Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
A FULL DAY later and Eden was still fuming at Azar’s not so veiled denigration of her character. Whether by design or coincidence—and she was inclined to believe the former—since then they’d been inundated with staff, and the occasional guest who wanted one thing or another from the Crown Prince. A crown prince who insisted that Eden and his son were present for each meeting, the last of which had included his half-brothers.
And between one breath and the next, Eden had found herself being coaxed into having Teo Domene’s creative designer as her wedding trousseau maker.
Very soon after that she’d firmly excused herself to bath Max and put him to bed—then spent a restless night swinging between the fear that she was doing the absolute wrong thing and the knowledge that there was no way back now she’d agreed.
Morning had arrived with another flurry of activity—including a surprise visit from Mrs Tolson, apparently organised by Azar, which had triggered another jolt of surprise she’d quickly pushed aside. Because of course he’d work to keep her onside until he had her firmly where he wanted her.
Still, she was glad for the chance to say goodbye, and for her neighbour to have some time with Max one last time.
Then the regal circus resumed, with stretch SUVs transporting the sizeable retinue she’d had no idea were even present at the hotel to the airport, where they boarded a jetliner the same size as Air Force One.
Eden was still reeling at the rollercoaster effect when the jet soared into the Nevada skies and winged its way towards Europe. After a half-hour exploring with Max, who was delving into his first experience on a plane with gusto and wearing himself out very quickly, she’d just settled him with a box of colourful puzzles when his father folded himself into the club seat opposite.
It was the first time they’d been alone in hours.
She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to say thanks for bringing Mrs Tolson so we could say goodbye.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘No. It wasn’t nothing. I appreciate it.’
A spark of surprise lit his eyes—as if, like her surprise over his consideration, her courtesy amazed him. It was gone an instant later, his gaze switching to Max.
‘He’s such a clever little boy.’
But before the burst of pride could bloom within her he was spearing her with those incisive eyes.
‘Has he ever asked about his father? About me?’ he amended, as if she was in any danger of forgetting who he was.
She shook her head. ‘Not in any real sense. He’s too young, I think. He probably would’ve if he’d been in daycare…’
His nostrils flared and a fierce light of satisfaction and determination ignited the silver-grey depths of his eyes. ‘It seems I came along just in time, then.’
The sting of his words sharpened her retort. ‘If you’re trying to laud yourself as some sort of saviour, Your Highness, you won’t find me falling over myself with gratitude. You might not think so, but we were doing okay before you came along. Not everyone is born with a dozen sets of silver spoons in their mouths.’
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table and surrounding her with the magnetism of his presence and the sublime scent that made her want to bury her nose in his throat and inhale lungsful.
‘Word to the wise: feel free to use that cutting tone with me all you like when we’re in private. But you will have to moderate it when we’re in public.’
The delivery was even-toned to the point of icy, with zero signs of disgruntlement. In fact, he looked faintly amused.
‘So I’m to walk three steps behind and ask how high when you tell me to jump or suffer the consequences?’
He reached across lazily and helped Max place another puzzle piece into its right slot. ‘Not at all. And not if I express a liking for my future queen’s tart tongue.’
She couldn’t stop the heat from suffusing her, despite the relatively benign statement. ‘I’m not changing who I am just to get on your or anyone else’s good side.’
She’d watched her mother do that far too many times, with the same heart-wrenching results.
A hint of something resembling respect flitted across his face. ‘Bending a little might be wise. Otherwise, get ready for a period of…friction.’
Again his words evoked steamy scenes that made her squirm in her seat. That made her far too aware of her erratic heartbeat. The tightening of her skin. The dampening between her thighs.
His silver eyes glinted again and she was sure he knew how erotically his words affected her. Straining to distance herself from the sensations, she snapped, ‘We’re getting away from the original subject, I think.’
The subject of his son refocused him, as she’d known it would.
He gave a brisk nod. ‘We are.’ Another taut pause, then, ‘I wish to tell him who I am. Sooner rather than later.’
Eden looked out of the window at the puffs of cloud several thousand feet beneath her. Up until yesterday morning she’d believed her son’s father had died in a car accident.
A part of her couldn’t deny she was glad Max’s father was alive and well and eager to claim him. And, yes, while the level of his claim was staggering, as long as she had breath in her body she would shield her son from any hurt and harm.
She met Azar’s piercing gaze and nodded. ‘Then you should tell him.’
He surged from his seat immediately, came around to her side and crouched down next to Max, where he was strapped into his seat. Max paused in his play, the distinctive eyes she’d tried to downplay so similar to his father’s, wide and inquisitive.
Emotion flashed over Azar’s face as his son offered him a puzzle piece. Instead of taking it, Azar wrapped his much larger hand over Max’s, bringing his pudgy fist to his mouth and dropping several gentle kisses on it before he brought it to rest on his chest.
As if knowing the gravity of the moment, Max didn’t fuss at having his playtime interrupted. He remained silent as Azar said in deep, low tones, ‘I am your father, Maximiliano. Your papá .’
Her clever son caught the emphasis of the word, or perhaps it sounded familiar enough that he blinked once, then repeated, ‘Papá?’
Watching an emotional shudder move through this powerful prince Eden had no recollection of creating her beautiful boy with dragged a lump to her throat. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she remained frozen as Azar’s head moved in a nod.
His Adam’s apple bobbed once before he replied, ‘Sí. Papá.’
Even while registering that there were several issues between them to be resolved she held this moment close, happy for her son. And it was made all the more precious because it was a million miles removed from the savage outcome of her attempted reconnection with her own father.
* * *
Paris was everything she’d dreamed it would be.
And viewed from this lofty perch, beside a crown prince who commanded an entire realm, it was even more breathtaking.
Because of course they were flying by helicopter from Charles de Gaulle Airport to the top of their five-star hotel.
And of course they were ushered straight into the royal suite, where another clutch of staff stood ready to fulfil their smallest desire.
But the person who had snagged Eden’s attention immediately was a drop-dead stunning woman, who stood almost six feet tall, wearing a brown leather pencil skirt and a ruffled chiffon layered top with a boat neck that displayed a bone structure most women would kill for. Satin-smooth dark caramel skin draped over high cheekbones served as the perfect platform to showcase her almond-shaped honey-brown eyes.
Eyes that flitted over Azar and, after a courteous greeting, returned to Eden, then to Max. Like most people who met her son, her face warmed in a smile, before returning to Eden.
Eden discovered the reason for her scrutiny a moment later, when she turned on killer legs, one sculpted arm outstretched.
‘Lovely to meet you, Miss Moss. I’m Sabeen El-Maleh, Teo Domene’s creative director at the House of Domene. I’m to fit you with a new wardrobe before your trip to Cartana.’
Her voice was a deep, sexy husk that Eden was sure must draw the opposite sex like bees to honey.
Eden hated the faint pang in her midriff, the compulsion to see if Azar was in any way affected by this breathtaking beauty, but his attention was entirely on Max as he scooped up his son and held him against his chest.
‘We’ll leave you ladies to it,’ he said.
With that he walked away, just as another staff member arrived with a tray of refreshments, effectively making any protests Eden had thought to make redundant. A little overwhelmed, and a touch irritated, she was learning that the royal machine was oiled by heavy doses of extreme politeness hiding determined steering.
But she accepted that Sabeen had taken time out of her likely busy schedule to attend her at short notice.
Taking the seat offered, she glanced at Sabeen. ‘Pardon me, but do creative directors usually undertake such tasks? I thought you’d have minions or stylists for that?’
A peculiar expression passed over Sabeen’s face, quickly veiled as she shrugged. ‘I was already in Paris for the week and Teo… Mr Domene asked me as a personal favour.’
Eden noted the slip and changed cadence in Sabeen’s tone but ignored it. It wasn’t her place to comment, and she had more important things to worry about.
But she couldn’t help but add, ‘If that means he owes you a favour, you should totally collect. I’m learning quickly that the Domene men are a domineering force who require occasional checking before they flatten you.’
Sabeen looked up from a large satin case she’d been examining, surprise lightening her eyes before she gave a low, forced laugh. ‘Great advice, thanks.’ She paused, her gaze darting to the double doors Azar had exited through. ‘And if you don’t mind my saying so, be sure to keep that one on his toes. Men like him get away with far too much, in my opinion.’
Their eyes met and held in silent reinforcement of welcome solidarity. Eden could and would stand her ground.
Then, with brisk instructions, a veritable feast of the most gorgeous designs Eden had ever seen outside a magazine were presented to her.
Quickly growing overwhelmed as her mind conjured up just where she would need to wear such exquisite clothes, she resigned herself to nodding at most of the selections and discarding the too risqué ones she knew she’d never be able to pull off wearing.
They’d moved on to accessories and make-up when approaching footsteps interrupted them. The tingling at her nape and between her shoulder blades signalled who their visitor was before she turned.
Azar’s gaze dragged over her before locking on her face. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Should it not be?’
His eyes narrowed and she realised she’d been snippy again. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead, she watched him stride across and settle himself into the seat opposite from her.
His scent assailed her, and for the life of her she couldn’t quite catch the breath that had come so easily moments ago.
‘Max—?’
‘Is fine,’ he said. ‘He has three of my staff making fools of themselves to keep him entertained and is thoroughly enjoying the attention.’
‘Oh…and you’re staying here?’
‘Any reason I shouldn’t?’
‘Well…don’t you have things to do? Meetings?’ She plucked the word feebly out of the air.
He shrugged. ‘I did. Until my meeting got cancelled.’
She snorted before she could help herself.
One eyebrow rose, his eyes glinting. ‘Something amusing?’
‘I seriously doubt that anyone would cancel on a crown prince.’
Eden heard a muted gasp from one of Sabeen’s assistants, but was too embroiled by the look in Azar’s eyes to heed it.
It held the smallest trace of amusement, plus that sliver of respect that loosened a knot of tension. If he liked her standing up to him—and he seemed to—maybe this exercise wouldn’t be so dreadful after all. Because healthy banter was surely a good foundation for serious communication?
Among other things?
‘When a minister’s pregnant wife goes into early labour, requiring his presence at her side for the birth of their first child, then, yes, he is allowed to cancel on a crown prince with impunity.’
‘Oh…’
‘Since we’ve got the wardrobe and accessories mostly settled, shall we discuss how specifically you wish to be styled?’ Sabeen asked, her expert eye roving Eden’s form. ‘Perhaps you have a signature look in mind? I can suggest a few things. We can go as simple or as elaborate as you want. Perhaps a shorter hairstyle—’
‘No.’ The growled word made them both turn to the full force of Azar’s glare. ‘She will not be cutting her hair. It stays the way it is.’
The kick in her midriff should have been born of outrage. Instead, it unfurled into a blaze so powerful its heat seared her insides. Her nipples tightened and her thighs clenched as forbidden delight lit through her.
God…what the hell was wrong with her? Hadn’t she only just warned Sabeen about the domineering attitude of the Domene brothers? Yet here she was, falling for the same masculine display.
She barely heard Sabeen excuse herself, gather her assistants before quickly leaving the room. The soft snick of the door drove the exquisite tension in the room higher.
‘Shouldn’t that be my choice?’ she demanded.
God, why did she sound so breathless? And why did her heart rate triple when he surged powerfully to his feet and prowled towards her?
He shrugged. ‘Ultimately, I cannot stop you, of course. But why dispose of such a striking asset when you don’t need to?’
‘You think my hair is “striking”?’
Heavens, could she sound any needier?
With a deft move he reached behind her and plucked the clasp holding her hair back from her face. Set loose, the long wings framed her face and Azar’s gaze ran feverishly over it.
Maybe she was imagining the depths of his penetrative gaze, but Eden couldn’t recall ever experiencing such intensity. Her lips parted as she tried to drag air into her lungs.
‘If memory serves…’ he rasped, and then his hands disappeared into the tresses, his fingers lightly running through them before gripping a handful. ‘It still feels like the most exquisite silk. Even from across a room it is extremely eye-catching,’ he finished, almost to himself.
At her unguarded gasp his fingers tightened, setting her scalp tingling delightfully. He leaned closer, his lips scant inches away. She couldn’t help running her gaze over the sensual curves of his mouth. It was unfair that he knew what their kiss tasted like, while she was left to wonder. The need to know made her sway closer, her heart pounding with sweet desperation.
‘It would be positively sinful to shear even a millimetre off this…’ he breathed.
Oh, God , how was it possible that a discussion of her hair could get her this hot?
‘Tell me you’ll leave it alone.’
The demand was edged with that customary imperiousness she suspected was bred into his DNA.
‘If you feel that strongly about it, then yes,’ she whispered.
Then she watched his eyes darken, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
A sound left her—a cross between a protest and a whimper that would have made her cringe if she hadn’t felt so very needy.
Kiss me , she wanted to demand. Please.
Noticing that her hands had somehow crept up to his chest, and feeling his steady heartbeat, indicating he wasn’t as affected as she, common sense slowly rose, then prevailed—although it stung a little when she saw the composure reflected in his eyes.
She was still scrambling to understand her confused emotions when he released her, strolled several steps away, then pivoted to face her, his hands slotted suavely into his pockets.
Eden ignored how that sexy stance threatened her common sense.
‘We’re dining out tonight,’ he told her.
She forced her brain to keep track. ‘Are we?’
He gave a brisk nod. ‘Now that you’ve agreed to marry me, we need to set the stage appropriately for what comes next.’
Her heart lurched. ‘Which is…?’
‘Ensuring the right publicity so the effect of our announcement has the right impact. We must be seen in public a few times before we spring our news on the world.’
She frowned. ‘So we’re to put a gloss on things? Pretend this is some sort of love-match rush to the altar? Isn’t that disingenuous?’
A muscle rippled in his jaw. ‘You’ll discover soon enough that, while sceptics abound, most citizens still prefer their leaders not be embroiled in messy relationships or emotional strife. Like it or not, we’re duty-bound to be aspirational, which means we have a role to fulfil.’
‘Does that scepticism apply to you as well?’
His expression grew grave, coldly contemplative. ‘For our son’s sake we’ll endeavour to be cordial and civil to one another at the very least. You’ll agree that’s essential and non-negotiable, yes?’
‘Put like that, it would be churlish of me to refuse, wouldn’t it?’
‘Meaning what? That I’m stopping you from demanding more?’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Won’t “demanding more” make me a gold-digger, striving to reach above her lowly station in life, or earn me some other deplorable label levelled at women like me?’
It was an insult her father had thrown at sixteen-year-old Eden that day at his gaudy Hollywood mansion.
A faint flare of colour lit high on his cheekbones, telling her she’d hit the bullseye with that observation. Which sank her spirits.
‘Have the women you’ve dealt with in the past really been that venal?’ she asked.
A sardonic smile twitched his lips. ‘You believe that’s only limited to your gender?’
She hid a flinch. ‘I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or feel angry that you’re lumping me in with everyone else.’
His eyes flared in surprise. Perhaps because she appeared to be pitying the man soon to ascend to an honest-to-goodness throne of a European empire—the kind of prince historians would write reams about—as if he was just a common man who deserved her kindness.
‘Save your sympathies, Eden. I learned to expertly navigate the dangerous pools of avarice and duplicity before I was out of adolescence.’
She lifted her chin, despite feeling her chest continuing to squeeze at the realisation that most of the things she’d heard about the vagaries of being royal might be true. That the grass truly wasn’t greener on the other side.
‘In that case, I guess my most important question is who’s going to take care of our son while we put on this…show?’
He had an efficient answer to that, of course.
It turned out that while they’d been flying to Paris from the West Coast of the USA, Azar had been flying nannies from the palace at Cartana.
Her mind continued to boggle at just how involved he’d become in the role of fatherhood even as her gut churned at this continued usurping of her control.