by Leah Ashton
She liked having Rhys sitting at the table with her. She liked him, she realised. On a day that was definitely a low point in her life, he’d managed to make her smile—more than once.
Sure, she’d freaked out a bit when she’d realised they’d be alone in his house together, but it was clear now that nothing was going to happen between them. She hadn’t been able to interpret his expression when she’d first walked into the kitchen, after her call with Petar, but it had certainly held none of the heat from before. But it wasn’t that stony emptiness he seemed to so easily switch to either—that expression that gave nothing away.
If anything, she would have said he looked sad.
But that didn’t seem to fit with this strong, handsome, confident man—and she’d seen no evidence of sadness since.
She must have imagined it.
‘My fiancé seems to think I just have cold feet,’ she said suddenly.
Rhys’s expression was instantly uncomfortable. ‘You want to talk about your fiancé with me?’
Ana shrugged. She needed to talk to someone. ‘You asked why I was smiling. I thought you might be interested.’
‘That was because you have a nice smile—not because I want to know the details of your relationship.’
The casually spoken compliment did not go unnoticed, and Ana fought the blush that crept up her neck. She kept on talking in an effort to ignore it. ‘I just thought it was weird,’ she continued. ‘I thought he should know I wouldn’t do something so dramatic on a whim.’
Rhys didn’t say anything, but equally he didn’t get up, even though she’d now also arranged her cutlery in the ‘finished’ position.
‘He was incredibly calm on the phone before. If someone did that to me, I’d be really angry. Wouldn’t you?’
Rhys shrugged, non-committal.
‘He was all kind and patient and supportive. And you know what’s also weird?’ Ana didn’t wait for an answer—not that she expected one. ‘He didn’t seem particularly hurt. He made the conversation all about me—about how I must have felt so stressed, and overwhelmed, and how so much has happened in my life in the past twelve months, blah-blah-blah...’ She sighed. ‘Not that I want him to be feeling terrible, but I expect I would. I mean, I know I would if the man I loved didn’t turn up to our wedding.’
Ana looked down at her fingers as she absently traced the curved edge of her dinner plate. Her nails still looked immaculate, yesterday evening’s French manicure remaining perfect and unchipped.
‘It actually makes me a bit angry, really, that he was so calm,’ Ana realised. ‘If he cared about me, he’d...well, care more.’
‘Maybe he prefers to keep his emotions close to his chest,’ Rhys said.
Ana’s gaze jerked up to meet his gaze. ‘Or maybe he’s just continuing to be the perfect fiancé he always has been.’
She knew she didn’t make it sound as if that was a good thing.
‘You don’t want a perfect fiancé?’ Rhys asked.
‘No one’s perfect,’ Ana said. ‘But Petar has done everything in his power to pretend to be. Today I finally stopped lying to myself. Petar is prepared to do anything to become a member of the Vela Ada royal family. He’s never loved me.’
Despite acknowledging to herself that she didn’t love her fiancé, and subsequently realising today that Petar didn’t love her either, saying it out loud made it all real.
And that hurt.
Her gaze fell back to her plate as hot tears prickled.
‘It was always too good to be true,’ she said. ‘A man like Petar would never have wanted someone like me if I wasn’t a princess. Even today, after I’ve humiliated him, he’s still doing everything he can to change my mind. The way he’s reacted is supposed to be endlessly understanding and romantic, but really it’s all a total farce.’
Rhys murmured something that sounded a bit rude under his breath, but Ana didn’t quite catch it.
‘Pardon me?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
Ana straightened her shoulders and then pushed back her chair, ready to stand.
‘Wait,’ he said. He met her gaze and held it. ‘You made the right decision.’
‘How do you know that?’ Ana asked. ‘Because I can tell you know you did—even if you haven’t realised it yet,’ he said. ‘And also, a guy who is sitting back in Vela Ada, rather than doing everything in his power to find you, to try to change your mind? Well, he’s not the right guy. He doesn’t deserve you if he won’t fight for you.’
After her day—and the confusing maelstrom of guilt and hurt and disappointment that continued to whirl within her—it was the perfect thing to hear.
And he was right. She could regret hurting people, but she couldn’t regret finally coming to her senses.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and it would have been so easy to lose herself in the depths of his blue-grey gaze. In the gaze of a man she had no doubt would fight for the woman he loved. But instead she stood, and then added, ‘...Mr North.’
CHAPTER FOUR
IT TOOK HOURS for Ana to fall asleep.
Her thoughts weren’t particularly coherent as exhaustion warred with her overthinking, but they centred mostly on her immediate family: her mother and grandparents. How must they be feeling?
Her mother had sent her several text messages, but she’d responded to only one, just to reassure her she was okay and would be home in a few days’ time.
Her mother would be devastated. She’d fought for years for Ana to be acknowledged by the royal family, and now that she had been, her mother was convinced Ana’s life was perfect. Petar had been a natural progression of that perfection—the living embodiment of all of her mother’s dreams come true.
Ana could see now that she’d bought into it too—that she’d allowed herself to be swept up in Petar and the idea she was living a fairy-tale happy-ever-after.
Their engagement, and then agreeing to a televised wedding—it had all been part of Ana’s fantasy life. The life that her mother had always dreamed of for her only daughter.
Maybe that was why she’d allowed it to go so ridiculously far, despite her reservations—which she had had, no matter how well she’d repressed them. Maybe she’d just wanted to make her mother happy.
But that felt like such a cop-out. Ana was her own woman. She alone was ultimately responsible for dating Petar, for accepting his proposal and for actively organising her own magazine-spread wedding.
She’d done all that, and now, as she tossed and turned in a strange bed in the mountains of Northern Italy, she was no closer to working out why...
Thanks to the heavy blackout curtains in her room, it was dark when Ana eventually woke from a dreamless sleep. She had a shower, got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and headed out into the kitchen.
It was mid-morning, and the curtains that had covered the walls of windows last night had all been pulled aside, revealing the remarkable view the house offered of the surrounding Dolomites. And what a spectacular view it was—all snow-capped mountain ranges and emerald tree-filled vistas that rolled and dipped. Even though it was November, the sun was bright today, showcasing the stunning view in perfect, postcard-worthy light.
However, Ana didn’t spend a particularly long amount of time admiring the view, as just at her left she had an alternative view on offer.
Rhys North, jogging on his treadmill.
His back was to her as he ran, his attention focused on the view in front of him.
He wore a loose sleeveless T-shirt that revealed arms and shoulders heavy with muscle, and knee-length jogging shorts. All his clothing was dark with sweat, which possibly should have been unattractive, but somehow Rhys managed to make sweat seem virile and strong.
He must have heard her, because he punched a button on the treadmill’s console and slow
ed to a walk.
He turned to catch her gaze over one shoulder. ‘Just need to cool down,’ he said.
Ana walked up to him. ‘Good morning,’ she said.
He grinned a greeting. ‘Good morning to you too.’
‘Sorry about last night,’ Ana blurted out suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t have rambled on about all that stuff. You’re my bodyguard, or my hotelier or something—’
‘Security consultant,’ Rhys interjected helpfully, with another grin.
‘Okay,’ Ana said. ‘Security consultant. But that definitely doesn’t require you to play psychologist or counsellor. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear all the messy details of my relationship.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind.’
He pushed another button and the treadmill came to a stop. He then unselfconsciously used the bottom of his shirt to clear his brow of sweat, the action revealing what seemed like hectares of muscular abdominal ridges.
Oh, my.
* * *
Rhys honestly hadn’t planned to do that. It had been an automatic action, but seeing Ana blush as she took in his chest and stomach made him glad he had. He was human, he had an ego and he worked damn hard to stay this fit... So, yes, it felt good to see that Ana liked what she saw. Really good.
He took longer than necessary to wipe his face—which probably made him a very bad person, given nothing had changed as far as the situation between him and Ana. She’d just ended a relationship. He was protecting her.
But he couldn’t help himself.
It was just like those long minutes in her room...magnetic and addictive. And all the more so because he knew nothing would happen. He didn’t have to worry about Jess, or about how he’d feel being with a woman other than his wife. He didn’t need to deal with any of the complicated stuff—he needed only to experience this undeniable snap and tension between him and the Princess.
As he dragged his shirt back down, Ana jerked her gaze towards the window.
‘Amazing,’ she breathed.
Seriously?
He grinned. ‘Well, I’ll take that—’
She whirled to face him, muttering a string of Slavic curses to herself. ‘I meant the view, Mr North,’ she said firmly.
He was starting to really like her insistence on addressing him so formally. It felt like a shared joke, almost intimate—it certainly wasn’t putting space between them, as he knew she intended it to.
She was staring with determination at his face, not allowing her gaze to drift.
‘Christmas must be wonderful here, Mr North,’ she said.
‘Christmas?’ he asked, thrown by the change of subject.
She clasped her hands primly in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Christmas. I believe Castelrotto is famous for how beautiful it is at Christmas time. I couldn’t sleep last night, so did a bit of research about where I’m staying, and Christmas is clearly a big thing here. There’s a Christmas market that starts in a few weeks—during Advent. Is it as enchanting as all the tourist websites say?’
Rhys stepped off the treadmill and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, quite stiffly.
She followed him. ‘Really? I’d imagine you’d need to go to quite a bit of effort to avoid it, given how small the town is.’
He filled a tall glass with water. ‘I don’t avoid the market,’ Rhys said. ‘I just don’t pay much attention to anything to do with Christmas.’
She was looking at him, curiosity wrinkling her forehead. She’d kept her hair down today, and it hung in heavy waves over her shoulders. It would be much easier to answer with a white lie—Ana would have neither known nor cared if he’d just agreed that the market was, in fact, enchanting.
‘I adore Christmas,’ Ana said. ‘I always have.’ She paused, then said carefully, ‘Do you not have a family to celebrate with?’
He downed the water in a series of long swallows, really hoping that Ana would walk away. But of course she didn’t.
Here was another opportunity to lie—as Ana had pointed out, it wasn’t his role to play counsellor or psychologist. Equally, it wasn’t his role to spill his guts.
‘I have a big family back in Australia,’ he said. ‘A sister, a brother, great parents and a wonderful extended family. Christmas was incredible when I was growing up—my parents have a huge pool in the backyard and we’d host a barbecue for the whole family and anyone who had no one else to celebrate with. It was great. I loved it.’
So he didn’t lie.
What was it about this woman?
He knew the question she was going to ask next.
‘What happened?’ she said.
The sympathy in her eyes almost made him leave the room. He’d never wanted this—never wanted people to feel sorry for him. To pity him. Yet to this woman who’d exposed her own vulnerability to him last night he found he could be nothing but honest.
‘My wife died,’ he said simply. ‘And everything changed.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I’LL JUST GO take a shower,’ Rhys said into the stunned silence, as Ana struggled to work out what to say. What could she say?
But she didn’t need to work it out, because only moments later she was alone.
‘My wife died.’
Ana had not expected Rhys to say that. Although, on reflection, it had been stupid to ask him what had changed: he’d clearly had an idyllic childhood, so something had to have gone catastrophically wrong for his view of Christmas to change so dramatically.
‘My wife died.’
Ana walked into the kitchen and searched through the overhead cupboards for a mug and in the large walk-in pantry for some coffee. Then she stared out at the view as the kettle boiled.
‘My wife died.’
She would never have guessed Rhys had ever been married—he had the cocky confidence of a handsome perennial bachelor, in no hurry to settle down. And, besides, he lived alone in a two-bedroom home in the middle of nowhere—albeit a spectacularly picturesque middle of nowhere.
But not the type of place that screamed wife and family, or even kids.
The water had boiled, so Ana poured herself a strong coffee, with only a dash of milk from the fridge, and took a seat at the breakfast bar, angling her stool so she still faced the view.
Immediately outside the house the ground sloped away in a rolling curve of thick grass, liberally sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers. It undulated for a while, before merging with a dense forest, and then beyond the forest sat the angular, brutal shapes of the surrounding mountains—the tallest with a mantle of snow.
From here, Ana couldn’t see another building—certainly not another person. It was the perfect place to hide for a runaway bride.
Or for a grieving husband.
Her throat was tight and prickly, her coffee forgotten in her hand, when Rhys strode back into the room.
She met his gaze, and Rhys’s eyes immediately narrowed in response. ‘Please don’t,’ he said.
‘Don’t what?’ she asked.
‘Feel sorry for me.’
‘I can’t even begin to imagine—’ Ana said.
He shook his head, silencing her. ‘Please,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t.’
Ana nodded.
He caught her gaze again. ‘Her name was Jessica. It was five years ago,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Sudden. Brain aneurysm.’ A pause, then a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘People tend to want to know the headlines.’
He was right, she had been curious. She started to open her mouth to say something—but he silenced her again with only a look.
He was right to do so. She had been about to say something empty—albeit heartfelt—and sympathetic.
But what to say instead?
Ana noticed for the first time that he had a small
backpack slung over one shoulder, and as she watched he headed for his coat rack and retrieved a pair of boots from its base.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said.
‘Can I come?’ Ana asked.
* * *
Rhys hadn’t expected Ana to want to join him and he very nearly said no.
But instead he shrugged. ‘If you want.’
He’d spent a lot of time hiking through the mountains of Seiser Alm after he left the regiment. He’d hiked alone, and as he’d walked he’d spent time in his own thoughts, in his own grief.
But then one day, a few months after he’d moved to Castelrotto, he’d arrived home from his hike, his brain buzzing with an idea he’d had about starting his own security business—about transferring his military expertise to private security systems and consulting. And he’d realised he hadn’t thought of Jess the entire time.
At the time, his guilt had made him cry. Cry with his head in his hands on the steps of this house he’d bought that was nothing like the home he’d had with Jess back in Melbourne. Cry as he hadn’t since the day Jess had died.
But later he’d realised it had been a turning point. And now it was his new normal—he still loved Jess, he still grieved for Jess and sometimes all he could think of was her. But at other times he thought of other things.
That was his life now. Sometimes he thought of Jess. Often he thought of all sorts of other things.
But never another woman.
Until now.
The woman in question, now dressed in coat, boots and a red knitted beanie, walked beside him as they crossed the meadow that stretched between his home and the mountain range.
‘Predivan...’ Ana said softly.
‘Pardon me?’ Rhys asked.
Ana stopped walking so she could slowly spin in a circle to take in the entire landscape. ‘Wonderful,’ she translated. ‘This place is wonderful. I’ve never been anywhere like it before.’