Maisey Yates - Princess From the Shadows

The kind of man who represented recklessness, lawlessness, total disregard for honor. A man who served his own passions. The kind of man she hated. The kind of man she was so easily drawn to.

“As have I,” Rodriguez said, his dark eyes unreadable, the little curve of his mouth still present, like it had been earlier. It was a kind of ever-present near-smile that made it look like he was mocking her. It made her stomach feel like it was being squeezed tight by an invisible fist.

She cleared her throat. “So, while I hadn’t really penciled a wedding into my day planner, it’s not a … it’s not a total surprise.”

What was her other option anyway?

Well, there was staying in Italy. That was a good thought. Hiding. But she didn’t know if it served any real purpose. The only person it really helped was her. It allowed her to lick her wounds in private. It allowed her to hide Luca from royal life. Something part of her wanted to do, but something she also knew wasn’t fair. He was a Santina. He was a royal. It was a part of him, and it didn’t do him any good to force him to deny that part of himself. No matter how much simpler it would be to just raise him as an ordinary little boy. Who wasn’t tabloid fodder. It wasn’t reality.

“I don’t suppose you really had other life plans either,” she said.

“I don’t plan. I live.”

“Well … I suppose that means you don’t have a woman back home you’re dying to see. Someone you’d prefer to marry.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Carlotta, I prefer not to marry. But I need an heir. One that isn’t a bastard.”

She flinched when he spoke the word. She hated that word. One used to label an innocent child, to make them suffer for the perceived sins of his parents. Did Rodriguez know about Luca? He had to know. So, he’d chosen the words to wound her.

“Why?” she said. “Do you have many? Children, I mean.”

“Me? No. I always use protection.” Such a throwaway statement. Spoken like a man who never thought about anyone but himself.

She gritted her teeth. “It doesn’t always work.”

“True. But in the event that a pregnancy had resulted, you can bet the woman involved would have told me. I’m rich. Titled. She would have wanted her piece.”

“You would have owed her a piece,” she said. “At minimum.”

“I’m not arguing that. My point is that, whether I want marriage or not, I need it.”

“Preferably to me.”

He looked at her, his dark gaze dismissive. “Because of connection to this family.”

“I didn’t seek to imply otherwise. It’s the only reason I would marry you.”

“Because your father told you to. That’s the reason.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “He has good reasons.”

“Fine. But you’re still doing it because he asked you to.”

“And your father has nothing to do with any of this?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, the light in his eyes turning black, deadly. “My father can hardly lift his hand anymore. He is weak. What I do, I do for my country.”

“Same goes for me. But my family is Santina.”

“Thank goodness mine is not Santa Christobel. Santa Christobel is better than the Anguiano legacy has been thus far. But I intend to do better.”

“And I intend to … be a part of it.” It was strange, lobbying for something she wasn’t certain she wanted. But she needed it. Everything else aside, her father was right. She had made mistakes that had cost the family. And he had covered for her. Had done everything in his power to keep her from being utterly humiliated and exposed.

In the scope of things, this wasn’t so very much to ask.

“Does it get boring?”

“What?” she asked, trying to ignore the glint of humor in his dark eyes. It made him seem … attractive. Well, he was attractive, glint or no, with his golden skin and dark hair that was much too long to be considered respectable for a man of his station. Chiseled jaw, a body that looked as though it would be hard like iron. It wouldn’t be impersonal or cold like metal, though. No, he would be hot….

She blinked, trying to reroute her thoughts. She didn’t do the man thing. Not anymore. Just acknowledging the speed and ease with which he aroused her was … horrifying. Even more horrifying was the strength of it. Why was it so hard to be good? To be the woman she was supposed to be?

“Being this noble, does it get boring?”

“Yes. It does. Which is why I practice it in small doses.” And throw it off altogether sometimes …

“Good to know that not even you are always respectable.”

“Not even close.” But she tried. She’d tried all her life. To ignore the fire that seemed to burn so close to the surface of her skin. To be the demure princess she was expected to be. It had been a battle all her life. One she’d lost completely when she’d met Luca’s father. A lifetime of practiced restraint reduced to nothing in just a few short weeks.

He inclined his head. “All right then, Princess Carlotta, you have yourself a marriage bargain. My plane leaves Santina late tonight and I intend to take my future wife with me.”

“I … I can’t leave from here. I can’t leave tonight.” Luca was still in Italy, with his nanny. So were all of her things. Her real things, not her princess trappings.

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t live here at the palace. I don’t even live on the island. I live in Italy. My home is there, my … everything.” She didn’t know what stopped her from saying something about Luca. Maybe because he hadn’t mentioned him. The whole thing seemed so mercenary. So cold. Adding him to it … it just seemed wrong.

“Fine. We’ll stop in Italy on our way to Santa Christobel.”

Oh, yes, and pick up her five-year-old with Mr. Tall, Dark, Sexy and Imposing standing in the doorway with that mocking grin of his. No thank you.

“I can make my own way to Santa Christobel,” she said archly. “I need time to prepare.”

“Have a lover you need to cast off before we get married?”

She nearly snorted. She’d lived the past few years completely abstinent after only one, near emotionally fatal affair. “Oh, yes, a stable of them. You?”

“I don’t intend to cast anyone off.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t intend to cast off any lovers just because I’m getting married.”

Her stomach twisted. Men. They really were all the same. Cheating, lying jerks who only cared about pleasing their sex drives. “I hope you don’t think you’ll be in my bed then. I don’t share.”

A slow smile spread over his handsome face, teeth bright white against his tan skin. “I do.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t ask for what I don’t give.”

“Fidelity?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I ask for fidelity.” I’ve never gotten it, but I’d like it . “And if you’re going to be in my bed, you won’t be in anyone else’s.” She couldn’t believe she was even talking about beds and sex with a man she’d only just meant.

It was making her face hot, and not, she suspected, from embarrassment. From that nearly six years of celibacy maybe. From the thought of a man’s hands, his hands, on her skin again. Kissing. Caressing.

She shifted and tried to ease the knot in her stomach with a deep breath. That was one part of marriage that wouldn’t be so bad.

Unless he’s actively sleeping with other women the whole time .

Yeah, that was a definite no-go for her. And anyway, contemplating sleeping with him was … he was a stranger and it was bad with a capital B .

“We will discuss this no more. Not now.”

She raised her brow. “Excuse me?”