The reason why Freya was losing the bet was the exact reason why Julian was losing as well. Neither of them were capable of brushing off that lust-laced session in the garden and neither of them had the intention of admitting it.

            As cliché as it may sound – Freya was appalled by clichés, but they seemed to fit the description rather perfectly – everyone but them was aware of the carnal tension.

            What was even more dreadful was that the breaking point occurred during the volunteer day at the Angels Caring Center. Desiring to surveil Freya as much as his position permitted, Julian asked John to arrange some royalty aid as well. Consequently, the exact same people from the table where Freya sat at dinner – more precisely, the man with a moustache and the woman with a diamond bracelet – made their appearance in a fairly ridiculous manner.

            The individuals in question had the astonishing idea of organizing a ballroom soirée for the elderly people at the center. What they failed to notice was that most 'guests' had arthritis and could not walk for more than a couple minutes, let alone dance for a few hours.

            Julian arranged that tight situation in order to test Freya, who seemed more than willing to throw a shovel at the two royals. He snickered deviously, caressing his light stubble on his way to Freya.

            "Milady, do you fancy this enchanting setting?" He whispered into his wife's ear and witnessed her shudder. Yes, I am definitely winning the bet, he thought.

            Freya spun around and entangled her polished fingers in Julian's hair, bringing him – his manhood – to her core. The Duke froze instantly and a terribly irritating knot menaced his throat.

            "What are you doing?"

            "Pardon me, milord, but a wife is surely allowed to touch her husband, isn't she? I was merely conforming to my duty as a pleaser." Freya's simper could light up a few blocks as easily as it could leave them in utter gloom.

Julian gulped down a few times, resisting the temptation of growling huskily.

Yes, I am definitely winning the bet, she thought.

"So, what are we supposed to do know? Our idea is quite inappropriate, I have to admit. We are completely unprepared, Freya." The diamond lady – again, Freya was unaware of her name – interrupted them.

The Duchess took a step back from Julian and pinched the bridge of her nose. How could she involve both the elders and her pupils? Was Maeve having any idea? She called her right away, and the chirpy snow-haired lady showed up in front of her.

"Yes, my love? How may I be of assistance?"

"Oh, please, need not use such pretentious words. Give me a tip on how to make it through this day." Freya begged, anticipating a failing outcome.

Maeve pondered for a couple of seconds and the Duchess could almost see a light-bulb blinking over her head.

"Well, there is going to be a play in our center in a fortnight. The costumes had already been delivered. We can do a catwalk if you want. My friends would be thrilled, of that I am certain."

"What about the kids?" Freya inquired, refraining herself from biting her nails in frustration.

"They could be the teachers, you know? Showing them what a true poise means. I am sure they have watched at least one fashion show."

Freya chuckled and nodded. It could work. She explained her friend's idea and luckily enough, everyone in the main room cheered.

A few hours passed in the blink of an eye, each minute encompassing an elder swinging sexily or making a naughty pose. It was hilarious and joyful at the same time, for the Duchess had never given any credit to elders' energy. They were indeed a force, and she felt quite small, honestly. Imagining herself at the age of eighty with Julian and grand-children was horrifying.

            After the last elder performed, Maeve invited Freya to step on the improved catwalk and wear the last dress. What Julian had not expected was how different the dress was. If the others were flowy and unrevealing, Freya's was... panties-ripping. He instantly had a flashback of the steamy kiss and his knees melted quite ungracefully.

            Freya noticed his reaction as she clicked her heels on the catwalk and followed him as he excused himself to leave the room. The others noticed the royal couple's departure, but Maeve soon redirected their attention to a table full of tea varieties.

            "Are you alright? You seem... hot." Freya could not help but smirk at the sight of Julian who removed his tie and rolled the sleeves of his shirt.

            "You bloody satan's spawn! Have you cast a spell on me or what?! I am standing here with a bloody boner and you look like you could replace Putin in an instant!" Julian yelled mercilessly, fisting his palms.

            I cannot lose my act just now, Freya thought as she crossed her arms in superiority.

            "I have won the bet, haven't I?" She asked as she closed the gap between them.

As soon as the question escaped her rose-tainted lips, she prayed to the Almighty God that she could gulp down her statement.

Julian's eyes became pools of liquid rage, menacing promises and a glare that only a lifetime murderer could possess. She undoubtedly felt terrified. Although she had previously witnessed his tantrums, she was absolutely certain that moment was not among them.

He yanked his brawny arm to her throat, but stopped in mid-track, bending his fingers into a fist.

"Look what you make of me. A monster. I swear to whatever entity is out there, not even my father is able to abandon me to such temper. I have the same amount of willpower to strangle you to death and kiss you senselessly. I, however, being such a gentleman, am going to pick the latter version."

Freya had no time to protest, for Julian's moist and lush lips vigorously incarcerated hers. While melting tongues and biting liquorous inches of skin, chaos unveiled itself around them – two broken vases, unruly table sheets, shattered buttons and ripped pieces of dress material. The amount of low moans each shared was insufficient to describe the turmoil that constricted their hearts.

Was that how each day will finish in the future? With a kiss fight for independence, mutual retorts and no actual feelings involved? Freya could not live like that. Yes, she proclaimed herself a supporter of female independence, but not when a strikingly fascinating man was involved. She needed all the love she could receive to battle her skin-plucking demons.

Although she felt like continuing the puppet show of their tongues, she shoved him away and wiped her lips with the back of her quivering hand.

"I cannot do this anymore! I don't know about you, but meaningless kisses are as dreadful as stealing a morsel from a starving African child!" Freya yelled, biting her kiss-swollen lip.

She was on the verge of watering her eyes, a fact of which Julian was certain. What did she need? A fairytale husband? That was beyond ludicrous. He has been abstinent ever since she married her, and he yearned for such closure.

With the tip of his finger, he wiped away a carelessly-falling tear from her cheek. Freya whimpered, not bearing the shame that was now engulfing her every limb.

"I... I am sorry. I just... need a friend. You have no idea how hideous my emotional life has been so far. The last thing I want to experience is a physical contact with a man who doesn't respect me."

Despite the fact that Julian was dying to discover the culprit of her slandering, he asked another question:

"Am I not respecting you? Have I done anything to prove otherwise?" His voice lowered tremendously, turning into an ever so feathery lullaby.

Freya was startled by the sudden change of his voice, yet she could not be fooled by alternating miens again. She was unable to fathom Julian, and it frustrated her to no end.

            She gathered the courage to raise her hand and touch his stubble-painted cheek. Julian sensed that touch to his very core and found himself, once again, drawn to her purity.

            "I want to make love to you, Julian. Not have sex. I understand that we are married and that I will most likely be compelled to produce an heir, but I cannot. At least not in the nearby future. Please understand that unless we share a mutual love for each other, I will not conform to your desires."

            Julian momentarily closed his eyes, batting his lashes in an attempt to scatter away his unrest. He gently brought his wife's hands to his mouth and kissed them tenderly, an emotion to which he could not yet grow accustomed.

            "You live in a fantasy world, ma belle femme. But I will try my best to transform it into reality." He chuckled almost childishly. "You make me a walking romance cliché, it is bad for my reputation. Never mind, though. It will be a challenge to live up to your expectations."

            Freya vehemently shook her head.

            "Love is neither a challenge, nor a process of autosuggestion. It is a journey of both self-discovery and the revelation of the other. My only expectation is for your treating me kindly. How you manage to live up to it is entirely up to your imagination."

            Freya flashed her most blazing smile and fluttered her eyelashes. Two lovely dimples caressed the proximity of her mouth and Julian could not resist kissing them.

            "Alright. Shall we embark on this journey?" He asked his wife, returning an even more electrifying smile to Freya's radiating visage.

            "You do realise our clothes are ripped, right?" Freya pointed out, picking a loose strand of dress material and waving it in the air.

           Julian chuckled, obviously stunned by the embarassing position they would have if they returned in such a poor condition.

          "Well, I could cover my shirt with my suit and you could put the blanket on you, pretending that you love it so much that you need to wear it at all costs."

          "I actually do love it."

          "Lucky us, then?" Julian smiled tenderly.

            She nodded silently, lacing her arm under his protective one. They both tittered simultaneously, as if already experiencing the prologue of a bond.

            They returned to the main room of the Angels Caring Center and Julian enchanted his blanket-wearing Duchess with another piano song of his own genius, earning one of the many more gracious smiles to come.