Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  There was nothing she could do about what had happened, she reminded herself. The only thing she could do was keep an eye on tonight and hope that those who were here conducted themselves with the decorum that befitted their stations. If they didn’t, there was little she could do about it aside from ensuring that troublemakers were discreetly removed and sent safely on their way.

  Ottavia mentally ticked off her list. She’d done everything she could. She’d even personally seen to the placement of the flowers for the grand salon and on the tables on the terrace outside, and she’d overseen the stocking of each of the two bars—one indoors and one out—and given strict instructions to the waitstaff on the circulation of the trays of hors d’oeuvres that the kitchen staff had painstakingly created.

  Considering the evening had been organized at such short notice, Ottavia was pleasantly surprised with how smoothly it had all come together and how quickly the guest confirmations had been returned. Still, she thought with a private smile, it’s not like anyone was likely to refuse an invitation from their king.

  “Share your thoughts?” Rocco asked as he came up beside her. He was resplendent in a white tie and tuxedo that enhanced his dark hair and his olive skin, making his eyes glow like well-aged whiskey.

  Ottavia reached up and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel. “Oh, it’s nothing worth sharing,” she commented lightly.

  Rocco caught her hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “You are exquisite this evening,” he said, his voice deep and thoughtful as if he was only just looking at her for the first time.

  A flush of heat bloomed in her cheeks. She was used to compliments—they meant nothing to her—but this felt intensely personal. As if they were the only two people in the luxuriously appointed room that shone with chandeliers and gold leaf as though it had been drawn straight out of a fairy tale.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, dropping her eyes. “You look exquisite, also.”

  Ottavia fought to keep her tone light, almost teasing, but knew she’d failed when her breath caught at the end, betraying her own reaction to him—to his nearness, to his touch. He’d heard it, too. When she looked back up, she saw that his lips had curved into a sensuous smile that sent an ache of longing deep into her core.

  “I’ve been thinking about your prospective brides,” she said in an attempt to deflect his attention from her and back to where it ought to be this evening.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, they both appear to be equally accomplished but I wondered—what do they have in common with you?”

  “With me? Why should that matter?”

  Ottavia chewed lightly at her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Well, I’ve studied the princesses’ files and on paper they appear to be perfect candidates, however, I would have assumed a man like yourself would prefer a partner—someone to stand by you—rather than a shadow to simply follow in your wake.”

  “You would assume that, would you?”

  She sighed in impatience. “You did ask for my opinion.”

  “And I’m sure you have more of it to impart.”

  “I do. With your permission?”

  He inclined his head.

  “Erminia is unstable at present, and the law requires that you choose a bride to stabilize your reign. It concerns me that your people will judge any woman you marry at this time as merely being a means to an end. That end being you remaining in the position of monarch.”

  Rocco lifted one hand to stroke his jaw. “So you believe that my people may be less accepting of anyone I marry now?”

  “I believe they will be less accepting if they believe you only wed because you had no choice and that you clearly do not, or cannot, love your queen. Your people need to see a united marriage—not one simply of convenience.”

  “Love on demand?” he commented with a cynical lift of one brow.

  “At least an obvious mutual respect and attraction that can lead to lasting love.”

  “That sounds very romantic, but impractical.”

  “That may be, but you can be pretty sure it’s what people want to see. Think about those fairy-tale happy-ending royal marriages the tabloids ignore after the initial pomp and ceremony. Think about the stability of those nations and then compare them to the countries where the media thrive on speculation on any unhappiness and scandal within their leaders’ private lives. Sire, if your people can see hope, see love, they will also see a brighter future.”

  Rocco appeared to weigh her words carefully before giving her a decisive nod. “I will think about what you’ve said and bear that in mind when I make my decision.”

  The ornate double doors to the salon swung open and liveried footmen stood at either side.

  “Come, it is time for the guests to arrive,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to the doorway.

  Ottavia walked with him, acutely aware of his touch on her arm and his presence at her side. If she wasn’t careful, this powerful man beside her would slide through a chink in the armor she so carefully protected herself with. Remember your promise to yourself, she silently chastised. Your choices, your life lived the way you want it. Trust no one but yourself.

  She arranged her features into a welcoming and professional visage as the first of several guests were announced. She wasn’t oblivious to the appreciative assessments by many of the influential men who came through the door, nor was she unaware of the equally disparaging and occasionally outright curious stares of the women who accompanied them. Through it all she maintained her air of quiet self-possession.

  As the salon filled, Ottavia found herself watching Rocco carefully as he engaged in conversation with Princess Bettina. The other woman’s body language spoke volumes as to her awareness of her position in life. The youngest daughter of a northern European ruler, she appeared to be confident and self-assured. Ottavia mentally reviewed the woman’s accomplishments—a patroness of several charities, known for her prowess on horseback to the point of serving as a representative of her nation in the Olympics—she would make an interesting companion for Rocco. Her fair complexion and silver-blond hair provided the perfect foil to Rocco’s darkness—as if they were night and day.

  But would she challenge him when he needed to be challenged? Ottavia wondered. And would she comfort him even when he refused to admit he needed comfort? Did they have the chemistry that would make for a successful connection? Would her body light with an internal fire every time a glance from him met with hers? Looking at the woman and the cool, clear expression on her classically beautiful features, Ottavia doubted it.

  “Excuse me.”

  A female voice interrupted her thoughts. Ottavia turned with a smile on her face, which faltered just a little when she recognized the woman standing by her as Princess Sara.

  “Certainly, can I assist you with anything, Your Royal Highness?”

  “What exactly is your position here?” the woman asked haughtily, her green eyes speculative beneath arched auburn brows.

  “I’m King Rocco’s guest this evening,” Ottavia explained, deliberately keeping her description as simple as possible.

  The other woman smiled, her expression reminding Ottavia of one of the foxes that ran in the forests nearby.

  “His guest.” She nodded slowly. “I see.”

  Ottavia was acutely aware that the woman probably saw a great deal more than that.

  “Was there anything else you needed, ma’am?” she asked, injecting her voice with the deference due to the princess solely because of her position.

  The woman smiled again. “I think we’ll be able to get along, don’t you?”

  “Get along?”

  Princess Sara nodded in Rocco’s direction. “Yes, you and I, when the king and I are married.” She gave Ottavia an assessing look. “I think y
ou will be just the distraction he needs.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Ottavia tried to hold on to her temper. “I’m not sure what you are talking about.”

  “Oh, come now, don’t be coy. I’m aware of what my responsibility will be toward him when we marry, just as I’m equally aware of your reputation and your...” She ran her eyes over Ottavia from head to toe, continuing, “...obvious talents. I would have no objection to my husband’s needs being satisfied elsewhere once I produce the requisite heir and a spare. He looks quite...lusty, doesn’t he? I don’t imagine the reproduction side of things will take too long and then you can have him back.”

  Ottavia dared not speak. This woman was undoubtedly beautiful and accomplished, but where was her heart? If their positions were reversed Ottavia would want nothing to do with any woman Rocco had purportedly bedded. Nor could she ever imagine being willing to share his attention and affections with another woman. She wouldn’t be able to trust herself not to want to scratch their eyes out. The realization struck her with shocking honesty. She’d never been possessive in her life, certainly never about a man. How had Rocco managed to get under her careful guard so quickly, and so thoroughly? She needed some space, some air to breathe. Somewhere she could analyze these unsettling thoughts and reassemble her mental armor.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she managed to enunciate through lips that felt numb.

  “Certainly,” Princess Sara responded with a regal nod of her head before turning away.

  Ottavia strode to the terrace and away from the twinkling fairy lights and the hum of conversation. At the far edge she wrapped her fingers over the top of the stone balustrade and gripped it tight. No, she told herself. She did not feel like this about her clients. And yet, the idea of Rocco’s body entwined with either one of the princesses’ sent a piercing spike of jealousy through her body.

  She didn’t care about him, she told herself. She couldn’t. It wasn’t as if they were lovers or even partners. She was his courtesan and their relationship was confined to the dictates of the contract she herself had drawn up. She did not feel attraction. She would not be victim to her physical demands.

  Hadn’t she made that vow to herself? Promises forged in pain and tears and helplessness?

  For her, personal power was everything. She knew how to play on people’s superficiality, on their needs. She valued the people who hired her only for what they could bring her. Yes, that made her appear mercenary, but she didn’t care. Security was everything. For her and for Adriana.

  She felt a pang in her chest. She’d video-called Adriana earlier this afternoon—her baby sister was the only person in the world that she loved unconditionally and with all her heart. Adriana had begged her to come and see her. Each one of her tears had been a blow to Ottavia’s psyche. Adriana barely understood the concept of time, but she did understand how many crosses marked off the days until they would be together again, and as far as the fourteen-year-old was concerned there were far too many.

  It was for her that Ottavia did this. It was for Adriana, and others like her, that she wielded her feminine mastery over men so she could ensure a safe haven for as long as the teen drew breath. Born with Down syndrome, her intellectual disability was at the profound end of the scale. Add to that the complication of an inoperable congenital heart defect and it took a great deal of care and time and money to ensure Adriana’s life, for as long as she lived, both nurtured her and was comfortable.

  Ottavia’s only regret was that her work commitments took up so much of her time. Her clients expected her to be available to them around the clock, which left her with few opportunities to spend quality time with Adriana. But it was her work that made everything else possible—that paid the bills for the facility and that built a retirement nest egg that was nearly complete. Once she’d saved enough to support the two of them for the foreseeable future, Ottavia would retire, buy a home for her and Adriana to share and leave this false, glittering world of high society behind forever.

  Ottavia squared her shoulders and turned back toward the light and sound of the party. It was for Adriana that she did this, she reminded herself again. For Adriana and herself, and the future she wanted them to have together.

  She took a deep breath and slowly walked back to the assembly, smiling and talking as she worked her way back through the crowd. Her eyes constantly checked that the staff circulated evenly through the guests with the trays of canapés and that none of the guests became too intoxicated.

  When it was fully dark, everyone was ushered outdoors for the fireworks display over the lake. Ottavia hung back, observing the gathering, rather than inserting herself as a part of it. She became aware of the presence of a man in the shadows when he began to walk toward her. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar to her and at first she thought it was Rocco, but as he drew nearer, she realized she’d never met this man before.

  “Ms. Romolo,” he said, stopping at her side.

  “You have the advantage of me, sir,” Ottavia answered with a slight smile.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she felt her heart begin to race, but it had nothing to do with attraction. This man certainly exuded power, but of a more lethal kind, she decided as she waited for his introduction.

  “General Andrej Novak, at your service,” he said with a slight bow.

  Rocco’s head of the armed forces. Ottavia had heard of the man—who hadn’t after Princess Mila’s kidnapping? The man had been wounded while trying to protect the princess. It was sheer chance that the kidnappers left him for dead and that he was able to fly the abandoned helicopter—the princess’s transport, which had been hijacked by the kidnappers—back to safety. But she’d never realized what a lethal presence he projected. She fought to control the shiver of apprehension that stealthily crept down her spine.

  “Are you enjoying yourself tonight, General?”

  He appeared to consider her words for a moment or two before answering. “Nights such as this are always better with a beautiful woman at one’s side.”

  His words should have sounded like a compliment, yet they made Ottavia’s skin crawl, especially when accompanied by the salacious look in his eye.

  “I am curious,” he continued. “When does your contract with our esteemed leader come to an end?”

  “I believe that is between King Rocco and myself,” she said smoothly.

  A sudden boom in the air made her flinch in surprise as the first of the cavalcade of fireworks burst through the clear night sky. The general moved a little closer, putting an arm around her back.

  “I ask only because I find myself in need of a companion such as yourself. A woman who can be relied upon to be discreet, yet satisfying. I’m told you come highly recommended.”

  Again that ripple of unease trickled through her.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said coldly.

  He bent his head closely to hers and whispered the names of some of her lesser known and intensely private clients. Information she’d believed to be confidential. She instantly drew back, her features freezing into a mask of shock.

  “That’s privileged information!” she blurted out.

  “And I am nothing if not privileged,” he said, his voice a low, insidious growl. “Remember that, Ms. Romolo. I have access to your entire life.”

  Before she could summon a response, he was gone again, melting into the shadows the same way he’d appeared. The words he’d used were innocuous enough, but the emphasis he’d placed on the words privileged and then her entire life had sent a spike of unease through her. Her mind was quick to expand on all manner of possibilities—none of them reassuring. Ottavia had learned not to ignore her instincts and there was definitely something about this man that had her radar flicking on to high alert.

  Right now, she felt threatened
, anxious, vulnerable—no doubt exactly as he’d intended when he’d issued his veiled threat. And it had definitely been a threat. An icy cold sense of foreboding filled her and she flinched as another resounding boom filled the air, followed by gasps of awe from the revelers on the terrace as cascades of color filled the night sky.

  Ottavia made her way inside and to the bar. “Scotch,” she demanded, “neat.”

  The bartender hastened to fill her request and a glass appeared before her. She lifted the tumbler to her lips and poured the fiery liquid into her mouth. As it scorched its way down her throat she closed her eyes for a moment. Drew on every last ounce of internal strength that she possessed. Her instincts urged her to leave this place. But she’d signed a contract. She couldn’t simply walk away.

  She opened her eyes and murmured a quick thank you to the bartender before heading back out onto the terrace. The crowd was still absorbed in the spectacle of light and color in the sky. She looked around and breathed a small sigh of relief. General Novak wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Some of the tension that had gripped her eased off when she spotted Rocco.

  Ottavia tried to ignore the odd sensation that assailed her as she watched him. His head was bent to Princess Sara’s, his lips curved in a smile at something she said, and the other woman’s hand sat possessively on his forearm. Ottavia swallowed against the sudden bitterness on her tongue.

  He was a means to an end, she reminded herself firmly. That was all. The means to freedom, to be precise. She would fulfill her duties here and then disappear, just as she’d always planned to do one day. Fade into obscurity and live a normal life. And then she wouldn’t have to worry about men like General Andrej Novak ever again.