It was me. She should have said it, but her throat was too tight.
She knew there were people who had rooted for her family all the way along, but it was so wrapped up in their notoriety, she didn’t differentiate the kindly meant from the intrusive or downright cruel. Her family hadn’t asked to be famous for the odd trick of nature that had created two sets of identical twins. They were just people, perhaps better looking by certain standards, definitely richer than average, but regular humans.
Yet the world was insatiably curious about what brand of soap they used and held strong opinions on how they should conduct themselves.
To have this man, who was completely removed from it, reveal such a personal memory connected to her affected her, changing the careful constructs inside her. Defenses that held darkness at bay while keeping her open to the people who loved her shifted and angled to provide space for him to enter.
No. She couldn’t let him in! Tie herself to a man? Lose herself behind someone else’s goals and wishes and expectations when she had so many unreached aspirations of her own? She couldn’t attach herself to someone whose life was bigger than hers. She was trying to escape all the restraints that had bound her for so long.
Shaken at how vulnerable she was to him, she jiggled her bodice against her breasts, then perched on a chair to strap on her shoes, hands trembling.
“Is she really as beautiful as you?” He watched her with his fists pushed into his pockets. His naked shoulders were relaxed and outlined in pale gold while the shadows in his face suggested a brooding expression. The dark patch of his chest hair narrowed to a suggestive line, arrowing to his navel, then lower.
He was the beautiful one. She memorized this last intimate glimpse of him.
“Exactly as beautiful.” She smiled, amused with her own joke, then poignant gratitude accosted her. “Thank you for tonight. I—” She stopped herself from saying something truly gauche.
She wanted to ask if he’d meant it when he’d said it wasn’t always like this for him. She wanted to tell him what he had given her. She wanted to get out of here before she revealed too much.
She glanced at the clock. If she didn’t show her face promptly, her guard would knock and enter. They were paid very well to be diligent and investigate when she wasn’t where she said she would be.
Xavier moved to offer a hand, helping her to her feet. “Thank you. This was lovely.” The words came off lighthearted, punching into her as she imagined the legions of other women who had heard such offhand praise. Not even, I won’t forget you. Just, this was lovely. A pleasant meal. Nothing life-changing.
He brought her hand to his mouth, exactly as he had when they’d met, except this time he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.
Trying to hide how deeply that affected her, she said, “Goodnight, sweet Prince.”
He snorted. “I could have you beheaded for that.”
With a lightning move, he pulled her close and wove his fingers into her hair, planting a real kiss, a final one, on her mouth. It was painfully sweet. Thorough, yet tender. Oddly heartbreaking.
For her.
And even though she was the one to draw back, her lips clung to his. Temptation to stay, to say more, gripped her, but he distracted her.
“You’ve lost an earring.” His fingertip flicked at her lobe.
“No!” Both hands went to her ears, finding one empty. “Here? In the room? Did you notice if I had both while we were downstairs?”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he offered with an offhand shrug.
“They’re sentimental. A gift from my father.” To Gili. She clicked on the lamp and flung back the bed covers, searching.
A polite knock tapped on the main door, her guard telling her the car was in position. They avoided waiting whenever possible. It drew a crowd.
“I’ll find it and send it to you at the design house.”
“Promise?” She looked from his muscled chest to the sheets to his eyes. Oh, he was spectacular in the golden light, emptying her brain all over again.
“I only make promises I can keep.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t bother worrying about him addressing it to Angelique. She would intercept it or come clean if she had to. “I really did, um, enjoy this.”
His eyes warmed with laughter. “My pleasure, bella.”
She was starting to sound like the neophyte she was. Definitely time to make her escape. She ducked her head and made for the coach before she turned into a pumpkin.
CHAPTER THREE
Present day...
COMMUNICATIONS FROM PRINCE XAVIER’S grandmother fell into three categories. All were delivered by the palace’s Private Secretary, Mario de Gaul.
“Your grandmother requests a meeting to discuss...” Fill in the blank. Those were routine and benign. She listened to her grandson’s opinions and they worked together on a strategy for whatever event, negotiation or dignified visitor stood on the horizon. They were equals, more or less.
The second, more ominous type of appointment began with “Her Majesty invites you to join her at...” Fill in the meal. Those were more dictatorial instructions on how she wanted something handled. A parliamentarian or ambassador needed massaging. A high-level staff member needed firing. He was doing her dirty work.
Then there was—
“The Queen is in her receiving room. She expects you.”
Mario entered with that missive on the heels of Xavier’s Personal Assistant, who still stood before him, his speech bubble of grim news dissolving in the air above his pleading don’t-shoot-the-messenger expression.
“Of course.” Xavier rose from his desk. It was the appropriate response. One didn’t refuse the Queen. One certainly didn’t leave her waiting.
Still, his agile brain leapt to all the triage he needed to accomplish in the next few minutes, not least of which was to reassure his new fiancée, Patrizia, before she saw the headlines herself.
Switched Before Birth!
Future King an Expectant Father?
Trella Tricked Everyone—Including the Prince!
He should have said something a few weeks ago, of course, when the first bomb went off. Trella Sauveterre, lately returned to the public eye, had turned up pregnant. The reaction had been loud enough to shake the world off its axis, forcing him to reach out to her, again, much to his dismay. He didn’t want anything to do with her after realizing how thoroughly she’d duped him.
Why had she done it?
The sting of chasing her to Berlin a week after Paris, like a fool with his first crush, came back hot and fresh under his skin. He’d had a very real duty to meet with Patrizia, but he had put it off, stealing an extra few days of bachelorhood, inventing excuses so he could...what? Have sex with a stranger once more?
Sex was sex. He’d had many lovers over the years and experienced varied degrees of pleasure. He put down the better experiences to chemistry, the less satisfying ones to inhibitions and incompatibility.
That night in Paris had seemed extraordinary while it was happening. She hadn’t been a virgin, but she’d made sex feel new again. She’d been so responsive. So sensual. So abandoned. His stomach tightened just remembering it.
So what? He knew from his father’s history that letting the brain below his belt do his thinking was disastrous.
Nevertheless, a day later, when he had read that Angelique would be in Berlin, he had reconfigured his entire schedule. Rather than courier her earring as promised, he had sought her out—only to find her with another man.
It had been the most lowering of moments, not because his ego was dented, but because he had revealed something of himself to her. Somehow, she had tricked him into believing they had a connection that went beyond the physical. What had possessed him to talk of those dark hours when his parents had been banished?
He didn’t form intimate friendships. He was an only child raised by a grandmother whose life was too demanding to offer affection. Yet, for some reason, he had entrusted a one-night lover with his private thoughts.
He had trusted her. When she had said she didn’t sleep around, he had believed her.
Judging by what he found in Berlin, however, she’d moved on very quickly. The innocent act was part of her routine, he had concluded, castigating himself for acting so callow as to follow her.
Nevertheless, when he had the chance to catch her alone, he approached, waiting for the catch of excitement she had kindled in him the week before.
Nothing. She was desirable the way all beautiful women were, but whatever he’d felt in Paris was gone. It had perplexed and annoyed him, made him doubly irritated with himself for thinking they’d had something special.
He’s stood there searching for whatever it was that he’d found so enthralling and she had pretended she didn’t even know him, staring blankly as though he had broken into her bedroom and stolen the diamond hoop earring he was returning.
In those seconds, he had felt as though she was even more of a stranger than she had been before they’d made love—which she was, he promptly learned. He hadn’t slept with Angelique. He had slept with her twin, Trella.
The revelation had been welcome and infuriating. He didn’t care for dishonest people, but his desire to see Trella had renewed itself. He had asked Angelique to pass along his contact details, wanting an explanation. Wanting something he refused to acknowledge, but...