Her open palm collided against his face with a crack that slammed his head sideways and left a deep red stain upon his olive-skinned cheek.
‘You bastard! I am nobody’s whore!’
He raised a hand to his face, rubbing the place she had hit and all the while he looked down at her. ‘All I am trying to do is make the best of a situation.’
‘Take advantage of it, you mean!’
‘Which is better than pretending it doesn’t exist! Don’t you think it’s about time you faced the facts? You’re pregnant with twins. My twins. What the hell else are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. But maybe you might have bloody well asked me to marry you, instead of just demanding I do.’
‘And would you have said yes?’
‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’
His jaw worked overtime, his eyes cold as flint. ‘Then maybe it’s just as well I didn’t ask.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE engines slowed as they entered the harbour, and Rafe went and stood at the opposite side of the launch as the pilot skilfully negotiated their way into the marina and to the private landing where Sebastiano stood to attention, waiting for them to dock, the buttons on his jacket gleaming under the sun. He was looking from one to the other, a small frown creasing the skin between his wiry eyebrows.
‘What is it?’ Rafe asked before they’d berthed, obviously eager for a change of topic.
‘The Princess Marietta has arrived. She’s waiting for you at the Castello.’
‘Marietta is here? Already?’ He leapt onto the dock. ‘I’ll take the Alfa. Sebastiano, you take Signorina Wainwright and drive carefully. She’s feeling a little off-colour.’
And then he was gone, and it was Sebastiano’s duty to hand her from the boat. ‘You’re not well, Signorina Wainwright?’ he inquired as intelligent eyes scanned her features, and she gained the distinct impression he missed nothing, not even the residual spark of fury that coloured her vision.
‘I’m fine,’ she answered, taking his hand as she stepped onto the dock. ‘Rafe worries too much.’
‘Prince Raphael has not seen his sister in some years. They have a lot to catch up on.’
‘Lucky Marietta,’ was the best response she could dredge up.
* * *
He’d tried. He’d cancelled his appointments and taken her out on a cruise around the island. He’d shown her the tiny coves and beaches that dotted the coastline, tutored her in the names of the villages and what specialities each was renowned for, whether it was to do with wine, olives, oranges or seafood.
Rafe took a hairpin bend, his tyres squealing in protest, and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He’d done everything he could. And still she railed against him, blaming him, fighting the inevitable as if she were some innocent lamb being led to the slaughter.
Christo! What was her problem?
Last night she’d been the one to come to him, calling to every last sexual sense he had, the siren, beckoning him, wanting him to make love to her.
Hadn’t he given her what she’d wanted? She’d seemed fine with their arrangement then. What the hell had changed between then and now?
The Alfa Romeo made easy work of the climb, the Castello looming larger and larger in front of him as he neared its iron gates. Maybe she was right. Maybe their marriage was a disaster waiting to happen if she could run so hot and cold in the space of twenty-four hours.
Maybe he would be better off with someone more amenable. Or maybe pregnancy was sending her hormone levels haywire. She was having twins after all. Did that mean twice the hormones?
Besides, he didn’t want someone else.
Why would he when she was already pregnant with his seed?
Two babies. And she could think what she liked, but he was damned sure at least one of them would be a son and the heir that Montvelatte needed if it was to maintain its status as a Principality into the future.
It was perfect. Why couldn’t she see that?
It had to be hormones.
Rafe pulled into the forecourt and was just uncurling himself from the car when he heard a sound, a familiar voice even as it turned into a squeal of pleasure. He looked up to see his little sister running down the steps towards him, and he wondered when his little sister had turned into such a stunning woman, a younger version of how he remembered his mother—blonde and beautiful and a throwback to another time, when northern Europeans had swept south into Italy. Somehow Marietta had inherited the lion’s share of her genes from their mother. As for him, he’d inherited her height, but the rest of his genes he could attribute squarely to his typically Mediterranean father.
He was glad she’d won their mother’s blonde good looks and that they sat with such apparent ease on her. Maybe he hadn’t taken any notice back then, or maybe it had just been too long a time since he’d seen her. How many years was it since they’d seen each other? Whatever, it was way too long.
‘Raphael!’ she squealed, launching herself at him, and the years faded away, and it was his little Marietta back in his arms. His same little princess. Although now with a discernible hint of a New Zealand accent. ‘I’m so sorry I missed your coronation.’
He grimaced. ‘Don’t be. It was a dry and dusty affair. You didn’t miss anything. But you’re here early. I wasn’t expecting you until just before the wedding.’
‘I finished a design project early. Thought I’d take off before they lumbered me with another. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just so good to see you at last.’ She kissed both his cheeks and then stood back down, a grin tugging at her lips as she gave him a look of mock seriousness. ‘Or should I call you “Prince Raphael” now?’
He squeezed her to him again and spun her around, returning the kiss with one of his own. ‘Only if you let me call you princess.’
‘But you always did,’ she said on a laugh as she settled back to ground level, taking his arm as they headed into the Castello. ‘But who would have imagined one day I would actually be a princess for real—and that this—’ she swept her arm around in a wide arc ‘—would all be yours.’
‘It’s not mine. Technically, I’m just looking after it.’ She turned and switched on that same electrifying smile that had got his mother noticed by a prince who’d lost his wife, only to be thrust into oblivion when he had tired of her, and something tugged at him from way deep inside.
This hadn’t been a happy place for his mother, bearing babies who were destined never to rule, in love with a man who had only sought her comfort on the rebound.
‘You always were a stickler for doing it by the book,’ she said with another laugh, dragging him away from the pit where lay his memories of the time. ‘Can’t you sit back and enjoy it, just a little? I’ve been having a ball looking around this old place. I only know it from photographs.’
He led her into the library, the aroma of fresh coffee and warm rolls reminding him that he’d had a full appetite-building day on the water, a day that had ended less than spectacularly, which meant the comfort factor of the food wasn’t lost on him either. He sat down and poured coffee for them both, adding a liberal dash of cream to his own.
Marietta took the cup he proffered, slipped off her shoes, and curled them beneath her, holding her cup with both hands as she blew across its surface. ‘Plus I think I have incorporated into my memories all those things I heard you and Mama talking about—when you did talk about Montvelatte.’ She took a sip of her coffee, and when she spoke again her voice was subdued. ‘I can’t believe what happened to our father. He never cared for us, never gave us a thought, but I thought he loved his sons. How they could do such a thing to their own father—’ She looked up at him. ‘Have you seen them at all, Carlo and Roberto?’
Rafe leant back in his chair and stretched his legs out long in front of him. ‘I visited them once in the prison.’
‘And?’
He remembered the day, before his coronation, when he’d gone to see them. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d wanted to go, just that if they could talk, maybe he could make some sense of what had happened, but all he’d got was their hatred, their sneers and looks of derision, reminding him how he had felt long ago, as if he was still the bastard son who counted for nothing. He shook his head. ‘Nothing’s changed.’
She blinked and took a deep breath, then turned her eyes up at him over the cup and smiled apologetically. ‘What am I talking about? You’re getting married, big brother. How amazing is that?’
‘Why should it be amazing? I’m thirty-three years old. High time I settled down, wouldn’t you say?’
She laughed and put her cup down. ‘Except you were the one who was never going to settle down.’
He looked away. Wondered why he hadn’t yet heard any sound of Sebastiano returning with Sienna.
‘Where is she?’
‘What?’
‘Your fiancée. Where is she? When do I get the chance to meet her?’
‘Oh.’ He shook his head. ‘Soon. I’d like you to be one of her bridesmaids. It’s probably just as well you’re here early.’