Sandra Marton - The Princes' Brides - The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

“But—but—”

“If you’re concerned about not packing enough clothes, you can shop tomorrow.”

Did he think this was about clothes? She would have laughed, except laughter was too close to tears.

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“If it’s because we haven’t told your grandfather, don’t be. I’ll call him from the plane.”

“Nicolo.” Aimee swallowed dryly. She had to find the right way to say this without sounding as if she was begging. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“And I,” he said coolly, “have lived in Rome.”

“Yes, I know that, but—”

“You are my wife.”

His voice had turned hard; even the cabbie, sensing something, reached back and closed the privacy partition.

“But surely—”

“If you wish, I will consider the purchase of a flat in New York.” Why tell her he’d decided on that when he first became interested in buying SCB? “But my primary residence—our primary residence—will be Roma. ”

“But—but—”

“Stop sounding like a motorboat,” Nicolo said impatiently. “You are my wife. You will behave as such, and you cannot do that from a distance of thirty-five hundred miles.”

Aimee felt the blood drain from her head. “Nicolo. Please—”

“This discussion is at an end.”

Nicolo folded his arms and turned his face to the window.

“What discussion?” Aimee said bitterly. “You don’t discuss things, you make pronouncements.”

He gave her one final, unyielding look. “Get used to it,” he said.

After that, there was silence.

Hell.

Nicolo glowered as he stared blindly out the window.

He was certainly doing his best to prove Aimee right and be just what she had called him. A no-good bastard. A son of a bitch. He was sure she’d have used other names, far more colorful ones, if only she’d known them.

But what did she expect?

First she told him how much she hated him. Then she told him she’d marry him. Then she said he was never to touch her.

He was the one with a title but his wife had been a princess long before she’d met him. A Park Avenue princess, accustomed to giving orders and getting her own way.

And he had married her.

He must have been out of his mind! How in hell had he let it happen?

He’d come to his senses last night, realized he didn’t have to marry this woman. He didn’t need her grandfather’s bank. He hadn’t needed a child, either, but since one was on the way, he’d finally figured out that he could do the right thing for it without marrying its mother…

It.

Not much of a way to think about one’s bambino but then, he didn’t know the sex. Damn it, he didn’t even know if it was his child.

What in hell had happened to him, to make him do something so impetuous as marrying Aimee? Just because she said the baby was his…

Why believe her? Anything was possible with a woman who screwed like a bunny and wouldn’t even exchange names.

Except, he knew he was the father. Knew it in his bones, and to hell with how ridiculous that sounded. He knew it, that was all, and because he hadn’t been fast enough on his feet this morning, now he was stuck with the consequences.

He glanced at Aimee, sitting stiff and silent in the corner of the taxi, as far from him as she could get.

I feel the same way about you, he wanted to tell her. I’m no happier about what we just did than you are. I don’t want to look at you, talk to you, touch you…

A lie.

He wanted to touch her, all right. Take her in his arms and kiss her until her lips were warm and softly swollen. Tear that demure-looking sundress off her body, bare her breasts to his eyes and mouth.

Bare her belly to his caress.

Her belly. Her womb. His child.

His child. That was why he’d married her. Of course it was. Why else would a man tie himself to a beautiful, hardheaded, ill-tempered woman he didn’t know?

Nicolo glanced at Aimee again.

Why else, indeed?

He had phoned his pilot before the ceremony; when they reached the airport, the plane stood ready for departure.

He took Aimee’s hand as they stepped out of the terminal. She didn’t fight him. He almost wished she would. That might be better than letting her hand lie limply in his.

The pilot was already on board. The copilot and the cabin attendant were waiting on the tarmac, both of them smiling.

Nicolo had told them of his marriage.

“Congratulazioni, Principe, Principessa,” the attendant said.

“Best of luck to you both,” the copilot chimed in.

“Thank you,” Nicolo replied.

Aimee said nothing.

Nicolo gritted his teeth. When they were alone in the cabin, he swung her toward him.

“I expect you to treat my people with courtesy!”

“What would you know of courtesy?” she said.

Their eyes met, hers daring him to ask her what she meant, but he knew better.

“Take a seat,” he growled.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what seat?”

Nicolo gritted his teeth again. At this rate, he would be toothless in a week.

“Do not test me, cara. I don’t like it.”

She smiled brightly, then sank into the first seat on the portside.

“Put the seat-back up.”

She did.

“Close your safety belt.”

She closed it.

“Damn it to hell, are you a robot?”

Aimee widened her eyes. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He cursed, bent down and caught her chin in his hand. “I told you not to test me,” he said with controlled rage in his voice. “Stop it now, or you will regret what happens next.”

She jerked away from him. “I regret everything that’s happened already. Why should I fear what happens next?”

Nicolo glared at her. He wanted to slap her. To kiss her. To throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the small bedroom in the rear of the cabin…

Was this what having a wife reduced a man to?

He looked at the seat next to hers. “I already do,” he said coldly, and walked to the last seat on the starboard side and buckled himself in.

Moments later, they were skyborne.

Once they’d reached cruising altitude, Nicolo used the plane’s satellite phone to call James Black.

At first, the old man didn’t believe him.

“Married? Impossible,” he scoffed. “There are laws. No one can get married so quickly.”

“Aimee and I are married,” Nicolo said coldly. And then, because he couldn’t contain the words, “I expected you to be delighted by the information, signore. After all, it was part of your plan.”

“An excellent plan, Your Highness, as I’m sure you now agree.”

“There is more.”

“Of course. The papers, transferring ownership of the bank to you. I’ll start the procedure tomorrow.”

Nicolo ran a hand through his hair. Amazing. He’d just told Black his granddaughter was married and all the old man could think about was his damnable bank.

“As I said, Signore Black, there is more.”

“More?”

Suddenly Nicolo didn’t want Black to know about Aimee’s pregnancy. The baby was a private matter, not another thing over which the old man could gloat. Let him think the acquisition of the bank was the reason for the marriage.

“ Mi dispiace, signore. A, um, a detail I just thought of but we can let the lawyers handle it.”

“Then, I’ll get my people to work immediately. Where shall they send the documents? To your attorney? Your office? It shouldn’t take more than a week. Two, at the most. Are you at the hotel you were at before?”

“I have left the city, Signore Black. I—that is, we—are en route to my home in Rome.”