by Kim Lawrence
She had settled in her seat when the door opened, and Dante joined her. ‘Sorry about that, just a message from Carl.’
She nodded but didn’t ask. She was aware in the periphery of her vision that Dante was watching her.
‘How is he?’ she forced herself to ask.
She understood being close to a sibling, but she had never understood why Dante had never, ever displayed any resentment towards his older brother.
She had always been careful not to show how she felt but his next words suggested she hadn’t been entirely successful.
‘Our marriage problems were not down to Carl.’
‘I don’t think that,’ she tossed back with a small unconvincing laugh. ‘I never did.’
Strong marriages survived the storms, some were even made stronger, but theirs had sunk without trace at the first squall.
Why do you think it will be any different now?
She pushed away the doubts. ‘What is the hold-up?’ she gritted, bouncing out of her seat as she virtually pressed her nose to the window.
His eyes went from her foot tapping on the floor to the visible tension in her slim neck.
‘This is going to work, you know.’
‘Are you basing that on blind faith, or have you been reading the tea leaves again?’ She stopped and grimaced, instantly ashamed of her outburst. ‘Sorry. I… I’m a bit nervous about this.’
He reached out and curled his hand around hers, drawing it onto his lap. His action was so unexpected that for a moment all she could do was stare at his strong fingers, dark against her pale skin.
Her emotional reaction to his action was way over the top, she knew that, but she had no control over the tears that began to spill down her cheeks.
She pulled her hand free, mumbling, ‘Hormones,’ as she sniffed and dashed the moisture away with the back of her hand.
He could feel the tension rolling off her in waves; he felt a stab of guilt that his first reaction was to pretend he couldn’t.
‘Try and relax.’
She shot him a look; did he think this was easy? Perhaps he did, and why wouldn’t he? In the past this was the point she would have nodded and hidden her nerves under a smile.
‘This is me trying—I promise you.’
‘You know what to expect this time.’
‘That’s the problem…’ Panic closed her throat.
A wave of emotion moved through him as he watched her struggle, and he had no defence against the uncomfortable mixture of tenderness and guilt that stirred inside him as he looked into her beautiful unhappy eyes.
How many times had he made her unhappy?
Bea turned her head away, her thoughts drifting back to Dante’s comments about his brother. ‘I like Carl.’ Although Dante was right, there was a tiny part of her that did blame Carl.
Carl doesn’t want to be King.
The sentence that had changed her life, but at the time it had elicited a muted but sympathetic response from her. She remembered thinking that she could not imagine what it was like to have your life mapped out from birth.
‘I am supporting his decision.’
‘His decision?’
‘He is renouncing his title and his claim to the throne.’
Still she hadn’t got what he was telling her. ‘Is that even possible? What will he do?’
‘Be happy.’
She had got a horrible feeling in her stomach at that moment that his happiness might come at a cost, and she’d been proved right.
She sighed, feeling petty and mean-spirited. She did not normally struggle with empathy, but when it came to the erstwhile Crown Prince he would be linked in her head forever with losing Dante on the heels of losing their baby. But then you couldn’t lose what you’d never had.
‘If it helps, I will be able to be there more than—’
Her glance swivelled his way, and she arched an enquiring brow.
‘More than I was. There were a lot of people waiting for me to fail.’ The admission seemed drawn from him almost against his will.
Beatrice stared. He had never said anything like that to her before. He sounded almost…vulnerable?
‘We made this baby together, and we will make decisions about this baby together. I want to make this work.’
She swallowed. ‘So do I.’
He nodded and sat back in his seat just as the convoy of armoured limousines, the metallic paint catching the sun, finally drove along a wide chestnut tree–lined boulevard that dissected the capital city of San Macizo. The strict development laws meant there were no skyscrapers to compete with the old historic buildings.
There were modern buildings, the glass fronts reflecting back images, but they blended in seamlessly with the old. Traces of the historic waves of invasion and occupation were everywhere. The eclectic mix extended to culture and food—the capital featured highly on international foodies’ wish lists.
As they drove past the government building, Beatrice watched Dante’s face as his eyes lifted to the national flag fluttering in the breeze. She wondered what he was thinking.
As they reached the high point on the road, the panoramic vista widened and Beatrice caught a glimpse of the sea through the dense pine forest that bordered the white sand on the eastern side of the island. The western coast was where the famed colonies of seabirds nested in the protected area around the high cliffs, drawing naturalists from around the world every breeding season, and giving inspiration for countless nature documentaries.
Beatrice had read all the guidebooks about the place that Dante called home before she’d arrived, but she had quickly realised that until you experienced the place you didn’t really get just how dramatic the contrasts they spoke about were. It wasn’t just the geography of the place. San Macizo had been conquered several times over the centuries, and each successive wave of invaders had brought their own culture and genes to the mix. There was no such thing as a typical San Macizan, but as you walked the streets of the capital it soon became obvious there was an above average quantity of good-to-look-at people.
Great climate, pretty faces, an exceptional standard of living—small wonder the island kingdom frequently topped the list of happiest places in the world to live, and small wonder that few spoke out against the status quo of the monarchy.
Beside her, Dante was now on the phone as they left the city limits and went onto the flat plain that, though interspersed by villages and hamlets, was mostly agricultural, consisting of vineyards that produced the unique grape species that made the wine produced here famous the world over.
She didn’t know if the tension she could feel in him was connected to the conversation he was having, or his recent declaration of intent. Given her tendency to hear what she wanted, she tried to retain a sense of proportion.
There was nothing proportionate about the palace that loomed into view. It was visible for miles around because of its position on a hill that rose in the middle of a flat plain. She felt heavier as she looked at it—not physically, more emotionally. This might be some people’s happiest place to live, but it had not been hers!
A perfect defensive position, the history books she had pored over had explained, before they spoke of the family who had taken control of the island five hundred years earlier, and the generations’ contributions to the towering edifice to their wealth and power.
The palace was not a home, or even a fortress, which it originally had been; it was a statement of power and in reality a small city covering many acres of ground. The main body was devoted to state apartments, but many wings and towers were private apartments housing family. Other areas, like the world-famous art gallery, were a draw for international tourists and open to the public at certain times of the year.
The closer they got, the more daunting it became.
‘That’s a big sigh.’
Her head turned from the window. If the expression in the blue depths was an accurate reflection of the thoughts she had been so deeply lost in, they were not happy ones. In the time it took him to push away the inconvenient slug of guilt, the shadow vanished. Beatrice really had got good at hiding her feelings…which was a good thing, he acknowledged, but also…sad.
His lips tightened at the intrusion of emotion, and he wondered if there was such a thing as sympathy pregnancy hormones. He’d heard of sympathy about labour pains.
‘You were wishing you were somewhere else?’
The question was as much to silence the mocking voice as anything else, but it opened the door to a question he had exerted a lot of effort to avoid. With someone else?
He had not forgotten her explosive reaction when he had casually dropped the subject into the conversation. His innocent comment had produced such an explosive response that you had to wonder if her overreaction was not about guilt.
Why guilt? asked the voice in his head. Just because you have chosen to be celibate doesn’t mean she has to follow suit…
The golden skin stretched over the slashing angle of his cheekbones tightened, emphasising his dramatically perfect facial contours as he fought a brief internal battle to delete the images that came with the acknowledgement.
Celibacy was not a natural state, at least it wasn’t for him. Sex, just plain, uncomplicated, emotion-free sex of the variety he used to enjoy, was a great stress-buster.
So, problem solved, mocked the voice in his head, except you don’t want sex, you want sex with Beatrice.
‘Wishing…?’ she echoed, breaking into his thoughts.
Wishing was not going to be much practical help at this moment. Her time was better spent mentally preparing herself for what lay ahead.
As their eyes connected Beatrice pushed out a laugh that held no amusement, while Dante told himself that she would not have future relationships; he would be enough for her.
He would enjoy being enough for her.
‘Wishing is for little girls who want to marry a prince. I was never one of those little girls.’ One of life’s little, or in this case massive, ironies. ‘Actually, I was still thinking about Carl. I wanted you to know that I think he is very brave.’
She had liked Carl on the occasions they had met. He had been about the only member of the Velazquez family other than Reynard who had made her feel welcome.
‘So do I.’
‘We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for Carl’s choices. I wonder sometimes where we would be, don’t you?’
Dante leaned back, his head against the corner of the sumptuously upholstered limo interior as he turned his body towards her, his languid pose at odds with the tension in his jaw and the watchful stillness in his face.
Embarrassed now and wishing she’d never started this rather one-sided conversation, she dodged his stare.
‘Say whatever it is you need to say. If you’re going to explode there is no one here to hear.’
There was a hint of defiance in her face as she responded. ‘Doesn’t it ever occur to you that when we got married we never planned, we never spoke about where we would live or anything?’
He dismissed her comment with a flick of his long brown fingers, irritation at her persistence sliding into his eyes. ‘I have homes.’
‘Across the world, I know—the penthouse in New York, the LA beachfront villa, the Paris apartment. Yes, you own endless properties, but not homes.’
‘I am sure you are going to tell me why my real-estate portfolio seems to bother you so much.’
‘Did you plan for your life to change at all? Was I ever meant to be more than a pretty accessory?’
‘Well, my life has changed now.’
‘Because of Carl, and the baby,’ she conceded, dashing a hand across her face. ‘But not out of choice, not because you got married. People who commit plan a future. We never did. That’s all I was trying to say.’
‘You were never pretty. You were, you are, beautiful.’
His voice, low and driven, sent a siren shudder down her spine, and as her eyes connected with the heat in his whatever she had been about to say vanished from her head, leaving nothing but a whisper of smoke.
She squeezed her eyes closed, pushed both hands into her hair as she shook her head to shake free the sensual fog and gave vent to a low groan of frustration, before fixing him with a baleful glare that gradually faded to one suggestive of tired defeat.
‘Please do not change the subject.’
‘I was—’
‘You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, have you?’ she said wearily.
‘We—’
‘No, there was never a we.’ She forced a smile, struggling to inject some lightness into this conversation, which she wished she had never started. ‘I was always a bad fit, not just here. I never would have fitted into your playboy lifestyle. I was always pretending to be something I’m not.’
‘In my bed?’
She coloured. ‘No, not there,’ she admitted, her eyes sliding from the suggestive heat in his.
‘Why do I get the feeling that all this is leading up to a declaration of hostilities?’
‘Not hostilities, just a declaration of intent.’
‘You are warning me.’ He sounded astonished at the concept.
‘I’m telling you that I’m not fitting in any more. I’m being me. I owe myself, and this baby, that much. I never want him to look at me and feel ashamed that—’ She stopped, realising a heartbeat after him where she had been going.
‘You’re still very angry with your mother, aren’t you?’
‘No…no…’ she stammered out, disturbed by his perception. ‘Not angry, I just… I don’t want to be her.’
‘You are not her and, for the record, I have no problem with you being yourself.’
She stopped and followed the direction of Dante’s gaze through the tinted window. His eyes flickered to the edifice that dominated the landscape.
‘Home, for me these days be it ever so humble.’ He glanced her way. ‘For us?’
She didn’t react to the question, just nodded. ‘It is beautiful. I always thought that it looked like something from a dream.’
Up close it looked real and solid, but it was not the carved stone that made her stomach tighten with nerves, it was the life inside it. A life she had never fitted into.
She had not married Dante because of his royal connections, but despite them. An inner voice of caution had told her she was playing out of her league, but she’d been too intoxicated by loving this incredible man and the baby they had created together to listen, and anyway he had never traded on his royalty. Dante didn’t need to.
It was not his title, his blue blood or his wealth that made people listen when he spoke. She could hardly deny there was a sexual element to it; his sheer physical presence made an impact, but it was more he had an aura, a natural charisma—he was the sort of man who dominated any space he occupied.
She had turned away from him again but was no less conscious of his presence as she trained her eyes on the massive gates across the arched entrance that slid open as they approached. In profile, the purity of her golden features was quite breath-catching.
‘Dream or nightmare?’ he murmured sardonically.
She smiled faintly, but didn’t turn her head, so he allowed himself the indulgence of allowing his gaze to drift in a slow lingering sweep over her smooth, glowing skin. The resulting tightening in his guts was as painful as it was inevitable.
She turned her head and caught a look on his face that was almost pain. ‘Don’t worry. I will try to make this work.’
‘I never doubted it.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘SO, WHAT IS the cover story?’
‘Cover story?’
/> ‘I mean, what is the press office going to release, or are you keeping me undercover for the time being?’
‘I have a cupboard you would fit right in.’
His wilful imagination conjured a scenario where she was not alone in that space, their bodies pressed against—
He sucked in sense-sustaining air through flared nostrils and tried to halt the heat building inside him before it reached the critical point of no return.
His flippancy caused her frown to deepen. ‘You know what I mean. I am assuming you want me to keep a low profile.’
‘The press office will not be briefing.’
She stared. ‘But that’s—’
‘The way it is. If asked directly the response will be the family is happy to have you back.’
‘Irony, that’s a change.’
‘I am happy to have you back.’
‘Oh!’ She faintly willed herself not to read too much into his words, or the expression in his eyes.
‘Is anyone going to believe that?’
It was clear to him that she didn’t, and Dante realised that her belief was all that mattered to him. He wanted to be the father of their child; he wanted to be half the man she deserved.
‘I thought you weren’t a fan of the spin doctors. Would you prefer to be in their hands or mine?’
She stared at the long brown tapering fingers extended for her scrutiny and felt her stomach muscles dissolve as she remembered how they felt on her skin, stroking…touching…
‘Spin…you mean I don’t like being patronised, manipulated and talked over? Yes, I am a bit odd that way.’
‘Welcome to my world.’
The world she had been glad to leave. ‘Nobody would dare patronise you—and as for talk over you!’ She gave a hoot of laughter.
‘Present company excepted?’
She fought off a smile in response to the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that held enough warmth to make her oversensitive stomach flip dangerously.