Princess from the Shadows Maisey Yates Page 6

  And he’d had to watch her walk—sashay, really—from the room like she was in her finest dress and heels, when she was wearing slippers and sweats. Shockingly, he’d found a lot to look at.

  “I like these.”

  Rodriguez turned his head, Luca’s little voice as effective as a bucket of cold water in his lap. The arousal that had tightened his gut eased and the tightness in his throat returned.

  “Do you?” he asked, assuming Luca meant the churro he was holding up in his little hand.

  He nodded. “I like this table too. It’s big. I bet you could fit a really big cake on it.”

  Rodriguez looked at Luca, not sure of what he was supposed to say to that. The boy just kind of … chattered. About cakes and crowns and whatever came to his mind. It didn’t make him angry. That kind of thing would have made his father angry. As a result, he hadn’t chattered much, and he’d never been around children who did.

  He’d never really been around children at all, not even when he was one.

  Dios. He was actually sweating. Small beads of cold moisture forming on his brow, his back. Being near Luca made it so easy to remember.

  “I like chocolate cake. With sprinkles. It’s what I had for my last birthday. And I got Sherbie and Sherbet.”

  Rodriguez sucked in a breath. “And they are?”

  “My owls. They aren’t real. They’re toys.”

  “And he thinks I have a funny name,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Are you going to school this year?” he asked. That seemed safe. And normal. Not something random about stuffed animals.

  “I don’t know. I was going to, but Mama said that now I might not. I might have school here. Because it’s different to live in a castle.”

  Images of his own childhood, lonely, with no one but adults around him. On a good day, a stern nanny or teacher. And then there were days when there was only his father.

  “It can be,” he said slowly, his eyes meeting Luca’s. “But it can be fun.” He wasn’t sure if that was true. All of his fun had been away from the castle. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d discovered women here, at a much too early age. They had been a revelation. A way to feel happy.

  He frowned. He knew already he didn’t want that for Luca. Growing up fast had been a must for him, but the thought of this boy behaving like he had in just ten short years. that didn’t settle well with him.

  He tried again. “If you want to go to school away from the palace, we can arrange it.” Luca nodded and Rodriguez wasn’t at all sure he’d understood what he was saying. “I mean, you can stay here for school if you want.” He looked over his shoulder and at the door Carlotta had walked out of only a few short moments ago. “Or you could go to a class with friends.”

  “I think it would be more fun with friends.”

  “I’m sure it would be.” Rodriguez couldn’t comment on that for sure either. “We’ll talk to Car—your mama.”

  Luca’s nanny, a petite redhead with pale skin and freckles, walked in, a smile on her face. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, her focus on him, her smile bright. “And good morning to you too, Luca.”

  Rodriguez stood, hoping the swiftness of the motion didn’t betray just how eager he was to get out of the room. “Buenos dias. You must be Angelina.”

  “I am,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She was cute. In a flashier way than Carlotta, thanks to her fiery red hair and glittering golden eyes. Not so long ago, a week ago, he would have been tempted to make a pass at her.

  But now he thought she didn’t quite measure up to Carlotta’s quiet sophistication. Carlotta was … sleek. Her hair always so neat, except for this morning, her appearance always perfectly pressed. Again, except for this morning. And that added dimension had only made her more interesting. She had layers. He couldn’t remember ever caring if a woman had layers before.

  Strange.

  “Nice to meet you. I have …”

  “The press conference,” she said, moving to the table and sitting right next to Luca. He should have done that. Not sat with three chairs between them as though the boy were a leper.

  “Yes. The press conference.” He took one last look at Luca, who had his serious green eyes trained on him. “I’ll … I’ll see you later, Luca.”

  Luca brightened, a smile curving his small mouth. “Bye.”

  Rodriguez turned and walked out of the room, trying to ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest.

  For Carlotta, the press held about as much appeal as a food-borne illness and all the charming symptoms that came with it. They were, in her estimation, beneath contempt. People who preyed on the mistakes and tragedies of others, weaving them into salacious stories for the consumption of a scandal-hungry public.

  Walking into a room full of the vultures was about the lowest thing on her to-do list. Still, she was doing it. In style too. With the kind of heels normally reserved for … well, never. She’d gotten out of the habit of wearing high shoes when pregnant with Luca. Then after he was born, carrying him in heels was about as practical as waddling around in heels with a big pregnant belly.

  So, her fabulous, sky-high black stilettos had been on hold in the back of her closet for years, and now, paired with a sedate, but cheery, yellow sheath dress, she was looking quite … well, almost sexy, in an understated way. It was a welcome break from her typically sedate appearance. At least, that’s what she was telling herself.

  She took a deep breath and started down the long corridor that led to the room they were holding the conference in. She was confident. Strong. Sexy—at least, she had been in another life, and was trying it out again. She could do this.

  She lengthened her strides and tipped her chin up, the razor-blunt edges of her hair skimming her shoulders. Yes, she could do this. She was strong, sexy and in control.

  She rounded the corner and ran into Rodriguez’s broad frame, her breasts and tipped-up chin hitting the hard wall of his chest and his neck, respectively.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! This is … I’m sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to ramble. When had she become so … not a princess? Just clumsy and coming to breakfast in her sweats and. and she couldn’t do that now. She was in a palace. She was marrying Rodriguez.

  She had to change. Again. Just when things had been getting really comfortable it was all changing again.

  Oh, no. Not this, not now. Tears were stinging her eyes, her throat tight and aching. This was not the time for an emotional breakdown.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, sending a little zing of electricity through her. “It’s fine.”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t. I don’t really want to do this.”

  His brows locked together. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just.” She blew out a breath and waved her hand. “Me. And the media. I don’t like to be in the news.”

  He frowned. “Because of Luca?”

  “Because of what they did to me when they found out I was pregnant with Luca. Do you have any idea …?” She blinked and looked away. “It was horrible. They followed me everywhere. Crowding me while I ate. I was sick all the time anyway and to have a camera shoved in my face while I was just trying to have a relaxing meal … and there were pictures of me walking with my belly circled, drawing attention to it, along with the flattering headline Who’s the Father? And when they realized we weren’t telling them, they switched to things like Has Princess Carlotta Put on Too Much Baby Weight?”

  His thumbs moved up and down, from her satin-covered shoulders down to the bare skin of her arms. “I know. It’s a necessary evil though. The way I can communicate with my people. They’ve written. I don’t even know what all they’ve written about me. Things about my exploits. Most probably true, but not something I want to read in black and white. Not something I’d want my maiden aunt to read.”

  “Do you have a maiden aunt?”

  “That was for
illustrative purposes. The point is, the press is a part of royal life, of our lives. I employ a ‘keeping my enemies closer’ strategy with the media.”

  “And does it work?”

  He smiled, that wicked half-smile of his. “I have no idea, I don’t read that sort of thing, remember?”

  “You mentioned.”

  He slid one hand down her arm, warm fingertips trailing over her skin before he took her hand in his. “Now, let’s go have a press conference.”

  Her heart started moving to its own rhythm, too fast, too hard, to be normal. Why did he have to be charming? Or, the bigger question, why did it work on her? Why did it make her stomach tighten, her nerve endings sizzle, when she knew how easy this kind of charm came to men like him?

  She didn’t know why. She only knew it did.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  His smile widened, and as it did, she felt something in her chest expand. “Good. Now, try not to run into me on your way in.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHERE did he propose?”

  This question came from one of the reporters in the front, directed at Carlotta, who seemed stiffer than usual at his side. He’d gotten a glimpse of the depth of her discomfort in the hallway. Visible cracks in that smooth veneer of hers.

  “He. In his office,” she said.

  It was true, even if it was a very unromantic picture to paint for the press. Not that he really cared. The press would take what they said and do whatever they pleased with it. That was how it worked. They didn’t get a vote on how they were portrayed in the media. He’d given up caring years ago.

  But Carlotta cared. He could see it, in her stance, in the tenseness in her body. She cared a lot.

  “You make it sound dull, Carlotta, when we both know it wasn’t.” He turned to her and brushed his thumb over her cheek gently, fascinated by the stain of pink that spread over her cheeks, beneath her smooth golden skin.

  “Of course it wasn’t,” she said, her voice stronger now. “But I didn’t want to give away the entire story. You were so sweet and romantic.”

  Her comment made his breath rush out on an involuntary chuckle. “All right. Then we won’t tell them about the doves.” He tossed the crowd of reporters a look. “Boring story. Next question?” With any luck, their little display would have the reporters writing about secret glances and shared jokes.

  “Prince Rodriguez, you’re the first ruler in the Anguiano family to marry a woman who already has a child. What does that mean for the country? Are you concerned about watering down the line?”

  He heard Carlotta suck in a sharp breath and a strong surge of some unidentifiable emotion rose in his chest. It burned. He felt like there was a pool of fire in his chest, and if he gave it free rein it would take over. And if it did. he did not know what he would do.

  Teeth clenched, he forced words forward. “Luca is a child, not an incidental. He is off-limits. Next question, and if you cannot keep it on a topic I approve of, we can be finished here.”

  More questions followed, about the wedding date, how they met. All of which he glossed over with practiced ease.

  “I think that’s enough for one morning,” he said.

  “Pictures?” A photographer stood up in back.

  Rodriguez nodded his head once in affirmation and drew Carlotta to his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She felt cold. The fire in his chest kindled again. He leaned in, his lips touching her ear. “Try to smile.”

  She turned to him, her mouth only a whisper from his, her full lips looking soft and more tempting than he could remember lips ever looking. He wanted to kiss her. And his mind was going no further than that. The need for a simple kiss. he couldn’t remember ever wanting that.

  But this wasn’t the time.

  He turned to the photographers and offered a smile. Carlotta did the same, her head angled just perfectly toward him, almost as though she were deferring to him. They made quite a picture. A royal couple who looked better than his parents ever had, for the short amount of time they’d been a couple.

  At least in pictures they looked like all Santa Christobel would expect of a ruler and his queen. Maybe these images would blot out the ones they’d looked at for years. Pictures of him with leggy blondes in tight skirts, driving fast cars, leaving notorious nightclubs. And then, one of their favorite sequences, he and a date entering a luxury hotel in the early-morning hours, him leaving a couple of hours later, and his date, dashing out in the daylight hours, wearing the same thing she’d worn the night before.

  They loved that one. A look at the scandalous prince. After a while, reading his own exploits had bored him. And sometimes it made him.

  He shut his mind on the thoughts. This wasn’t the time to reflect on all of that. Standing in the formal reception hall, the state seal behind him, his fiancée at his side, it made it seem like another life.

  “Thank you,” he said, nodding again and dropping his arm from Carlotta’s waist. He moved to exit and she stayed with him, walking closely beside him.

  She really was the perfect royal wife. At least in public. That was all that mattered.

  As soon as they were outside the room, Carlotta seemed to deflate as she released the breath she’d been holding. “That was …”

  “I know. I’m sorry that man mentioned Luca. It was out of line. I won’t tolerate it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice muted. “Thank you for standing up for him. I know that you aren’t. I know you don’t really like kids.”

  “What? Who said I didn’t like kids?”

  “He makes you uncomfortable. I can tell.”

  Rodriguez shifted, a vague feeling of. embarrassment, something he wasn’t sure he could ever remember experiencing, washing through him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like children. I have no experience with them.”

  “You’ve never dated a woman who had a child?”

  Vaguely, he remembered that there had been a woman who’d left the hotel before him once. He was almost certain she said something about needing to get back so her babysitter could go home. “I. Not one that ever introduced me to her children.”

  Carlotta began to walk down the corridor, back to the private palace quarters. He followed, his eyes drifting to the rounded curve of her backside. His body most definitely approved of the view.

  “I didn’t have any experience with children either. I don’t remember if I’d ever held a baby until I held my own. And then, he was so tiny and perfect. I loved him right then. And I knew I didn’t need any experience. I just needed to love him.” She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Of course, I now go through intermittent, crippling bouts of wondering whether or not I’m doing the right thing for him, but, essentially, I trust that just. loving him is enough.”

  He stopped walking for a moment. “Do you think all mothers feel that when they hold their babies?”

  She stopped too, turning to face him. “I … I don’t know. It was so strong for me. I know my own mother. she loves us, but she’s. she’s distant.”

  “Not as distant as mine, I bet,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since I was younger than Luca.”

  “That’s. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t do regret.”

  Carlotta looked at Rodriguez’s face. The teasing smile was gone from his lips, but there was no regret in his expression. No longing or sadness. Just blank acceptance. The absence of emotion there was nearly frightening, like she was seeing past the veil, just for a moment, and into the man. That beyond his humor and easy manner there was a deep, dark void, one barely covered by a thin veneer that was in danger of being stripped away at any moment.

  It was an insight she wanted to turn away from. An insight she longed to ignore, pretend she’d never seen. But she wasn’t sure she could.

  “Well, I am,” she said. “Even though my mother and father can be difficult sometimes, I do love them.”

  “Your father basically sold you
into marriage, and you call that love?” he asked, a hard note lacing his voice, stripping the velvet off his normally enticing tone.

  “Because he needed me. I’m royalty, a different set of responsibilities comes with that. You ought to know all about it.”

  “And you’re doing your penance, right?” He seemed determined to make her angry, and it was working. It was working really, really well. It was easy to forget he’d just stood up for Luca. Easy now to just let all of the goodwill she’d allowed to build up between them slip right through her fingers, while clinging tightly to everything she’d tried so hard to ignore.

  The helplessness, the sick, awful feeling that came with being used. The sense that she was little more to anyone than a pawn to be moved around on a chessboard.

  And the anger. That was the easiest to latch on to.

  “I’m doing the right thing,” she hissed. “Maybe I haven’t always. But I’m doing it now. Even though it means a lifetime of this.” She waved her arm, indicating the palace itself. Including Rodriguez in the sweep. “Because there’s more to life than just being happy, or satisfying base urges, or following your passions, whatever they might be at any given time. It’s about responsibility.”

  “Perhaps. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’m even in Santa Christobel and not in my apartment in Barcelona with a redhead? Responsibility. Don’t assume I don’t understand. But my sense of duty is not driven by guilt.”

  “Well, it’s easy for you, isn’t it? Don’t you plan on just going along like Luca and I never happened to you?”

  He paused for a moment, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I did. But you seem pretty determined to make that an impossibility.” He advanced on her, his eyes locked with hers. She held her ground, mostly because she didn’t want to escape him. Whatever he had in mind, it didn’t scare her. It made her body feel tight, even while her muscles seemed to melt into pudding.