by Millie Adams
He shook his head. “I regret that I do not.”
“My sister... She ended up raising her best friend’s baby after her friend’s ex-lover murdered her. My sister has always been so regretful that she couldn’t do more. And so the two of us established a foundation in her honor. I’ve been looking for more ways to help vulnerable women. Minerva inspired me.” She blinked. “I did work only for myself for a while. To try and make my father...” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Working on this charity has made me feel better about myself than anything else ever has. Making Monte Blanco my European base will bring an entirely new light to the country.”
“You think very highly of yourself.”
She shook her head. “No. But I do know a lot about public perception. And I’m very good with it. Gauging it, manipulating it, I suppose. If you want to call it that. I can help.”
“Well. I don’t think Matteo would be opposed to that.”
“I know he wouldn’t. And what does he think, anyway? That he could just put me on ice here until he gets back?”
Javier laughed. “I guarantee you he thinks exactly that.”
“I’m to believe that he is the softest, most compassionate ruler this country has ever known?”
Javier nodded. “He is. You may find that hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Why bother to let me know? You don’t seem to have any issue saying exactly what you think or asking for exactly what you want to know.”
“All right. So tell me this. How did you know that what your father was doing was wrong? And what inspired you to try to fix it? How did you see outside of the way you were raised? Because a few hours ago when you were facing me down, I realized something. We were not speaking the same language. We expect different things. Because of our realities. For you... Caring about this entire nation of people is part of you the same as breathing. But it wasn’t for your father. You weren’t taught this... How did you know it?”
It was something he would have wondered, had the memory not been so emblazoned in his mind.
“The answer is the same as it always is. The moment you see the world outside of the little bubble you’re raised in, is the moment you stop believing that your perspective is infallible. It is the moment that you begin to question whether or not your reality is in fact the true reality of the world. It was a child marriage. I was newly in the military. Sixteen years old. I happened upon a village. A six-year-old girl was being married off, and she was terrified.”
Even now the memory made his teeth set on edge. Made him burn for blood.
“I put a stop to it. Rallied the military, ordered them to hold her father and the groom captive. I remember picking the child up. She was terrified. When I went to my father and told him I was appalled to see that these things were still happening in our country... He scolded me. He said it was not up to me to impose my beliefs on our citizens. My father was no great believer in liberty, Violet. His motivations were related to money. Peace, border protection. Not freedom.” He stared hard against the back wall of the gym. “The minute I knew that was the minute that I stopped believing what I saw. It didn’t take me long to realize my brother was in a similar crisis of faith. And that was when the two of us began to work to affect change.”
“It’s amazing,” she said. And somehow, he truly believed her. He had never felt particularly amazing. Only like a grim soldier carrying out marching orders that he had never received. But the ones that should have existed. If their leader had had any integrity.
“Most people look away, you know,” she said.
“Not me,” he said.
“No. Will you please take me out into town?”
“Yes,” he agreed.
Because he saw her purpose now. Saw her intent. And because she was correct. It wasn’t reasonable for Matteo to keep her here on ice, so to speak.
Anyway, he did not have to check with his brother on every last thing. They had to trust each other. With the way things had been for the past decade and a half, they had no choice. And so, Matteo would have to trust him in this as well.
“Perfect. But I need... I need a phone.”
“Your phone, along with your makeup, is making its way here. You will have it tomorrow. And then I promise you, we will go on your field trip.”
“Thank you,” she said.
It occurred to him then, the ludicrousness of it all. Of her thanking him when she hated him. Of him standing there, desire coursing through his veins when she was off-limits.
But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered more than Monte Blanco. Nothing mattered more than the good of the nation.
Certainly not his own errant lust.
But tomorrow everything would be as it should be.
He was a man of control. A man of honor.
And he would not forget.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT HAD TAKEN her several hours to regain her breath after seeing him without his shirt. There it was. She was that basic.
She had known that he was spectacular. Had known that he was muscular and well-built. Because she wasn’t blind, and it didn’t take a physique detective to know that he was in very good shape underneath those clothes.
But then she had seen it.
His body. All that golden, perfect skin, the dark hair that covered his chest—she would have said that she didn’t like chest hair, but apparently she did—and created an enticing line that ran through the center of his abdominal muscles.
He was hot.
Her captor was hot.
She did not have time to ponder that. She had a mission.
She steeled herself and took one last look in the mirror before leaving her room. She had told him they could meet in the antechamber. She was pretty sure she knew which room the antechamber was. She had made it her business to figure out the layout of the palace. It was difficult. But she had done it.
And she had her phone back.
She had been feeling gleeful about that since the moment it had been deposited into her hand this morning.
And yet... And yet.
She hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to update her account with.
If she still didn’t want to call home.
Because she was mad.
Because she didn’t even know what to say.
She tucked her phone in her purse and made her way to the appointed meeting place. He was already there. She tried to force her eyes to skim over him, not to cling to the hard lines and angles of his body. To the terrifying symmetry of his face.
Terrifying and beautiful.
Saved only by that scar along his cheekbone.
She wanted to know how he got it.
She shouldn’t want to know how he got it. She shouldn’t want to know anything about him.
“Good morning. As you can see,” she said, waving her hand over her face, “I’m restored to my former glory.”
His eyes moved over her dispassionately. And she felt thoroughly dismissed. Insulted.
She shouldn’t care.
“All right. Where are we going to first?”
“The capital city. I thought that would be the perfect place to start. It’s about thirty minutes away. Down the mountain.”
“Excellent.”
Her stomach tightened, her hand shaking. And she didn’t know if it was because of the idea of being in close proximity with him in a car for that long or if it was stepping outside of this palace for the first time in several days.
The lack of reality in the situation was underlined here. By her containment. In this glittering palace of jewels it was easy to believe it was all a dream. Some kind of childhood fantasy hallucination with the very adult inclusion of a massive, muscular male.
But once they left the palace, th
e world would expand. And the fantasy that it was a dream would dissolve. Completely.
There was no limousine waiting for them. Instead, there was a sleek black car that was somehow both intensely expensive looking and understated. She didn’t know how it accomplished both of those things. But it did.
And it seemed right, somehow, because the car’s owner was not understated and could not be if he tried.
Looking at him now in his exquisitely cut dark suit, she had a feeling that he was trying.
That this was the most inconspicuous he could possibly be. But he was six and a half feet tall, arrestingly beautiful and looked like he could kill a hundred people using only his thumb. So. Blending wasn’t exactly an option for him.
He opened the door for her, and she got inside.
When he went to the driver’s seat, her tension wound up a notch.
It was even smaller than she had imagined. She had thought they might have a driver. Someone to help defuse this thing between them.
Between them. He probably felt nothing.
Why would he?
He was carved out of rock.
Well. One thing.
She thought of his response to her question yesterday. The way that his lips had curved up into a smile.
One thing.
The idea of this rock as a sexual being just about made her combust. She did not need those thoughts. No, she did not.
He was not the kind of man for her. Even in fantasy. She needed a sexual fantasy with training wheels. An accountant, maybe. Soft. One who wore pleated-front khakis and emanated concern. A nice man named Stephen.
The kind of man that would bring her cinnamon rolls in bed.
After... Making tender love to her.
Nothing about that appealed.
She had no idea why her sexuality was being so specific. She had never intended to make it to twenty-six a virgin.
And she had certainly never intended for this man to awaken her desire.
No. It was just exacerbated by the fact that this felt like a dream. That was all. She wasn’t connected to reality. And she was... Stockholm syndrome. That was it. She was suffering from sexual Stockholm syndrome.
When the car started moving, she unrolled the window and stuck her head out of it. Breathed in the crystal mountain air and hoped that it would inject her with some sense.
It didn’t.
It did nothing to alleviate the bigness of his presence in the tiny vehicle.
“Are you going to roll the window up? Because you know I don’t make a habit of driving to public spaces with women hanging out my car.”
She shot him a look and rolled the window up. It really did her no good to oppose him now. She was on a mission. Trying to prove something. “I was enjoying the air.”
“Now which one of us is a Saint Bernard?”
“Did you just make a joke?” She looked at his stern profile and saw the corner of his lip tip upward. “You did. You made a joke. That’s incredible.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
It felt like a deeper warning of something else. But she went ahead and ignored it. Along with the shiver of sensation that went through her body.
They were silent after that. And she watched as the trees thinned, gave way to civilization. The dirt becoming loose rocks, and then cobblestone.
The town itself was not modern. And she would have been disappointed if it was. The streets were made of interlocking stones, the sidewalks the same, only in a different pattern. Tight spirals and sunbursts, some of them bleeding up the sides of the buildings that seemed somehow rooted to the earth.
The streets were narrow, the businesses packed tightly together. There were little cafés and a surprising number of appealing-looking designer shops that Violet suddenly felt eager to explore.
“This is beautiful,” she said. “If people knew... Well, if people knew, this would be a huge tourist spot.”
“It was not encouraged under the rule of my father. And in these past years businesses have rebounded. But still...”
“There is ground to gain. Understood. Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over.”
She saw a bright yellow bicycle leaned against a wall. And right next to it was a window planter with bright red geraniums bursting over the top of it.
All backed by that charming gray stone.
“We need to take a photo.”
He obeyed her, but was clearly skeptical about her intent.
She got out of the car quickly and raced over to the bike. Then she looked over into the courtyard of the neighboring café. People were sitting outside drinking coffee. “Excuse me? Is this your bike?” She asked the young woman sitting there working on her computer.
The woman looked at her warily and then saw Javier, standing behind her. Her eyes widened.
“It’s fine,” Violet said. “He’s harmless. I just want to take a picture with your bike.”
“Of course,” the woman said.
She still looked completely frazzled, but Violet scampered to where it was, positioning herself right next to it and putting her hand over the handlebars. “A picture,” she said. She reached into her purse and pulled her phone out, handing it to him.
“That’s what all this is about? Also. I am not harmless.”
“Yes. Very ferocious. Take my picture.”
She looked straight ahead, offering him her profile, and tousled her hair lightly before positioning her hand delicately at her hip.
“There,” he said. “Satisfied?”
“Let me verify.” She snatched the phone from his hand and looked at the photo.
It had done exactly what she wanted to do, and with some tweaking, the colors would look beautiful against the simple gray stone.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I am.”
She pulled up her account, touched the picture up quickly and typed:
Exploring new places is one of my favorite things. Stay tuned for more information on your next favorite vacation spot.
“There,” she said. “That’s bound to create speculation. Excitement.”
He looked down at the picture with great skepticism. “That?”
“Yes.”
“I do not understand people.”
“Maybe they don’t understand you,” she said.
He looked completely unamused by that.
“Sorry. Joke. I thought you were getting to where you understood those sometimes.”
The look he gave her was inscrutable.
“Show me the rest of this place,” she said. “I’m curious.”
He looked at her as if she had grown a second head. “You realize that I’m slightly conspicuous?”
“Usually I am too,” she said. “I guess... I just figure you ignore it.”
“You’re not conspicuous here.”
“No,” she said. “But that won’t last long, will it? I mean, if I’m going to be the Queen...”
“You’re not going to be inconspicuous as long as you’re walking around with me. That’s a pretty decent indicator that you might be important.”
“Wow. No points for humility.”
“Do you have false humility about the degree to which you’re recognized? Or what your status means? You’ve been throwing all sorts of statistics at me about your wealth and importance ever since we first met.”
“All right,” she said. “Fair enough.”
They walked on in silence for a moment. She paid attention to the way her feet connected to the cobblestones. It was therapeutic in a way. There was something so quaint about this. It was more village than city, but it contained a lot more places of interest than she would normally think you would find in a village.
“What is the chief export here?”
“There isn’t any. We are quite self-contained. What we make tends to stay here, tends to fuel the citizens.”
“That’s very unusual.”
“Yes. It also feels precarious.”
“So... If we were to manufacture my products here, I would be your chief export.”
“In point of fact, yes.”
“Though, if your other products became desirable because of tourism...”
“Yes. I understand it would mean a great deal of cash injection for the country. Though, thanks to my brother’s personal fortune, the coffers of the country have been boosted as it is.”
“Yes, I did some research on him. He’s quite a successful businessman.”
“You would like him. Other than the fact that he’s a bit of a tyrant.”
“More than you?”
“Different than me.” He relented. “Perhaps not more.”
“A family of softies.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a huff of indignation and a growl. “I have never been called soft.”
She looked at him. The wall of muscle that was his chest. The granite set of his jaw. She meant her response to be light. Funny. But looking at him took her breath. “No. I don’t suppose you have.”
There was a small ice-cream parlor up the way, and she was more than grateful for the distraction. “I want ice cream,” she said.
“Ice cream? Are you a child?”
“Ice cream is not just for children,” she said gravely. “Surely you know that, Javier.”
“I don’t eat ice cream.”
“Nonsense. Everyone needs ice cream. Well, unless they’re lactose intolerant. In which case, they just need to find a good nondairy replacement. And let me tell you, in Southern California they’re plentiful.”
“I’m not intolerant of anything.”
She tried, and failed, to hold back a laugh. “Well, that just isn’t true. I’ve only spent a few days in your company, but I can tell you that you’re clearly intolerant of a whole host of things. But, it’s good to know that dairy isn’t among them.”
“You are incredibly irritating.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“And who told you that?”
“My older brother, for a start. Also, my surrogate older brother, Dante. He’s now my brother-in-law, incidentally.”