Chapter 4 #2
He contemplated trying to find her and offer yet another apology.
The haunted look on her face was going to haunt him for a very long time.
It was not like him to resort to malice, to try and slice with words.
Not to a female, never that. But twice he had felt like hurting her.
And he had accomplished that beautifully.
"Prince Tomas," the maid bobbed a curtsy as he strode into the lofty hallway.
"Is my mother home?"
"Yes, sir. She's upstairs in her suite."
"Thank you." Handing over his jacket and gloves, he bounded up the stairs. Hesitating at the top of it, he turned to look down the hallway at where he knew she had her rooms. Shaking his head, he strode towards his mother's suite. After a discreet knock, he pushed the doors open.
She was at her desk in her little parlor and looked distracted, the jeweled reading glasses perched on her nose.
"Tomas?"
"I wonder if I could get a moment of your time?"
"Of course." Putting away the invitations she had been sorting through, she gave him her attention, watching as he prowled the length of her sitting room.
"Something on your mind?"
He continued his pacing, one hand jammed in the pocket of his riding habit.
"I saw your assistant," he began abruptly. "She was out riding."
"I gave her permission to ride any of the horses, except yours of course," she said defensively.
"Yes." He wandered over to the window. "You should have fired her."
"We're not starting that-"
"I said some hateful things to her." His hands balled into fists as he continued to stare out the window. "I was horrid to her. She pissed me off, more than anyone ever did before and I wanted to hurt her. I did."
"Tomas, what did you do?"
"She treated me like something beneath her shoes. I read her file." He turned to face her, expression carefully neutral. "I read about her fiancé."
His mother went still. "That was confidential. How could you-"
"I told you to get rid of her!" The look on her face had him leaning back and taking a deep breath. "She makes me so bloody mad, and I wanted to hurt her. I did. She's infuriating."
"You will apologize to her."
"I tried that and it did not work." Lifting a hand, he dragged it through his hair. Sofia stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. She had never seen him so agitated or so emotional before, and over a woman he had just met.
"Why don't you try again?" she suggested gently, causing him to stare at her.
"What?"
"Try again in the morning, when you've both calmed down after a good night's sleep."
"You should have seen the look on her face.
Madre de Dios!" he muttered more in Spanish and started pacing again.
"Why did you hire her?" He spun around to face her.
"Was it because you felt some sort of bond between the two of you?
Dad slept with all those women, making you feel insignificant. Is that why you hired her?"
She went stiff, her face a cold mask. "You don't get to talk to me like that."
"Why not?" he snapped. "You never talked about him or what he did to you. You stayed with him and took the humiliation over and over again. Why?"
She shuffled papers and avoided his eyes. There were times when she asked herself that very question. How could she have put up with his philandering ways and still smiled and preened for the cameras when they went out? Because she was the queen and had an image to protect.
But most of all, she looked up and studied him steadily. "I stayed because of you," she told him quietly. "You were my son and I love you." She shrugged elegant shoulders. "I would have walked through fire if it meant keeping you with me. He would never have allowed me to leave, not with you."
He felt shame coursing through his veins. He was apparently on a roll. In less than twenty-four hours he had managed to hurt two women and one of them was his own mother. He felt lower than dirt.
"Mother-"
She shook her head. "I'm fine." She waved a delicate hand in dismissal. Tilting her head, she studied his face.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." She smiled at him serenely.
"Mother-"
"Why don't you go and get some sleep, querida? I will talk to you in the morning." She perched her glasses on the bridge of her nose and eyed him over the rim. "You should drop in tomorrow at some point and try and have a conversation with Senorita Carter."
"I really don't think that's such a good idea."
"You never know."
Leaning back in the chair, she stared at the space he had just occupied, a bemused smile on her face.
Had the moment she had been praying for finally arrived?
Antoinette Carter was not his usual type, but oh, how wonderful it would be if her son finally found the woman of his dreams!
She was not the type to ever discriminate.
She wanted what most mothers wanted and that was for her son to be happy.
There was something there and she was going to be watching the development very closely.
That young woman had set off sparks inside her boy, that much was evident.
She had never seen him so discombobulated.
It was as if he was climbing out of his skin.
Picking up the pink embossed invitation, she started humming and decided to accept the frivolous tea party of a longtime friend after all. Things were certainly looking up.
*****
He had never really taken the time to appreciate his own personal space before. Growing up, he knew he was of royal blood and that made him special. He was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. If that made him entitled, then he supposed he was.
He had an entire suite complete with three bedrooms, two sitting rooms, an office which he barely used, a fully equipped gym, a kitchenette which had never been used with the appliances still gleaming, three baths, and a theatre.
Whenever he was at the palace, he liked to sit in and watch the latest movie or listen to music.
A lot of people did not know that he liked his own company.
Or that he loved to read and had a well-stocked library.
He might appear frivolous and flighty to the world, but deep inside he had always been searching for something and never seemed to find it.
Refreshed from his shower, he donned a rich burgundy silk robe before stepping out onto the balcony with his box of specially wrapped cigars. Pouring himself a glass of blended scotch, he settled down on a chaise lounge, intent on enjoying the solitude and the spectacular view.
He had been all over the world, but there was no place like home. Its unsullied beauty had always warmed his soul and made him content to belong to somewhere so special. And he was beginning to yearn for something more significant.
He had been partying since he was fourteen and it was getting exhausting. Cupping his hands around the slim cheroot, he inhaled the fragrant smoke with a grunt.
He had a lot to think about. It had taken a hell of a lot of resistance for him not to march to her suite of rooms, demand admittance, and demand to be forgiven for what he had said to her. Why it mattered that he hurt her was beyond him. He hated puzzles. And this was turning into one.
Why should it matter that an employee got her feelings hurt? He was Prince Tomas for Christ's sake. He did not need to apologize to anyone. People courted him. If his name was on an invite the crowd was guaranteed to turn up and the party was sure to be a success.
He mingled and interacted with other important people every goddamn day. He was considered a VIP. Unclenching his teeth, he took the cigar out, the taste for it no longer appealing. Crushing it out in the crystal ashtray, he picked up his glass and took a sip, his shoulders hunched.
The wind was picking up. Very soon, they would be facing the cold weather.
Fall was a favorite of his because of the changing leaves and the bracing cold.
But right now, nothing was bringing him any pleasure.
He had contemplated sitting by the fire and reading a book, but he had discarded that notion.
Was she crying, he wondered achingly. He had seen the sheen of tears in her eyes, and it had touched something inside him he never knew existed. He should have gone after her, instead of letting her ride off on her own.
Rolling to his feet, he wandered over to the rail and braced his hands on the wrought iron design. Gabriella had been calling him since he came home, but he had not returned her calls. He had nothing to say to her.
What the hell had possessed him to read her file? As soon as his mother had informed him of her decision to hire an American, his curiosity had been piqued. And he had found the knowledge that she had been jilted at the altar fascinating.
Walking back to the chaise, he dropped down and rubbed his hands over his face wearily.
She had caught the bastard in bed with her best friend.
He could not imagine how that must have hurt her.
How betrayed she must have felt. And he had made the situation worse by taunting her with it. He felt like a slime. Lower than slime.
Downing the drink, he rose and went into his bedroom, pulling the glass doors behind him.
His mother was right. He was going to have to find a way to show her how sorry he was.
Shrugging off his robe, he climbed into bed and realized to his surprise that for the first time in years, he was without a female companion, and it did not feel strange.