Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child (14 page)

She swung away from him and swept a hand across her face, pushing back the loose tendrils of her hair. ‘There is no contest. I’m merely acknowledging the truth of the matter. You’d never be thinking about marrying me if it weren’t for two small smudges on a screen. You’d never even consider marrying me if it weren’t for these two babies of yours I’m carrying.’

‘And that’s a problem?’ He moved closer, his hands held out to her, but she jumped back out of his reach just as quickly.

‘This damned marriage is all about these babies. Nothing else. If it weren’t for them, you would have let me walk away weeks ago.’

His feet planted wide on the deck, he reached a hand to his head, pushing it through his hair, irritation plainly written on his features.

‘We’ve been through this,’ he said gruffly, his patience clearly wearing thin. ‘We both know why we’re getting married. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be good together. You know that.’

‘Sure, we have a great time in bed. Now there’s a sound basis for a marriage. Not!’

‘Even forgetting the fact we’ll have children between us, being compatible in bed is more than some people have.’

‘And it’s less than others have.’

‘I’ll settle for the sex.’

She scoffed. ‘I’d expect you to say that. And what happens when we don’t have such a great time in bed any more? When you get sick of me or I get sick of you? What happens then?’

Even behind his sunglasses, she could see his eyes narrow as they focused in on her. ‘Then we get separate beds. Is that what you want to hear?’ He looked away, his hand troubling his already tousled hair once more. ‘What is this?’ he said, turning back. ‘What are you trying to prove?’

Sienna stood at the railing, looking out to sea, the wind in her hair as the boat cut through the clear blue water, and shook her head. ‘I don’t want it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want a marriage based on becoming someone’s brood mare.’

‘A bit melodramatic, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t think. You need an heir. If these…’ she placed a hand low over her tummy, cradling the place her babies were growing deep below ‘…turn out to be girls, that doesn’t help you one bit, does it? A daughter cannot become a prince. A daughter does not solve Montvelatte’s problem. You need a son.’

‘They will be boys; I know it.’

‘How can you know it? There is no way of telling at this stage, no way of knowing. And if you’re wrong, and neither of these babies is male, what will my job be?’ She nodded, drawing herself up as still and tall as she could. ‘I’ll be expected to keep on breeding until you have an heir and a spare. But will that be enough, I wonder, given what happened to your brothers? Two sons may not be enough. So how many children must I be expected to bear? How many times will I be expected to share your bed so that you might inject me with your seed and get me pregnant? Don’t even pretend you don’t expect me to be some kind of brood mare for you.’

‘Enough!’ He drew closer. So close she could see the
corded tension in his throat, the thump of his heart beating in his temples. ‘And you would have me believe that you do not enjoy sharing my bed?
Dio
, who was it who dressed herself like a temptress and paraded herself in front of Montvelatte’s wealthiest like some high-society whore, trawling for sex, smelling for all the world like a bitch in heat—’

Her open palm collided against his face with a crack that slammed his head sideways and left a deep red stain upon his olive-skinned cheek.

‘You bastard! I am
nobody’s
whore!’

He raised a hand to his face, rubbing the place she had hit and all the while he looked down at her. ‘All I am trying to do is make the best of a situation.’

‘Take advantage of it, you mean!’

‘Which is better than pretending it doesn’t exist! Don’t you think it’s about time you faced the facts? You’re pregnant with twins.
My
twins. What the hell else are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. But maybe you might have bloody well asked me to marry you, instead of just demanding I do.’

‘And would you have said yes?’

‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’

His jaw worked overtime, his eyes cold as flint. ‘Then maybe it’s just as well I didn’t ask.’

T
HE
engines slowed as they entered the harbour, and Rafe went and stood at the opposite side of the launch as the pilot skilfully negotiated their way into the marina and to the private landing where Sebastiano stood to attention, waiting for them to dock, the buttons on his jacket gleaming under the sun. He was looking from one to the other, a small frown creasing the skin between his wiry eyebrows.

‘What is it?’ Rafe asked before they’d berthed, obviously eager for a change of topic.

‘The Princess Marietta has arrived. She’s waiting for you at the Castello.’

‘Marietta is here? Already?’ He leapt onto the dock. ‘I’ll take the Alfa. Sebastiano, you take Signorina Wainwright and drive carefully. She’s feeling a little off-colour.’

And then he was gone, and it was Sebastiano’s duty to hand her from the boat. ‘You’re not well, Signorina Wainwright?’ he inquired as intelligent eyes scanned her features, and she gained the distinct impression he missed nothing, not even the residual spark of fury that coloured her vision.

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, taking his hand as she stepped onto the dock. ‘Rafe worries too much.’

‘Prince Raphael has not seen his sister in some years. They have a lot to catch up on.’

‘Lucky Marietta,’ was the best response she could dredge up. 

He’d tried. He’d cancelled his appointments and taken her out on a cruise around the island. He’d shown her the tiny coves and beaches that dotted the coastline, tutored her in the names of the villages and what specialities each was renowned for, whether it was to do with wine, olives, oranges or seafood.

Rafe took a hairpin bend, his tyres squealing in protest, and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He’d done everything he could. And still she railed against him, blaming him, fighting the inevitable as if she were some innocent lamb being led to the slaughter.

Christo!
What was her problem?

Last night she’d been the one to come to him, calling to every last sexual sense he had, the siren, beckoning him, wanting him to make love to her.

Hadn’t he given her what she’d wanted? She’d seemed fine with their arrangement then. What the hell had changed between then and now?

The Alfa Romeo made easy work of the climb, the Castello looming larger and larger in front of him as he neared its iron gates. Maybe she was right. Maybe their marriage was a disaster waiting to happen if she could run so hot and cold in the space of twenty-four hours.

Maybe he would be better off with someone more amenable. Or maybe pregnancy was sending her hormone levels haywire. She was having twins after all. Did that mean twice the hormones?

Besides, he didn’t want someone else.

Why would he when she was already pregnant with his seed?

Two babies. And she could think what she liked, but he was damned sure at least one of them would be a son and the heir that Montvelatte needed if it was to maintain its status as a Principality into the future.

It was perfect. Why couldn’t she see that?

It had to be hormones.

Rafe pulled into the forecourt and was just uncurling himself from the car when he heard a sound, a familiar voice even as it turned into a squeal of pleasure. He looked up to see his little sister running down the steps towards him, and he wondered when his little sister had turned into such a stunning woman, a younger version of how he remembered his mother—blonde and beautiful and a throwback to another time, when northern Europeans had swept south into Italy. Somehow Marietta had inherited the lion’s share of her genes from their mother. As for him, he’d inherited her height, but the rest of his genes he could attribute squarely to his typically Mediterranean father.

He was glad she’d won their mother’s blonde good looks and that they sat with such apparent ease on her. Maybe he hadn’t taken any notice back then, or maybe it had just been too long a time since he’d seen her. How many years was it since they’d seen each other? Whatever, it was way too long.

‘Raphael!’ she squealed, launching herself at him, and the years faded away, and it was his little Marietta back in his arms. His same little princess. Although now with a discernible hint of a New Zealand accent. ‘I’m so sorry I missed your coronation.’

He grimaced. ‘Don’t be. It was a dry and dusty affair. You didn’t miss anything. But you’re here early. I wasn’t expecting you until just before the wedding.’

‘I finished a design project early. Thought I’d take off before they lumbered me with another. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just so good to see you at last.’ She kissed both his cheeks and then stood back down, a grin tugging at her lips as she gave him a look of mock seriousness. ‘Or should I call you “Prince Raphael” now?’

He squeezed her to him again and spun her around, returning the kiss with one of his own. ‘Only if you let me call you princess.’

‘But you always did,’ she said on a laugh as she settled back to ground level, taking his arm as they headed into the Castello. ‘But who would have imagined one day I would actually be a princess for real—and that this—’ she swept her arm around in a wide arc ‘—would all be yours.’

‘It’s not mine. Technically, I’m just looking after it.’ She turned and switched on that same electrifying smile that had got his mother noticed by a prince who’d lost his wife, only to be thrust into oblivion when he had tired of her, and something tugged at him from way deep inside.

This hadn’t been a happy place for his mother, bearing babies who were destined never to rule, in love with a man who had only sought her comfort on the rebound.

‘You always were a stickler for doing it by the book,’ she said with another laugh, dragging him away from the pit where lay his memories of the time. ‘Can’t you sit back and enjoy it, just a little? I’ve been having a ball looking around this old place. I only know it from photographs.’

He led her into the library, the aroma of fresh coffee and warm rolls reminding him that he’d had a full appetite-building day on the water, a day that had ended less than spectacularly, which meant the comfort factor of the food wasn’t lost on him either. He sat down and poured coffee for them both, adding a liberal dash of cream to his own.

Marietta took the cup he proffered, slipped off her shoes, and curled them beneath her, holding her cup with both hands as she blew across its surface. ‘Plus I think I have incorporated into my memories all those things I heard you and Mama talking about—when you did talk about Montvelatte.’ She took a sip of her coffee, and when she spoke again her voice
was subdued. ‘I can’t believe what happened to our father. He never cared for us, never gave us a thought, but I thought he loved his sons. How they could do such a thing to their own father—’ She looked up at him. ‘Have you seen them at all, Carlo and Roberto?’

Rafe leant back in his chair and stretched his legs out long in front of him. ‘I visited them once in the prison.’

‘And?’

He remembered the day, before his coronation, when he’d gone to see them. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d wanted to go, just that if they could talk, maybe he could make some sense of what had happened, but all he’d got was their hatred, their sneers and looks of derision, reminding him how he had felt long ago, as if he was still the bastard son who counted for nothing. He shook his head. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

She blinked and took a deep breath, then turned her eyes up at him over the cup and smiled apologetically. ‘What am I talking about? You’re getting married, big brother. How amazing is that?’

‘Why should it be amazing? I’m thirty-three years old. High time I settled down, wouldn’t you say?’

She laughed and put her cup down. ‘Except you were the one who was never going to settle down.’

He looked away. Wondered why he hadn’t yet heard any sound of Sebastiano returning with Sienna.

‘Where is she?’

‘What?’

‘Your fiancée. Where is she? When do I get the chance to meet her?’

‘Oh.’ He shook his head. ‘Soon. I’d like you to be one of her bridesmaids. It’s probably just as well you’re here early.’

‘That’s what I figured,’ she said, sipping at her tea innocently. ‘Anyone else I know in the wedding party?’

‘Probably only Yannis. I’ve asked him to be my best man, of course.’

The cup stilled at her lips, and something briefly clouded her eyes, something he didn’t quite understand, before she looked up at him and threw him one of those dazzling smiles that lit up the room. ‘Of course. Who else? Anyway, what’s she like, this bride of yours. Tell me about her. This is so amazing, big brother, I’ve never know you to stick with a woman for more than a month in your life. She must be something to have got you to commit.’

‘She is,’ he said with surprise, his voice choking, his ears straining for any sound. ‘You’ll meet her soon.’

‘Is she pretty?’

He jerked his head around, his fingers tangling together, his feet itchy, unable to keep still. Was she pretty? In his mind’s eye he saw her hair, coiling around her face, refusing to be restrained, and shining copper against the most perfect translucent skin.
Dio
, she wasn’t just pretty, she was breathtaking, a breath of fresh air on a stifling summer’s day, a slice of paradise in every smile. ‘She’ll make a great first lady for Montvelatte,’ he said, realising how lame the words sounded the minute they’d left his mouth.

Marietta considered him carefully, her long-lashed eyes as calculating as any computer. ‘But you love her, right?’

Sienna had made a hash of the afternoon. Blown any sense of camaraderie she and Rafe had been building up because she’d had an epiphany. An epiphany she wanted to run kicking and screaming from. A thunderclap that, at first, had seen continuing her endeavours to make him love her all but pointless.

She’d wanted to wallow in the depths then. She deserved to wallow. To consider herself lost, like some storm-tossed traveller
at sea, miles from home, without a sign of land, and bereft of loved ones. Iseo’s Pyramid had never looked so appealing.

But there was no escape, and nothing would change the truth. She loved Rafe Lombardi.
Prince Raphael Lombardi
. She wasn’t supposed to love him, but she did.

And she could deny it all she wanted. She could rail against the injustice of it. She could drive herself and everyone around her crazy by fighting it and fighting them, but then what good would that do?

Or she could keep going with her plan. Just because her father had never loved her mother, didn’t mean that Rafe could never love her. She was sure he felt something for her. There was a spark—something—that was worth pursuing, no matter how much he tried to compartmentalize her usefulness in his life between recreation and procreation.

It was no consolation that her mother had probably felt just as sure that she would be able to make Sienna’s father love her. It was no help at all.

But if she was to win through this, then she had to look to the positives. Rafe could love her, she was sure.

She had to be sure.

Sebastiano seemed to respect her need for quiet and drove at a gentle pace up the mountain to the Castello, the shadow thrown by the building casting the road into a half-light that seemed strangely to fit her mood.

Half-light. Where she felt now, knowing she loved Rafe. Knowing he didn’t love her.

Half-light. A possible future of unreciprocated one-way affection if she didn’t try.

Did she want to live life that way? Hell, no.

Rafe’s car was still in the driveway when they pulled up, but something else captured her attention. The JetRanger sitting pretty in the centre of the helipad below, the familiar
navy-and-white colours of her former employer proudly displayed. Just the sight of it was enough to rip open the scar of losing her recent life.

Sebastiano opened the door for her, caught the direction of her lingering gaze, and sought to explain. ‘Princess Marietta arrived in it two hours ago. I believe the pilot is waiting to collect a delivery before taking off.’

She turned to him. ‘Who’s the pilot? Do you know?’ She hadn’t been with the company that long, but just the thought of connecting with someone from her former life—anyone—lifted her spirits immeasurably.

Sebastiano gave a nod. ‘I will find out for you. But if you would like to step inside, I dare say Princess Marietta would like to meet you.’

Sienna hesitated a fraction longer, her gaze on the chopper, her fingers itching to hold a joystick again. She’d missed flying, missed being part of the endless sky. A gust of wind came from nowhere, and her eyes scanned further afield, to where the sky was deepening and even the water below was chopping up, looking more threatening. Maybe they were right. A summer storm. That would be something to see.

Then, with one last look at the helicopter, Sienna followed Sebastiano inside.

She heard voices coming from the library, Rafe’s rumbling deep tones and a woman’s voice, her laughter light and infectious, and, without having even met the woman, Sienna liked her already. It would be nice to have another woman around, nice to have someone to talk to, and she was about to enter the room when she heard it.

‘But you love her, right?’

Sienna stopped short of the doorway, holding her breath, her senses on red alert. There was only one person they could be talking about.

The silence stretched on for ever as Sienna waited, her ears straining to hear his response over the pounding of her heart.

‘Did you know she was pregnant?’

She looked to the ceiling, her fingers clenching and un-clenching as Rafe deftly sidestepped the issue. From inside the room, she heard the sounds of Marietta’s delight, her squeal when she heard the news about the twins, while outside the room Sienna closed her eyes and breathed deep. She knew she couldn’t keep standing here eavesdropping forever. She would have to enter the room, meet Rafe’s sister, and pretend everything was all right. When nothing was right and everything was all wrong.

Desperately wrong, when a perfect day could turn upside down. Where a fragile peace was going to be the best they could ever hope for.