The Spaniard's Stolen Bride. Maisey Yates
not different,” she said, turning away from him. “Which is good to know.”
“It doesn’t matter. I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”
She laughed softly. “We probably will. Christmases. Birthdays. That sort of thing.”
“Why would we see each other then?”
“Because, Diego. I’m about to become your sister-in-law. I’m marrying your brother.”
SHE WAS GETTING MARRIED. She could hardly believe it.
Liliana had spent her life being cosseted and protected in her family’s sprawling estate in the US. While she had done a bit of traveling, it had always been under the watchful eye of her father and the au pair he had chosen to keep her company.
This was the first time in her life she’d felt like she wasn’t being hovered over.
She had been in Spain now for two weeks with her fiancé, Matías.
Fiancé.
It was so very strange.
She had spent more time talking to...
She swallowed hard, curling her hands into fists as she sat down on the edge of the bed in her room.
She tried not to think of those piercing, dark eyes. That rakish grin that looked like dangerous enticement.
Truly, Matías and Diego Navarro looked so much alike it shouldn’t make one bit of difference to her which one she married. They were both devastatingly handsome. And by all accounts, Matías was a much better man than his brother. Not that she knew much about them. She refused to allow herself to search the internet for information about Diego, as much as she had wanted to. But he radiated an air of danger that Matías simply did not.
That was the problem. There was something more than looks driving that strange connection she had felt to Diego from the moment she had first set eyes on him two years earlier. She’d heard people describe attraction in terms of being struck by lightning.
She’d met Diego Navarro and it had been as if a black fire had been lit inside her. Burning slowly, growing, over the course of all that time.
Matías was a good man. A man that her father wanted to do business with. And why shouldn’t she...
Why shouldn’t she do exactly as he asked?
After all, she was the reason he had lost the love of his life. The reason her fragile, beautiful mother had died in childbirth.
She had to be the daughter her mother would have wanted. A daughter who was worth the loss her father had sustained. A daughter who made him happy. A daughter who was enough.
And so she did her best.
She had always known that her father would have a hand in choosing her husband.
She had accepted it with grace and dignity. The only time she had ever mouthed off, the only time she had ever allowed the witch rolling around in her mind to escape, was in conversation with Diego.
There was no point thinking about him now.
He had not offered for her.
But he might have.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
She heard footsteps in the hall and her heart rate quickened. She sat there on the edge of the bed, praying that it wasn’t Matías.
There was no reason to believe that it should be.
Two weeks she had been here, and he hadn’t so much as kissed her.
He had been solicitous beyond the point of reason. Constantly putting parasols over her head in the sun and worrying over her pale skin in the heat. Like she was a scoop of ice cream that might melt into a puddle.
She might be free of her father, but her fiancé had taken up the charge of overprotective presence easily enough.
Today had been the first time he had given her a bit of breathing room. There had been an accident with one of the horses on the rancho and a stable boy, and Matías had been consumed with the care of the boy since it had happened. As a result, Liliana had finally been given a few hours free to wander the rancho without someone clucking after her like a hen.
That was what was so funny. He was more like a protective older brother than he was a fiancé. At least, how she would imagine a fiancé would be.
And she was grateful for it. Which was another bad sign, she imagined.
She had never seen a married couple together. She didn’t know how her parents had been, but the way that her father talked about her mother made her believe that theirs had been a passionate love. That when she had died his heart had been ripped from his body and sent to the grave right along with her.
She couldn’t imagine having a connection like that with another person.
Much less Matías.
She didn’t think she wanted one like that, really.
The footsteps passed by and she let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t ready to be physical with him. Which was foolish, as they were going to be married very soon. They would have to be physical then. They should kiss. Something. They should do something.
The idea didn’t disgust her—it was just that she found...
When she closed her eyes and thought of kissing Matías, inevitably, his sculpted, dark features transformed. Into more dangerous ones.
Diego.
She had never—not in all her life before setting eyes on that man—indulged in childish infatuations. Having always had a sense that her father was going to arrange her marriage, she had known there was no point.
She wasn’t a fairy-tale princess. Prince Charming wasn’t going to come for her.
Prince Acceptable was going to be selected for her.
And so there had never been a crush. Never been a fantasy.
Until him.
She wondered if it could be called a crush or a fantasy. This dark, terrible feeling that made her want to do something reckless and awful. Something the Liliana she’d been raised to be would never consider.
Diego was the worst possible man for her to have developed a connection to. The worst possible man to be fixated on now.
Her father wanted her to do this and she’d poured all of her energy, all of her life, all of herself, into doing what he asked.
Liliana felt compelled to be a counterpoint to death. And that was a very heavy weight to carry. But she was alive. Her mother was dead.
Could she complain about anything being too heavy when she lived?
But you’ll live your whole life without ever touching him...
“It doesn’t matter!”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it burst from her mouth and she looked around, hoping her voice didn’t draw attention to her.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.
She’d made her choices. She could have been a rebellious daughter. She could have pushed back against her father’s edicts. His demands she learn etiquette and deportment instead of going on to university. His pronouncement that she’d play hostess when he had businessmen over.
His long-standing proclamation he would choose her husband.
But when she thought of rebelling against him...
It