Chapter 5 – Alana #3
His admission takes me by surprise, but it’s definitely the good kind. I look at him, at the man who commands an entire empire yet will kneel at my feet. We’ve never really discussed having children before now, even though I suspected he would want some.
“With you?” I say honestly. “I’m ready for anything.
” And I mean it. Whatever life brings us, together we can handle it.
But kids are a huge step, and this thing between us is still pretty new.
We’ve never used protection, so we’re not not trying, but I still feel the need to clarify.
“So, if I was to fall pregnant soon, you’d be happy about that? ”
His smile is enough of an answer, but he says the words anyway. “I’d be more than happy, Alana. I have never thought about a future with kids before, but with you, I want to fill our whole fucking house with them.”
“Me too,” I admit, to myself as much as him.
His grin turns wicked, that sexy smirk that still undoes me. “You ready for me to open this baby up?”
My pulse spikes. “Hell, yes,” I laugh, adrenaline and love tangling together in my chest. “What are you waiting for?”
He doesn’t wait for me to ask again. The engine growls low and hungry.
Then he presses his foot down and the world snaps backward.
The city becomes streaks of light and steel through the window.
My heart races like the roar of the Bugatti, wild and reckless and alive.
This is what it feels like to be married to a king. Fast. Dangerous. Untouchable.
Alejandro glances at me, eyes dark with satisfaction—not because of the car, I suspect. Because of my reaction. I’m flushed and breathless and looking at him like he just handed me the universe.
“You like speed, Alana?” he asks.
“I like you,” I shoot back, gripping the door as he weaves smoothly through traffic. “The speed is just a bonus.”
“Just like, huh? I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”
He eases off as we near the exit for the hotel, but the adrenaline lingers in my bloodstream, buzzing under my skin. I feel light. Electric. Like I could take on the world.
Maybe I already have.
He pulls into the private entrance of the hotel and hands the keys to one of his valets without hesitation. Three million dollars entrusted to his employee with nothing more than a polite nod.
Inside the private elevator to his suite, it’s just me and him. The doors slide closed with a soft whisper, sealing us in mirrored walls and thick, charged silence. He doesn’t touch me at first. He just looks at me. Somehow that’s even more intense.
“You have no idea what it did to me,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“Hearing how you defended her today.” His jaw tightens. “You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.”
I shrug, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. “She’s a kid, Alex. Someone had to stand up for her.”
“You didn’t just stand up for her.” He steps closer. “You told that woman who you are. Alana fucking Montoya.”
The words wrap around my heart. “That’s who I am.”
His fingers slide under my chin, tilting my face up to look at him. “Yes, you are, princesa. You are the only woman strong enough to rule beside me. Don’t you ever forget that.”
His thumb brushes my lower lip. The elevator stops before I can respond, and I let out a breath.
In the suite, garment bags lay neatly across the bed, a bottle of champagne is already chilled on ice, and the skyline stretches beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, LA glittering beneath us.
Alejandro walks over and unzips the first garment bag, revealing a deep emerald gown that looks like it was poured from liquid silk.
“I saw this and thought of you,” he says.
I run my fingers over the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you.”
The way he says it isn’t casual. It isn’t flattery. It’s the truth, at least as he sees it.
I disappear into the bathroom to change, my mind still replaying the day. Lucia laughing with the kids, her arms around me in the car, and the way Melody’s venom had unlocked something primal inside me.
You’re going to be an amazing mom. Alejandro’s words echo in my head.
I smooth the dress over my hips and stare at my reflection.
For a second, I don’t see the Queen of LA.
I see the girl from New York who never thought that this kind of fairytale existed for her.
When I walk back out into the bedroom, Alejandro stops and stares.
His eyes drag slowly from my heels to my face, heat darkening them.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters.
I feel powerful under his gaze. Not owned, but chosen.
He crosses the room, takes my hand, and spins me once. Then he slides his free hand to my ass and squeezes before sealing his mouth over mine and kissing me possessively. My fierce king.
“You ready to make an entrance, mi reina feroz?”
“With you?” I smile, my heart so full it might burst. “Always.”
He presses a kiss to my knuckles, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. And as we head back toward the elevator, toward our dinner with the mayor, I realize something quietly profound. As dazzling as all of this is, it’s not the fairytale.
The fairytale is the way he looked at me when he said he was proud, how he told me I was beautiful.
And the way I believed him.