Princess From the Shadows. Maisey Yates
wondering how her husband’s business trip was going while he was really wining, dining and bedding another woman.
She nearly gagged.
“Just don’t lie,” she said again. That was the part she couldn’t stand. The lies. Being manipulated into believing a man was someone he wasn’t. Falling in love with the facade.
He looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable. “You want to know about the other women?”
“I will not be treated like I’m stupid.” Even if she was. Even if she had been terminally stupid in the man department at one time. She never would be again.
“I will give you my honesty. What you choose to do with it is up to you, but I will never lie to you. If you want the truth, you can have it.”
It would probably be easier to just take her charming husband into her bed when he was home, and ignore him when he wasn’t. But she wouldn’t live that way. She wouldn’t be that woman.
“I do.”
“I will have the same, princesa.”
“Of course. And fidelity while we are trying to conceive is non-negotiable. You are not having me and a harem at the same time.”
“You are not quite what I expected.” He leaned back in his chair and appraised her, his gaze open, honest as he said he’d be. He didn’t bother disguising the fact that he was assessing her. Didn’t bother to hide it when his eyes dropped to her breasts.
And she couldn’t suppress the mild bit of satisfaction she took in him checking her out.
“Well, of course I’m not,” she said, trying to ignore the little of prickle of heat that was starting at her scalp and migrating down. “You were expecting to marry my sister. We’re not even remotely similar. She’s shorter for one thing.”
“And quieter, if I remember right. Though I don’t know that I ever engaged her in conversation.”
“You’re hardly marrying for the conversation though, are you?”
“You’re more engaging than I imagined you to be, it might actually have just moved up on my list of desirable qualities in a wife.”
“Good thing, because you appear to be stuck with me.”
“And you like making … conversation?”
“I’m a little bit out of practice making any kind of conversation that doesn’t involve the physical ailments of stuffed animals, or require me to refer to myself as Mama.”
She noticed a little bit of tension in his brow, the lines of his handsome face tightening. For all his carefree manner, there was more to Rodriguez than he showed the world. Although she wasn’t sure if it was better than what he did show.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat and tapping the dinner plate with her fork. “Are we … eating?”
As if on cue a man came in carrying a tray with two plates on it, which he set on top of the fine china in front of Rodriguez and in front of her.
“Paella del mar,” he said. “I hope you like shellfish.”
“It would be sacrilege if I didn’t. Santina is a part of the sea. It’s the life force of the country.”
“As it is here in Santa Christobel. That, at least, should be similar to your home.”
She looked down at the rice and pushed the shell of a muscle with the tip of her fork. “Santina hasn’t been my home for a long time. How will your people feel about this?”
“About what?”
“You marrying a woman who has a child. Clearly, I’m not your standard-issue virgin princess.”
“I doubt my people are under the illusion I have any desire for a virgin princess. I’m certainly not a virgin, neither do I pretend to be one.”
For some reason, his immediate dismissal of the idea gave her a strange rush of pleasure. She shouldn’t care whether he approved of her or not, and yet, for some reason, it satisfied her to know that he hadn’t really expected, or cared, if his bride were pure as the driven snow.
“What you desire, and what’s expected, are two very different things.”
“I assume you’re an expert?”
“I can claim a bit of experience in the area, yes,” she said. She really didn’t want the conversation to go in that direction. Someday, maybe. But not now. She was fairly certain her brothers didn’t even know the circumstances surrounding Luca’s birth. She wasn’t really eager to spread it around. “I’m just not certain what your people will make of you taking a single mother as your bride.”
“I didn’t ask them,” he said simply, taking a bite of paella.
“That simple?”
“I am to be their king.”
“But there are appearances to worry about and … appearances.” Appearance was of the upmost importance to her father. Her mother and father conducted themselves with an old-world grace. They maintained an aristocratic distance from their people, and from the press, that was rare in the modern era. At least, they had. Until she had shattered some of that respectability with a very high-profile, undeniable mistake.
She knew her father might have forgiven her for her mistakes, but he’d never forgotten them. She’d never forgiven herself for it. And here Rodriguez was talking as though appearances didn’t matter?
“Do you honestly think I care about the way the media sees me? The way the people see me? I have done well for them, and while my father has been fading from this world I have already been seeing to the duties of the king. I will continue to do well for them, to make the country prosper. I will marry and I will continue the line. No more can be asked of me.”
“Just because you … said so?”
“Yes, just because I said so.”
“And you’ll adopt Luca.”
“I will give him my name, as I said I would. I keep my word, princesa.”
“I don’t have a great track record with men and their word,” she said, regretting the words as soon as she spoke them.
“On this you can trust me, Carlotta,” he said, his voice low, sincere, the mocking edge to his lips gone. “I don’t play with people. Power is one of those things that can make a man feel invincible. It can make him feel as though he’s entitled to harm those he sees as beneath him. I am everything that the press says I am. The stories are all true. So yes, I have some sins to my credit. But I don’t hurt people. I don’t lie.”
Carlotta looked at him, at his dark eyes, and she felt her heart rate speed up. “I believe you.”
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