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CHAPTER THREE

“MY JEWELER will be arriving later.”

Carlotta looked up from the drawing Luca had just handed her and nearly choked as she watched Rodriguez walk into the playroom. The staff had spent the afternoon furnishing and arranging everything. Now Luca was fully equipped with a new bed for his room, a small table and chairs, where he was currently sitting, coloring, and a matching, hand-carved toy box for his most prized possessions. Although his favorite stuffed owls held pride of place on a shelf by his bed.

“What jeweler? What for?” she asked, the answer landing about the time the words left her mouth.

“For your ring.”

She looked back down at the paper. “Right.”

Luca turned in his chair. “Hi.”

Rodriguez attempted a smile, his jaw tightening. “Hi, Luca.”

“Why do I need to see the jeweler?”

He lifted one dark brow, his focus shifting back to her. “So you can choose the ring.”

“Well, I don’t see why I really need to choose it.”

“Do you have a crown?” Luca asked, his green eyes still fixed on Rodriguez.

Rodriguez looked back at Luca, a flash of discomfort crossing his handsome face. “There is a crown. One that has been in the Anguiano family for a long time. But I don’t wear it.”

“I would,” Luca said, turning back to his drawing.

Rodriguez’s brows locked together. “What were you saying?” he asked, his dark eyes not leaving Luca.

“I don’t see why I need to choose the ring.” Carlotta bent and set the picture down on the table, then straightened. “I mean, it’s a ring.”

“Your engagement and wedding ring.”

“Yes, but it isn’t as though …” She looked down at Luca and frowned. “Luca, I’m going to go talk to Rodriguez for a moment.”

Luca looked up. “But I’m going to color.”

“That’s fine, just stay at the table. Color on the paper only. Out here.” She stepped out into the corridor and Rodriguez followed, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

“You don’t seem to be distracted by Luca’s interjections,” he said.

“He’s a kid. He does that.”

“I would not have been permitted to do that.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “And you don’t think he should be allowed to?”

“There is very little from my childhood I would use as a model when raising a son. I don’t mind his comments. I’m just not used to it.”

“Oh.” She relaxed her stance. “I was saying it’s not like our marriage has a whole lot of significance. You intend to do as you please. It isn’t as though the ring will have any real value to me.”

“You’ll want it to match your style, sì?” he asked.

“I suppose but …”

He frowned, his forehead creasing. “Why aren’t you pleased?”

“Pleased?”

“You get to look at diamonds and pick your favorite. Women like that.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of diamonds.” Jewelry didn’t mean anything. It was money, money could buy a lot of things. Jewels sent to her at birthdays and holidays while her family stayed hundreds of miles away, that didn’t do a lot to offer comfort.

“And you do not want … more?”

“Does it bother you?” she asked.

“I thought this would please you,” he said, his tone exasperated.

“I didn’t say I was displeased, Rodriguez. I just … I didn’t know you were going to the trouble of having a jeweler come with a display for me to peruse. I wasn’t expecting it. Neither do I require it.”

“Let me give you something,” he said. The tone in his voice changed, there was something different there, something dark. She didn’t truly understand it, but in some ways, she doubted if he did either.

“I’ll choose a ring. But you are already giving me something. You’re giving Luca your name. It … it means a lot to me. The Santina name has been nothing more than a curse to him in so many ways. Because him bearing my last name marks him. No matter how much I wish it didn’t,” she whispered the last words, the pain strangling her. Whenever she thought of what she’d done to her son, to his life, with her bad decisions, it made her feel like she was bathing in the shame of it all over again. In the agony.

He deserved a mother who made better choices. Her mother and father deserved a daughter who made better choices. At least in this marriage to Rodriguez, she had a small shot at redemption.

Not just for herself. For Luca. For him, bearing the Anguiano name would erase so much stigma from his life. In time, people might forget. He might stop being punished for her sins.

That alone made the marriage worth it.

“I don’t know if my family name will serve him any better,” Rodriguez said.

“It will.”

Their eyes met and Carlotta felt the impact like a punch to her stomach, making her breath shallow, her entire body tense. There was something about him, something beyond the masculine beauty of his face, the perfectly square jaw, the dark, compelling eyes. He possessed a kind of sexual magnetism. The sort of charm that could make a woman lose her mind, and her clothes, in less time than it would take for him to properly execute a pickup line.

She could feel her body changing. Her breasts getting heavy, her limbs trembling, her stomach tightening, an ache building in her core. All it took was a look. He didn’t have to speak, didn’t have to move, and her body was ready for him. For his touch.

How did he do it? How did he peel her control away, strip by strip, like a flimsy silk covering? Not even Gabriel had been able to do that. She’d made the decision to cast off propriety and have an affair with him. With Rodriguez … she was trying to ignore it. Trying to hang on, and yet she couldn’t.

She backed away, gripping the knob on the playroom door, counting on the reminder that her son was right there to be her lifeline, to be her link to sanity.

“I’d better go check on Luca.”

He nodded sharply, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll send one of my staff up to sit with him in a couple of hours when the jeweler arrives. Is that all right with you?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. It might come out all breathy and shivery. She certainly felt shivery. She backed into the playroom and closed the door behind her, trying to ignore the steady pounding of her heart.

She knew about men like him. Men with charm. Men who made promises with their eyes. Promises of pleasure that young, naive women might mistake for a promise of love.

But the only real promise in men like him was the promise of heartbreak. She knew that. She had the battle scars on her heart, on her life, to serve as reminders.

Rodriguez was a danger, not simply to her heart, but to her control. She had to keep her control. She couldn’t afford to let it go. She would give him an heir, and after the wedding, she would give him her body. But it would only be for that purpose.

It could never be anything more.

“Good night, figlio mio.” Carlotta leaned forward, the cinched waist of her dress digging into her less than toned stomach, and kissed Luca on the forehead.

“Are you going to sleep too?” he asked, his eyes trained on hers. Luca was always so tuned in to her. She imagined it was because it was just the two of them. She poured everything into him. All of her love, all of her energy. It was the most exhausting, rewarding thing she’d ever done with her life.

And now it was changing. Her sweet, peaceful, somewhat boring life. She didn’t want it to change. For a moment she just wanted to freeze time. Keep it here, with Luca. With him so small and trusting that his mother had everything under control. His trust in her helped her believe in herself.

But she couldn’t stop time. And her control was slipping fast.

“No,” she said, trying to force a smile. “I’m meeting with the prince.”

“He has a funny name,” Luca said.

“Luca! No, he doesn’t.” Hard for a five-year-old to say though.

“Is he your boyfriend? Elia from school said her mama has a boyfriend.”

“Do you even know what a boyfriend is?” she asked, hoping to put off answering the question, since she wasn’t really sure what to say about all of this. Rodriguez was … he was nothing to her and her fiancé at the same time, and there was really no clean way to explain that to a child. She didn’t really understand it.

“No.”

“I told you we were going to be living here. And it’s because Rodriguez and I are getting married.” She sucked in a sharp breath and cursed the tiny zipper of her dress as it dug into her rib cage. “That means he’ll be my husband.”

“Will he be my dad?”

The thousand-euro question. And she had no clue how to answer it. It also betrayed that Luca did realize it was just them. And that there should be more. That he should have a father. But his father already had a family, and didn’t leave any room for them.

Her heart tightened. “Yes, Luca. If I’m married to him, he’ll be your dad.”

He was adopting Luca, and no matter how involved he was, legally, he would be Luca’s father. And she would not let him hurt her son. There was no amount of atonement worth that.

“Good. Where’s Sherbet?”

“Here.” She reached up to the shelf above his bed and retrieved one of his ratty stuffed owls, much loved and often washed so that his synthetic fuzz was clumped together. “Now, good night, Luca.”

“Night,” he mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

She crept from the room and flicked the light off, and nearly ran into the solid figure of Rodriguez when she stepped out into the corridor.

“Madre di dio!” she hissed, her hand on her chest over her raging heart. She would pretend, for now, that her physical reaction was due to him startling her and that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that clung to every hard muscle on his lean body. Nothing at all to do with those dark, glittering eyes, the chiseled jaw, the wicked mouth, always curved up as though he was laughing at her expense.

Nope. It was because he’d snuck up on her.

“I have a funny name?” he asked, one dark brow raised.

“You were eavesdropping?”

He shrugged, not even a hint of conscience showing. “Funny kid. He’s smart.”

She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. “He is.”

“Lorenzo is here with the rings. Come with me.” He looped his arm through hers, a polite gesture. One a visiting dignitary might bestow upon her, back at the palace in Santina. But this was different.

Because every time Rodriguez touched her, it was like throwing a match into a can of petrol. It made her want to escape her own body. To climb out of her skin so she could get away from the heat, and the fire. The desire that made her want to turn to him and put her hands on his chest, to feel if it was just as hard and muscular as it looked.

How did he do this? How did he demolish all of her hard-earned control with just a look?

She hadn’t been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative since before Luca was born. It was making her hormones a touch unpredictable. And a lot overenthusiastic.

That was why. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

She clenched her jaw tight and followed him down the long, marble-tiled corridor and through double, oak wood doors into a large study. This had a bit of Rodriguez in it. At least, as she imagined him. Large windows that overlooked the turquoise sea and white sand beaches of Santa Christobel. A pale wood desk that had no papers on it, a bright red rug that added punch to the pale color palette.

The desk had a tray on it, lined in black velvet, with at least fifty brilliant rings on display.

“Lorenzo thought we might like some privacy,” Rodriguez said, not moving from his position by the doorway. “Go. Look.”

Carlotta swallowed and made her way over to the desk. There was a mix of old and new designs, antique mixed with modern. Diamonds in every color, sapphires, rubies.

Carlotta was familiar with fine jewelry. She’d been given her first pair of diamond earrings when she was three. But this … this was different. There was a time when she’d dreamed of a wedding proposal. First from an imaginary suitor, handsome and dashing. And then she’d met the man.

Gabriel. A fitting name. Pale golden hair, beautiful blue eyes. He’d looked like an angel to her. So perfect. He’d made her heart race and her pulse pound, had made her tremble with the desire for things she’d never really wanted before.

When she’d met Gabriel she’d rushed to throw off the restraints she’d let hold her all of her life. Because he had become the one she’d fantasized about getting a ring from.

Until she’d found out another woman already wore his ring. That thought always brought a kind of sharp, rolling nausea that made her shake, made her body prickle with cold sweat. With disgust. Disgust aimed at herself, for all of the sins her passions had encouraged her to commit.

She closed her eyes, curling her hand into a fist for a moment, fighting old memories. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look back down at the rings. This was different, this, at least, was honest. It wasn’t love, but she’d never really had love. She’d been used. She’d been discarded. She’d been tricked.

Even still, she wasn’t innocent of every wrong that had taken place in that relationship.

At least now she was going in with her eyes wide-open. At least now her heart wasn’t at risk.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she said. The gems blurred together as unexpected tears filled her eyes. Why was she being emotional? Because she was thinking about Gabriel? Thinking of him rarely made her cry anymore. It just made her feel sick.

“Start with what you like best.” Rodriguez’s voice came from right behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body at her back.

She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore her racing heart. “Help me choose.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

“I know but …” She extended her hand and touched a ring with a white, square-cut diamond at the center. “I don’t know.”

“Then we’ll have to see which one feels right.” He reached from behind her, his arm brushing her waist as he picked up the ring she’d just touched. He took her left hand in his and turned her gently, like a dancer might twirl his partner.

She was face-to-face with him, so close now. He held the ring up and handed it to her. She was grateful he wasn’t going to put it on for her. She didn’t know what she would do if he kept touching her hand. Melt, probably.

Rodriguez watched Carlotta slide the ring onto her finger, her motions smooth and graceful. She was like that. Always. Smooth and dignified. It was hard to imagine her ruffled, even though he’d seen it. Carlotta had a sanguine surface, but when she was cornered, her inner wildcat came out.

He liked it. Even if he couldn’t explain why. He tended to like simple women. Not stupid women, but women who had no baggage. Women who just wanted sex and fun. Parties, a night in his bed. And then he always had a gift sent to them later. Something to remember a good time by. It was uncomplicated.

It was enough, because it had to be.

But nothing about marriage was uncomplicated. Even less so when a child was involved. And much less so still when the woman was Carlotta. She had secrets. She had hidden depths. Passion that simmered just beneath the smooth, controlled surface. A passion she seemed to want to deny.

Normally, he wouldn’t care about anything hidden. Give him surface. He could enjoy surface forever. But he would be living with Carlotta. Having children with her. Already there was Luca.

It made him want to know.

Her throat convulsed as she looked down at her hand, at the glittering diamond there. “Not this one.”

He shook his head. “No, not that one. It’s too … expected.”

She laughed. “Well, maybe it is perfect. Because generally speaking, I’m expected.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, scanning the tray, his eyes fixing on a gold, ornate band with a pear-cut emerald set in the center.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Marrying you, because my father asked me to. Because it was the right thing to do.”

“I find that very unexpected,” he said, taking the ring between his thumb and forefinger and pulling it from its satin nest.

“Do you?” she asked, green eyes, so close to the color of the gem, locked with his.

“Yes. I don’t know very many people who would drop everything in their life to do what was asked of them. Granted, I know several people who would drop everything to marry a prince, but I don’t get the feeling my title colored your motives.”

“I’m already a princess.”

“And you don’t live at the palace.”

She bit her lip. “No.”

“See? Unexpected.” He offered her the ring and she took it gingerly, sliding it onto her ring finger.

She held her hand out, her focus on the ring now. “Very unexpected.”

When she moved, he caught the scent of her. She smelled like clean skin and soap, a smell he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed on a woman before. Either because it was covered by perfume, or because he’d just never taken the time to notice, he wasn’t sure.

He captured her hand, her skin soft and smooth. It was impossible for him not to wonder how it would feel for those delicate, feminine fingers to trail over his bare skin. Impossible not to wonder if her lips would be just as soft. On his lips, his body.

Six months. It had been six months, and his libido was really starting to rebel.

But she wasn’t just a woman at a club. Someone to have a night of fun with. She was supposed to be his wife. The Queen of Santa Christobel. Clearing his desk so he could press her back onto the hard surface and have his way with her wasn’t the kind of treatment she would be expecting. And anyway, it would scatter the jewelry.

Who cares? You’ll be a terrible husband and father, but you could give her this.

Sex. He was good at sex. At making women feel good about themselves. And in the process, it made him feel good.

“I like this one,” he said, shutting the images out of his mind.

Her eyes clashed with his. “You do?”

“Do you?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then you should have it,” he said. “And it only seems fitting that I ask you again. Will you marry me?”

“I …”

He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, relishing the silken quality of her skin. He bent his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw her pupils expand, a strange mix of curiosity and desire mingling in there.

“Say yes,” he said, his lips brushing against her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. He saw a sheen of tears there. It made his chest feel tight. Had he made her cry? Was he already a source of unhappiness for her?

“Good.” He managed to force the word out.

“Rodriguez …” She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. And he wanted to draw her to him. To offer her some kind of comfort. To tell her things would be okay.

He took a step back, denying the impulse. This was why he was so intent on them leading separate lives. He couldn’t fulfill her needs, not the emotional ones. And why he cared, he didn’t know.

He didn’t understand this, the tightness in his chest mixed with a strange attraction that had been growing in him from the moment he’d seen her. Slow and steady, not hot and instant. But it was there. Smoldering. Constant. And what he was feeling now, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t casual. Maybe that was what happened when you asked a woman to marry you.

“See you in the morning.”

He turned and walked from the room, ignoring the hurt he’d seen on her face. He’d done the wrong thing. But it wouldn’t be the last time. It was better they both get used to it.