Chapter Two
Wren could only stare up at him in shock. It was the very last thing she’d expected him to say, and, really, he couldn’t mean it. He couldn’t. It had only been a couple of months since Carlotta died, and for him to marry again so soon would create a huge scandal.
As huge a scandal as carrying the King’s child would?
The thought wound through her brain, sharp as a knife. If anyone knew what the effect of that little revelation would be, it was her. It was why she’d decided to leave. Not only would the date of conception be an issue, but she, herself, would be one.
Most people didn’t know her background and while she hadn’t hidden it, she hadn’t broadcast either. Isandro knew, but it hadn’t bothered him overly. Her mother had made a mistake, yes, but Wren herself was blameless and shouldn’t be punished for it.
Except, she would be punished for it when her past came out, and if she married Isandro, it would come out.
That her mother had been the secret mistress of a married cabinet minister, and had fallen pregnant with Wren.
After the pregnancy was discovered, she’d gone into hiding back in New Zealand, while the minister concerned had lost his job.
Wren’s mother had given birth, and, five years later, left her child with her parents so she could go back to the man she’d had an affair with.
She sent Wren emails from time to time, always telling her that she’d like to see more of her, but never actually committing to anything.
As a child, Wren had been furious at her mother for leaving her, and Lily’s half-hearted gestures of reconciliation only made her more furious.
Especially now she was pregnant with her own child.
The thought of sending the baby away so she could stay working for Isandro was inconceivable, as was exposing that child to any kind of media frenzy.
Yet now Isandro was suggesting… What? That they admit they’d conceived the child while the King was still married?
‘You can’t be serious.’ She stared up at him. There was no give in his expression, his gaze as hard as lapis.
‘I’m perfectly serious.’ His mouth had a hard cast to it, too, and she wished she didn’t keep looking at it. Every time she did, all she could think about was how that mouth had felt on hers and how soft his lips had been. How hot.
He was standing too close. She could smell his scent, cedar and tobacco and warm earth.
Spicy and delicious. He’d been keeping his distance since Carlotta’s funeral, and while she knew why, she’d missed him.
His absence had been an ache in her heart that she couldn’t escape from, and now it was worse, because he was right here, so close.
She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, but she knew that would be a mistake. Both for her and for him.
Anyway, he was angry with her, and while his anger hurt, she didn’t blame him for it. Perhaps she should have gone to him.
Coward.
No, there had been good reasons for why she hadn’t, and fear hadn’t been one of them.
Yet something like fear sat in the pit of her stomach now, cold and hard.
She’d grown up with her grandparents after her mother’s ignominious fall from grace and they’d been strict about her behaviour.
She had her mother’s tendency for rebellion, they’d told her, which made it imperative that if she wanted to be a good and responsible adult, she needed to toe the line, obey the rules. So that’s what she’d done.
Until that afternoon in Isandro’s office with the man she’d grown to love. A man who she’d thought was so far out of her league that he might as well have been the moon. A man she should never have touched.
And if you marry him, everyone will know what you did.
‘You’re mad,’ she said, unable to help herself. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that? Think of how it will—’
‘I don’t care,’ he cut her off yet again, his voice as sharp as his gaze. ‘I will not have my child born out of wedlock, and I will not lie to my people. I’ve built my entire reign around honesty and transparency, and that’s not going to change because of one mistake.’
Her mouth was dry, the ice inside her consuming her whole. This man wasn’t the warm, kind, fiercely intelligent man she loved. This man was a stranger with his hard eyes and stern, unsmiling mouth, and she didn’t know what to do.
‘You can’t marry me, Isandro,’ she insisted. ‘You know my background, where I came from. You know about my mother.’ She’d been upfront with him the day she’d come in for her interview, about who her mother was and why, given that, she might not be the best choice as PR manager.
But he’d told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t care what her mother had done, he only cared about what she’d done. That her degree and her experience as PR manager for a few international companies made her perfect for the job.
Except being perfect for the job as PR manager was one thing.
Being perfect for the job of queen was quite another.
The Valdoran parliament and aristocracy were conservative and bloodlines were everything.
The bastard daughter of an infamous ‘other woman’ from New Zealand, without a drop of noble blood in her, was not at all who they’d want for their queen.
‘Your past is irrelevant,’ he said. ‘Only the present matters, and the present involves my child. Marrying you as soon as possible is the best option.’
He was being so very…commanding and kingly, and she didn’t like it, not at all.
‘Why is it the best option?’ Arguing with him wasn’t going to help—once he made up his mind about something, it could be very difficult to get him to change it—but he wasn’t thinking straight.
‘I’ll bring the baby back so you can be close to him or her, if that’s what you want.
Or I can even live in the palace, if that’s appropriate. ’
‘It’s not appropriate.’ Small, cold sparks of anger glittered in his eyes. ‘Especially if I marry again. My queen in one room, and my mistress in the other? I think not.’
Despite the ice inside her, she could feel her cheeks heating. Of course, it wasn’t appropriate. That was a ludicrous idea and she, of anyone, should know that. Then again, was it less ludicrous than actually marrying him?
‘Marriage surely isn’t necessary these days,’ she pointed out a little desperately, grasping at straws now. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘It doesn’t matter what century it is. Only legitimate heirs inherit—this you know.’ His mouth hardened still further. ‘I will not be my father, Wren. I will not be scattering countless bastard children all over Europe.’
‘But you’re not—’
‘I am not my father and I refuse to be. I will be marrying you and that’s final.’
He meant it. She could tell from the look on his face and the steel in his voice. It was a decision he wasn’t going to change, no matter how hard she argued with him. He was the King, now, and the King had final say and always had.
Wren tried to get some moisture into her dry mouth, struggling to contain the icy panic gripping her.
Isandro’s moral compass was firmly fixed, and he was rigid about it.
Or rather, he was rigid about everything, except when it came to her.
She was his weakness, and she’d been aware of that, and what she should have done was resigned years ago, before their desire for each other became too all-consuming.
Yet she hadn’t. She’d stayed because she couldn’t bear to leave him, and now look what had happened.
This is your fault. Like mother, like daughter.
No. No, she wasn’t like her mother. She had made a very grave mistake, but at least she wasn’t going to abandon her child the way she’d been abandoned.
‘Marrying me won’t be good for the throne and you know it,’ she said, trying a different tack. ‘Parliament will have some things to say about it.’
‘I don’t care about what Parliament says, either. I have made my decision.’ He turned and went to the closed door of the lounge, opening it and speaking to someone on the other side. Then he stepped back and a couple of other people came in, a bodyguard and a minister.
Wren’s heart turned completely to ice. Sometimes she’d dreamt about being his wife, little fantasies she’d told no one about. Not so much about being his queen, just being his. But, of course, that would never happen and so it had merely been one of her pipe dreams.
Yet it was happening, and it looked as if he was going to do this now, right here in the airport lounge, hurriedly and in secret. Automatically, she said, ‘This is a bad idea. If you marry me here and now, it will look as if you have something to hide, and that’s not what you want, is it?’
The minister and the bodyguard froze, then glanced at their king for guidance.
Isandro’s face remained expressionless, but his midnight-blue gaze glittered.
A muscle flicked in the side of his jaw.
He was furious, she could tell, and that was because she was right.
If he truly wanted to confront this scandal head-on, he had to do it openly, which meant a royal wedding.
‘Out,’ Isandro growled, and the two men vanished back through the door. Isandro didn’t even look at them, his gaze still pinned to hers.
She swallowed, trying not to shiver under the intensity of his furious stare. ‘You know I’m right,’ she said into the silence. ‘If you’re insisting on marrying me, it should be a full, royal affair. Everything up front and out in the open.’
That muscle in the side of his strong jaw flicked again.
They’d disagreed a number of times over Carlotta and how to manage her many scandals, but he was good at seeing reason, even when she was right and he wasn’t.
He didn’t like it, but he accepted it. He’d accept it now, she could see, especially considering he’d dismissed the minister and his guard.