Santina's Scandalous Princess(18)

Neither of them spoke as Ben opened the passenger door for her, and then  slid into the driver's seat. He thought about explaining, or  apologizing, or something, but his thoughts were too tangled up inside  him to separate, much less speak.

As the gate of the palazzo swung smoothly open and he drove up to the  front of the magnificent building, he decided silence was better. Surely  saying anything-explaining anything-would just drag them in deeper to  this mess they'd found themselves in.

This mess of emotion and desire and need that Ben had never let himself  feel before. The kind of mess his father made, and his mother endured.  The kind of mess he never wanted for himself.

‘Well.' Natalia cleared her throat, then shot him a cool smile. ‘What can I say? It was fun.'

Ben nodded tersely. ‘See you on the football pitch,' he said and for a  second something flashed in her eyes, something Ben suspected was hurt,  or perhaps sorrow. Her smile suddenly seemed brittle.

‘See you then,' she said, and slipped out of the car.





CHAPTER SEVEN

NATALIA blinked in the bright sunlight of Santina's football stadium and  smoothed her hands down the sides of her baggy shorts. She felt  ridiculously sloppy wearing what felt like a school PE kit, but Ben had  been insistent that she dress appropriately for the first day of camp.

‘And,' he'd told her, his mouth quirking upwards in that way she now recognised, ‘that does not mean a miniskirt and stilettos.'

She would have felt better in a skirt, Natalia thought with a flicker of  resentment. Safer and stronger. Fashion was one thing she got, one  small way she felt successful.

‘Ready to really work?' Ben asked, jogging up to her. He wore the same  thing she did, and yet somehow it looked amazing on him. The T-shirt  clung to the six-pack abs hiding under the thin fabric, and he wore his  shorts slung low on his hips. Natalia could see his strong, muscular  thighs and calves and she jerked her gaze upwards. She did not need any  reminders of how his body had felt against hers; she'd been remembering  all weekend. Yet clearly Ben was back to professional mode today, and if  she hadn't experienced it herself, she wouldn't have believed he'd held  her so close, he'd almost kissed her.

Almost.

‘Are you saying I haven't been working already?' she enquired. ‘Because I think a thousand envelopes would disagree.'

‘Today you're going to really work. And get tired and muddy and sweaty.'  Natalia wrinkled her nose, and Ben grinned, so obviously enjoying this.  ‘Come on, Princess. Let's get going. The kids are about to arrive.' And  without any warning he tossed her a football. Natalia caught it out of  instinct, but she heard the distinct sound of a nail breaking and with a  little yelp she dropped the ball to inspect the damage.

‘There goes your manicure,' Ben murmured as he walked by her. ‘Can't say I didn't warn you.'

‘Can't say you're a complete arse,' Natalia muttered back. ‘Oh wait, I can.'

Ben just chuckled, his good humour clearly impossible to deflate. He was  like a different man today, Natalia thought, alive and invigorated in a  way she'd never seen him before. Except when he'd held her in his  arms … he'd seemed pretty invigorated then. Yet Ben clearly wanted to  forget that entire episode, and Natalia knew she should too.  Unfortunately she couldn't stop thinking about it. Remembering. Wanting.  Sighing, Natalia picked up the football and followed him to the front  of the stadium. Dozens of children swarmed the gates, and several tables  were set up for registration. Ben, she saw, was greeting each child  with warm enthusiasm, an easy smile or a ruffle of their hair, his  attitude laid-back and natural.                      
      
          



      

He glanced back at her, and then jerked his head towards one of the tables. ‘Why don't you take names?'

‘Take names?'

‘Just write them down, Princess.' He turned back to the stream of kids  coming through the gates, and Natalia made her way over to the makeshift  table. Fabio was already there, taking children's names and writing  them on a form. He pointed to a stack of name tags. ‘Could you fill out  those?'

‘Certainly,' Natalia said after a moment. ‘Of course.' She sat down next  to Fabio and pulled a stack of name tags towards her and uncapped a  pen. Then, smiling brightly, although her heart had started to thud with  hard, painful beats, she looked up at the first child who came towards  her, hesitant and shy. ‘Como ti chiami?'

‘Paulo.'

‘Ciao, Paulo.' Biting her lip hard in concentration, she started to  write a P. And then an A. She had to think carefully about each stroke,  knowing she was taking far too long, sensing the backup of kids  restlessly waiting for their tags. Prickly heat burst all over her body  and she knew she was going blotchy again. Fabulous. She bit down hard on  her lip, willed that all-too-telling flush to fade. Finally she  finished and passed the tag over to Paulo. He took it with murmured  thanks, and Natalia saw it looked like it had been written by a child  younger than he was.

The next child came forward. ‘Gabriella.'

So many letters. Natalia started again. She could do this. She wasn't  normally this slow, but the panic of performing in public, of knowing  that any moment Ben might come over and demand why the princess was  taking so long and couldn't she even write made her fingers tremble and  the letters dance before her eyes.

She glanced up at Gabriella, a solemn-eyed little girl with a cloud of  dark hair. ‘You know what? I'm sure it would be faster if you did this.'  She grabbed a handful of pens and started passing them out to each  child, who gladly took them and began to write their own names on the  tags.

Natalia slumped back in her chair in trembling relief. That had been a  close one. Too close. She'd hid her disability for so long, first out of  confusion and then from shame, and finally on command. She wasn't about  to have it ripped out in the open now. Not by Ben. Not by anyone.

The kids had started to trickle away from the table, and she  straightened, glancing over at Ben, who was organising the children into  lines. She watched him covertly, noticing how confidently he strode  across the pitch, how much he seemed to be enjoying this. She had never  seen him look so relaxed or so … happy. She'd seen him look amused, or  entertained, or interested, but he'd never actually seemed happy.

And neither had she.

‘Natalia?' She started at the sound of her name. Ben was calling to her,  and she stood, smoothing her T-shirt and shorts as if she could  magically turn them into a silk blouse and tailored skirt. ‘Would you  help me show the kids how to dribble?'

Dribble? As if she had any idea what he was even talking about. She  didn't even like watching football. ‘Of course,' she said, giving him  her gracious princess smile, and strode up to the pitch where Ben stood,  the children all lined up neatly on one side. Ben explained to the  children, in careful Italian which both surprised and touched her, how  to dribble the ball, which, Natalia discovered, meant just kicking it  with your feet. Then Ben punted the ball upwards off his foot and  bounced it off his head, garnering a giggle from the crowd. He turned to  Natalia, smiling, yet with the steel of challenge in his eyes. He could  have chosen any of the other volunteers for this little exercise, but  he'd chosen her. Of course. The children weren't the only ones Ben  wanted to learn a lesson.

‘Simple, right?'

‘Oh, yes,' Natalia assured him. ‘Simple.' Simpler, in any case, than  writing name tags. She straightened, ready to show Ben just how well she  could kick. Or dribble. Or whatever.

Ben dribbled the ball neatly between his feet and then sent a kick over  to her. Natalia tensed, tried to kick it back, but the ball rolled right  past her while her foot arced widely through the air, connecting with  nothing. She heard a few snickers from the crowd of children, and felt  her face burn.

She hated being laughed at. Hated, hated, hated it. It made her feel  twelve years old again, her first year of boarding school, standing in  front of her entire class while the teacher proclaimed in ringing tones,  Natalia Santina is the slowest girl in this school! She writes like a  six-year-old!

She still felt the shame. Slow. Stupid.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and marched over to  where the ball had come to a stop. Then she gave it a satisfyingly hard  kick back towards Ben. He trapped it neatly between his feet, his  eyebrows raised in question as he glanced her. As usual, he was able to  guess something of her mood.