CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
T HE MAIN SUITE was a beautiful room, with views of the ocean beyond complementing the earthy colours inside. The water gleamed a glorious, vibrant blue. Almost the same blue as Aston’s eyes. Ana didn’t want to think of that, of them and how they pierced her, looking for a way in. She didn’t want her secrets laid bare—not yet. Perhaps never, even though it seemed unavoidable now, all because he’d seen her scars.
Ana knew she was hiding. She hadn’t gone to breakfast on deck this morning, asking for it to be brought to her room. Unable to face Aston and the inevitable questions that would lead to the accident and talk of her stalker. She felt a clawing fear that Aston wouldn’t believe her about that, and where would she be left?
But thinking about it... really thinking and not driven by the panic of the evening before... Ana realised he’d seen her scars and still the world kept turning. It hadn’t ended. Even more, Aston hadn’t appeared disgusted by them. There hadn’t been a look of pity on his face. Some shock, yes. Then had come the concern and his question of whether this was the reason she’d asked if he could keep her safe. It was as if he’d cared. Had thought about her first, before himself. Sure, he’d pushed her a little, but he hadn’t demanded anything as she’d walked away. He’d taken no for an answer.
Ana knew she couldn’t hide there all day. It was coming to lunch and Ricci had let her know there’d be food on the deck soon. She checked her phone. A reflex, even though right now she had nothing to fear. There was a message from Cilla with one word: Okay? She responded with a thumbs-up. She checked in on her friend, Carla, who was fine. Ana felt a stab of guilt that she didn’t know how long it would be before she could visit her friend again, but Carla said that her physical therapists were pleased with her progress and that she understood why Ana had wanted to leave.
It all meant that Ana had no excuse to stay in her room any longer. She didn’t want to be a coward. She’d been afraid for so long, it’d be nice to find her courage again, to face Aston, because he’d been right: she was running away from herself.
Ana fished through the clothes in her wardrobe, outfits she’d brought with her that she thought might be good for a yacht. Nothing held much interest—practical neutrals, mix and match, easy to grab and throw in a suitcase before she’d left. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the array of resort wear in jewelled colours and silky fabrics. Some were barely there, which she looked at with a kind of yearning. She wanted to show courage, but she wasn’t ready for Aston to see everything. Not yet.
Instead, she chose a silk dress in a caftan style that gathered slightly at the waist to give her shape, and otherwise floated about her body. She ran her hands over the exquisite fabric, so soft and beautiful in pinks and blues, crystals stitched around the deep vee of the neck. Something about it made her feel pretty, probably the first time since the accident.
She could do this instead of hiding away like a little mouse. There were also apologies to make of sorts. Lying in bed reflecting obsessively over their conversation the night before, she’d realised some things. Some of the conversation had been fun. Aston had been trying to make her comfortable. He’d shared things about himself. And, if she truly wanted to try at marriage, she couldn’t flee at the first sign that things were getting difficult.
Ana selected a pair of flat gold sandals from an array in the wardrobe that seemed the best match for her dress, then set off through a carpeted passageway towards the bow of the yacht.
Outside on the deck the sunshine was bright, so she slipped on a pair of sunglasses against the glare. Ahead of her a small table was set with some drinks on ice and other refreshments. Her stomach growled. When had she last experienced real hunger? Most of the time over the last six months she’d eaten for fuel, forcing herself because her appetite had disappeared. It was a strange sensation, that gnawing feeling in her stomach. She selected smoked salmon blini and ate it. She had another, then grabbed a small bottle of sparkling water from a bowl of ice and cracked the seal. She took a sip of the chilling fizz before walking further out onto the deck.
A large, aqua-blue pool lay ahead of her. In it swam Aston, slicing through the water with powerful strokes as he reached the end, executed a perfect turn and came towards her. Another turn and he swam away. She was transfixed as he continued, lap after lap, by how his body cut through the water like his yacht had done, slicing through the ocean as it had left Halrovia’s harbour. The rhythmic splashes were somehow soothing as she watched the power of his body, the water coursing over his back as he maintained his solid strokes.
Then, as he reached the end of the pool furthest from her, he stopped. Grabbed the edge for a few moments as if catching his breath. Placed both arms on the side of the pool and launched himself out of it. The water sluiced over his bronzed skin as he hauled himself from the water, wearing only black swimming trunks that gripped his muscular backside.
She’d seen men in states of undress before when Halrovia had hosted international swimming competitions and she’d handed out medals to the winners. Those men had all been powerful athletes with smooth skin and the typical swimmer’s shape, with strong physiques and peak fitness.
None of them had affected her like this. She was pinned to the spot. She couldn’t take her eyes from Aston, couldn’t stop her gaze roving over him. The solidity of his shoulders looked as if they could carry the weight of the world. She watched the bunch of his biceps, the taper of him, his narrow waist, lower...
Then he noticed her. His mouth curled into a slow smile as he stalked past a sun lounger and grabbed a towel, lashing it round his waist. The bottle of sparkling water almost slipped through her nerveless fingers as he approached. His towel hadn’t helped. It simply drew her attention to the smattering of hair on his muscular chest, the trail of it that bisected the muscles of his abdomen, disappearing below the knot at his waist. The way the droplets of water on his body sparkled like diamonds in the light. He raked his hand through his hair, rivulets of water dribbling down the sides of his neck, his pectorals.
She didn’t know where to look or what to say. He stood near her, grabbed a bottle of still water, opened it and put the neck to his mouth, tilting his head back and gulping it down, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finished, he placed the bottle carefully on the table.
‘Good afternoon. I see you found something to wear. I hope the selection was a reasonable one?’
He seemed so formal today. Perhaps it was unsurprising that after last night the conversation might be a little stilted. It was then that she noticed that he appeared breathless. A man like him looked in peak fitness. Surely he wouldn’t have been puffed out by a mere swim? Although, he’d been pushing himself, like those champion swimmers, almost as if he’d swum a race.
‘It was, thank you. How long have you been in the pool?’
He checked the time on the watch, still on his wrist. ‘Around an hour.’
An hour? ‘You looked to be swimming hard.’
He shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders bunching distractingly as he did. ‘I like to train.’
‘What for? Your climbing?’
He smiled, as if she’d somehow made a confession by revealing she knew of his exploits. It was an incendiary curl of his lips, slow, deliberate, setting her on fire. What she wouldn’t give simply to dive into the pool herself to get away from the sensation, to cool down. There was a selection of swimwear in the clothes in her wardrobe. Once she might have worn it. There were no paparazzi here to take photographs and sell them to the press. But her scars were things she hid, not flaunted. Maybe one day she’d be brave enough. Today was not that day.
‘I need the stamina, the endurance. It’s useful, not only for my climbing.’
She swallowed, her mouth dry even though she had a drink in her hand. A trickle of perspiration slid down the back of her neck. ‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’
‘I’m happy at your easy acceptance of what I say, Princess.’ His intense blue gaze fixed on her. ‘But please,’ he said, motioning to a casual seating area with soft-looking couches. ‘We should sit.’
She led the way, not wanting him to get too close, really not wanting him perhaps to put his hand on the small of her back and guide her, as he’d done as they’d been walking up the gangplank onto the yacht, and when he’d helped her to her seat over dinner. She knew what his touch was like, how heated, branding her. She liked the burn of it a little too much.
Ana sank into the soft cushions of the outdoor lounge, placing her bottle of water on the table in front of her, crossing her legs at the ankle as she was taught to do, her hands positioned primly in her lap. He on the other hand seem to sprawl, still with a towel wrapped around his waist. His bare chest was an impossible and distracting display. He didn’t make any effort to find a shirt. Did he know how he affected her? Most likely. If she was asked to describe the expression on his face, she’d say he was amused.
He looked at her shoes. ‘You lied.’
Her heart pounded at the shock of his comment. What did he know? Had he found something on the Internet?
‘When?’
‘Your feet aren’t made of clay, and I was right—they’re pretty.’
She couldn’t help herself. The shock of it—she burst out laughing. The earlier tension faded away. ‘No one’s ever sung the praises of my feet before.’
He grinned. ‘That’s a terrible oversight, but I didn’t really want to talk about your feet, alluring as they are.’
Her nerves began to kick up again. ‘Okay.’
‘You have charity interests—child literacy, correct?’ he asked.
Ana sat up a little straighter. That was the charity she supported in Halrovia because of Gabriel... Still, Aston’s knowledge of it was unexpected. When she’d first met him at a trade delegation, they’d talked, but she didn’t recall having mentioned it.
‘How did you know?’
Then there was her new charity too, one close to her heart after her accident. Realising that, whilst she’d had the opportunity for reconstructive surgery, so many children didn’t. Ana wanted that to be her new focus, something tangible she could do to help.
‘I’d have thought it obvious,’ Aston said, in a tone that suggested her question came as a surprise. ‘You interest me. When people talked about you, I listened.’
The words seemed almost dispassionate, yet his gaze, the clear-crystal blue of his eyes, his focus, was all on her. She had no doubt that the interest meant something more. Something far more.
‘We should also discuss your needs ahead of our engagement,’ he said, catching her off-guard. He’d given her what she really needed, an escape. She wasn’t sure what else he was talking about.
‘ Potential engagement,’ she corrected him. ‘And my needs are simple—safety, as I’ve said before. Freedom to carry on my charity work. Doing some good for the world...’
‘Your desires, then.’
No way would she prise open that hornets’ nest, especially when some days she hardly knew herself. People tended to give her what they thought she wanted, especially if they wanted something in return.
She clasped her hands on her lap. ‘This might all be temporary.’
‘I understand. I’d also prefer to set us up for success, rather than presume failure in the beginning.’
‘I don’t want to feel obligated when I can’t repay you.’ Or to feel any more bought than she already did.
One of his staff approached, asking if they would like anything. She declined. Aston asked for a coffee.
‘Let’s presume you had a wish list,’ he said. ‘Things you wanted to set up a new life. What would you ask for?’
A new life... Was that what she was doing? It was so tempting to think so. Maybe she could try to move forward rather than staying constrained by her recent past.
There were some things that concerned her. When Cilla had left for Isolobello, the employment of her staff had been terminated. Her lady-in-waiting—the palace ‘fairy godmother’, as everyone called her—had followed Cilla. The rest had been let go. Ana feared for the people who’d worked in her small office if she were to leave. They relied on her for their incomes. She’d taken a personal approach in employing them—they were those in need, who might not ordinarily have been offered jobs by the palace. She loved the team she’d worked with. Ana didn’t want to see them suffer because of what had happened in recent days.
‘I have staff—my lady-in-waiting, my secretary... I’m not sure they’d have roles in the palace without me. I want to ensure they’re taken care of.’
The staff member returned and gave Aston his coffee. He took a long draw from the cup. ‘Give some thought to any others. If you live outside of the palace, you’ll need to set up your own office. It’s sensible to keep staff you’re familiar with. Who work well with you. You had other interests, organisations you supported. If supporting any in Halrovia isn’t open to you, perhaps you can find the others.’
He clearly didn’t recognise the Cygnet Centre as her new endeavour, but that was no surprise, since the charity was still a fledgling one. Ana’s head spun at the pace this was taking, how matter of fact he was about her having an office of her own, even with all the uncertainties between them. Her own parents had never really concerned themselves with what interested her. So long as it didn’t disgrace the family’s name, that was all they cared about. Yet Aston sat there as if keen for her to establish her own life with his help.
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she said.
A problem remained, a large and insurmountable one. She had no real money of her own. It was customary for her family to make a settlement to their daughters on marriage, but that wouldn’t come till the day she had a wedding ring on her finger. She had a small inheritance from her grandmother, but nothing that would support the number of staff she needed. Her heart sank. People often expected that, because she was royal, she had riches, when her allowance had all come from her parents. She had nothing to call her own.
‘Put together a list of those you’d like to work with. I’ll hand it to my team and they can make the first approach, unless you’d like to do that personally?’
‘I... I...’
‘Something wrong?’ he asked.
‘To pay for staff I need money and I have...none.’
The intensity of him seemed to soften.
‘Chère.’ He shook his head. ‘I have companies who can employ them on your behalf. I’ve told you—ask and it will be done.’
‘There’s always a catch. What do you want?’
‘Eventually?’ His gaze dropped to her hands. ‘My ring on your finger.’
Yet the look in his eyes spoke of so much more—heat, desire. His nostrils flared, his pupils dark in the ocean blue of his gaze. She couldn’t help her reaction; her nipples tightened in her bra. The whole of her sparked with a delicious heat of her own, an ache deep inside that she craved him to fill. This man was a danger to her equilibrium.
‘You also wanted to know if I could keep you safe. I want to ensure that you feel you are, always.’
She paused at that, at their conversation last night. She had things to say, things she’d so far avoided. Ana smoothed the fabric of her dress. ‘You haven’t asked any more about my scars.’
Aston picked up his coffee and drained the cup. He set it carefully down on the saucer.
‘You said no. I stopped asking. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Everyone’s entitled to their secrets, Ana.’
She shivered at the way he said her name, softly, deliberately, as if she was special. ‘As easy as that?’
How could it be, when everything in her life lately had been so hard? She didn’t trust anything sold to her as simple.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
She had no response. It was as though he really cared, when no one bar Cilla had before. She didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem enough.
‘ Pardon , Monsieur Lane.’
‘Excuse me,’ he said to Ana, before turning his attention to over her shoulder. ‘ Oui , Ricci?’
‘I have your head vintner on the phone.’
Aston’s expression became pained. ‘I’m sorry. I need to take this. He usually only contacts me when my mother’s been unreasonable.’
‘Of course.’
‘We’ll take this conversation up later if you like. In the meantime, have you eaten anything?’
‘I...’ She hadn’t wanted much before but, now he’d mentioned food, her stomach grumbled noisily again. ‘No. I wasn’t hungry earlier.’
‘Ricci, please ask Chef to prepare something for Her Highness to eat.’ He pinned Ana with his intense gaze once more. She felt like a butterfly skewered by some ardent collector. ‘I want to ensure her stay on Reine de Marées gives her everything she desires.’