The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит
little mouse, and maybe she was, but she didn’t want him knowing it. Knowing how weak and frightened she was, when she’d been trying to seem strong and secure and safe.
Clearly it was nothing more than a facade.
Sandro was still staring at her, his expression narrowed and assessing. He probably couldn’t imagine why any woman wouldn’t desire him, wouldn’t want to desire him. She’d read enough gossip websites and trashy tabloids to know Sandro Diomedi, whether he was king of Maldinia or IT billionaire, had plenty of women falling at his feet.
She didn’t want to be one of them.
Oh, she’d always known she’d have to do her duty in bed as well as out of it. She might be inexperienced, but she understood that much.
She also knew most people didn’t think of it as a duty. She’d read enough novels, seen enough romantic movies to know many people—most people—found the physical side of things to be quite pleasurable.
As she just had.
She felt her face heat once more as she remembered how shameless she had been. How good Sandro’s mouth had felt on hers, his hands on her body, waking up every deadened nerve and sense inside her—
She looked away from him now, willing the memories to recede. She didn’t want to wake up. Not like that.
‘Liana?’ he prompted, and she searched for an answer, something believable. Something that would hurt him, as she’d been hurt first by his derision and incredulity, and then by his desire. A Sandro who reached her with his kiss and caress was far more frightening than one who merely offended her with his scorn.
‘Because I don’t respect you,’ she said, and she felt the electric jolt of shock go through him as if they were connected by a wire.
‘Don’t respect?’ He looked shocked, almost winded, and Liana felt a vicious stab of petty satisfaction. He’d shaken up everything inside her, her sense of security and even her sense of self. Let him be the one to look and feel shaken.
Then his expression veiled and he pursed his lips. ‘Why don’t you respect me?’
‘You’ve shirked your duty for fifteen years, and you need to ask that?’
Colour touched his cheekbones, and she knew she’d touched a nerve, one she hadn’t even considered before. But there was truth in what she’d said, what she’d felt. He’d walked away from all he was meant to do, while she’d spent a lifetime trying to earn back her parents’ respect for one moment’s terrible lapse.
‘I didn’t realise you were so concerned about my duty.’
‘I’m not, but then neither are you,’ Liana snapped, amazed at the words—the feeling—coming out of her mouth. Who was this woman who lost her temper, who melted in a man’s arms? She felt like a stranger to herself, and she couldn’t believe how reckless she’d been with this man...in so many ways. How much he made her feel. Physically. Emotionally. So in the space of a single evening she’d said and done things she never had allowed herself to before.
‘You’re very honest,’ Sandro said softly, his voice a dangerous drawl. ‘I appreciate that, if not the sentiment.’
Liana dropped her hand from her mouth, where it had flown at his response. She knew she should apologise, yet somehow she could not find the words, or even the emotion. She wasn’t sorry. This man had humiliated and hurt her, used her to prove some terrible point. She might be appallingly innocent by his standards, but she had enough sense to know he’d kissed her not out of simple and straightforward desire, but to prove something. To exhibit his power over her.
And he had. Oh, he had.
But he wouldn’t now.
Sandro drew himself up, his mouth as thin and sharp as a blade, his eyes no more than silver slits. ‘Clearly we have no more to say to one another.’
‘What—?’ Shock cut off her voice. Twenty years of trying to be an obedient and dutiful daughter, and she’d wrecked it in a matter of moments. Why had she been so impetuous, so stupid?
‘I don’t think we have any need to see each other again either,’ he said, and Liana scrambled to think of something to say, anything to redeem the situation.
‘I realise I spoke in haste—’
‘And in truth.’ He gave an unpleasant smile. ‘Trust me, Lady Liana, I do appreciate your honesty. I have lived with far too much dissembling to do otherwise. However, since this is, as we have both agreed, a marriage of convenience, there is no point in attempting to get to know one another or find even one point of sympathy between us. In this case...’ he paused, eyeing her coldly ‘...we will both do our duty.’
Her stomach hollowed out. ‘You mean—’
‘The wedding will be in six weeks. I’ll see you then.’ And without another word, the king turned on his heel and left her alone in the room, amidst the scattered dishes and ruined meal, her mind spinning.
* * *
Sandro strode from the dining room, fury beating in his blood, his bride-to-be’s words ringing in his ears. You’ve shirked your duty for fifteen years, and you need to ask that?
She’d cut to the heart of it, hadn’t she? The empty heart of him. And even though he knew she was right, it was exactly what he had done, and he hated that she knew. That she’d pointed it out, and that she didn’t respect him because of it. Who was she but a woman intent on selling herself for a crown and a title, never mind how she cloaked it with ideas of duty and selfless charity work? How dared she toss her contempt of him in his face?
And yet still her words cut deep, carved themselves into his soul. They held up a mirror to the selfishness of his heart, the inadequacy he felt now, and he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the guilt that rushed through him, along with the resentment. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be king, didn’t want any of this, and yet it was his by right. By duty. Even if he didn’t deserve it. Even if he felt afraid—terrified—that he could not bear the weight of the crown his father hadn’t even wanted to give him.
He yanked open the door to the study that had once been his father’s and still smelled of his Havana cigars. Sandro opened a window and breathed in the cold night air, tinged even here in the city with the resin of the pines that fringed the capital city. He willed his heart to slow, the remnants of his desire, making his body ache with unfulfilment, to fade.
Briefly he considered whether he should break off his engagement. Find another bride, someone with a little more warmth, a little more heart. Someone who might actually respect him.
And just who would that be, when the truth is and always will be that you walked away from your duty? That you don’t deserve your crown or the respect it commands?
He closed his eyes briefly, pictured his father’s face twisted in derision moments before he’d died.
You think I wanted this? You?
And deluded fool that he insisted on being, he actually had. Had hoped, finally, that his father accepted him. Loved him.
Idiot.
Sandro let out a shuddering breath and turned away from the window. He wouldn’t call off the wedding, wouldn’t try to find a better bride. He was getting about as good a deal as he could hope for.
What kind of woman, after all, agreed to a marriage of convenience? A woman like Liana, like his mother, intent on everything but emotion. And that was fine, really, because he didn’t have the energy for emotion either. He didn’t even think he believed in love anymore, so why bother searching for it? Wanting it?
Except that need seemed hardwired into his system, and had been ever since he’d been a little boy, desperate for his father’s attention, approval, and most of all, love, when all he’d wanted was to use him as a pawn for publicity, so he could pursue his own selfish desires. Desires Sandro had been