by Kate Hewitt
Her face crumpled in compassionate horror at the thought, and Mateo let out an exasperated breath. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘It’s not that...’
Mateo said something in Greek, most likely a swear word. ‘You think I’m actually making it up!’
‘Not making it up,’ Rachel soothed. ‘I think you believe you’re a prince...’
Mateo swore again, this time in English. He rose from her battered sofa in one fluid movement of lethal grace. ‘Do I look or act like someone who is insane?’ he demanded, and Rachel cringed a little.
No, he most definitely did not. In fact, with his eyes blazing blue-green fire, in a suit that looked as if it cost more than she made in a month, he did look like a prince. She sagged against the back of her chair, causing the pile of laundry to fall in a heap to the floor, as the realisation thudded through her.
‘You really are a prince.’
‘Of course I am. And in a week’s time I am to be crowned king.’
He sounded so assured, so arrogant, that Rachel wondered how she could have doubted him for a minute. A second. And as for being deluded...of course he wasn’t. She’d never seen a more sane, focused, determined individual in her life.
‘But what does this have to do with me?’ she asked shakily, as she remembered what he’d said. He wanted to marry her...
Surely not. Surely not.
‘As King of Kallyria, I’ll need a bride,’ Mateo resumed his explanation as he paced the small confines of her sitting room. ‘A queen by my side.’
Rachel shook her head slowly. She could not reconcile that statement with him wanting to marry her. Not in any way or form. ‘Maybe I’m thick, Mateo, but I still don’t understand.’
‘You are not thick, Rachel.’ He turned to face her. ‘You are the smartest woman I know. A brilliant scientist, an incredibly hard worker, and a good friend.’
Her cheeks warmed and her eyes stung. He was speaking in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, but his words warmed her heart and touched her soul. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given so much sincere praise.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘I must marry immediately, to help stabilise my country. And produce an heir.’
Wait, what? Rachel stared at him blankly, still unable to take it in. She must be thick, no matter what Mateo had just said. ‘And...and you want to marry me?’ she asked in a disbelieving whisper. Even now she expected him to suddenly smile, laugh, and say of course it was a joke, and could she help him him to think of anyone suitable?
Yet she knew, just looking at him, that it wasn’t. He’d come back to Cambridge; he’d come to her flat to find her. He looked deadly serious, incredibly intent.
Mateo Karras—no, Karavitis—Prince—no, King of a country—wanted to marry her. Her. When no man had ever truly wanted her before. Still, she felt uncertain. Doubtful. Josh’s words, spoken over a decade before, still seared her brain and, worse, her heart.
How could any man want you?
‘Why?’ Rachel whispered. Mateo didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
‘Because I know you. I trust you. I like you. And we work well together.’
‘In a chemistry lab—’
‘Why not in a kingdom?’ He shrugged. ‘Why should it be any different?’
‘But...’ Rachel shook her head slowly ‘...you’re not offering me the vice-presidency, Mateo. You’re asking me to be your wife. There’s a huge difference.’
‘Not that much.’ Mateo spread his hands. ‘We’d be a partnership, a team. I’d need you by my side, supporting me, supporting my country. We’d be working together.’
‘We’d be married.’ An image slammed through her head, one she had no business thinking of. A wedding night, candles all around, the slide of burnished skin on skin...
Like something out of the book on the table. No. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t her. And Mateo certainly didn’t mean that kind of marriage.
Except he’d mentioned needing an heir. As soon as possible.
‘Yes,’ Mateo agreed evenly. ‘We’d be married.’
Rachel stared at him helplessly. ‘Mateo, this is crazy.’
‘I know it’s unexpected—’
‘I have a job,’ she emphasised, belatedly remembering the life she’d built for herself, just as Mateo had, on her own terms. She’d won her place first at Oxford and then Cambridge, and finally her research fellowship, all on her own merit, not as the daughter of esteemed physicist, William Lewis, with his society wife Carol. She’d made no mention of her parents in any of her applications, had made sure nobody knew. She’d wanted to prove herself, and she had.
And Mateo was now thinking she might leave it all behind, everything she’d worked so hard for, simply to be his trophy wife, a mannequin on his arm? She started to shake her head, but Mateo forestalled her, his voice calm and incisive.
‘I realise I am asking you to sacrifice much. But you would have limitless opportunity as Queen of Kallyria—to promote girls’ involvement in STEM subjects; to fund research and support charities and causes that align with your interests; to travel the world in the name of science.’
‘Science? Or politics?’ she asked, her voice shaking with the enormity of it all. She couldn’t grasp what he was asking her on so many incredible levels.
‘Both,’ Mateo replied, unfazed. ‘Naturally. As king, one of my priorities will be scientific research. Kallyria has a university in its capital city of Constanza. Admittedly, it is not on the same level as Cambridge or Oxford, but it is esteemed among Mediterranean countries.’
‘I don’t even know where Kallyria is,’ Rachel admitted. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it before.’
‘It is a small island country in the eastern Mediterranean Sea. It was settled by Greek and Turkish traders, over two thousand years ago. It has never been conquered.’
And he was asking her to be its Queen. Rachel felt as if her head were going to explode.
‘I don’t...’ she began, not even sure what she was going to say. And then the front doorknob rattled, and her mother shuffled into the house, looking between her and Mateo with hostile suspicion.
‘Rachel,’ she demanded, her voice rising querulously. ‘Who is this?’
CHAPTER FOUR
MATEO STARED DISPASSIONATELY at the old woman who was glaring back at him.
‘Mum,’ Rachel said faintly. ‘This is...’ She glanced uncertainly at Mateo, clearly not sure how to introduce him.
‘My name is Mateo Karavitis,’ Mateo intercepted smoothly as he stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘A former colleague of your daughter’s.’
Rachel’s mother looked him up and down, seeming unimpressed. ‘Why are you visiting here?’ She turned back to Rachel. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘I’ll make you a toastie,’ Rachel said soothingly.
She threw Mateo a look that was half apology, half exasperation. He gave her an assured, blandly unfazed smile in return.
So Rachel had a mother who was clearly dependent on her care. It was a surprise, but it did not deter him. If anything, it offered her an added incentive to agree to his proposal, since he would be able to offer her mother top-of-the-line care, either here in England or back in Kallyria.
Not, Mateo reflected as Rachel hurried to the kitchen and her mother harrumphed her way to her bedroom, that she needed much incentive. Judging from everything he’d seen so far of her life outside work, there was nothing much compelling her to stay.
He fully anticipated, after Rachel had got over the sheer shock of it, that she’d agree to his proposal. How could she not?
He came over to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. Rachel was looking harassed, slicing cheese as fast as she could.
‘How long has your mother been living with you?’ he asked.
; ‘About eighteen months.’ She reached for a jar of Marmite and Mateo stepped forward.
‘May I help?’
‘What?’ Rachel looked both frazzled and bewildered, her hair falling into her eyes. ‘No—’
Deftly he unscrewed the jar of Marmite she seemed to have forgotten she was holding. Plucking the knife from her other hand, he began to spread the Marmite across the bread. ‘Cheese and Marmite toastie, yes?’
‘What?’ She stared at him blankly, then down to the bread he was preparing. ‘Oh. Er... Yes.’
Mateo finished making the sandwich and placed it on the hot grill. ‘Shouldn’t be a moment.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Rachel said helplessly. Mateo arched an eyebrow.
‘How to make a toastie? You did seem to be having trouble mastering the basics, but I was happy to step in.’
A smile twitched her lips, and Mateo realised how much he’d missed their banter. ‘Thank goodness for capable males,’ she quipped. ‘What on earth would I have done if you hadn’t been here?’
His lips quirked back a response. ‘Heaven only knows.’
‘I shudder to think. Careful it doesn’t burn.’ She nodded to the grill. ‘I’ll make my mother a cup of tea—do you want another one?’
‘Not unless it has a generous splash of whisky in it.’
‘Sorry, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not unless you want to nip out to the off-licence on the corner.’
He stepped closer to her. ‘What I really want is to take you to dinner to discuss my proposal properly.’
A look of fear flashed across Rachel’s face, surprising him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her actually look afraid before. ‘Mateo, I don’t think there’s any point—’
‘I think there is, and, considering how long we have known each other, I also think it’s fair to ask for an evening of your time. Assuming your mother can be left for a few hours?’
‘As long as she’s eaten and the TV’s on,’ Rachel answered with clear reluctance. ‘I suppose.’
‘Good. Then I will make arrangements.’ He slid his phone out of his pocket and quickly thumbed a text to the security guard he had waiting outside in a hired sedan.
Smoke began to pour out of the oven. ‘I think you’ve burned my mother’s toastie,’ Rachel said tartly, and with a wry grimace Mateo hurried to rescue the sandwich from the grill.
Half an hour later, Carol Lewis was settled in front of a lurid-looking programme, a toastie and cup of tea on her lap tray.
‘I’ll be back in about an hour, Mum,’ Rachel said, sounding anxious. ‘If you need anything, you can always knock on Jim’s door.’
‘Jim?’ Carol demanded. ‘Who’s Jim?’
‘Mr Fairley,’ Rachel reminded her patiently. ‘He lives in the flat upstairs, number two?’ Her mother harrumphed and Rachel gave Mateo an apologetic look as she closed her bedroom door. ‘Do I need to change?’
Mateo swept his glance over her figure, noting the way the soft grey cashmere clung to her breasts. ‘You look fine.’
Her lips twisted at that, although Mateo wasn’t sure why, and she nodded. ‘Fine. Let’s get this over with.’
Not a promising start, but Mateo was more than hopeful. The more he saw of Rachel’s life, the more he was sure she would agree...eventually.
Outside the drenching downpour had tapered off to a misty drizzle, and an autumnal breeze chilled the air. Rachel had shrugged on a navy duffel coat and a rainbow-colored scarf, and Mateo took her elbow as he led her to the waiting car.
‘We’re not walking?’
‘I made a reservation at Cotto.’
‘That posh place in the Gonville Hotel?’ She pulled her arm away from him, appalled. ‘It’s so expensive. And I’m not dressed appropriately—’
‘You’ll be fine. And we’re in a private room, anyway.’
She shook her head slowly, not looking impressed so much as uncertain. ‘Who are you?’
‘You know who I am.’
‘You never did this before. Private rooms, hired cars—’
‘I need to take necessary precautions for my privacy and security, as well as yours. Once it becomes known that I am the King of Kallyria—’
‘I can’t help but think you’re deluded when you say that,’ Rachel murmured.
Mateo allowed himself a small smile. ‘I assure you, I am not.’
‘I know, I really do believe you. I just...don’t believe this situation.’
The driver hopped out to open the passenger door of the luxury sedan. Mateo gestured for Rachel to get in first, and she slid inside, running one hand over the sumptuous leather seats.
‘Wow,’ she murmured, and then turned to face the window.
Mateo slid in beside her, his thigh brushing hers. She moved away. He thought about pressing closer, just to see, but decided now was not the time. The physical side of their potential arrangement was something that would have to be negotiated carefully, and there were certainly other considerations to deal with first.
They didn’t speak as the driver navigated Cambridge’s traffic through the dark and rain, and finally pulled up in front of the elegant Georgian façade of the Gonville Hotel. A single snap of his fingers at the concierge had the man running towards him, and practically tripping over himself to accommodate such an illustrious personage as the Crown Prince, soon to be King.
Rachel stayed silent as they were ushered into a sumptuous private room, with wood-panelled walls and a mahogany table laid for two with the finest porcelain and silver.
‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ she said once the concierge had closed the door behind them, after Mateo had dismissed him, not wanting to endure his fawning attentions any longer. She shrugged off her coat and slowly unwound her scarf.
‘Seen me like what?’ Mateo pulled out her chair and she sat down with murmured thanks.
‘Acting like...like a king, I suppose. Like you own the place. I mean, you were always a little arrogant,’ she conceded as she rested her chin in her hand, ‘but I thought it was just about your brain.’
Mateo huffed a laugh. ‘I’m wondering if I should be offended by that.’
‘No, you shouldn’t be. I’m basically telling you you’re smart.’
‘Well, then.’
‘Except,’ Rachel continued, ‘I don’t think you’re making a very smart decision here.’
Mateo’s gaze narrowed as he flicked an uninterested glance at the menu. ‘Oh?’
‘No, I don’t. Really, Mateo, I’d make a terrible queen.’
Rachel eyed him mischievously, her chin still in her hand. It was actually a bit amusing, to see this self-assured man, who was kind of scaring her in his fancy suit, look so discomfited. It helped her take her mind off the fact that he’d asked her to marry him, and she still had absolutely no idea how to feel about that. Flattered? Furious? Afraid? Appalled? All four, and more.
‘I disagree with that assessment,’ Mateo said calmly.
‘I can’t imagine why.’
He frowned, and even when he was looking so ferocious, Rachel couldn’t help but acknowledge how devastatingly handsome he was. The crisp white shirt and cobalt-blue tie were the perfect foil for his olive skin and bright blue-green eyes. He’d looked amazing in rumpled shirts and old cords; he looked unbelievably, mouth-dryingly gorgeous now. And it was yet another reminder that they couldn’t possibly marry each other.
‘I don’t understand why you are putting yourself down,’ he said, and Rachel squirmed a bit at that. It made her feel pathetic, and she wasn’t. A long time ago she’d accepted who she was...and who she wasn’t. And she’d been okay with that. She’d made herself be okay, despite the hurt, the lack of self-confidence, the deliberate decision to take potential romance out of the equation of her life.
On the plus side, she had a good
brain, a job she loved—or at least she’d had—and she had a few good friends, who admittedly had moved on in life in a way she hadn’t, but still. She’d taken stock of herself and her life and had decided it was all good.
‘I’m not putting myself down. I’m just being realistic.’
‘Realistic?’ Mateo’s dark eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowed in aquamarine assessment. ‘About not being a good queen? How would you even know?’
‘I’m terrible at public speaking.’ It was the first thing she could think of, even though it had so little to do with her argument it was laughable.
Mateo’s eyebrows rose further. ‘You are not. I have heard you deliver research papers to a full auditorium on many occasions.’
‘Yes, but that was research. Chemistry.’
‘So?’
She sighed, wondering why she was continuing this ridiculous line of discussion, even as she recognised it was safer than many others. ‘I can talk about chemistry. But other things...’
‘Because you are passionate about it,’ Mateo agreed with a swift nod. Rachel felt her face go pink at the word passionate, which was embarrassing. He wasn’t talking about passion in that way, and in any case she couldn’t think about that aspect of a marriage between them without feeling as if she might scream—or self-combust. ‘So you will have to find other things you are passionate about,’ he continued calmly. ‘I am sure there are many.’
Now her face was fiery, which was ridiculous. Rachel snatched up her menu. ‘Why don’t we order?’
‘I have already ordered. The menu is simply so you can see their offerings.’
‘You ordered for me?’ Her feminist principles prickled instinctively.
Mateo gave a small smile. ‘Only to save on time, since I know you are concerned about your mother, and also because I know what you like.’
‘I’ve never even been to the restaurant.’ Now she was a bit insulted, which was easier than feeling all the other emotions jostling for space in her head and heart.