Mr Right All Along

Didn’t he like her jeans? What a cold, patronising jerk to relegate her to ‘decorative only’ status.

‘I think you’ll find Stella has more to offer than that,’ Eduardo answered, before she had a chance to breathe.

Antonio’s eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly, giving him a supercilious look. ‘You should have come to me first.’

‘Even you have to agree this solves several problems. Leave it, Antonio, it is done,’ Eduardo answered. ‘I promise we’ll parade beautifully and dutifully at the ball. We won’t let you down.’

It was obvious Antonio thought they already had.

‘You will attend the pre-ball functions tonight and tomorrow as well,’ Antonio ordered. ‘But to maintain the “mystery” and heighten anticipation, the ball will be Stella’s first formal public appearance.’

Stella’s pulse tripped as Antonio issued his wintry instructions. She recognised that look in his eyes. It was the same one she saw in her father’s. She was a disappointment. He didn’t want Eduardo to have married her. Yet again she was not ‘right’. Not for her job. Not for this relationship.

Was Antonio’s disapproval because she wasn’t nobility? Her father was the first General who had earned his position through work—not via his birth, name and lineage. Did that make her unworthy of the wretched sapphire Eduardo had hung around her neck?

Or was it just her?

Eduardo’s hand was firm on her back, guiding her out of the room. She didn’t bother saying goodbye to the Crown Prince, as protocol and common politeness dictated. She was too hurt.

‘Please excuse my brother,’ Eduardo said briefly, but he didn’t offer any explanation for Antonio’s frostiness. ‘I’m sorry, I need to leave you alone again for a while. Ask Giulia if you need anything.’

‘Of course.’

It wasn’t ‘a while’ that he was gone. It was hours. She dined alone in his apartment, waited up, but in the end sleep overcame her before he returned.

‘Stella...’ He woke her in the morning with a whisper and a kiss.

She opened her eyes and found herself wrapped in his arms.

‘I’d better get on that treadmill,’ she groaned.

‘You’d better get on me first.’

His gaze drilled into her. His body invaded. Devastated. It was so good. It so wasn’t enough. So much for easy.

As soon as she’d recovered some energy she left him in the bed and went to maintain her routine. She would resist when she wanted to.

She was twenty minutes into her time on the treadmill when he placed an iPad on the stand in front of her.

‘My assistant has prepared a dossier on many of tomorrow night’s guests. Photos, names, positions.’

‘That’s useful,’ she puffed as she jogged and swiped the screen. ‘Thank you.’

‘I have other duties I must fulfil,’ he said, a hint of apology in his eyes. ‘I’ll be back later tonight.’

Already she understood that he meant very, very late.

Was this to be her future? To be left locked in the palace with nothing to do but pretty herself for a ball and grow a baby, and at night be a sexual plaything for her insatiable husband? Sure, she was every bit as insatiable as he, but this wasn’t the life she wanted. She wanted her control back.

So she’d control this. She knew how to fight. She just needed different armour from her usual. Antonio had been right—in part. At the very least she needed ‘the sapphire, a dress and a smile’ and the ability to remember a couple dozen names and faces.

Because she wasn’t going to fail.

As she ran on the treadmill she memorised the names and faces. Then she called Giulia and requested a beautician and a hairdresser to be summoned for later in the day. She’d damn well become the Princess San Felipe had wanted for so long.

‘Can you get Dr Russo to come and see me at his convenience as well?’ she asked Giulia, trying to sound as relaxed as she had when she’d asked for the beautician.

‘Of course.’

The doctor arrived within twenty minutes. Because of that swift timing, Stella was certain Giulia knew about her condition.

‘Is everything all right, Your Highness?’ Dr Russo bowed as he entered the private sitting room.

‘Please call me Stella.’ She gestured towards the chairs. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, I just wanted to talk to you about my pregnancy.’

‘No trouble.’ He sat down. ‘What did you want to discuss?’

She curled her hands into small fists, hiding the dampness of her palms, and smiled. ‘It sounds stupid, but where are my symptoms? I haven’t had any morning sickness, I haven’t been particularly tired, I’ve got no cravings... It’s like it’s not real.’

What if it wasn’t growing properly? Shouldn’t she hate the smell of coffee or something?

To her relief, the doctor didn’t laugh.

‘Perhaps you’re one of the lucky few,’ he suggested calmly.

‘Or perhaps there’s something wrong.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘Why would there be anything wrong?’

She hesitated. Her throat tightened. But this was the one person she had to speak to. ‘My mother died a few hours after giving birth to me.’

His eyes widened and the professional smile faded.

‘I didn’t mention it on the island because I didn’t want to panic anyone,’ she added quickly.

‘Do you know any details?’ he asked carefully.

‘I think she had some kind of haemorrhage. My father doesn’t speak of it.’ He never spoke of her mother. He never spoke to Stella about anything personal or important. ‘I don’t know much else.’

Dr Russo remained calm. ‘You were born in San Felipe?’

‘The main hospital—yes.’

‘Then, with your permission, I’ll check the records there. And we will get a scan arranged for you as soon as possible.’

‘Please... After the ball.’ She needed to know. To understand and prepare.

‘Of course.’ Dr Russo suddenly lifted his case onto the table. ‘I brought a Doppler with me today. It’s a small device we can use to listen to your baby’s heartbeat. You’re far enough along in your pregnancy for us to be able to do that. Would you like to hear your baby?’

For a second Stella’s own heart stopped, then started pounding. ‘Okay.’

Fleetingly she wished Eduardo was there, but he was busy. And she didn’t want to tell him about her mother. Or her fears.

She lay on the sofa, her shirt lifted. The doctor switched the small machine on and held the wand to her stomach.

‘It sounds like hoofbeats,’ she said, her eyes filling.

‘It sounds strong.’ Dr Russo looked pleased. ‘And you are very strong. I will research, but what caused your mother’s haemorrhage probably isn’t going to be hereditary. You will be in the hospital here, with the world’s best specialists. The most important thing is for you to relax and enjoy your pregnancy and this special time with all the celebrations.’

Enjoy it? She was too scared.

‘Have you talked to Eduardo about your concerns?’ he asked quietly.

‘Of course,’ Stella lied.

‘Good.’ The doctor nodded. ‘Be assured, your baby is well. I’ll follow up soon. You will have the best care, Your Highness.’

‘I know.’ But her mother had been in the same hospital. She’d had the best care too. And she hadn’t made it.

After the doctor had left she sat down to look over the dossier about the guests once more. But in her mind those heartbeats echoed. The baby was real. And it was doing okay. But what would happen when the rest of the world found out?

Pretty pictures from the wedding wouldn’t be enough to stop people talking—they’d say it was a shotgun wedding. They’d say she’d trapped him into it. They’d say so much more, so much worse.

No matter what she did, it wasn’t going to be good enough. It never was.

* * *

Eduardo hated that Stella left their bed so early every morning. He tried to tease her into staying, but while she’d happily have sex with him again, she still left the bed immediately after.

He showered and quickly dressed. He had to attend the opening of a new football academy this morning. before another appearance in the afternoon. And then there was the ball tonight. Right back to the usual busy schedule.

She was at the treadmill already, glaring at the screen, watching her pace and distance as if she were wishing they were real miles taking her far from here. The iPad was in position too, and she swiped the screen with fierce movements.

‘What are you so angry about?’ he asked, reaching out to flick the ‘stop’ switch on the treadmill.

‘Nothing.’ She didn’t look at him.

‘I once asked you not to lie to me,’ he said softly. He wanted to know what was eating her up—he wanted her to turn and talk to him.

She put her hands on the rails and sighed. ‘They’ll stare. They’ll stare and they’ll judge. I have to prove myself.’ She lifted her head and he saw anguish and anger in her eyes. ‘And I never do. It’s never enough.’

A rush of protectiveness erupted within him. But he put his hands on her waist and held her firmly at arm’s length. It was that or kiss her, and kissing her would lead to only one thing—and that couldn’t happen again until this football visit was over. But he had to equip her with a strategy to cope tonight.

‘You are Princess Stella Zambrano De Santis and you will not give a damn what anyone else thinks. Tonight is nothing but a minor mission to you. You survey the room. Pick targets. Engage in brief, polite conversation. Move on to the next target. Grant them a few moments of your time.’ And then return to me.

‘Is that how you handle it?’ she asked.

It was a skill he’d been taught. ‘People are interested. I am conscious of everything I do in the public sphere. But I cannot let myself dwell on what they might think. It cannot be my concern.’

‘I won’t be a success when they find out I’m already pregnant,’ she muttered. ‘They’ll say I trapped you. They’ll say...’ She trailed off.

Eduardo softened at that concern. She really didn’t need to worry. ‘They won’t find out for a while.’

‘No?’ She shook her head. ‘Are we going to lie and say the baby was born prematurely? Do you want me to cross my legs for an extra month or two at the end? Because, I’m sorry, that might not work.’

‘Our nation has wanted a royal baby for years. They won’t care about the date of its conception.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ll be amused by my reckless passion.’ Always he was the one to make the mistakes. He was the joke. But he didn’t want to be a joke to her. He wanted to help her.

‘Okay.’ She looked into his eyes. Slowly he felt her straighten and square her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I know you have more important things to do.’

He didn’t want her to be sorry for sharing her concerns with him.

‘Attending another opening?’ He shook his head. Nothing felt more important than being with her right now.

‘It’s important to the people to have you there.’

‘Sometimes I need a reminder too.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’d rather you were with me.’

It would be nice to have her at his side, sharing the intensity of the spotlight as she had that day at the restaurant. He’d catch her eye and know he wasn’t alone in the crowd.

His heart thumped. ‘You have everything ready otherwise? Ask Giulia for anything. Do not worry about cost. With all those royals and politicians from neighbouring countries present we need to look the part.’ He sent her an apologetic look. ‘And all those models and actresses—’

‘Because this is your find-a-bride ball?’ She looked sly.

‘You heard about that?’

‘How could I not? Wildfire rumours. It’s like a Cinder-freaking-ella ball.’

‘But instead Prince Eduardo is presenting his secret long-time love and now new wife to the world.’ He gave in to temptation and kissed her quickly. ‘The scandal.’

‘You like that element, don’t you?’ She cupped his jaw and kept him close. ‘Rebellious Prince Eduardo.’

The temptation of her was too great.

‘Rebellious? I’m a married man. I’ve settled down and become boring.’ He lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

‘Never boring,’ she breathed as he kissed her.

He had about four minutes. He used every second wisely.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JUST OVER TWELVE hours later Eduardo was struggling to breathe. For the first time in years he was anxious. Not for himself, but for her. She’d twirled for him upstairs and asked if she looked okay. He’d told her she looked beautiful. That she always did, no matter what she was wearing.

She’d told him he was a silver-tongued pirate.

Now she was only a few feet away, entrancing three diplomats. She’d been entrancing everyone in the ballroom since she’d made her grand entrance alongside him three hours ago.

Her hair had been made glossy and perfect with product and hours of the stylist’s care, but he missed her workout ponytail and its hint of kink. Her make-up had been applied more heavily, to cope with the demands of the flashing bulbs of the mass-media reps, but her skin was still luminescent. Her pale pink silk dress was cut wide at the shoulder, threatening to slip should she do anything too rash with her arms. A dangerous, sexy element to such a demure-coloured dress.

Every man in the room had his eyes glued to her, hoping she’d move her arm in just the right way to send the fabric tumbling and expose those perfect plump breasts. And then there was the sapphire, resting just above those ripe treasures. There had never been such a statement as that. The jewel’s significance wouldn’t be lost on San Felipe society. It had been given once before to a woman who wasn’t meant to be queen. To a woman who’d been adored, chosen, elevated to the throne. Breaking all the rules—putting love before duty.

So, yes, he’d chosen it deliberately, knowing that it echoed that great royal romance of a century ago. But, despite the calculation in his decision, it was perfect for her. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her how it deepened her eyes.

This morning’s headlines had been as he’d envisaged. She was the commoner soldier who’d stolen the Prince’s heart. Tomorrow there’d be pictures of her in uniform placed alongside her ‘princess makeover’ look tonight. The fashion bloggers would gush over her ‘transformation’. It irritated the hell out of him.

But there’d be no doubt that this was a love match. Even the innuendo-drenched pictures of them crossing the tarmac the other day emphasised that. Her popularity was assured. She’d given loyal service to her country. She was beautiful. And tonight she’d proved she could nail the glamour and grace expected of a princess.

They didn’t know there was so much more to her— determination, intelligence, integrity, humour. And fragility. She’d aced her ‘mission’, but he wondered about the price she was going to pay.

He saw her glance at the soldiers stationed in the four corners of the room—saw the longing in her eyes. She’d rather be on the sidelines than centre stage. He understood. He felt it.

Suddenly there was nothing more important than standing with his wife, holding her hand and staring the world down. Except as he stepped towards her one of his aides requested that he meet with another of the foreign politicians in attendance.

He masked his irritation with a smile. But as he talked he kept his focus on her—and those around her. As she’d predicted, they did stare at her—all of them. Men. Women. He realised, too late, that he didn’t much like it either.

There were women here who’d been tagged as possible princesses, but Antonio was too frozen to be bothered and Eduardo had stunned them all by turning up with a bride already on his arm. Part of him had enjoyed thwarting those stuffy aides’ plans. But that lick of satisfaction hadn’t lasted. Now he wondered how ‘perfect’ his plan really was—about the pressure she’d be under from here on in.

How many almost-anorexic socialites did he know? Women who lived in the public eye were ruthlessly and relentlessly judged on their appearance, on their every move, until it almost broke them. And he’d put Stella at the epicentre of all that stress.

Eduardo’s head ached. He hadn’t thought this through properly. He hadn’t thought about everything he was making her sacrifice and asking her to do and be. How had he ever thought this would be easy?

Hell. He hadn’t thought at all.

He didn’t want her to change, to lose herself. He didn’t want her to hate this life.

But he’d put her into it. He could have let her go to New Zealand and she could have lived there in quiet, peaceful anonymity.

But he needed the child she carried. And he still wanted her.

* * *

Stella glanced sideways, trying to spot Eduardo. Not because she needed him, but because she wanted him to see that she was killing this moment. He was only a couple of feet away, talking to the finance minister of another small European country. As she watched Crown Prince Antonio joined him. In their formal regalia the two brothers looked so alike, but they were so different. For one thing, Eduardo was human. And so hot.

Across the small distance he met her gaze and smiled softly. Smiling back, Stella fought the instinct to put a hand to her belly. It would be the ultimate giveaway, given that her every movement was being watched and recorded, to be discussed and analysed in magazines and on daytime chat shows.

She was the news right now. She had to project the right image and protect their secret. It was the most challenging mission of her life. But she was doing okay. She even liked what she was wearing. The pleasure of success deepened her smile.

‘Your Highness.’

Stella’s heart seized and that smile fell as she turned to face the man who’d spoken. Her father, in full military colours, regarding her as expressionlessly as ever.

‘General,’ she answered quietly, aware that the people nearest them had stepped back, apparently to give them space, but at the same time avidly watching.

She waited, stupidly aching to see something in his expression. Recognition. Approval. Anger. Anything. But there was only the blank expression of a dutiful official. He’d stripped her of the thing she’d loved most and sent her away—alone. And now he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her.

Nothing personal. Nothing paternal. Ever.

That old disappointment leached the pleasure of success from her.

She knew there weren’t just people watching, that there were cameras, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She just stood silently, unable to hide her hurt.

‘Stella.’ Eduardo was suddenly beside her, his hand warm on her back. ‘General Zambrano.’

That was when she finally saw some emotion in her father’s eyes. But it wasn’t the emotion she’d expected—not loyalty nor respect for the Prince. The look was utterly venomous.

She was so surprised she stepped forward. ‘Father.’ She reached out.

Her father glanced back at her and the bland mask dropped back into place. He didn’t answer her.

‘Perhaps you will visit us soon.’ She faltered over her words, her father’s quiet rejection slicing even deeper.

She didn’t dare look at Eduardo.

He bowed again. ‘I wish you well, Your Highness.’ He stepped away, disappearing into the throng.

Shaken, Stella blinked, struggling to regain control and hide her hurt. She vowed once more to give her child everything she’d never had. Support. Compassion. Love.

Her victorious feeling died. Only ash was left.

Eduardo turned to her. ‘Stella?’

‘We’d better get mingling again.’ She was aware that he was looking at her intently, but she needed to get her game face back on before she could look at him.

‘Why don’t we dance?’ he suggested. ‘They’re expecting us to.’

Oh, he had to be kidding. ‘I can’t dance. I never dance.’

‘Not at all?’

‘No, and my first time isn’t going to be here.’

Anger surged. She’d just been publicly rejected by her father—she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself in front of the world. She might be able to wear a designer dress, but she couldn’t move with the grace these glamorous women had spent their lives perfecting. She’d show them just how much of a fake—and a failure—she was.

‘But it’s a ball.’

‘Then find another dance partner,’ she snapped viciously. ‘There are a million here for you to choose from. Wasn’t that the point?’

She’d had enough.

He put both hands on her waist, just as she was about to push past him and stalk out. She glared up—wordlessly demanding that he let her go. But her gaze was caught—and locked—in his. His hold on her tightened.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly.

His question snuffed out her anger. All that was left was the hurt her father had inflicted. His rejection always hurt, and it never eased, but tonight’s public blanking had been so much worse. And now this?

‘Don’t...’ she whispered. His concern made her emotions impossible to control.

‘Don’t ask if you’re okay?’ His eyebrows lifted.

Desperately she tried to hold herself together. But that tender tone from him...that intensity... She couldn’t bear to be exposed to anyone, but especially not to him. She ached to twist away and hide from the understanding in his eyes. He made her too vulnerable. He made her want more than he’d ever want to give.

‘Eduardo—’

‘You’re the only one I want to dance with,’ he professed, relinquishing her waist only to take her hand in his. ‘So we’ll leave.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE BEST THING about a palace ball was the fact that Eduardo only had to walk up a couple of flights of stairs and a few paces down the corridor and he’d be in his own apartment, alone with his crushed wife. He wanted to smooth the stark agony from her eyes. He wanted to smash some sense into her father’s skull.

In the corridor on his level, where they could still hear the music from the ballroom, he turned her to face him. She avoided his eyes—focused her fierceness on his body instead. She ran her hands up his chest, pressed her mouth to his. He understood that she wanted physical release—to feel good and forget. But staying silent and burying that hurt wasn’t going to help in the long run, and he wanted to offer her more than a five-minute fix.

‘No one ever taught you how to waltz?’ he asked.

‘I wasn’t interested.’ She stiffened and tried to pull away from him.

‘Too busy being the tough soldier?’ He firmly kept her close, despite the tension building in her body.

‘Didn’t find a partner,’ she corrected bluntly.

‘You’ve found one now.’ Eduardo angled his head and whispered, ‘Dance with me. Please.’

A flush faintly stained her pale skin. She quickly glanced up at him, awkwardness flashing. ‘I’ll trample on your toes.’

‘I’ll live.’ He kept one hand on her waist and clasped her fingers, lifting her arm so they stood in formal waltz position. ‘You start on the left foot, count one-two-three. It’s easy.’

‘You say everything is easy,’ she muttered, looking down at their feet.

‘One-two-three,’ he answered, keeping time with the music wafting up the staircase.

Slowly she took the smallest of steps.

‘One-two-three...’ He smiled, but fell silent after a couple of bars because she already had it.

Of course she did.

He didn’t speak for a long time, just let the music work its magic. Their bodies were made to move together. She was the perfect height for him in those killer heels, and he loved her lithe strength brushing against his. But more than that he loved feeling comfort creep into her. Slowly the tension receded from her body. As she relaxed he cradled her closer, so that they swayed to the graceful tune of the strings. Not really dancing, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t for the look of it, but for the feel.

He’d been so preoccupied with everything these past two days he’d not thought about her father. She’d not mentioned him either. But after witnessing their interaction just then... He didn’t care what the General thought of him, but Stella deserved so much better.