“The only thing I need to know is,” he continued, “…are you willing to offer me the same?”
This man and his charming and tender words were going to be the end of her. She absolutely knew it. How could she not want to run straight off the proverbial cliff just for a chance at a taste of what he was offering? She might never have been in love, but everything he offered her sounded like heaven to her weary soul.
“This marriage will be real, Regina. Whether or not you decide to continue our physical relationship beyond conception is immaterial. Our bond and our fate will be sealed. This is forever. Can you handle that?”
She was primed to agree, even though the tiny voice in her head kept asking her if she’d be able to live without love. Would it be so bad? Would she miss what she’d never had? No man had connected with her in a way that made her think a future was possible…before now. And then it suddenly occurred to her, there was something else they hadn’t discussed that she had to get straight before she signed up for this.
“I can,” she murmured, her mind still pulling out her metaphorical shield to protect her if what she said next made this conversation go left.
“Are we agreed, then?” His voice had so much hope that it was beginning to stir her own. But first, they had to get this all hammered out.
“No, we’re not. Not yet. Aléx?”
“Yes, Treasure?”
Every time he used that pet name, some of the cold iciness she often tried to guard the delicate parts of her with melted a little more. But she couldn’t get lost in how this man was making her feel. She had to ask the tough questions.
“I’m a Black woman.”
“I’m aware.” His answer was matter-of-fact, like race didn’t matter.
She took a deep breath and pressed forward. “How are your people, your court, your family and friends going to react to you making me your queen? I’ve seen how Europeans like to tussle about their monarchies. I’m not trying to end up in a situation where I’m running from Obsidian Island with my children in tow because folks can’t accept a Black woman as their queen.”
When he was quiet and the silence stretched long beyond her patience, she spoke again.
“And if you tell me you don’t see color, I’ll twist your lips into a knot.”
He chuckled, which was slightly comforting. If she’d seen disdain, disinterest or cluelessness in his eyes, her fight-or-flight response would have been humming in the background. Instead, she’d be out the door and getting into her car instead of standing here waiting on his next words.
She’d moved in corporate America for a good portion of her life. In those rarified circles, white people often tried to pretend they lived in a post-racial world. Her experience as a curvy Black woman from Brooklyn said otherwise. She couldn’t go into this blind without knowing what she was facing.
“Obsidian Island isn’t in Europe. It’s in North America. We lie somewhere in the middle between Nova Scotia in Canada and Bermuda.”
She rolled her eyes at his geography lesson. “Sir, you have a Greek name and look like John Stamos is your daddy. Are you really trying to argue that you don’t have some European blood in your veins?”
She folded her arms, waiting for an answer, because they both knew she was right. “I wouldn’t try to argue your point,” he responded. “I couldn’t. My mother was a direct descendant of the deposed royalty in Greece.”
She went to turn away from him, and Aléx wrapped gentle fingers around her wrist, stroking the soft skin there in a silent plea for her to stay.
“I would never ignore your concerns regarding this matter. Race is very much still an issue, even on a small island nation like Obsidian Island. What I will tell you is that I will not tolerate any disrespect, outright or otherwise, at your expense. Not that this should allay your fears, but you won’t be the first Black queen or monarch on the throne.”
That made her cock an eyebrow, positive that the disbelief on her face was as visible as a neon sign. He was right that history didn’t mean things would be a bed of roses. It simply meant she wouldn’t be the first. Being the first in these situations always sucked.
“Really?” she asked.
She pulled out a chair at her eat-in counter, and he took the one immediately next to her, crowding her space and her senses.
“Yes, really,” he replied in earnest. “I’ll have to show you the Hall of Kings and Queens when you come back with me.”
She hadn’t missed thatwhenin the sentence either. Listening to him, she couldn’t decide if it was confidence or conceit that had him believing her leaving with him was an inevitability.
“We share the same land mass with Nyeusi, much like Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Since a good bit of the land that connects us is submerged below sea level, this makes travel between the two nations by boat and helicopter relatively easy. Now that we’ve built a bridge, traveling by car is possible too.” He brought her back to the conversation. “Our peoples, including royals, have migrated back and forth as well as married throughout the centuries. Of course that doesn’t magically make race relations better.”
She couldn’t call what his candidness made her feel relief. More like appreciation that he’d heard her concerns and hadn’t tried to gaslight her into believing this wasn’t an issue she should be bringing up. Glad to have that over with, she tried to bring some levity into the situation.
“Wow, King Aléxandros. It almost sounds like you’re signing on to be my hero, defending my honor like you’ve described. Does that mean you’d send people to the dungeons for me, wage war for me?”
“No.” His voice was sharp and clear as he placed a finger under her chin, making her gaze fasten onto his. “It means I’d raze the ground they stood on for you. I’m not attempting to be your hero, Regina. Heroes don’t exist. I’m trying to be your husband. I’m trying to show you that you’ll never have to fight alone ever again.”
