Chapter One #3
His body tightened, the way it always did whenever she was near him, and the fury inside him burned hotter at his own predictable response.
It had been this way the moment he’d met her, when she’d walked into his office five years earlier.
Her cool grey gaze had come to his, and their instant chemistry had hit him like a gut punch.
They’d both ignored it, because they’d had to, but it had made working together the most delicious torture.
They’d become close over the years—closer than they should have been if he was honest with himself, and he always tried to be honest with himself.
But then, he’d never have thought about her as anything more than a colleague if he’d been in love with Carlotta, his queen, and he wasn’t and never had been.
Another thing to blame himself for.
Wren looked sick, and he wondered if she was going to deny it.
He didn’t know how he’d feel if she did.
Angry that she’d dare lie to him? Or angry that she’d deny the existence of their child?
Either way, it seemed that anger would be the most overwhelming emotion, so he needed to be on his guard.
Control in all things was how he lived his life and, after what had happened with Wren, control was even more important now.
‘How did you know?’ she asked after a moment, her voice husky.
So, no pretending, then. Good.
‘Surely the real question is why didn’t you tell me?’ He tried to keep the fury from his voice, and thought he was largely successful. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’
She didn’t try to avoid his gaze. ‘Actually, you didn’t notice. Not for the past month anyway.’
That was true. It had taken him a while to put two and two together and, after he had, more time to get over the shock. Then to decide how to proceed and get a plan in place. Except when he’d finally got that plan organised, she’d upended everything by leaving without a word.
‘Answer the question, Wren,’ he said, making it a command.
Her gaze flickered at last. He’d never used that tone with her, the reminder of who he was, of his station, and he didn’t like using it now. But that was too bad. This affected more than the man he was. This affected his throne, his crown, the entire country.
‘Why do you think?’ She drew herself up to her full height, which still only brought the top of her head up to his shoulder, a defiant look in her eyes. ‘I knew it would put you in an impossible situation, and I didn’t want you to have to bear the burden of the consequences.’
Little martyr. If she thought this would mollify him, she was wrong. ‘They are my consequences to bear too,’ he said, his tone edged. ‘And that isn’t a decision you can make for me.’
‘I know, but—’
‘So, you were just going to leave without telling me?’ He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice now. ‘Take my child away without saying a fucking word?’
She went even paler, but her back was still straight, her chin lifted. His little bird wasn’t a pushover and never had been. ‘I’m…not sure. I hadn’t got that far yet.’
‘After five years of working with me, you decide to leave without notice and without a goodbye.’ He couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out of his mouth.
‘Taking my child, my heir, with you.’ He’d advanced towards her, even though he hadn’t meant to, and now he was right in front of her, looking down into her silvery grey eyes.
‘How could you do that? How could you do that to me?’
Fear ghosted across her face for a brief moment, though he knew it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. She’d always had a backbone of pure titanium. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her clear voice gone husky. ‘I…would have contacted you eventually, but—’
‘I don’t care what you would or wouldn’t have done.’ He searched her face, though what he was looking for, he wasn’t sure. ‘I expected better from you.’
She blinked at that, and he thought he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. He was being hurtful, he knew, but then she’d hurt him. By not coming to him. By not telling him. By running away.
‘I said I was sorry,’ she said thickly, though that was the only sign of any emotional distress. Hiding her feelings was another thing she was good at. Then again, they’d both had to be. ‘But I was actually thinking of you when I made the decision to leave.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.’ Her delicate features were tight, her shoulders held rigid. ‘I’m not sure what else I can say. I thought I was doing the right thing.’
‘The right thing would have been to come to me.’ Anger smouldered in his gut like a hot coal, not helped by the familiar, sweet vanilla-tinged scent of her.
That scent had haunted his dreams for years, and it still did, especially now that he knew that the skin at the base of her throat tasted of vanilla too.
You should step away from her. Being close is always a mistake and you’ve already made too many of those.
He should. But since Carlotta’s death in a car accident two months earlier, he’d been keeping his distance from Wren, and now he was close, he couldn’t bring himself to step away.
‘I know.’ She glanced down at her hands, tightly clasped in front of her. ‘I should have. But after Carlotta died, I thought…’ She took a breath and looked up at him again. ‘I thought this was just another burden you didn’t need.’
‘A child is not a burden.’ Despite his anger, the urge to take her hands in his and warm the tips of her fingers gripped him—the tips of her fingers were always cold.
But touching her was always a bad idea, so he didn’t.
‘Especially when that child is my heir.’ As he said it, he glanced down at her stomach, covered by the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing, and a knife of fierce possessiveness slid through him.
His child. His heir.
Your mistake.
That was indisputable. He’d made a mistake, and a serious one, but the child itself would not be a mistake.
His own father had often made comments about him being the cuckoo in the nest, and he’d felt like one.
But his own child would not. His child would be blameless, no matter what his or her father had done.
As if Wren, too, was thinking the same thing, she put one hand protectively on her stomach. He wanted to cover that hand with his, feel her bare skin against his once more, feel the curve of her belly where his child lay.
This time, a faint flush rose in her pale cheeks, her grey eyes darkening, a sure sign that she was intensely physically aware of him. He should step away, keep some distance between them.
That’s how it had happened that afternoon in his office.
Carlotta had slipped up yet again, and he’d been furious about it, despairing of ever being able to save her from herself.
They hadn’t shared a bed for years, so when Wren had come around the side of his desk, to comfort him, he’d lost the battle with his darker urges.
Both of them, their resistance utterly crushed by years of pent-up longing, had finally given in to their chemistry.
Now, though, he didn’t move. This was a subtle test of his resolve and his control, and he did not intend to fail it.
Wren glanced away, her flush even deeper, and the man in him was deeply satisfied by that. He still affected her and that pleased him, even though it shouldn’t.
‘So, what do you want from me, Isandro?’ She looked down at her hands once more. ‘Given the fact that you’re here personally, you must want something.’
She wasn’t wrong. He was in fact here for something.
Something he’d thought long and hard about, and it seemed the only course of action.
This was his error, and while he’d managed to cover up the majority of Carlotta’s little indiscretions with Wren’s help, he couldn’t do that with his own.
If he tried to cover this up, and it got out, the results would be catastrophic, and that he couldn’t risk.
Not given the emphasis he’d placed on how different his reign was from that of his scandalous father.
No, there would be no cover-ups. No rushing Wren out of the country. No pretending the child wasn’t his. He was going to confront this scandal head-on, do as best he could to fix the mistake, and then deal with the consequences.
‘I do,’ he said calmly. ‘I want you to marry me, Wren.’