Logs snapped and flamed in the big stone fireplace. Sancha, Anchela’s Shetland sheepdog curled in front of it and Angelica sat next to her with the sheepdog’s puppies.
They were sitting around as they might have sat, talked, and sipped wine on any other evening.
But it was not another normal evening. Her brother and her mother looked less strained than they did when she had entered the palace, but they were still stealing side glances at her.
She’d been gone only a few days, but it felt like a welcome homecoming and at the same time like a melancholy end to something that hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
Leaving Ludwig there, sleeping between the tangled sheets, gloriously naked, was the hardest thing Angelica had ever done.
Her country needed her. She could not have ignored it any longer. Calling on the hard resolution that had once come so naturally like air to her lungs, she had re-gathered her things, and walked out the door, leaving Ludwig and her freedom behind.
She didn’t know if she would ever see him again. With her schedule, it was unlikely to happen soon. She certainly wouldn’t have any time to entertain him. Not the way he needed.
One puppy nosed her hand wanting her to continue to scratch behind his ears. Cute little things, demanding attention and care, demanding love.
And that she could give them. A simple thing, an ordinary thing, and something that reminded her she’d never imagined how kids with Abelardo would’ve been. But she could see Ludwig’s children—not with her, of course—a boy and a girl with his electric blue eyes and the same white-blond hair he had when he was a kid.
“I’m going to walk this very busy mom and put these always hungry babies to rest.” Valantín laid a hand over Anchela’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Angelica, why don’t you give me a hand getting them setup?”
“Ah…sure.”
She settled the puppy she’d been coddling next to its siblings and followed her brother into the kitchen.
But instead of putting the collar and leash on Sancha, Valantín leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want a minute with you.”
“I figured.” She guessed he’d want to talk to her and for her to look up at his face. That was a thing he would do, demanding her explicit attention, especially when he felt she’s erred in some way. This time would be about Ludwig. She really didn’t know if that was his intention, but it certainly felt like that, so she continued to look down at her hands. “I’m fine, Valantín. I’m old enough to make grown-up decisions without consulting my big brother, so—”
“Just stop.”
She stopped and sighed. Resigned, she looked at him expectantly, but ready to resume at any second.
“We’re all being very careful to talk about…what happened these last few days. And that’s fine, but now it’s just you and me. And for the sake of our country, I need to know where you stand. What’s going on with you, Angelica?”
“Nothing.” She’d gone to a wedding and took a few days off. If she spent time with a man while she was away, that was her business. “I’m here, I’ve been briefed on recent activity, and I’m working on a plan to help raise the morale and confidence of those who support us, while at the same time, proving that our detractors are wrong about us.”
“I’m glad to hear all that because it sounds like just what you should be doing right now. But—”
“But nothing. I had a few days away. It was fun. Now it’s over. And I’m doing what I should be doing. So, nothing about my brief experiment with freedom needs to be discussed.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever Valantín was going to say.
“Go away,” he commanded. Then feeling that was rude, he added, “I need a moment alone with my little sister.” He looked at Angelica as he spoke the last words, reminding her of his seniority. To his disbelief, the door swung up and he was about to return to rudeness as the more effective approach.
“Then I better come in, since I’m your little sister,” Maria said, as she entered the room and smiled up at him.
“I was talking about my other little sister,” he said, trying to sound stern and serious.
“But you didn’t specify. Besides, I want to talk to Angelica, too.”
Valantín gave up. “Fine. You two talk then.” He looked at Angelica. “We’ll finish this later. I’ll take Sancha out by myself.”
When Valantín left the room, Angelica sat down on the chair. “Phew. Thanks for that.”
“I’ll put it down on your account.” Maria winked at Angelica mischievously. “Besides, it’s always a pleasure to goad Valantín.”
23
Americo pulled his car to the end of the road and hiked to where he had a good unobstructed view of the palace courtyard and the harem building. Since all the rooms were arranged around the courtyard, which was open to the sky, his observation was unimpeded.
He studied them through the powerful lens of the binoculars he’d pilfered from the body of an Interpol agent he’d killed two months ago. The guy’d been snooping too close for Aguilar’s comfort and Americo gladly got rid of him.
Lowering the binoculars, he took out his notebook to add to his notes for the day and settled in to wait.
From what Abelardo had told them, the Castella y Aragon family dinners were long and formal stuff, so Angelica was probably settled in for a while.
He slouched in his black sedan, nibbling on a chocolate bar, thinking he would rather be fucking some of the girls Aguilar had stacked in the warehouse who would be sent to Turkey next week to work in a brothel. But part of the job was boredom, and his job—for now—was to sit on Angelica, so sit he would.
His report, to date, was rather thin.
In fact, as far as Americo could see, all Angelica did was ordinary crap, and not a hell of a lot of that.
He started re-reading the notes in his black book: the encounter with the old man—well, old was an exaggeration, so he diligently erased it and wrote blond—moving her things to the harem palace, away from the main palace building, and dinner with her family.
He jotted down that there was heat between Angelica and the blond man, but he couldn’t say that there was affection involved.
Still, his background check showed the blond man was the Grand-Duke of Lektenstaten, a notorious womanizer and, if his sources were correct, a consummate lover.
If Von Kröenenberg was her current choice of bed-partners, Americo thought, Abelardo would have to work hard, very hard to get a chance.
If Angelica ever let him near her again, which Americo had come to doubt.
Maybe they would have to rethink their whole strategy.
Angelica looked out the window at the rain falling, finding the weather matched her mood. She was melancholy, unable to find the happiness in her life that was normally there. It was just a mood, a brief period of time where she was disconnected from herself.
“Are you going to stare at the rain all day?”
Angelica turned toward her sister, giving her a slight smile. “Not all day.”
Maria didn’t return her smile. “What is on your mind, Hermana Mayor?”
Angelica crossed the room and sat beside Maria on the couch. “Tell me about the underground tunnels.”
Maria’s eyes widened. “Are you planning on escaping or something? It’s not safe out there.”
Angelica laughed. “No, I’m not running away. I…umm…I might need to sneak someone in.”
“You?” Maria’s brows hitched up another two inches. “Now, this sounds intriguing. Who is it? Ludwig?”
Angelica’s cheeks burned at the name. “Can I trust you?”
“Of course,” Maria stated, grabbing her sister’s hands and squeezing them. “You can trust me with anything. We’re sisters.”
“If Ludwig comes to visit,” Angelica spilled out in a rush. “I want…I want to be able to keep it a secret if I need to, could I use the underground passage as an opportunity?”
/> Maria grinned. “The tunnels will be perfect for you. I can show you if you’d like.”
Angelica reached over and hugged her sister, glad that she could share things like this with her. While the world fell apart around them, she knew she could always trust her.
“They’re not going to change their mind or their views on these issues, Your Royal Highness.” Aragon’s political advisor, Lluís Cébrian, had been there for one hour already, and didn’t seem ready to let up.
I’m well aware and that wasn’t what I was asking. “I simply need to know how we can diffuse this situation.” As she read the pamphlet in front of her, Angelica massaged her temple.
She had moved back into her routine pretty fast. Much to her chagrin. It was not even lunchtime and she was already fighting a headache.
“You speak as though they are rational people.”
Lluís Cébrian had been with her brother since Valantín stepped up to take their father’s place as King. Having served as Aragon’s ambassador to Spain, he understood the political climate well. In his late fifties, he was still tall, fit, and had dark hair and eyes like most people in her small country.
She had the impression though, that he was more traditional than even the Aragonese people were—and it went without saying that he was a conservative compared to her. She had no doubt that it stemmed from the notion that without royalty in the palace, he would be without a job.
But that was a reality they might very well be facing. “They are rational people, Mr. Cébrian, and the sooner we treat them like people, the sooner we can find a solution.”
“Don’t fool yourself. This is intended to cause strife.” Tucking his chin closer to his chest, he inhaled a sharp breath. “You are still very young and naïve, Ma’am.”
Anger flared in her. I hate it when men tell me that, as if they’re trying to put me in my place, reminding me I’m nothing more than a princess.
She understood that his position had to be difficult and possibly frustrating; to be an expert, to know more than the person they reported to, and not be the one in charge of the decisions. However, he still didn’t have the right to belittle her simply because she wanted to test the notion of treating the DFAM with a little respect. “I might be young but I’m not naïve. I thank you for your opinion, Mr. Cébrian.”
He blinked and straightened, realigning his careful mask of respect. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
With her hand, she waved away his apology. “Their position isn’t bad. They only want better wages for the middle-class workers, better health benefits, and family care leave.” She didn’t even have that. Her job required she work every day of the week, but she had to admit that the laborers obviously put in more physical effort than she did. And she had been able to take an impromptu vacation for an indeterminate amount of days. “I feel there’s reason behind their demands.”
“But turning the people against their own government, when said government is in dire financial straits, is not the way to demand things,” Mr. Cébrian pointed out, and she couldn’t find fault in his reasoning. “Besides, do you feel it’s their right to demand the removal of the royal family to instate a democracy? It’s not as if you were a dictatorship ruling. Much to the contrary. Aragon is a constitutional monarchy in which your brother and a democratically elected parliament share the powers of government.”
She didn’t want to be unseated. She loved her home and her people, possibly more than any of the political parties understood, and she wanted to remain at their services. But she was also concerned about some questions which were being voiced by the discontents.
Mr. Cébrian tipped his head in the direction of the Ormulu clock over the mantel. “We are out of time, Ma’am.”
“We can always make more.” Even as she said that she knew it to be a lie. Her calendar was rather full.
“You have other engagements.”
I always do. “When do you need my answer?”
“After la siesta, Ma’am.”
“Of course.” He would take her opinion to Valantín before the ministerial meeting so that it at least appeared as though they were united. Though, sometimes, they weren’t, especially of late. And that probably wasn’t helping. “I’ll let you know my decision by lunch time.”
Mr. Cébrian rose to his feet, bowed stiffly, and then exited.
That had been a rather warm exchange. He was downright frigid when he was upset. With a grimace, Angelica returned her attention to the missives on her desk. They had piled up while she had been away, since Valantín still didn’t trust online exchanges with secret documents. That was something they needed look into: the online security in Aragon was not up-to-date.
The hours flew by as she reviewed the most urgent ones and when her alarm beeped, she was reading the last page of the final plans for the hospital renovation.
Right on time. She hadn’t been able to say that for weeks. Maybe my days off have been a good thing.
Yet, she missed Ludwig’s smile, his kiss, his touch.
She slammed her hand down on the thick report. Get yourself together. You’re not a schoolgirl. You have a job to do and it needs to be done. You can’t do that with your head in the clouds.
She focused her attention again and circled a line in the schedule in red that didn’t make sense, more to make a point to herself that she needed to concentrate. She didn’t doubt that the schedule would shift. They always did, but she needed to get herself under control.
Her blood ran so hot for him though, and that was an issue. One she would just have to control. She turned to her heart and made it run colder, pulling up visions of all the women he’d been with. She didn’t know them, but she pictured them anyway.
It was cruel, but something she needed.
Her phone pinged again, letting her know that she had fifteen minutes before she had to leave. She went to her private bathroom, freshened herself and retouched her make-up, and gave herself one last look, making sure her pink coat dress—the same she wore in the last ceremony in Aragon—was not wrinkled. She didn’t have a problem with being seen out in the same clothes. Much to the contrary. Not only did Angelica wear and re-wear designer dresses, but also the same shoes and handbags. She wanted it to be documented by the reporters and be a statement of her thrifty ways.
She smiled at her image and exited the bathroom, just to stop dead in her tracks, as she was met with a rather unexpected visitor.
Abelardo. “What is he doing here?” she asked Celipa, who stood beside Abelardo, her hands clasped uncomfortably in front of her.
“He was rather insistent.”
He always has been. And charming, too. Abelardo was a big man, broad-chested, with black eyes and black hair, and he gave off an attitude of danger, slightly disguised by expensive clothes. And he knew how to use his charms to weave his way everywhere. She couldn’t take it out on her bodyguard but she could very well make her send him away. She gathered the hospital proposal and a few other things she would need for the meeting, ignoring him as he walked closer to her desk. “Well, I’m quite busy and leaving, as you well know, Ms. Alfarro, so please accompany Señor Guti—”
“Angelica.” His hand circled her wrist.
The nerve. Her hand clenched, but she kept her actions contained. Angelica wanted to punch Abelardo’s face, like she’d practiced several times after he’d left. She’d taken self-defense training, and then taken it a step further than that once she realized she enjoyed the physical outlet. That didn’t mean that she should or that it would be acceptable. She looked up, meeting his dark eyes, hoping he saw and understood the anger she felt rising inside herself. “What do you want?”
The look he gave her demanded to know if it was so hard to look him in the face.
It was, but she didn’t want that answer to show in her eyes, so she kept the thought buried beneath the hot coil of her humiliation-fueled rage. “I have,” she said quietly, “a meeting to attend.”
He released her and
took a step back. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
She returned her attention to her desk, organizing it. It didn’t really need it. “I don’t think I need to hear your apologies.”
“Please.” He looked pointedly at Celipa over his shoulder, then back at Angelica. “We should talk about what happened. It won’t take more than five minutes.”
Five minutes. Right. “Fine,” she said, making eye contact with Celipa, who left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
“I didn’t know you had moved to the Harem.” He stared at his surroundings, taking in her new office. She had kept the dark-red silk upholstered sofas and armchairs as well as the white fluttery curtains, typical of the Moroccan influence that carried through all the palace.
There’s a lot more you don’t know. “Why did you run away, Abelardo?”
“Because I was disappearing.” He grimaced at her, crossing his brawny arm over his broad chest.
That’s quite possibly the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. “What? That’s your excuse? That you were turning into The Invisible Man?”
He huffed out a breath, shaking his head, then turned around and paced away. “My entire life, I’ve been a man.” He turned back toward her, his arms wide on either side of him. “I’ve been in control of my life. What I do. What I say. What I want.”
She had a feeling she knew where this was going.
“But in the time I spent with you, my wants meant nothing. I wasn’t allowed to speak at certain events.”
“It was mentioned you may not want to speak certain opinions too loudly,” she corrected.
He raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed as if acknowledging that he would agree to disagree with her. “And I wasn’t even allowed to escort you into a room.”
“Oh, please. That was at one party and the rules of British royal protocol are strict.” Honestly, she didn’t understand what he was complaining about. He had maintained far more freedom than she had. The one instance he referred to had been at a state dinner in London, when Prince Charles—she hadn’t even been lucky enough to get Prince William or Prince Harry—had escorted her to dinner.
Royal Affair (Last Royals Book 2) Page 15