Scandals Of The Royals: Princess From the Shadows

“I don’t know. I was going to, but Mama said that now I might not. I might have school here. Because it’s different to live in a castle.”

Images of his own childhood, lonely, with no one but adults around him. On a good day, a stern nanny or teacher. And then there were days when there was only his father.

“It can be,” he said slowly, his eyes meeting Luca’s. “But it can be fun.” He wasn’t sure if that was true. All of his fun had been away from the castle. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d discovered women here, at a much too early age. They had been a revelation. A way to feel happy.

He frowned. He knew already he didn’t want that for Luca. Growing up fast had been a must for him, but the thought of this boy behaving like he had in just ten short years … that didn’t settle well with him.

He tried again. “If you want to go to school away from the palace, we can arrange it.” Luca nodded and Rodriguez wasn’t at all sure he’d understood what he was saying. “I mean, you can stay here for school if you want.” He looked over his shoulder and at the door Carlotta had walked out of only a few short moments ago. “Or you could go to a class with friends.”

“I think it would be more fun with friends.”

“I’m sure it would be.” Rodriguez couldn’t comment on that for sure either. “We’ll talk to Car—your mama.”

Luca’s nanny, a petite redhead with pale skin and freckles, walked in, a smile on her face. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, her focus on him, her smile bright. “And good morning to you too, Luca.”

Rodriguez stood, hoping the swiftness of the motion didn’t betray just how eager he was to get out of the room. “Buenos dias. You must be Angelina.”

“I am,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She was cute. In a flashier way than Carlotta, thanks to her fiery red hair and glittering golden eyes. Not so long ago, a week ago, he would have been tempted to make a pass at her.

But now he thought she didn’t quite measure up to Carlotta’s quiet sophistication. Carlotta was … sleek. Her hair always so neat, except for this morning, her appearance always perfectly pressed. Again, except for this morning. And that added dimension had only made her more interesting. She had layers. He couldn’t remember ever caring if a woman had layers before.

Strange.

“Nice to meet you. I have …”

“The press conference,” she said, moving to the table and sitting right next to Luca. He should have done that. Not sat with three chairs between them as though the boy were a leper.

“Yes. The press conference.” He took one last look at Luca, who had his serious green eyes trained on him. “I’ll … I’ll see you later, Luca.”

Luca brightened, a smile curving his small mouth. “Bye.”

Rodriguez turned and walked out of the room, trying to ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest.

For Carlotta, the press held about as much appeal as a food-borne illness and all the charming symptoms that came with it. They were, in her estimation, beneath contempt. People who preyed on the mistakes and tragedies of others, weaving them into salacious stories for the consumption of a scandal-hungry public.

Walking into a room full of the vultures was about the lowest thing on her to-do list. Still, she was doing it. In style too. With the kind of heels normally reserved for … well, never. She’d gotten out of the habit of wearing high shoes when pregnant with Luca. Then after he was born, carrying him in heels was about as practical as waddling around in heels with a big pregnant belly.

So, her fabulous, sky-high black stilettos had been on hold in the back of her closet for years, and now, paired with a sedate, but cheery, yellow sheath dress, she was looking quite … well, almost sexy, in an understated way. It was a welcome break from her typically sedate appearance. At least, that’s what she was telling herself.

She took a deep breath and started down the long corridor that led to the room they were holding the conference in. She was confident. Strong. Sexy—at least, she had been in another life, and was trying it out again. She could do this.

She lengthened her strides and tipped her chin up, the razor-blunt edges of her hair skimming her shoulders. Yes, she could do this. She was strong, sexy and in control.

She rounded the corner and ran into Rodriguez’s broad frame, her breasts and tipped-up chin hitting the hard wall of his chest and his neck, respectively.

“Oh, I’m sorry! This is … I’m sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to ramble. When had she become so … not a princess? Just clumsy and coming to breakfast in her sweats and … and she couldn’t do that now. She was in a palace. She was marrying Rodriguez.

She had to change. Again. Just when things had been getting really comfortable it was all changing again.

Oh, no. Not this, not now. Tears were stinging her eyes, her throat tight and aching. This was not the time for an emotional breakdown.

He put his hands on her shoulders, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, sending a little zing of electricity through her. “It’s fine.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t … I don’t really want to do this.”

His brows locked together. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just …” She blew out a breath and waved her hand. “Me. And the media. I don’t like to be in the news.”

He frowned. “Because of Luca?”

“Because of what they did to me when they found out I was pregnant with Luca. Do you have any idea …?” She blinked and looked away. “It was horrible. They followed me everywhere. Crowding me while I ate. I was sick all the time anyway and to have a camera shoved in my face while I was just trying to have a relaxing meal … and there were pictures of me walking with my belly circled, drawing attention to it, along with the flattering headline Who’s the Father? And when they realized we weren’t telling them, they switched to things like Has Princess Carlotta Put on Too Much Baby Weight?”

His thumbs moved up and down, from her satin-covered shoulders down to the bare skin of her arms. “I know. It’s a necessary evil though. The way I can communicate with my people. They’ve written … I don’t even know what all they’ve written about me. Things about my exploits. Most probably true, but not something I want to read in black and white. Not something I’d want my maiden aunt to read.”

“Do you have a maiden aunt?”

“That was for illustrative purposes. The point is, the press is a part of royal life, of our lives. I employ a ‘keeping my enemies closer’ strategy with the media.”

“And does it work?”

He smiled, that wicked half-smile of his. “I have no idea, I don’t read that sort of thing, remember?”

“You mentioned.”

He slid one hand down her arm, warm fingertips trailing over her skin before he took her hand in his. “Now, let’s go have a press conference.”

Her heart started moving to its own rhythm, too fast, too hard, to be normal. Why did he have to be charming? Or, the bigger question, why did it work on her? Why did it make her stomach tighten, her nerve endings sizzle, when she knew how easy this kind of charm came to men like him?

She didn’t know why. She only knew it did.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

His smile widened, and as it did, she felt something in her chest expand. “Good. Now, try not to run into me on your way in.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“WHERE did he propose?”

This question came from one of the reporters in the front, directed at Carlotta, who seemed stiffer than usual at his side. He’d gotten a glimpse of the depth of her discomfort in the hallway. Visible cracks in that smooth veneer of hers.

“He … In his office,” she said.

It was true, even if it was a very unromantic picture to paint for the press. Not that he really cared. The press would take what they said and do whatever they pleased with it. That was how it worked. They didn’t get a vote on how they were portrayed in the media. He’d given up caring years ago.

But Carlotta cared. He could see it, in her stance, in the tenseness in her body. She cared a lot.

“You make it sound dull, Carlotta, when we both know it wasn’t.” He turned to her and brushed his thumb over her cheek gently, fascinated by the stain of pink that spread over her cheeks, beneath her smooth golden skin.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she said, her voice stronger now. “But I didn’t want to give away the entire story. You were so sweet and romantic.”

Her comment made his breath rush out on an involuntary chuckle. “All right. Then we won’t tell them about the doves.” He tossed the crowd of reporters a look. “Boring story. Next question?” With any luck, their little display would have the reporters writing about secret glances and shared jokes.

“Prince Rodriguez, you’re the first ruler in the Anguiano family to marry a woman who already has a child. What does that mean for the country? Are you concerned about watering down the line?”

He heard Carlotta suck in a sharp breath and a strong surge of some unidentifiable emotion rose in his chest. It burned. He felt like there was a pool of fire in his chest, and if he gave it free rein it would take over. And if it did … he did not know what he would do.

Teeth clenched, he forced words forward. “Luca is a child, not an incidental. He is off-limits. Next question, and if you cannot keep it on a topic I approve of, we can be finished here.”

More questions followed, about the wedding date, how they met. All of which he glossed over with practiced ease.

“I think that’s enough for one morning,” he said.

“Pictures?” A photographer stood up in back.

Rodriguez nodded his head once in affirmation and drew Carlotta to his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She felt cold. The fire in his chest kindled again. He leaned in, his lips touching her ear. “Try to smile.”

She turned to him, her mouth only a whisper from his, her full lips looking soft and more tempting than he could remember lips ever looking. He wanted to kiss her. And his mind was going no further than that. The need for a simple kiss … he couldn’t remember ever wanting that.

But this wasn’t the time.

He turned to the photographers and offered a smile. Carlotta did the same, her head angled just perfectly toward him, almost as though she were deferring to him. They made quite a picture. A royal couple who looked better than his parents ever had, for the short amount of time they’d been a couple.

At least in pictures they looked like all Santa Christobel would expect of a ruler and his queen. Maybe these images would blot out the ones they’d looked at for years. Pictures of him with leggy blondes in tight skirts, driving fast cars, leaving notorious nightclubs. And then, one of their favorite sequences, he and a date entering a luxury hotel in the early-morning hours, him leaving a couple of hours later, and his date, dashing out in the daylight hours, wearing the same thing she’d worn the night before.

They loved that one. A look at the scandalous prince. After a while, reading his own exploits had bored him. And sometimes it made him …

He shut his mind on the thoughts. This wasn’t the time to reflect on all of that. Standing in the formal reception hall, the state seal behind him, his fiancée at his side, it made it seem like another life.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding again and dropping his arm from Carlotta’s waist. He moved to exit and she stayed with him, walking closely beside him.

She really was the perfect royal wife. At least in public. That was all that mattered.

As soon as they were outside the room, Carlotta seemed to deflate as she released the breath she’d been holding. “That was …”

“I know. I’m sorry that man mentioned Luca. It was out of line. I won’t tolerate it.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice muted. “Thank you for standing up for him. I know that you aren’t … I know you don’t really like kids.”

“What? Who said I didn’t like kids?”

“He makes you uncomfortable. I can tell.”

Rodriguez shifted, a vague feeling of … embarrassment, something he wasn’t sure he could ever remember experiencing, washing through him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like children. I have no experience with them.”

“You’ve never dated a woman who had a child?”

Vaguely, he remembered that there had been a woman who’d left the hotel before him once. He was almost certain she said something about needing to get back so her babysitter could go home. “I … Not one that ever introduced me to her children.”

Carlotta began to walk down the corridor, back to the private palace quarters. He followed, his eyes drifting to the rounded curve of her backside. His body most definitely approved of the view.

“I didn’t have any experience with children either. I don’t remember if I’d ever held a baby until I held my own. And then, he was so tiny and perfect. I loved him right then. And I knew I didn’t need any experience. I just needed to love him.” She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Of course, I now go through intermittent, crippling bouts of wondering whether or not I’m doing the right thing for him, but, essentially, I trust that just … loving him is enough.”

He stopped walking for a moment. “Do you think all mothers feel that when they hold their babies?”

She stopped too, turning to face him. “I … I don’t know. It was so strong for me. I know my own mother … she loves us, but she’s … she’s distant.”

“Not as distant as mine, I bet,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since I was younger than Luca.”

“That’s … I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t do regret.”

Carlotta looked at Rodriguez’s face. The teasing smile was gone from his lips, but there was no regret in his expression. No longing or sadness. Just blank acceptance. The absence of emotion there was nearly frightening, like she was seeing past the veil, just for a moment, and into the man. That beyond his humor and easy manner there was a deep, dark void, one barely covered by a thin veneer that was in danger of being stripped away at any moment.

It was an insight she wanted to turn away from. An insight she longed to ignore, pretend she’d never seen. But she wasn’t sure she could.

“Well, I am,” she said. “Even though my mother and father can be difficult sometimes, I do love them.”

“Your father basically sold you into marriage, and you call that love?” he asked, a hard note lacing his voice, stripping the velvet off his normally enticing tone.

“Because he needed me. I’m royalty, a different set of responsibilities comes with that. You ought to know all about it.”

“And you’re doing your penance, right?” He seemed determined to make her angry, and it was working. It was working really, really well. It was easy to forget he’d just stood up for Luca. Easy now to just let all of the goodwill she’d allowed to build up between them slip right through her fingers, while clinging tightly to everything she’d tried so hard to ignore.

The helplessness, the sick, awful feeling that came with being used. The sense that she was little more to anyone than a pawn to be moved around on a chessboard.

And the anger. That was the easiest to latch on to.

“I’m doing the right thing,” she hissed. “Maybe I haven’t always. But I’m doing it now. Even though it means a lifetime of this.” She waved her arm, indicating the palace itself. Including Rodriguez in the sweep. “Because there’s more to life than just being happy, or satisfying base urges, or following your passions, whatever they might be at any given time. It’s about responsibility.”

“Perhaps. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’m even in Santa Christobel and not in my apartment in Barcelona with a redhead? Responsibility. Don’t assume I don’t understand. But my sense of duty is not driven by guilt.”

“Well, it’s easy for you, isn’t it? Don’t you plan on just going along like Luca and I never happened to you?”

He paused for a moment, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I did. But you seem pretty determined to make that an impossibility.” He advanced on her, his eyes locked with hers. She held her ground, mostly because she didn’t want to escape him. Whatever he had in mind, it didn’t scare her. It made her body feel tight, even while her muscles seemed to melt into pudding.

“What exactly does that mean? And do you expect an apology?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, hoping that bracing herself like that might keep her body from trembling.

“No, princess, not an apology.” He stopped, just inches away from her, then he leaned forward, his palm flat on the wall behind her. She expected him to kiss her, to grab her, for his mouth to crash down on hers.

Her heart was trying to climb up her throat and escape, her pulse pounding so hard she felt dizzy, expectation and a huge helping of longing overtaking her senses. But there was no taking. No crashing.

He extended his hand, drew his finger along the line of her jaw, from her chin to just beneath her ear, the move slow and sensual, intoxicating. Then he brought his other fingers into play, sliding down her neck, his touch featherlight as it skimmed her sensitive skin. His hand drifted down, playing over the line of her collarbone, stopping right at the swell of her breast.

Her eyes clashed with his, the dark intensity she saw there drawing the knot of arousal that was building in her to even more extreme levels. Her body felt heavy, a sharp pain building and spreading at the apex of her thighs. What she wanted, and how quickly she had gotten to the point of wanting it, shocked her.

She’d never been a hot and fast girl. She needed time. But those few brushes of his fingers had been equivalent to thirty minutes of good foreplay. She had to make the decision that it was what she wanted. There was no way for her to make a decision now. She was helpless. Completely swept up in the desire she felt for him.

She just wanted him to close the distance between them. To push her roughly against the wall and let her feel the hardness of his body against hers … in hers.

Ultimately, she was the one that moved, the one who angled her head so that her lips could touch his. Heat exploded in her as soon as their mouths met, a hot, reckless urgency overtaking her.

His kiss was hungry, but hers was starving. She needed it like air, with a desperation she hadn’t known lived in her. She planted her hands firmly on the back of his neck, fingers lacing through his thick dark hair as she held him captive against her.

He kept one hand flat on the wall, the other on her lower back, his large hand splayed over her, his heat so perfect and wonderful and not enough.

When they parted, it was with a moan of disappointment from her. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, and she was really glad to see it. To know he’d been affected too.

“That,” he said, his voice rough, “that is what makes you hard to ignore.”

Her stomach tightened, this time not with pleasure. She hated this. That he was able to demolish all of her barriers like this. That he brought up the hot, fiery passion in her that she’d fought for so long to ignore.

Hadn’t she learned anything? Rodriguez was going to marry her, but he would be just as faithful of a husband as Gabriel had been to his wife. The only difference was that instead of being the bit on the side, she’d be the one raising his children, keeping the household and family going while he was off pleasing himself.

Was that why Gabriel’s wife had stayed? Because Gabriel had her, body and soul, while she had nothing of him but his passing, occasional sexual interest?

And was that what Rodriguez would do to her?

No. It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.

But she feared that with Rodriguez, the choice might not be hers. Because he didn’t simply test her willpower. He smashed it into a million pieces. Pieces that were so tiny she feared she might never be able to assemble it again.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said tightly, turning from him and walking down the corridor. Away from him. Away from the temptation he represented.

And she tried to fight the depression that was creeping over her like fog, drowning out the lingering arousal and leaving in its place the stark realization that time and experience hadn’t changed her. She hadn’t truly mastered that wild, passionate part of herself. She’d simply managed to hide it for a while. She wasn’t in control, and Rodriguez seemed to be out to prove it.

Madre di dio. Things could not get any worse.

“Are you serious? A birthday party?” Carlotta looked at Rodriguez and tried to ignore the slight fluttering that seemed to be taking place everywhere in her body.

She’d managed to steer clear of Rodriguez since the press conference, and since the kiss in the hall. She’d seen him, talked to him, but mostly she’d filled the two weeks since by acclimating Luca to his new home, visiting the local school, making a plan for him to attend in September.

But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. From staring at him every time they happened to have a meal with him. From fantasizing about him in her bed every night. In the shower the next morning.

She blinked and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

“It’s for one of the heads of state, and it’s one of the really fun things we get to do as rulers of Santa Christobel. You know, go stand on hard marble floors eating soggy appetizers until our backs hurt.”

Carlotta wanted to melt into the settee she was perched on. She already felt spent. Rodriguez had been at the palace all day and avoiding him was starting to feel like a full-time job. She’d taken Luca to the cinema in the morning and then she and Angelina had taken Luca out to the beach for the afternoon. She currently felt grubby, exhausted and more than a little bit grumpy.

“On such short notice?”

He acted so calm around her. It was irritating. After the stupid fight, the passion explosion, the continued fighting.

She closed that line of thought down. She wasn’t going to remember that. It had been two weeks. No. She didn’t recall any of it. And her lips did not still tingle. Neither did any other part of her.

“Sorry, I only just got the invitation passed to me, but it really is too important to miss.”

It was infuriating, and it shouldn’t be, that he seemed entirely unaffected by the kiss-she-did-not-remember. Because he should look tense. Or unsatisfied. Or angry. Just … something. Rather than his typical, easy-breezy self. The mocking curve of his lips had returned.

She blew out a breath. “I know this is what it’s like. Public appearance after public appearance. And then, after, you go home and go to your separate bedrooms, then get up the next day and start over. It’s what my parents have always done. They’re professionals at this.”

“So you can do it too. I’m certain of that.”

“I’m certain I can … I never wanted to. For a while I thought …” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m sharing … I don’t know what got into me.”

He sat in the chair across from her. “I have nowhere to be until 8:00 p.m. Share away.”

“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Shouldn’t I know? I’m going to be your husband.”

“It’s boring. But fine. I used to think I would get married for love. That my husband and I would have this grand passion that could not possibly be satisfied by separate bedrooms. I used to want … more than the sterile palace life I was raised in.”

“And now you’ve lost that dream?”

She snorted a laugh. “I lost that dream six years ago.”

“Because you got pregnant?”

“Because of the man who got me pregnant. I don’t like to call him Luca’s father. He’s never met him, so how can he be a father? But he … I thought he was the one, you know? I was stupid. I know better now. That’s just a bunch of romantic nonsense, it’s not reality. This, what we’re doing, is so much more meaningful.”