Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
T WO THINGS STOPPED her protesting.
The first was the young nanny, Nadia, who was delightfully cheerful and whom Max adored immediately.
The second was that she could hardly protest at leaving him for a couple of hours when she’d so often left him with Mrs Tolson for hours to go to work.
Still, she delivered extra kisses to his chubby cheek, her heart twinging as she watched him toddle off to bed, his hand clutched in Nadia’s.
‘He’ll be fine—or else someone will need to have serious answers for us,’ Azar threatened, with that chillingly even tone that made her double-take, because she could never tell whether he was truly ruffled or not.
His resolute gaze stated that he was deadly serious.
Which, again, shouldn’t have elevated her temperature or eased that tightness. But there she was, her steps much lighter, as she walked beside him to the private lift.
Bodyguards flanked them as they exited the hotel and moved towards the stretch limo awaiting them. The first she knew of the paparazzi’s presence was when a flash erupted on her left. Then another from her right bounced off the gold crystal-covered bustier and velvet skirt she wore.
Sabeen had returned to finish her wardrobe consultation, and Eden was glad for the confidence boost the exquisite House of Domene outfit, matching heels and clutch purse gave her.
Her hair had been pinned back off her face and left to fall in newly washed and styled waves down her back. She’d baulked at the priceless jewellery offered, her nerves way too frayed to add taking care of what she suspected was a nose-bleedingly expensive collection to her worries.
To his credit, if Azar had feelings about her lack of jewellery he’d chosen to remain silent on the matter, and his heated gaze raking over her told her that at least he didn’t find her too lacking.
‘Ignore them,’ Azar rasped, his hand in the small of her back guiding her to the open back door of the limo, heating her up in ways she didn’t want to dwell on.
Her senses were still erratic when they arrived at their location ten minutes later, and Eden stared up at the matte black and silver edifice of Le Cramoisie, wondering why her senses tingled so fiercely.
Stepping out of the car, once Ramon had given the driver the nod, she walked with Azar into the restaurant—and drew to a stop.
Low ambient lights illuminated a solitary impressively laid table, its two chairs set at perpendicular angles to each other. All the other tables and chairs had been lined up on the sides like silent soldiers, and not a single other soul graced the Michelin-starred establishment.
‘We’re the only ones here?’
‘I booked the place for the evening, so we won’t be disturbed,’ Azar replied.
She’d seen it in movies, read about it in glossy, unrealistic magazines. But despite having served some of the world’s wealthiest men at the Vegas casinos, and rejected the advances of several, Eden had never imagined such a thing would happen to her. And, yes, while it was OTT in the extreme, she couldn’t stop the waves of excitement that rolled through her.
‘If that’s okay with you, of course?’ he tagged on.
She curbed the fizz of fireworks exploding in her belly with the timely reminder that there was always a price to pay. It quickly soured her excitement.
‘And if I said it wasn’t?’
‘Then we would have wasted one of the most renowned Michelin starred chef’s entire evening and possibly got ourselves blacklisted.’
There was an arrogant note in his voice that said he didn’t give one single damn even if that had been the case.
She looked around, noting the touches of Asia in the decor. ‘This is a Japanese restaurant, right?’ The name didn’t give it away, but somehow she knew…felt another tingling of… something .
‘Yes. It is,’ he confirmed.
Sensing his keen gaze on her face, she glanced at him. ‘Something’s up. Are you going to tell me what?’
Only the barest lift of his chest gave him away. ‘Is it?’
She sighed. ‘I’m getting that it’s a strategically advantageous tactic to answer a question with a question, but it’s getting old very quickly. Either answer the question or don’t.’
That light she’d noticed when she’d stood up to him before glinted again, and foolishly ignited her own fire.
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said. ‘Ah, here’s our host now.’
Hiding a spurt of frustration, she smiled as the Michelin-starred chef reached their table and bowed from the waist.
‘Your Highness, Miss Moss, good evening. I’m Ike Konosuke. I’ll be personally preparing your meal this evening. Do you have any preferences or allergies?’
Eden started to answer, then closed her mouth, uncertainty making her hesitate. Was it possible to develop allergies later in life?
‘She doesn’t have any allergies,’ Azar replied, slanting her a gaze simmering with intimate knowledge that had heat scything through his cool answer.
‘Very good. Then, if I may, shall I suggest a plateau de bouchées encompassing the whole menu?’ the diminutive man offered with a smile.
Azar nodded. ‘Everything but the foie gras . Eden strongly dislikes that.’
Her breath caught, and her eyes snagged on his as the chef departed and a sommelier took his place.
She nodded absently at the offer of champagne, then immediately leaned forward once they were alone. ‘The only way you could know all that is if you’d hacked into my medical records or…’
‘Or?’ he prompted redolently.
Heat consumed her whole. ‘If I told you that when we…’
‘When I had Konosuke flown over to Arizona three years ago and we ate his sushi naked in bed in…inventive ways? Yes. I’m well versed in your preferences.’
If she’d thought she was burning before, she’d had no idea. Every inch of her body was ablaze with the flame of his words.
Fighting not to squirm in her seat, she pushed at the memory he’d so surprisingly offered. ‘That’s why I remember the name of this place?’
‘You declared his food your absolute favourite. All except the foie gras , of course. An objection to the process with which it’s made, I remember.’
‘Why are you telling me this when you didn’t want to divulge anything before?’
He paused for a second. ‘I read up further on your condition. Your doctor is right, but he may be erring on the side of overcaution. Supplying benign information isn’t detrimental if it nudges your recovery in the right direction.’
She wasn’t sure whether to be surprised and thankful that he’d researched her condition, or sceptical as to his ultimate motive.
The hit of champagne bubbles when she took a sip fizzed alongside the excitement of moments ago, and for good or ill Eden chose the former. ‘Thank you.’
He stiffened, his eyes searching her face. ‘That’s the second time you’ve sounded surprised as you’ve thanked me.’
She froze, clearing her throat when a few bubbles threatened to go down the wrong way. She considered a vague reply, then went with the truth. ‘It’s because I’ve learned that nothing comes for free—especially from influential men.’ She dropped her gaze for a moment, wrestling back her composure. ‘My wariness is inbuilt for good reason.’
He studied her for a long stretch, his gaze completely unfathomable. Then, ‘If there are skeletons to be found, it’s best to air them now rather than later.’
Because of his royal status and all the infernal protocols? Eden kicked herself for forgetting that for a second.
‘You seem to know a lot about me already—what makes you think I have more to divulge?’
His face hardened a touch. ‘You’ve been reticent about discussing your past. But you don’t have the luxury of that now, querida . Courtesy of my brother, you now know you were in Arizona—’
‘Which still tells me nothing. I tried looking up the Magnis Club. It’s super-secretive… I’m assuming a billionaires-only resort or something?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed dismissively, making a mockery of the two hours she’d wasted scouring the internet last night. ‘Do you know why you chose not to return to Vegas when you left Arizona?’
‘How do you know I didn’t?’
‘How do you think?’ His voice was cool silk wrapped in electricity.
He’d looked for her? Why?
Pursing her lips, she toyed with the stem of her glass as she contemplated where to start with the sorry saga of her life. ‘As far as I can remember, I had plans to work my way towards California.’
‘Hopes of a career in Hollywood?’ he asked, not masking his cynicism.
A tiny snort escaped before she could stop it. ‘Nothing so fanciful or unrealistic.’ And if she’d had such hopes her father would’ve doubled his efforts to squash her. ‘I was on my way to a commune in Joshua Tree to bail out my mother. She’d found herself in another predicament.’
‘Did this happened often?’
‘A few times here and there.’
Shame dredged through her and she fixed her gaze on the glass, then jumped slightly when his finger brushed her chin, firmly nudging it up.
When she met his gaze, he rasped, ‘Go on. Why were you chasing after your mother?’
‘She’d been left stranded after yet another man— After her relationship ended. The guy she was seeing had left her with a few bills and she needed help.’
A few dozen bills—including a bail bond she’d naively and shockingly signed her name to and become responsible for after the man had absconded.
Azar’s hand dropped and she immediately missed the warmth of his touch. ‘Were you in the habit of bailing her out of “predicaments”?’
An echo of the judgy voices she’d heard so many times in the past, from friends and strangers alike, throbbed through his voice. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked.
His censorious gaze said that it did, but he didn’t vocalise it—for which she was somewhat thankful.
‘She was facing jail if she didn’t come up with a way to settle her bills. So she called me. I… I couldn’t pretend she didn’t need my help.’ Unwilling to delve into her fraught relationship with her mother, she changed the subject. ‘Tell me about the Magnis Club. Was I working there?’
His jaw clenched. ‘ Sí. You were a hostess.’
Shards of memory pierced her. ‘I’m assuming it was the job Nick mentioned?’
He stiffened, his eyes boring into her. ‘I wouldn’t know, but it’s safe to assume so since you need a member who vouches for you even if you’re staff.’
Her own shoulders stiffened with the tension engulfing them. ‘You’re giving off unpleasant vibes again. I was Nick’s croupier when he visited the casino. Nothing else. And if you’re wondering whether I promised him anything in return, I don’t remember—but I know myself enough to be certain I’m not that kind of woman.’
They both stopped as the chef headed towards them, two servers bearing trays one step behind him. The elaborate presentation cooled the temperature between them, and for the next ten minutes they enjoyed the beautifully prepared bite-sized helpings of blue lobster croquettes with caviar, truffle-vinaigrette-coated scallops and grilled shrimp rolled in buttered lettuce.
Every morsel elicited from Eden an inner groan. And by the third bite a tiny bit of her tension had eased—especially because Azar, for whatever reason, had chosen to let the matter drop.
When the black stone slab of their omasake was delivered, he expertly caught up a rolled sliver of sea bass in his chopsticks, dipped it in a sauce and held it out to her. ‘Try this.’
Her mouth watered, but something in his voice made her ask, ‘Why?’
‘Because you adored it before,’ he said simply. ‘Let’s see if you still do.’
Utterly self-conscious, she leaned close, parted her lips and let him feed her.
The last platter contained half a dozen exquisitely hand-rolled bites of sushi. Racking her brain, she couldn’t recall sampling those at any other point in her life. She’d grown up poor, in a dilapidated suburb of Las Vegas, eating a depressingly bland and monotonous regimen of cereal for breakfast, toast for lunch and ramen for dinner. On the odd occasion when whatever man her mother was dating had felt generous, they’d been treated to fast-food takeout.
Until she’d realised the toll of accepting even such small gifts on her mother’s self-esteem and begun to refuse them.
Recalling the rows with her mother over dating men who were even more deplorable copies of her father—chameleons who started out seemingly decent, only to be revealed as cruel misogynists—shredded her heart. The worst of those fights had brought the seemingly inevitable ‘You ruined my life’, snarled by her drunken mother. But there had been a harsh kernel of truth ringing in it, sending Eden fleeing to Hollywood in a wild bid to salvage an unsalvageable family.
It had turned out to be the worst decision of her life.
A dart of pain stabbed at her temple, and her hand was shaking as she reached for her glass.
Azar’s gaze zeroed in on it and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ The pain had dissipated as fast as it had arrived. ‘I’m fine.’
He watched her for a few more seconds, then served her another roll of sea bass. ‘Did you ever make it to Joshua Tree?’ he asked.
The piercing pain flashed again. ‘No. By the time I woke from the coma and left the hospital my mom had moved on.’
After spending a three-week stint in jail for not honouring the bail bond—something else that had somehow been labelled Eden’s fault.
His gaze probed but she kept her eyes on her plate, the ceaseless guilt that underpinned her relationship with her mother dredging through her.
‘Does she know about Max?’
She took a breath. ‘Yes. I told her when I was six months pregnant.’
‘Eden?’ The pulse of her name from his lips jerked her gaze up. ‘Is inviting your mother and father to our wedding going to be a problem for you?’
Her eyes widened at the unexpected question. Through the relentless cascade of events she hadn’t thought about what part her parents would be expected to play.
‘My father has never been part of my life. As for my mother, I…’
‘Not inviting her will prompt more questions, but the situation can be managed if that is what you want.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
It was purely a placeholder answer, both to buy herself time to brace herself for contact with her parent and because a tiny bloom of warmth at his consideration was baffling her emotions.
‘Speaking of mothers, am I to meet yours?’
His eyes shadowed, a familiar chilled expression passing over his features.
So they both had Mommy issues…
Thinking about it, that odd toast she’d heard from Teo during Azar’s party made sense now.
‘Eventually,’ he bit out.
She let it go, because her headache had gone from intermittent pangs to a dull throb. ‘Is this enough for your publicity stunt?’ she asked.
A current of tension returned to the able. He sprawled back in his chair and contemplated his wine glass before he answered. ‘Not quite. Breakfast tomorrow, with a walk along the Seine, and then a few more events this weekend, once we’re in Cartana, and then we’ll make the announcement next week.’
The thought of being bombarded further with his overwhelming presence made her insides swoop and dance, even as her head pounded. Easing a hand up, she surreptitiously rubbed at her temple.
‘What’s wrong?’ he repeated tersely.
She thought of downplaying it—then gave up. ‘I have a headache.’
He tossed his napkin on the table. ‘We’ll leave now.’
‘No, it’s fine. I just need to…to not think about the past too hard if I want to keep it at bay.’
He inhaled sharply. ‘And you let me quiz you about your mother?’
‘I’m fine—’
‘Stop saying that.’ He came behind her chair and helped him up.
The chef rushed out, but a look from Azar had Ramon intercepting the frazzled man.
A minute later they were back in the limo. The return journey was conducted in silence, Azar mostly watching her like a hawk.
It was a relief to return to the mundanity of checking on Max, lingering over her sleeping son. And she was relieved further when Azar, after bringing her two tablets for her headache, offered to walk her to her suite.
She refused, because these alarming acts of care and consideration were at odds with the picture of the man she’d drawn up in her head. The one who was a carbon copy of her father. And until she worked out his true character she would be best served by keeping the distance between them.
She’d taken enough blows in her life already.
* * *
Except distance was out of the question when they had to put on a show the next morning.
Walking along the Seine, Azar’s hand slipped into hers, their palms rubbing, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her.
He glanced sharply at her, his eyes turning a little molten as his steps slowed. ‘We have this going for us, at least,’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘I touch you and you react so…responsively. This kind of chemistry can’t be faked.’
She reminded herself that it was all an act. ‘But it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, does it?’
His eyes turned flinty. ‘Meaning?’
‘You said so yourself—we’re doing this for Max. How we react physically to one another will never become a problem we need to deal with.’
‘You think not?’
‘Unless you’re about to admit uncontrollable feelings for me, then no.’ Her voice was thankfully firm enough to make her next breath easier.
‘Uncontrollable? Hardly. But noteworthy, perhaps.’
‘Shall we keep walking or stand around playing word games?’
He remained exactly where he was, exercising his regal right to do things exactly the way he wanted. In her peripheral vision Eden saw their bodyguards expertly steering tourists around them—which had the predicted effect of garnering more interest. Which His Royal Highness played to maximum effect by lifting their linked hands between them, his eyes never leaving hers, and bringing her knuckles to his lips.
He took his time to brush his warm, sensual lips over each one, then laid her hand on his chest as he stepped even closer. His other slid over her nape, his thumb tilting her chin up until their eyes were locked. Then, just like yesterday afternoon, he leaned close, his gaze dropping to her mouth. As if on cue, her lips parted, and her breathing became hopelessly shallow despite knowing he was toying with her. That this was all for show.
‘ Sí, querida. Just like that,’ he rasped huskily. ‘Forget word games. One more minute of this and you’ll be well on your way to winning accolades for this performance.’