratty tilt of the chin, fake the spoiled bite in the voice, fake the entire damn life of a woman who isn’t me. But tonight? Tonight Gregor had decided to take method acting to a whole new level.
The man kissed me like I was his last breath just nights ago, and now he couldn’t even look at me?
I sat there in the salon, drowning in silks and sapphires, staring at the back of his broad shoulders as he barked orders at the guards. Gray pants, white shirt, sleeves rolled. He looked like every forbidden fantasy rolled into one—and he was acting like I was the wallpaper.
The audacity.
Sugar had warned me, though. She’d slipped into my room earlier, eyes glittering with gossip. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered while helping me fasten a necklace. “I heard the maids talking. The King ordered them all to keep watch on Alpha Gregor. They’re looking for proof. Prince Leon’s still away with the East Delegates. Without him here to play fiancé, they’re making Gregor the guard dog. He’s ignoring you for your own good.”
I’d almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
But right now? Watching him stand there, jaw ticking, eyes everywhere but on me? No. Pity wasn’t on the menu.
If he wanted me to play the spoiled princess, I’d give him the full damn theater production.
I snapped my fingers at Luda. “Where is my Berkins bag? The pink one. The one with the limited-edition crocodile skin. Not this—” I lifted the perfectly good leather purse on my lap like it was diseased “—peasant thing.”
Luda blinked. “My lady, that bag is worth—”
“Do I look like I care?” I purred. “Also, my Gucci slides. The diamond ones. And for the love of the gods, bring me my Italian watch. No, not that one, the other one. The one so expensive it should have its own security detail.”
Gregor’s shoulders stiffened. I could feel the tension radiating off him even from across the room.
I went in for the kill. “And why,” I said sweetly, “are we still eating this local peasant stew? I asked for authentic Italian pasta flown in fresh this morning. With truffles. Shaved at the table. And wine from the vineyard in Umbria. Not this… provincial grape juice.”
Sugar coughed into her hand to hide a laugh. “Of course, Lady Margaux,” she said, bowing dramatically.
Gregor finally turned his head just a fraction. Just enough for me to catch it—the flicker of heat in his eyes. The don’t do this to me warning.
Oh, I saw it. And I smirked.
Because underneath his cold act, underneath the big bad Alpha façade, I knew the truth. The kiss had changed him too. It had sunk into his wolf, same as it had burned into my bones.
So if he wanted to ignore me, fine. I’d sass him until he cracked.
And later, when the villa was empty and only our shadows were left on the hall’s marble floors, he wouldn’t be able to keep pretending.
I was so sure of it that when the last maid left and Sugar disappeared upstairs, I didn’t even bother to retreat to my rooms. I stood in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed, staring at the big man who was very obviously pretending to check the locks.
“You going to keep playing guard dog, Alpha,” I said lightly, “or are you finally going to admit you’re just as infuriated as I am?”
He froze.
His wolf’s presence rippled through the hall, hot and angry, the air between us snapping like static. His eyes—those impossible gray eyes—finally landed on me, and the way they slid to my lips made my stomach flip.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.
And for a second, I thought maybe he was going to walk right past me, keep up that infuriating act of being the King’s perfect soldier, the unshakable Alpha who just happened to forget that he kissed me like I was oxygen.
But then—he cracked.
It was subtle at first. His hand, braced against the doorframe, curled into a fist so tight the veins in his forearm jumped. His jaw locked. And his wolf—oh gods, his wolf—slammed into the hallway like a storm, hot and wild, brushing against mine with a force that stole the breath right out of my lungs.
“Go to bed, Marigold.” His voice was gravel, a warning.
“No.” I tilted my chin up, because sass was the only thing keeping my knees from giving out. “Not until you stop ignoring me like I’m some… some decorative vase. I’m not glass, Gregor. And you—” My voice wavered, just slightly, “—you don’t get to kiss me like that and then vanish behind your brooding Alpha routine.”
His eyes snapped to mine, and for a terrifying, exhilarating second, I thought he was going to break me in half with just his stare. His wolf howled under his skin, pacing, clawing, demanding.
“You think I don’t want to?” His voice came out low, ragged, dangerous. “You think I don’t wake up every godsdamned hour replaying that kiss, tasting you, wanting—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face like he could scrub the confession away.
My pulse was thunder. “Then what’s stopping you?”
He laughed—sharp, humorless, like the sound of metal grinding. “The fact that if I touch you again, I won’t stop. The fact that you’re supposed to be Margaux. Prince Leon’s. And the fact that the King already has a knife pressed to my throat without ever lifting his hand.”
I should’ve backed off. I should’ve walked away. But instead, I stepped closer, so close I could see the storm breaking behind his eyes.
“You’re still looking at my lips,” I whispered.
His breath stuttered.
The mask slipped, completely, and for a moment he wasn’t the perfect Alpha soldier or the King’s pawn—he was just a man, a wolf, one heartbeat away from claiming what he wanted.
His hand lifted, trembling, and brushed the barest line along my jaw. Not a kiss, not a mark, but enough to scorch me from the inside out.
“Go. To. Bed,” he rasped, voice breaking like it hurt him to say it.
And then he turned on his heel, storming down the hall, leaving me pressed against the wall, burning, shaking, and utterly certain of one thing:
Alpha Gregor might deny it in words.
But his wolf? His wolf already thought I was his.