Chapter Five #2
‘I should.’
‘Have you ever eaten paella?’
She nodded. ‘A long time ago, on a tour of Spain.’
‘Not like this, though,’ he murmured, his arrogance pulling at something in her chest.
‘Come here,’ he commanded, crooking his finger, so her feet moved as though they had a mind of their own, towards him. Once level with the stove, he dipped the spoon into the rice and lifted it towards her lips, which she parted without hesitation.
The flavours hit her like a gut punch. Saffron, tomato, seafood. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. ‘Wow,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘This I did not expect.’
‘Dinner?’
‘You making dinner.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose if I’d thought about it all, I would have presumed you have a chef.’
‘I do.’ He returned the spoon to the pan and stirred the rice, before flicking off the heat. ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t cook. I just don’t have the time, but when I can, I enjoy it.’
She arched a brow.
‘I cooked a lot, growing up.’
‘Paella?’
He pulled a face. ‘My stepmother would not have allowed that, no. She hated anything that reminded her of my Spanish parentage.’
Astrid frowned. ‘Your mother is from Spain?’
‘Was,’ he corrected. ‘She died a long time ago.’
It was Astrid’s turn to express sympathy. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
He nodded once. ‘I never really knew her.’
‘I imagine that could make it even harder.’
His eyes lanced hers for a moment before turning back to the paella.
‘Why did you move to Spain?’
His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed and he was quiet for so long, she wondered if perhaps he wasn’t going to answer. ‘I got into a school there.’
Astrid considered that. ‘Didn’t you have a school here?’
He turned to face her. ‘How well do you know Carlotta and Otto?’
Astrid lifted a hand and toyed with the silky dark ends of her hair. ‘We see each other at a few events each year.’
‘Not well, then?’
She shook her head once. ‘Why?’
‘I presumed, from the way you spoke of my brother, that perhaps you shared a more intimate relationship.’
Her skin blanched slightly as he unknowingly invoked memories of the possible marriage she’d been contemplating. Of the sense that Otto Diamandi might become her husband. How could she even contemplate that now?
‘I’ve always gotten on well with him,’ she said carefully.
‘And thought you would therefore marry him?’
What was the point in lying? She nodded.
‘Do you think he wants that?’
She frowned, replaying her relationship with Otto and the sense she’d always had that yes, he would jump with alacrity if given the opportunity. ‘I do.’
‘I think you’re right.’
Their eyes held and something like dissatisfaction buzzed inside of her.
The feeling that he was judging Otto, presuming the other man would only be interested in marrying her for the title and prestige.
Then again, was that wrong? She could no longer say with clarity.
Everything she’d once thought she knew was unclear now.
‘Is that still your plan?’
Doubt spread through her. ‘You and I have literally just slept together. Don’t you think that’s a slightly insensitive question?’
He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off the buzzing of his phone. A curt glance in that direction had him holding the spoon towards her. ‘Stir,’ he instructed her. Then, with a wink that completely undercut the tension she’d been feeling a moment earlier, he added ‘Your Majesty.’
A sense of bemusement settled upon her as she moved to the pan and began to shift the spoon around, enjoying the idle movements.
Out of nowhere, a strong memory burst through her.
A muscle memory, a recollection of a time gone by.
Her mother, standing at her side, showing her how to stir mussels so that each was coated in the buttery white wine sauce.
It was so strong, so visceral, that for a moment even her nostrils seemed to fill with that fragrance.
She gasped her surprise, gripping the spoon tighter.
‘Are you okay?’
She glanced up at Javier. She hadn’t even been aware he’d returned.
She nodded slowly. ‘I remember cooking with my mother. I haven’t thought of that in years.’
‘And you were surprised I cooked?’ he responded, shifting his hip a little towards hers.
Heat spread through Astrid. Not sensual, so much as warmth. Emotion. Things she always fought to curb.
‘My mother liked us to have a somewhat normal life,’ she murmured. ‘It was difficult in the palace, but she fought very hard to maintain some semblance of the real world. We spent a lot of time together, just the four of us.’
His hand lifted and brushed over her hair gently, but he didn’t offer a platitude or say anything to urge her to stop talking.
Nonetheless, she pushed those memories and feelings deep down inside, refusing to feel them, much less share them.
Feeling love was the first step towards grief and a sadness she didn’t want to feel, or show.
‘Who was on the phone?’
‘Enrique. Your assistant has been here.’
‘Anja’s here?’
‘She’s gone now,’ he said. At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. ‘That will be your replacement skirt.’
She watched as he strode across the room, all confidence and power in each step. He was dressed casually, in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt, but having seen him naked, she could imagine every inch of him, with each step he took.
He took possession of a leather bag, carrying it back towards the kitchen.
It was what she’d been waiting for. It signalled her ability to leave.
So why wasn’t she moving to take the bag from him?
Why did she simply watch as he placed it down on the counter before taking two white bowls from a drawer?
‘Spoon,’ he said, hand held towards her.
She passed it over, before taking a quick step back.
Not from him so much as from the desire that was swirling through her and the unfamiliar sense of temptation.
Her control, which she prided herself on, was nowhere to be seen.
He began to scoop paella into both bowls, one after the other.
‘You’re only here for a couple of days, right?’
He glanced across at her and nodded once.
‘But you have all this food?’
He finished serving their meals, then strode across the room, to a glass-topped table that she belatedly realised had been set for dinner.
Something about that—the placemats, cutlery, water glasses and candle, made her stomach drop to her toes.
She watched as he set the plates down then lit the candle, the light flickering in harmony with the flames in the grate.
‘Enrique makes sure my kitchen is equipped when I travel.’
‘Your driver?’
‘He’s more my assistant.’
‘Does he manage your diary?’ she asked, teasing, because the man who’d driven her from the palace was big and burly. It was difficult to imagine him in front of a glowing computer screen.
‘He would if I needed him to.’ Javier grinned, holding out a chair for Astrid.
She crossed the room, but the closer she got to Javier, the less steady her knees felt.
When she reached the chair and slid into it, his hands glanced across her shoulders and her body temperature spiked.
‘Enrique is personal security, chauffeur, jack of all trades.’
‘Personal shopper,’ she added.
‘Anything I need.’
‘You rely on him.’