The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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by my manners, Your Highness?’
‘You are meant to call me Sandro, but you have yet to do so.’
‘I apologise. Your first name does not come easily to me.’
He arched an eyebrow, curious yet also still filled with that edgy restlessness that he knew would lead him to say—or do—things they both might regret.
‘And why is that?’ he asked, and she lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug.
‘You are the king of Maldinia.’
‘It’s nothing more than a title.’
Her mouth tightened, eyes flashing before she carefully ironed out her expression, her face smoothing like a blank piece of paper. ‘Is that what you truly think?’
No, it wasn’t. The crown upon his head—the title before his name—was a leaden weight inside him, dragging him down. It always had been, rife with expectations and disappointment. He’d seen how his father had treated that title, and he had no desire to emulate him. No desire to spiral down that destructive path, and yet he did not know if he possessed the strength to do otherwise. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I think it is an honour and a privilege.’
‘And one you are eager to share.’ He heard the sardonic edge to his words and he knew she did too, even though her expression didn’t change, didn’t even flicker. Funny, how he knew. How he’d somehow become attuned to this ice princess without even trying.
Or maybe he just knew her type, the kind of woman who would do anything to be queen, who didn’t care about love or friendship or any softer emotion. Hadn’t he encountered such women before, starting with his own mother? And Teresa had been the same, interested only in his wealth and status. He’d yet to find a woman who didn’t care about such things, and he no longer had the freedom to search.
‘Of course,’ she answered calmly.
‘Even though you don’t know me.’
She hesitated, and he took another sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. He wondered how far he would have to push her to evoke some response—any response. Further than that, clearly, for she didn’t answer, merely sipped her own wine, her expression coolly serene.
‘It doesn’t bother you,’ he pressed, ‘that we barely know each other? That you are going to pledge your life to a stranger? Your body?’
Awareness flared in her eyes at his provocative remark, and he took a step towards her. He wanted her to admit it did, longed for her to say something real, something about how strange or uncertain or fearful this arrangement was. Something. Anything.
She regarded him for a moment, her expression thoughtful and yet still so shuttered. ‘So you asked me earlier,’ she remarked. ‘And yet I thought that was the point of this evening. To get to know one another.’
‘Yet you came to Maldinia prepared to marry me without such a luxury.’
‘A fact which seems to provoke you, yet I assume you have been prepared to marry me under the same circumstances?’ She was as coolly challenging as he had been, and he felt a flicker of respect, a frisson of interest. At least she’d stopped with her milky thank yous. At least she was being honest, even if he despised such truth.
‘I was and still am,’ he answered. ‘I have a duty to provide an heir.’
The faintest blush touched her cheeks at the mention of heirs and she glanced away. ‘So you are acting out of duty, and I am not?’
‘What duty insists you marry a king?’
‘One it appears you wouldn’t understand.’
‘Oh, I understand,’ he answered, and she pressed her lips together, lifted her chin.
‘Do you? Why don’t you tell me, then, what you understand?’
He stared at her for a moment, and then decided to answer her with honesty. He doubted he’d get even a flicker of response from her. ‘You want a title,’ he stated flatly. ‘A crown. Wealth and power—’
‘And in exchange I will give you my allegiance and service,’ she answered back, as unruffled as he’d suspected. ‘Children and heirs, God willing. Is it not a fair trade?’
He paused, amazed at her plain speaking, even a little admiring of it. At least she wasn’t pretending to him, the way so many others would. He could be thankful for that, at least. ‘I suppose it is,’ he answered slowly. ‘But I would prefer my marriage not to be a trade.’
‘And yet it must be, because you are king. That is not my fault.’
‘No,’ he agreed quietly. ‘But even so—’
‘You think my reasons for this marriage are less than yours,’ Liana finished flatly. ‘Less worthy.’
Her astuteness unnerved him. ‘I suppose I do. You’ve admitted what you want, Lady Liana. Money. Power. Fame. Such things seem shallow to me.’
‘If I wanted them for my own gratification, I suppose they would be.’
He frowned. ‘What else could you possibly want them for?’
She just shook her head. ‘What has made you so cynical?’
‘Life, Lady Liana. Life.’ He glanced away, not wanting to think about what had made him this suspicious, this sure that everyone was just out for something, that people were simply to be manipulated and used. Even your own children.
‘In any case, you clearly don’t relish the prospect of marriage to me,’ she said quietly.
‘No, I don’t,’ he answered after a pause. He turned to meet her clear gaze directly. ‘I’m sorry if that offends you.’
‘It doesn’t offend me,’ she answered. ‘Surprises me, perhaps.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because I had assumed we were in agreement about the nature of this marriage.’
‘Which is?’ he asked, wanting to hear more despite hating her answers, the reality of their situation.
She blinked, a hint of discomfiture, even uncertainty, in the way she shifted her weight, clutched her wine glass a little more tightly. ‘Convenience.’
‘Ah, yes. Convenience.’ And he supposed it was convenient for her to have a crown. A title. And all the trappings that came with them. ‘At least you’re honest about it.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘Most women who have wanted my title or my money have been a bit more coy about what they really want,’ he answered. ‘More conniving.’
‘You’ll find I am neither.’
‘How refreshing.’
She simply raised her eyebrows at his caustic tone and Sandro suppressed a sigh. He certainly couldn’t fault her honesty. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he finally said, and she lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug.
‘What is it you wish to know?’
‘Anything. Everything. Where have you been living?’
‘In Milan.’
‘Ah, yes. Your charity work.’
Ire flashed in her eyes. ‘Yes, my charity work.’
‘What charity do you support again?’
‘Hands To Help.’
‘Which is?’
‘A foundation that offers support to families with disabled children.’
‘What kind of support?’
‘Counselling, grants to families in need,