The Duke was correct—the wind *was* strong.
But not *that* strong.
A child might have struggled to remain upright against its force. An adult, however, would have no such difficulty.
"Duke of Pembroke..." Adelina's mouth curved into a smile despite her exasperation. "Do I truly look like someone who could be swept away by a sea breeze?"
Alexio appeared unmoved by her protest. His hand remained firmly on her shoulder, and he did not release her until he had guided her several steps back from the railing—far enough that even the strongest gust couldn't possibly pose a threat.
"I wouldn't want to be the husband who lost his wife in a tragic accident on their wedding night." His tone suggested mild concern, but the slight quirk of his lips betrayed amusement.
"That won't happen," Adelina muttered, glancing back toward the terrace edge where the sound of crashing waves echoed against stone.
When his hand finally fell away, she felt an unexpected emptiness—a sensation so strange that she immediately looked down to distract herself.
And froze.
One strap of her nightgown had slipped from her shoulder. It hung precariously across her chest, the silk threatening to slide further with the slightest movement.
*Oh God.*
Adelina's hand flew up to yank the strap back into place. Her face blazed with heat.
How long had it been like that? Had he *noticed?*
The fabric was so impossibly light that she hadn't felt it slip at all.
When she finally dared to look up, Alexio was watching her with undisguised amusement.
"Well." His smile widened fractionally. "I thought perhaps you were deliberately creating the perfect atmosphere for our wedding night."
"*Nothing of the sort!*" The words burst out more forcefully than she'd intended. "We aren't even a real couple. And I didn't even realize the strap had fallen."
"Nevertheless," he observed, his gaze traveling slowly down her figure and back up again, "you *are* wearing something like that."
The weight of his attention made Adelina acutely conscious of just how little the nightgown actually covered. The silk clung to her body, translucent in the moonlight. Every curve was visible. Every line.
"Sophie prepared this." She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "I don't normally wear such things."
"I must say, the garments she chose especially for our first night are quite... suitable."
"This isn't—!"
Adelina searched desperately for a worthy rebuttal and found none. Her mind had gone blank, her usual composure scattered by embarrassment.
A low chuckle escaped Alexio's throat.
"Though I should warn you," he continued, stepping closer, "you shouldn't wear clothing like that regularly. Such things practically *invite* a man to remove them."
Before Adelina could respond, his fingers hooked beneath the strap she had just repositioned. He tugged—gently, experimentally—testing the delicate silk.
It seemed that with even the slightest additional pressure, the entire garment might simply fall away.
Adelina held herself utterly still, hardly daring to breathe. Every tiny shift of the fabric against her skin felt magnified. *Significant.*
The Duke appeared to find her predicament highly entertaining.
"My wife has been preparing so diligently," he murmured, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed her ear. "Shouldn't we spend our wedding night as befits newlyweds?"
His breath ghosted across her skin—warm, intimate, entirely too close.
"Nothing of the sort was stipulated in our contract, Duke of Pembroke." Adelina forced steel into her voice despite the way her shoulders had tensed involuntarily. "I'm certain I would have remembered such a clause."
Alexio didn't retreat.
"Actually," he said, "it contains a provision stating that we must behave as befits an ideal married couple during the duration of our union." His fingers toyed idly with the strap, making it shift and settle against her shoulder. "Nighttime activities fall quite naturally within that definition. After all, the Princess and I are an official couple—approved by the royal family, celebrated throughout the kingdom."
Adelina drew a steadying breath.
"If nightly visits are among the duties the Duke requires of his Duchess," she said carefully, "I will comply. As I promised, I intend to fulfill my obligations." She met his gaze without flinching. "But wouldn't pregnancy present... complications?"
The question was directed at Alexio.
But it was also directed at herself.
The princess wasn't afraid of sharing a bed with a man—not exactly. She had received thorough education about such matters from the moment she'd begun menstruation. The mechanics were familiar. The expectations were clear.
What terrified her was the *aftermath*.
Pregnancy. Childbirth. The slow erosion of mind and body that had consumed her mother. Even with contraception—and there were methods, certainly, many of them—none offered absolute guarantee. The safest approach was simply to avoid the act entirely.
Alexio's expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though she had said something unexpected.
"You're quite right." He released the strap and stepped back. "I don't want children. So naturally, I would have arranged a foolproof method to ensure such an outcome could not occur."
Adelina studied him carefully.
This was precisely the kind of planning she had come to expect from Alexio Pembroke. Meticulous forethought. Every variable accounted for. Words like *accident* or *unplanned* or *failure* simply did not exist in his vocabulary.
"I'm sure you would have thought of everything..." she began.
But what if she *did* become pregnant despite his precautions? What if the unthinkable happened?
Her eyes fluttered with sudden fear—genuine, visceral fear that tightened her chest and made her breath come short.
Alexio seemed to notice.
His hand fell from her shoulder entirely. Instead, he caught her wrist and tugged her gently toward the bed.
"You needn't worry." His voice had lost its teasing edge. "Performing such marital duties isn't what I require of the Duchess."
"What?" Adelina blinked, confused by the sudden shift. "But you just said—"
"Your reaction was amusing. I couldn't resist." He guided her to sit on the mattress's edge. "I have no interest in sharing a bed with someone who doesn't want to be there. It's late. We should rest."
Before Adelina could process what was happening, Alexio had eased her down onto the pillows. He shrugged out of his outer jacket—the formal black coat he'd worn throughout the evening—and settled onto the mattress beside her.
Adelina turned her head to stare at him.
His profile was striking in the low lamplight. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, dark lashes resting against pale skin.
*Why is he so handsome?* she thought absurdly.
"Duke of Pembroke?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you lying next to me right now?"
"Even if we're not planning to consummate the marriage," he said reasonably, "shouldn't we at least sleep in the same bed? We *are* newlyweds, after all."
He reached over to pull the blanket up to her chin, then smoothed a hand gently over her hair—a gesture so unexpectedly tender that Adelina forgot to breathe.
"If we stayed in separate rooms," Alexio continued, "we certainly wouldn't avoid Mrs. Tiziana's interrogation. I assure you, her lectures are *extremely* tiring."
Adelina's mind raced to catch up.
Suddenly, she jerked upright.
"Does this mean you plan to sleep here *every night?*"
"Yes." Alexio didn't even open his eyes. "We have a passionate love match, and we're currently on our honeymoon. Only my inner circle works on this island, but even they shouldn't know this marriage is purely contractual. Both for my reputation and for the royal family's sake."
"That... makes sense."
It did make sense.
Adelina hadn't given much thought to the royal family's position—it had been so long since she'd actively participated in any royal duties. But now that she'd accepted a substantial arrangement, she wanted to fulfill her end of the bargain. To help Alexio earn back his investment.
The beautiful story of *the wedding of the century* was being discussed in every newspaper, every gossip column, every parlor in the kingdom. The Duke was leveraging that narrative for enormous profit. If it emerged that this marriage was merely a business contract rather than a love match, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"When we return to Pembroke Manor," Alexio added, "we won't need to maintain such close proximity. Sharing a bed once or twice a month should suffice. I'll be busy with work regardless—we won't see each other often." He shifted slightly, getting comfortable. "So I think everyone will be satisfied with our honeymoon story."
"You planned this trip deliberately." Adelina spoke slowly, realization dawning. "From the very beginning."
It had seemed strange to her that Alexio would insist on a honeymoon amid all the chaos of wedding preparations. She hadn't understood the strategic purpose.
Now she did.
"Sleep peacefully, Princess." Alexio's voice was already growing drowsy. "Starting tomorrow, Mrs. Tiziana will begin pestering you again."
"I understand."
As he laid out the undeniable facts one after another, Adelina found she had no choice but to accept them. She settled back against the pillows.
Alexio's eyes were already closed. His breathing had begun to deepen and slow.
*There's nothing wrong with simply sharing a bed*, Adelina told herself.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the imposing presence of the man beside her. She was exhausted from the long journey—she should have fallen asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
Instead, she lay wide awake.
Her mind refused to quiet.
Suddenly, a thought struck her with such force that she bolted upright.
Alexio's eyes opened slowly—irritation and resignation mingling in his expression.
"What is it *now*, Princess?"
"I just realized..." Adelina twisted the blanket between her fingers. "Wouldn't it seem strange to the servants if there were no... *traces* left?"
"Traces?"
"Yes." Heat flooded her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue. "When a man and woman spend the night together, there are usually signs. On the bed linens, or... or on their bodies..."
Understanding dawned in Alexio's eyes.
"Ah. Evidence of consummation." He rolled onto his side to face her fully, propping his head on one hand. "Is that what concerns you? How remarkably thorough."
His tone suggested he was impressed.
Adelina nodded hesitantly.
"If the servants find the bed perfectly pristine in the morning, won't they suspect something is amiss?"
"An excellent point." Alexio studied her face for a long moment. "What do you suggest we do about it?"
The question hung between them.
Adelina swallowed hard.
"I... I'm not entirely certain," she admitted. "But perhaps we should... create some indication that..." She trailed off, utterly mortified.
Alexio's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Princess," he said softly, "are you asking me to stage evidence of our wedding night?"
"I—" Adelina's voice failed her entirely.
"How very practical of you."
Before she could respond, he had moved—swift and fluid as a hunting cat. His hand came up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair.
"If we're going to put on a performance," Alexio murmured, his face now mere inches from hers, "we might as well make it convincing."
Adelina's heart hammered against her ribs.
*What is he—*
"Close your eyes, Princess."
And despite every rational thought screaming in her mind, Adelina obeyed.
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