Society Secrets. Sharon Kendrick
Even as she said it Melissa wondered why she was bothering to ask when she knew exactly what the answer would be. Probably for the same reason that she had let that middle-aged doctor poke around in Ben’s mouth with a swab yesterday morning. Because ever since she had told Casimiro about his son, she seemed to have lost control of her own life. Well, wasn’t it time to start taking some of that control back?
‘It’s positive,’ he said. ‘Ninety-nine point nine per cent positive, in fact.’
‘You should have listened to me and saved yourself the money.’
Casimiro’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’
‘It’s not really a joking matter, is it?’
His frown deepened. He had expected—what? Some kind of relief that he had acknowledged the paternity claim. Maybe even some gratitude. When instead she was sitting there with what looked suspiciously like defiance flashing from her green eyes.
‘We have to decide now what to do,’ he said heavily.
Melissa opened her mouth to reply but at that moment a plate of grilled fish and salad was placed on the table in front of each of them—and a basket of warm bread offered. She shook her head and waited until the waiter had gone before staring at Casimiro.
‘What do you mean, “do”?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What did you think would happen next? When it was proved that I was the child’s father?’
‘Ben,’ she said hotly. ‘His name is Ben.’
‘What did you think would happen?’ he repeated.
Melissa stared down at the feathery little bits of dill which were decorating her plate before looking up at him again, steeling herself against the accusation sparking from his golden eyes. ‘I thought you’d want to see him from time to time.’
He gave a short and bitter laugh. ‘What, just slot in and out of his life occasionally? And no doubt write you a big fat cheque so you could up your standard of living.’
‘I told you in the beginning that I wasn’t motivated by money and I meant every word of it. What is more, I don’t have to stay and listen to your insults, Casimiro.’
‘Oh, but I’m afraid that you do,’ he demurred, in a low, silky voice. ‘Try throwing a scene in here and you will regret it. The restaurant is owned by a friend of mine and the car in which you travelled is at my disposal. They won’t take you anywhere without my instructions, and it’s a long way to walk back to that…’ he seemed to struggle with a word to describe it ‘…apartment you live in.’
The subtle dig about her home was the last straw—because didn’t he realise how difficult it had been for her to manage on a salary like hers? No, he probably didn’t realise and even if he did—he probably wouldn’t care.
For a moment she felt like defying him. Like jumping up and running out and flagging down a car to take her home as fast as possible. But she couldn’t do that. She was a mother and responsible, not only for her own safety—but for that of her child. And besides, you couldn’t run away from things just because they made you feel uncomfortable. You had to stand your ground and face them—no matter how arrogant and unfeeling the person you were dealing with.
‘Is that why you brought me here?’ she demanded. ‘So that I would be a captive audience?’
‘Partly, yes.’ But there had been other reasons. The risk of him being seen visiting her apartment twice in one week was too great. Someone wanting to earn themselves some extra money could easily tip off one of the tabloids. Yes, the car he had travelled in had been unmarked, but the presence of bodyguards always alerted the general public to someone of money and substance.
And hadn’t he wanted to see her in a setting somewhere outside his home—or hers? Somewhere neutral. To view her objectively, as it were. To see how she might fit in if she was outside her comfort zone. His eyes skated over her consideringly, acknowledging that she didn’t look too bad despite the fake jewellery and the unremarkable dress. But then she did have magnificently thick hair, he conceded—as well as a pair of remarkably green eyes.
‘What do you suggest we do?’ she questioned, wishing that he wouldn’t look at her like that—in that cool and calculating way—and wishing even more that her body wouldn’t prickle with response to his lazy assessment.
‘We will have to marry,’ he said flatly. ‘Marry?’
The heavy silver fork with which she had just been about to attack the fish—more in a polite gesture to the chef than because she had really wanted it—fell to her plate with a loud clatter and as if by magic a waiter suddenly appeared, his face wreathed in concern. But Casimiro waved him away impatiently, his face darkening with fury because her reaction did not bode well. Hadn’t he expected—wanted—some kind of fawning gratitude from her?
‘Must you show your emotions so openly?’ he snapped.
Melissa gave a bitter laugh. ‘Maybe my acting skills aren’t as accomplished as yours.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does,’ he objected. ‘Tell me. I insist.’
For a moment she felt like retorting that he might be King but he didn’t have the power to get her to do something she didn’t want to. Except that deep down she suspected her words might lack conviction. And maybe it would do him good to hear a few home truths for once.
‘When I met you—you seemed like—well, like a…’ She chose her words carefully because the last thing she wanted him to hear was how completely he had captivated her heart in those few heady days of their romance. Because even if he had lost his memory, she wasn’t stupid enough to think it had been mutual. For her, it had been a life-changing experience. And for him? Nothing more than an agreeable affair with no questions asked. ‘You seemed like a nice guy,’ she finished.
Casimiro recoiled as if he had been struck. ‘A nice guy?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘You are trying to damn me with faint praise?’
‘Oh, what’s the point in raking up all this?’ she questioned tiredly. ‘It doesn’t matter what I say—all I know is that, whatever happens, we can’t get married.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’
‘Because we don’t love each other—why, we don’t even like each other!’
Her insolence and thanklessness almost took his breath away—but he would wait until he had his ring on her finger before he attempted to show her just what he would and would not tolerate.
‘We have a child between us,’ he reminded her. ‘A child who is the rightful heir to my throne. A throne that I was about to renounce,’ he added bitterly, the words out before he could stop them.
Across the candlelight, Melissa stared at him. ‘Renounce your kingdom? But why would you do that?’
‘Because I felt trapped,’ he snapped. ‘Unable to live my life as I wished to live it. And my brother also has a son—which is why I was about to relinquish my kingdom to him.’
‘B-but you’ve always been heir to the throne,’ said Melissa shakily, trying to assemble all the facts which were jumbling together in her mind. ‘You must have been used to the restrictions it put on you.’
Of course he had. But he had been able to temporarily forget about those restrictions when he had been living his life to the full. Galloping his beloved horse, or taking out his little sailing boat and skimming it around the island. Or scaling one of the mighty peaks of the Prassino range of mountains over on the eastern side of Zaffirinthos.
But after his fall, everything had changed and his ‘dangerous’