Santina's Scandalous Princess(27)

Actually, that was a lie. Two lies. He didn't know how long it would  take, and he had no duties to discuss with Natalia. He didn't know what  he was going to say, only that he'd come here on instinct, or maybe just  need. After a day of doing his best to ignore Natalia and yet always  remaining achingly, agonisingly aware of her, he knew he had to do  something. Say something. Maybe even tell the truth.

Except he didn't even know what the truth was.

Ben let out a groan of angry frustration. Natalia had been right. He was  scared. He hated feeling out of control, had organised his life so he  never was. His childhood had been unsettled enough, with his parents  together and then apart, his father with money and then without, the  tabloids documenting every slip or stumble. Up and down, around and  around, like a crazy out-of-control carousel, and Ben never felt like he  knew what was going to happen.                      
      
          



      

Then he'd discovered football and thought he'd found a way to feel in  control, to make his father and family proud. For a few short years he'd  ridden that wave of success and accomplishment, and when it had been  taken from him, he'd turned to business. He'd sought success and respect  and he'd gained them. Earned them. And now he felt as if he were poised  to lose it all, by falling in love with a woman who was beyond  inappropriate, a woman with a history of scandals and affairs that  rivalled his father's. What on earth was he thinking? He couldn't  believe he'd even mentally formed the word love.

He didn't want love. Didn't trust it, didn't need it. And he was not in love with Princess Natalia.

‘You wished to discuss something?'

Ben whirled around, blindsided by Natalia's sudden appearance. She  looked every inch the regal princess in a turquoise silk evening gown  that managed to be elegant and modest while still making his palms itch  with the need to touch her. Her eyes glittered and her chin was lifted  haughtily.

She was on the defensive. Could he really blame her?

‘I wanted to talk to you.'

She arched one eyebrow, coldly incredulous. ‘I was with you all day,  Ben. Is this really necessary?' With one golden, slender arm she  indicated the palazzo and everything it represented. ‘I'm afraid guests  will be arriving at any moment.'

‘This won't take long.'

She simply waited, leaving him tongue-tied. Damn. Why couldn't he think  of a single thing to say? Do? He wanted to kiss her again. Desperately.  If he did, would she push him away?

‘Natalia … ' he began. ‘I'm sorry.' She said nothing, and he shifted his  weight, unbearably uncomfortable, wishing he hadn't come. Natalia still  didn't speak. Then he decided he needed to do what he'd done when he  played football. As a striker, he'd always been a straight player, no  tricks, no clever moves. Just honest skill, raw talent driving the ball  towards the goal. And that's what he'd do now. ‘I know I hurt you when I  pushed you away from me in the airplane.'

‘Fortunately I don't bruise easily.'

Frustration bubbled through him. He knew what she was doing. Like any  good defender, she was keeping him from an easy, direct goal. Had he  thought saying sorry would actually be enough? ‘I didn't want to hurt  you.'

She lifted her chin another notch. ‘Like I said, you didn't.'

‘You know that's not what I mean.' She said nothing, but he sensed her  tension, felt it in himself. He felt his heart race the way it had when  he was seconds away from a goal. ‘I … I care about you, Natalia.'

She stilled, but her expression didn't change. ‘Thank you,' she finally  said, and Ben nearly had to keep his jaw from dropping in furious  disbelief. Thank you? Definitely not the response he'd been going for.  Hoping for. He felt like he did on the football pitch in an offside  trap. He'd moved too far forward to attempt a goal and she'd moved back,  leaving him offside and out of play. Useless. Vulnerable.

‘I didn't expect to,' he continued, still trying to explain, to somehow redeem this conversation. ‘I didn't want to.'

‘That,' Natalia said coolly, ‘is glaringly apparent.' She raised her  eyebrows. ‘Is that all you had to discuss? For as I said before, my  guests will be arriving at any moment.'

Ben felt a slower anger start to burn inside him. All right, maybe it  didn't sound like much, but he'd confessed more to this woman than he  had to anyone else. He'd told her he cared and she'd said thank you.

He drew himself up, fury pounding like a pulse inside him. ‘Yes,' he  told her coldly, ‘that's all.' And he strode out of the room without  looking back.

* * *

Natalia stood very still as she listened to Ben's footsteps echo on the  marble floor of the palazzo's foyer. If she moved, she felt she might  break. Shatter. It had taken all her self-control, all her experience in  acting the haughty, aloof princess, to play that role. To act like she  didn't care.

And even now part of her wanted to wrench open the door and follow him  through the palazzo, panting about how she cared too. And maybe even  more than that.

No. She would not humiliate herself that way. She wouldn't take the  paltry scraps Ben was offering. The realisation had grown in her as he'd  stumbled through his awful nondeclaration. This was not what she  wanted. It was not enough. If she was going to risk herself, all her  vulnerabilities, then she wanted more. She wanted to be known, accepted,  loved. The realisation stunned her even as it felt achingly, unbearably  right. Yet Ben had barely been able to form the word care. And then  those qualifiers: I didn't expect to. I didn't want to. Had he actually  thought he was saying something she wanted to hear?                      
      
          



      

She let out a shuddering breath and slowly drew herself up, shoulders  back, head tilted. A princess. And a woman, she knew now, who wanted  love after all, in all of its fearful beauty and wondrous glory. Not  someone who reluctantly, resentfully cared.

Not, Natalia reminded herself, that she would get either. She was about  to meet the ambassador of Qadirah, a small island principality in the  Arabian Sea, with a thirty-year-old bachelor sheikh and heir to the  throne. A possible husband, and she'd never even met him. She didn't  want to.

Walking stiffly, still aching, Natalia turned from the room.

The next day when Natalia arrived at the stadium the camp was in full  swing, with Ben at its centre, working hard. She watched him run defense  for Roberto, the boy he'd taken on as a young protegé. He was shouting  instructions, sweat running down his face in rivulets. He looked  amazing, but also angry. At least he had the football pitch to work out  his frustrations. She'd had an interminable dinner with more veiled and  not-so-veiled references to her salacious past, as well as a private  conversation with the ambassador from Qadirah that had included a list  of the sheikh's expectations for a bride. Submissiveness and discretion  had figured prominently, not two of her best-known qualities. Natalia  had barely slept all night, and her body still ached from yesterday's  pummeling as goalie. Today was not going to be a good day.

Her fears were proved true just half an hour later, when a sudden cry  sounded from the far side of the pitch and Natalia looked up to see a  small knot of children and volunteers gathered around a fallen form. Her  heart seemed to leap straight into her throat as she recognised the  slight, scruffy figure. Roberto. Ben was bent over him, his face drawn  and pale. Natalia knew immediately something very bad had happened.

Quickly she slipped out her mobile and dialed emergency services,  requesting an ambulance. Then she hurried over to where Roberto lay  fallen. One glance at the awkward angle of his leg told her that he had  surely broken a bone. Ben looked up and caught sight of her and she saw a  world of emotion in his dark eyes.

‘What can I do?'

‘Ring for an ambulance-'

‘I did.'

Ben looked back down at Roberto, his face contorting in anxious worry  and guilt, and Natalia came closer. The boy's face was pale and beaded  with sweat, his teeth clenched. Natalia swept his silky fringe away from  his forehead. ‘Fa a un male cane, eh?' she said with a small smile. It  hurts like a dog. ‘If it were me, I'd be screaming and crying. But then  I'm not very good with pain.' Roberto didn't say anything, but he  trained his pain-clouded gaze on her and Natalia kept speaking, barely  knowing what she was saying, until she heard the wail of the ambulance's  sirens in the distance.

Ben escorted Roberto to the ambulance, and as he climbed inside he gave Natalia a fleeting yet grateful smile.