by Dani Collins
Making a concerted effort to include Xavier in Tyrol’s progress had seemed like the right thing to do. She told herself it was her way of encouraging a bond between father and son, but she knew there was a part of her that liked having an excuse to reach out to him. She was still trying to push for something that was futile.
But just when his reticence had her convinced he felt nothing, he would surprise her by phoning to ask how things were going. He would linger on a video call after she’d run out of things to say, seeming content to stare at a sleeping baby over a screen.
Such a confounding man.
She glanced to where Tyrol slept; the one thing in all of this that made her unspeakably proud. If everything she’d been through in her life, all the pain and traumas and anguish had had to happen in order to bring her son into this world, so be it. She accepted all of it.
“Has your doctor really forbidden you to have another?”
“We talked it over several times through the pregnancy. It was my idea that she would tie my tubes during delivery, so I wouldn’t need another surgery in the future. She did. I’m not sorry, or even very sad. I resigned myself a long time ago to not being able to get pregnant. He’s truly a miracle. The delivery was such a near miss, though. I wouldn’t want to push my luck, especially now he’s here and needs me.”
Cinnia nodded. “What about a surrogate? I’m sorry. Maybe that’s not something you’d consider?”
“Gili told me years ago she would be my surrogate, but that was before Kasim.” She tucked her chin. “Can you imagine his reaction?”
“He gives her anything she asks for.” Cinnia closed her grin on her fork. “His head would literally explode trying to decide whether to be possessive or indulgent.”
“Right?” They both chuckled, then Trella sobered. “They would want to secure his heirs before even thinking of it, anyway. I don’t see Xavier wanting to wait.” There is a reason for a spare. “Maybe I’ll find a surrogate someday, but I don’t think that would change Xavier’s mind about us. It’s not just about another baby. We’re not you and Henri.” Or Gili and Kasim. Or Ramon and Isidora. “He has other considerations.”
He doesn’t want me.
She had to accept that.
It made her chest grow tight, though. Her throat ached. She ducked under the water to hide how she was tearing up. She stayed there, diving deep and crawling along the bottom until her lungs were about to burst, only coming to the surface when she reached the stairs.
“Pah!” She stood and wiped the water from her eyes.
Cinnia had come to her feet and was saying hello to someone.
Henri had returned with a striking blond man in tailored dark gray pants and a collared T-shirt that hugged the fit muscles of his shoulders and revealed his tanned gorgeous biceps.
The newcomer glared at her from his familiar, laser blue eyes. “Should you be swimming?”
Suddenly dizzy, Trella panted, “Hola, cariño. I missed you, too.”
* * *
Xavier was distantly aware of Henri retreating with his wife, but if the woman had a name, he had already forgotten it. His entire focus was eaten up by the way Trella rose from the water like Venus herself.
Water sluiced down her body, washing away the grinding aggravation that had propelled him here. He had needed to see her without understanding why. He might have labeled it homesickness if that wasn’t such a juvenile emotion and he was in Elazar, not a part of Spain he’d never seen before.
But he’d come here with single-minded determination and when he’d finally clapped eyes on her, she’d been on the bottom of the pool, trying to give him a heart attack all over again.
All his concern, pining and every other thought in his head drained away, however, as she walked toward him.
Coming here was a mistake. He saw that as clearly as he saw she wore a red bikini, the triangles of fabric tied off at her hips and between her breasts. She had been quite comely with the weight of a baby distending her middle, always turning herself out stylishly, even when she’d been in the hospital.
Keeping his mind off sex while she’d been in a delicate condition had been, if not easy, at least quickly forestalled by worst-case scenarios. He had told himself any attraction he still felt was a byproduct of his not having had sex since they’d made the baby sleeping in the cot to his left. Maybe the two kisses they’d shared had ambushed his memory when it was least convenient. Definitely, he relived their night in Paris far too often.
It all added up to an obsession he should have put behind him by now.
He hadn’t.
Her approach coiled him tight. He hadn’t seen her naked since Paris and her hourglass figure was as spectacular as his libido recalled. Better. Glittering droplets sparkled on her golden skin and her breasts were positively voluptuous, swaying as she padded toward him, bare feet slapping the tile.
His mouth watered. A distinctly male pulse tugged behind the fly of his pants. He had to resist a telltale swallow and consciously regulated his breathing. The animal, that restless beast that had been scratching and digging inside him, howled as she drew near, wanting to leap on her. Reunite.
“What are you—?” She was squeezing water from her hair, but as she met his gaze, her eyes widened in reaction, pupils exploding like fireworks. Her breath caught, expanding her chest and drawing his attention to her nipples, already sharp from the chill, but poking even harder under his gaze.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Her hand went to a nearby chair back as if she needed to steady herself.
He was acting directly against his responsibilities, despite the rationalizations he’d concocted. Angry with himself for the hunger clawing through him, he searched his brain for the reasons that underpinned his arrival.
“I’m taking you to Madrid. You’ll stay with me there.”
Her shoulders fell. “You don’t trust me?”
That wasn’t it, but he didn’t want to admit—even to himself—that he hadn’t been able to wait three more nights to see them. Not just his son. Her.
He found his gaze straying to the curve of her hips and the dip of her navel and forced his attention to drag across to the infant in a pale green onesie. The strangest yank in his chest had him stooping to pick up the boy.
The sleeping baby gave a small start of surprise, fingers splaying, then relaxed into a warm ball against the hollow of Xavier’s shoulder. He felt heavier. Sturdier.
“He’s growing.”
“He is.” She wrapped a towel around her middle, hands shaking. “Xavier, I swear I wasn’t trying to avoid coming back. The wedding is a rushed thing. Izzy’s father has been ill. It’s a big deal for him to be able to walk her down the aisle so they’re indulging him. It’s also the only chance for the bunch of us to be together for the foreseeable future. That’s why I need to be there.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. But it’s your first public appearance since we married. We should be seen together.”
“Well, of course you were invited. I just didn’t think...” She was taken aback, which was justified, he supposed. “Doesn’t it send the wrong message?”
Because of the way their press release had been worded.
Given Ms Sauveterre’s preference for avoiding the spotlight, the marriage is a formality to ensure the legitimacy of Prince Xavier’s heir and won’t be continued in the new year.
“I’ve spent a month having my devotion to my family questioned. I’d like to change the optics.” There. That was the excuse he had given his grandmother and he stood by it. Their countrymen were going mad over the three photos he’d released of the young prince, but they were questioning why he wasn’t spending more time with him.
Trella understood how the PR game was played. She wouldn’t fault this move.
The warmth t
hat had pinkened her cheeks drained away, though. Her expression stiffened. “Of course. And we both know how unimpeachable your sense of obligation is. Most of my packing is done. I only have to shower and change. Shall I send a nanny to take him? After you’ve had time to post some selfies, of course.”
He had set himself up for that, but it still landed on target. “I’ll keep him,” he said in a tone that let her know she was walking a fine line.
She flipped her wet hair and walked away.
* * *
Trella fell asleep on the flight so they were in Madrid before she was alone with Xavier again. Physically she was recovered, but Tyrol was so little he needed to feed often, even if that meant waking him. She was up several times a night so tended to nod off midday. But rather than dozing, she would have preferred to spend the time working through Xavier’s surprise appearance.
Optics? Really? It was incredibly insulting. Her entire family had been used a million times over to sell magazines and promote products, all without their consent. She was tempted to tell him what she thought of him, but part of her disbelieved him.
For a minute, as they’d stood by the pool, she’d thought—But, no. His carnal look had been gone once he’d picked up Tyrol. She had imagined it. What kind of wanton did it make her that she had responded to blatant lust, anyway?
She had responded, though. She had run to the shower to cool off, slowing the race of her pulse and willing away the thrumming awareness in her loins.
Fat lot of good it did. Flutters of intrigue were still playing like butterflies in her middle, gaze straying to the cut of his pants over his butt and the sculpted muscles beneath his shirt as he paced in front of her. She had missed him!
Tyrol finished nursing and was fast asleep so she unlatched him and handed him off to a nanny, then she struggled to put herself together behind the screen of a receiving blanket that didn’t want to stay in place.
Yes, I’m half-naked under here. Stop staring.
A flush of heat went through her. It was a lusty reaction that had simmered at merely sensual while she’d been feeling squat, scared and vulnerable in a hospital. Or when he’d been on the other side of the planet.
Now she was more confident on so many levels, but still unsure of herself with her husband. This was as bad as his ambush in Innsbruck when he’d left her with nowhere to hide.
“Ready?” he said, tucking away the phone he’d been tapping while she’d nursed.
“For?”
“I’ve been waiting to look around. I haven’t seen the house, either.”
“Oh. Um, sure.” The mansion was on a small estate in La Moraleja, farther out of the city from the historical home in the Salamanca neighborhood that had been in her mother’s family for generations. This house was built with old-world touches like columns and wrought iron rails, but it was very modern, perhaps only a few years old.
“Did you lease it? Or...?” Surely he hadn’t purchased something for a long weekend?
“It belongs to a friend. We studied architecture together. He showed me the plans a few years ago. I’m interested to see how it all came together.”
He waved for her to lead him from the lounge to a small dining area that was likely used for intimate lunches. The gallery that overlooked the main door was above them. A row of tall windows afforded a view of the landscaped grounds.
“I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.” She watched him take in the elevator, set in a convenient location, but made unobtrusive by disguising it with the rise of the stairs. Why did a bit of small talk make her so nervous?
“I’m an architect.”
“Really! What have you designed?”
“My chalet.” He bypassed the entrance to the kitchen and opened a door to the patio, inviting her to exit ahead of him.
“You did well. I liked it.” A wind had come up beneath the overcast skies, making her hug her arms and try to tuck her wayward hair behind her ears as they walked past flower pots that lined the covered pool.
He was looking sideways at her.
“I wasn’t trying to escape because I didn’t like the floor plan.”
He rolled his eyes, which made her smile, but self-consciousness stuck like a burr, prickly and sharp. It was strange to be with him again, in person, alone, without nurses or valets hovering. With sexual awareness sizzling within her.
“I’m serious,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness. “I know you don’t need my approval, but I thought it felt cozy despite the open plan. You obviously placed the windows very carefully. Each view was a well-framed photograph of the natural world—what?” she demanded as his look grew penetrating. “I’m an artist. I notice when care has been taken for a particular effect. Don’t you? Look at these stairs.”
She waved at the way they curved down from the upper terrace.
“Most people see convenience, but the placement balances the turret on the other side, which is probably the master bedroom, situated to overlook—” She turned to look across the expanse of grounds, charmed as she noticed the brook and the wooden bridge. “Oh, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“He wanted to put the master bedroom on this end,” Xavier said. “At the top of the stairs, closer to the pool. I suggested the turret and told him to curve the stairs.”
She pivoted to face him, watching his gaze track the upper terrace, profile dark with critique, but also...envy?
“What else have you designed?”
“Nothing. My attention is needed elsewhere.” He said it without emotion, but she felt the pang that he refused to betray.
“You’re frustrated.”
His lids came down so the heat of his gaze glowed fiercely behind the veil of his spiky lashes. “We’re talking about that, are we?” His attention dropped to her mouth.
Suddenly they were poolside again. Such a hard streak of sexual heat shot through her, it physically stung from the base of her throat, behind her breastbone, sank like a hot coal in the pit of her belly and radiated warmth into the juncture of her thighs. Her heart took off at a gallop while birds took flight in her midsection.
“I meant as an artist!” She blushed, embarrassed at how quickly and blatantly she reacted to a simple look.
His mouth deepened at the corners. He pushed his hands into his pockets. “There are many ways to apply form and function to the role I occupy. I don’t have to design something.”
“It’s not the same.” She was still flustered, stewing in heat and being confused by it. “I told you about the time I was depressed? It was because the medication made it impossible for me to create. The need was there, but when I sat down to draw or sew, it was like sending a bucket into an empty well. I wasn’t having panic attacks, but I didn’t see any point in being alive if I couldn’t...” She held up her hands.
“I’m not depressed.”
“But you’re denied.”
“So what?”
“It’s something you need.”
“It’s something I want. Desire can be ignored in favor of more important things.”
“We’re not talking about architecture, are we?” She let her hands fall and blinked, eyes watery from the wind. Or so she hoped he believed.
A long silence followed where only a distant wind chime rang.
“Are you really here because of optics?” It made her lungs feel heavy and raw.
He hissed out a long breath. “I came because I wanted to.” He set his teeth after he said it, as though absorbing some inner thought that displeased him, then said in a voice rife with subdued turmoil, “But we don’t get everything we want, bella. You know that as well as I do.”
He wasn’t mocking her. He was saying it with deep understanding of the things she would never have—a carefree childhood, another pregnancy. She choked up, want
ing to ask if he had come because he’d wanted to be with her, but she was too scared of the answer.
So she only said, “Have you forgotten my name? You’re calling me bella.”
“It’s not an endearment. It’s who you are. It’s what you are.” The last bit sounded as though it came out against his will.
She wanted to believe him, but her misshapen heart was so very conscious of her flaws. Of the fact he had rebuffed her.
“I’ve never felt beautiful.” She toed a pebble. “I was the messy one, always grass-stained and needing my hair combed. After my kidnapping, the press called me ‘the fat one,’ because I comfort-ate. I starved myself in retaliation and cut my own hair and looked like a Goth for years, dark circles under my eyes, makeup smudged and face pale from not sleeping properly. It took ages after I got my panic attacks under control to look as healthy and happy as my sister.”
She squinted as she looked up, startled to find she had his full attention. That wasn’t pity in his expression, though. He was engrossed, which made a squiggling sensation tremble in the pit of her stomach.
“You asked me that night in Paris, remember? You asked if I was as beautiful as my sister. I thought it was funny to say yes because I was impersonating her. The only time I feel beautiful is when I look like her.” She knew better intellectually, but deep down, she still had a lot of demons.
“You were stunning when you were pregnant. You’re beautiful now. When I saw your sister in Berlin, I thought she was beautiful because she looked like you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t even know—”
“I knew. I could tell the second I saw her. I just didn’t believe it. I thought—”
“What?” She held her breath, brimming with dread and hope, not sure what she wanted to hear.
He grimaced. “I thought I’d been a fool. That the way we’d reacted to each other had been a one-off thing.”
She swallowed. “It wasn’t?”