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CHAPTER TWO

HE WAS a small boy. He barely came to the top of Carlotta’s hip. Dark hair, the same green eyes as his mother.

His mother. Carlotta.

Dios.

He knew it, the moment he saw her bend and help the little boy from the back of the limo when they’d pulled up to the palace, knew from the moment he saw the boy’s face. That same sullen expression, the stubborn chin, he was hers.

He had inherited a child, along with a fiancée.

Part of him knew it shouldn’t matter. That it didn’t truly change anything. He and Carlotta had been planning on having children. He needed an heir after all. That he would be a father one day was, and had always been, a given.

Another part of him felt a kind of bone-deep terror that had been absent from him since he was a boy himself. He remembered that day, the day when his emotions had finally given beneath the strain of living a life beneath his father’s iron fist. The day his emotions had deserted him entirely.

Well, that fear he’d thought long gone was here now. Because of the boy. Reflected in the boy. He was afraid, his eyes wide on the castle in front of him. It couldn’t be his first time seeing a palace. His grandmother and grandfather were the rulers of Santina. He was a Santina.

Carlotta looked at him, her green eyes hard. “Hello.”

“Hola,” he said.

“Hi.” This from the boy.

Rodriguez looked down at him, swallowing, trying to bring some moisture to his suddenly dry throat. It seemed like the right thing to introduce himself to the boy. Did you introduce yourself formally to a child?

Annoyance mixed with uncertainty. Carlotta had managed to catch him off guard twice now. They were the only two times it had happened in his recent memory. This wasn’t a trend he liked.

He would just approach the chiild as he would an adult. “I am Prince Rodriguez Anguiano. What is your name?” That earned him little more than a wide-eyed stare from those green eyes.

“Luca,” said Carlotta. “His name is Luca.”

That she answered annoyed him, like she didn’t want her son speaking to him. It also made him feel a small measure of relief. Because it spared him from having to talk directly to Luca.

“Come with me,” he said, turning and heading to the palace.

He nearly laughed. He had been pretending that marrying Carlotta rather than Sophia changed nothing. And had been managing quite well. But now there was this … complication.

This was a difference that would be hard to ignore.

The massive doors to the palace opened and he ushered them in to the cavernous entryway. All glossy marble with a domed ceiling depicting intricate scenes of men and angels. Not to his taste at all. He’d never felt at home here. There was a reason he’d spent his young adult years in France and Spain, a reason he had his own penthouse in Barcelona still, even though his time avoiding Santa Christobel was over.

But now that his father was in the hospital, now that running the country was up to him, he’d had no choice but to come back. Even though it made him feel like he’d crawled into someone else’s skin. Ill-fitting. Uncomfortable. Nearly unbearable.

Now, another role he wasn’t made for. Husband. Father.

“There is no … no room prepared for Luca,” he said, careful not to look down at the top of the boy’s dark head.

“What?” she asked, finely arched brows locking together.

He gritted his teeth against rising annoyance. “Had you told me there would be a need …”

“You didn’t know?” She shot a look to Luca, then back to him, her eyes round with shock. “How did you not know?”

Luca was watching both of them, confusion in his eyes. That was something he remembered well about being a child. That lack of control. Knowing that your fate was in the hands of the adults around you. How little sense it made sometimes.

His stomach tightened, and he looked down at the boy again. “Luca, perhaps you would like to come out to the garden?”

The garden. Such as it was. It was a massive, sprawling green field in comparison to most lawns. But it was likely to keep a child busy. At least, he thought it would.

Luca nodded. “I like to play outside. Do you have a slide?”

Rodriguez looked at Carlotta, then back at Luca, a strange sensation—nerves?—making it hard to breathe. “No. No slides. But we could put one in.” Put one in? Like they were staying?

Of course they were staying. He’d signed a new marriage contract with King Eduardo before leaving Santina. But he hadn’t known about the child. About Luca. He’d known that he and Carlotta would have an heir … but an heir was … It sounded very detached. Unreal. The little boy with serious green eyes was real.

Too real.

“You don’t have to put a slide in,” said Carlotta. “Well, not today. Eventually I guess it might … Luca, let’s go outside.” She held out her hand and Luca wrapped his small fingers around hers. She looked at Rodriguez and he nodded, leading her through the entryway and down the main corridor that led out to the back terrace.

They stepped outside into the warm evening, the heat of the day long past, the setting sun casting electric orange stripes over the vivid green lawn.

“There isn’t a pond or anything is there?” she asked, eyeing the fenced-in area.

“No. It’s safe for him. This part here is just grass.”

“Go, run,” she said.

Luca smiled at Carlotta and trotted off the terrace, and Carlotta watched him, a soft expression on her face.

“The plane ride was long,” she said. “He really needed to get out and move.”

“I can imagine.” He’d learned not to fidget from a very early age. It had stayed with him into adulthood. Sometimes, even now, if he was in a meeting and he found himself fidgeting, he could still imagine that the sharp crack of a ruler on his shins might come next.

“How did you not know?” she asked.

“About Luca? How was I supposed to know?”

“It was … The press, they … He’s the only illegitimate Santina. The headlines were not kind.”

“I don’t read tabloids.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Not even when they’re talking about you?”

“Especially not then,” he said.

“How do you… I mean, how can you not? I had to … I had to know what they were saying.” She looked away from him, her eyes on Luca, who was now turning circles in the middle of the large expanse of grass. “I suppose, looking back, it wasn’t the healthiest thing for a hormonal, pregnant woman to do. But I just felt like I needed to know.”

“I don’t care what they’re saying. Anyway, what they write about me is simply a rundown of my weekend’s events. If I want a recap, I’ll look at the pictures I took.”

She turned her head sharply, her eyes wide. “Pictures?”

“Oh, so you’ve read about me then,” he said.

“I said I read tabloids. Anyway, who hasn’t read about you?”

“Probably a few priests who are trying to deny the existence of evil in the world, but we aren’t supposed to be talking about me right now. I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Does it change anything?”

Did it? He’d never planned on being very involved with his wife and children. He just … he couldn’t think of a single thing he could add to their lives. They would serve their purpose, likely better without his interference. He knew nothing about family. The only thing he knew about children was what not to do with them.

That was something, he supposed.

“I don’t know that it does,” he said. “Is his father in the picture?”

“Luca doesn’t have a father.” Carlotta felt her cheeks get hot as Rodriguez fixed her with a hard stare. “Well … obviously he has a father,” she said. “But he doesn’t have an involved father.”

“Messy breakup?” he asked.

It suddenly seemed a bit harder to breathe. “You could say that.” It would be an understatement, but she wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

“So I’m not going to get tangled up in any sort of custody thing?”

“Absolutely not. Is that your only concern?”

“I don’t see anything else that should concern me.”

“You don’t see how having a son concerns you?”

His eyebrows locked together. “He’s not my son.”

Carlotta’s heart twisted tight. It was a fair enough statement. Luca wasn’t Rodriguez’s son. And they’d been at his home for all of fifteen minutes. He wasn’t being cruel. Still, it felt a little cruel. “No, I know. But he is a child, and if you’re going to be my husband he will be your stepson, and that means some of the responsibility …”

“He has a nanny?”

“Yes. She had to stay behind for a couple of days but …”

“In that case, I see my responsibility will be limited.”

Anger burned in her, threatening to swallow her whole. “And will it be the same for your children? Because if not, you and I have no more to say to each other. Luca is my son. He’s my world and if you—”

“Yes. It will be the same for our child. I don’t intend to have any more than is required.”

“If we have a girl?”

“Then we will have to have more, I suppose.”

“I don’t … I don’t even know how to have this discussion with you,” she said, panic clawing at her stomach. How could she stand here talking children with this stranger? Was she really going to marry this man?

Yes. Because the other option was going back to her father, standing in that spot in his office and telling him, yet again, how badly she’d failed the Santina family. She couldn’t do it. The guilt would consume her. She lived with enough guilt. No sense in adding to it.

But one thing she had to be sure of. For Luca. And if Rodriguez couldn’t handle it, she would walk away, no matter how disappointed her father was. No matter how much compound interest in guilt it earned her.

“Will you adopt him?”

Rodriguez stiffened, his posture totally rigid. “What?”

“Will you adopt Luca? Give him your name. The same name I will have. The same name his halfbrother or -sister will have. Will you make him a part of this family? Because if not, I’ll walk away now.”

A muscle in Rodriguez’s jaw twitched. “I cannot name him as my heir.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I cannot have him be alone in that way.” Just the thought of it made her throat ache, made it get unbearably tight. “I need him to know that he has a father. That he isn’t the only one who isn’t a part of a family.”

“Having a father can be vastly overrated,” Rodriguez said, his voice rough.

“Give him your name. Your protection. And I will marry you. Be your wife in every sense. But you have to make my son yours, as much as your other children.”

She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes fixed on Luca. “Then I will adopt him after the marriage. All of this can be simple enough. We marry, we produce an heir. We lead separate lives.”

“Why?”

He looked past her, at Luca, who was now lying on his back looking at the sky. Then he looked back at her. “Because I’m not after a perfect, happy family. I want to do what is right by my country. What is necessary.”

“The way that disrupts your life the least?”

“And yours, Carlotta. You can keep living as you please here. You’ll have very little obligation to me. This marriage will be like a job you can clock in and out of. On for public appearances, off when it’s done.”

“So, I get lovers too, then?”

He shrugged. “What’s good for the goose.”

“Just not while we’re—”

“Mommy!”

She turned sharply and saw Luca, standing right at the edge of the terrace. He had a way of darting from place to place with no warning, her son. It had never really been a problem before.

“Yes, Luca?”

“I’m bored.”

“And tired I’ll bet,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head for emphasis, the serious expression on his face reminding her of her brother Alessandro. She was so thankful that he seemed to have none of his father in him.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that, figlio mio, but nice try,” she said, running her fingers through his dark hair, ruffling it.

“There is a room next to yours,” Rodriguez said, his manner suddenly awkward. Luca did seem to make him nervous and she wasn’t really sure why. “He can stay in there.”

“Good. If we could have his things brought in, that would be great.”

Rodriguez nodded curtly. “After he’s in bed, perhaps you and I can have dinner.”

Carlotta wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She liked having Luca as a buffer. It was much more comfortable.

Ironic that you feel the need for a buffer since you’re planning on having a baby with the man. No buffers then.

That thought had her hot all over. Well, not so much the pregnancy and childbirth aspect of it. She’d hated being pregnant. Every moment of it. It had all been sickness and sadness. A little bit of denial. Only when Luca was placed in her arms had everything truly come together. And from that moment, she’d been lost. Everything that had come before it—the pain, physical and emotional—had paled in comparison to the love that had flooded through her when she’d seen her son for the first time.

She’d already done it once without a man in the picture.

“Great. We can talk more then,” she said, wondering if any amount of talking would ever make the situation seem normal.

After spending a couple of hours getting Luca settled and conked out in his new room, Carlotta went back to her room and selected a nice dress from her collection of, admittedly, out-of-date clothing.

Clothes just didn’t matter when you hardly ever went anywhere and certainly never went on dates. As Queen of Santa Christobel she would need new clothing….

Oh. Madre di dio. She was going to be the Queen of Santa Christobel. She had sort of been stuck on being Rodriguez’s wife. On what it would mean to marry him and share his bed, and have his baby, and uproot her son from his home in Italy. She hadn’t even gotten to the queen bit.

She tugged the dress off the hanger and sat on the bed in nothing but her bra and panties, the plush, silken comforter billowing around her, enveloping her. She clutched the rust-colored dress to her chest and breathed in deeply, trying to stop the room from spinning.

This was not her life.

And what is? Self-imposed exile in Italy? Living it up, aren’t you, Carlotta?

She had known she’d have to get back into the swing of things eventually. Start living life beyond the four walls of her home. She hadn’t really intended on doing it in such a grand way.

Life had seemed … still, for the past five years. No, not still. Because Luca always changed. Every day there was something new and exciting for him, and she lived it, loved it. Loved him. But for her … there had been nothing. It had been like being wrapped in a cocoon. Now she was torn from it, and she doubted she’d had any grand transformation.

She didn’t know if she was ready for this. And she didn’t really have anyone to talk to. Normally she would call Sophia but since she was currently shacked up with Ash in India and Carlotta was now engaged to the man she’d been intended to marry …

Well, she deserved to be dragged into it, all things considered.

Carlotta took her phone out of her purse and tapped the icon on the screen for text messaging. She’d sent Sophia a blistering message when she’d found out she’d run off with Ash. Now, well, she couldn’t really blame her younger sister. This was … it was overwhelming. Maybe if Ash had been standing by with a private plane she would have run off with him too. Though she wouldn’t have hopped into bed with him.

Hope you’re having a blast in India. BTW, I’m marrying the fiancé you ditched. Good choice, he’s an ass.

She hit Send on the message, then tapped the screen again, a smile curving her lips. She hit the New Message icon.

He’s also a total stud. So that’s some consolation.

This time when she hit Send, her smile was smug. She hoped Sophia was happy, whatever she was doing. Well, she had a fair idea of what her sister was doing, since she’d been caught in Ash’s bed on his private plane.

Sophia was the one person who didn’t seem completely ashamed of her and Luca. But while she wished her sister a lifetime of happiness, and if that included a torrid affair with Ash, fine with her, she deserved a little goading, all things considered.

Her phone pinged and she picked it back up. New message from Sophia.

At least our father will be pleased to have both of us marrying fellow royals.

Married? She’d just thought Sophia was sleeping with him. Well, then things really had worked out in her father’s favor. One daughter to a maharaja, the other, the one who’d been mired in total disgrace, married off to a prince.

She typed in another quick message. Congrats, Soph. Love ya.

She snorted and tossed the phone onto the bed. Yes, this was all working out great for Eduardo Santina. Hopefully it would work out even half as well for her.

There was a sharp knock on her door and she scrambled from the bed, stepping into the dress and contorting her arm so that she could tug the zipper up. “Just a second.”

She got it midway up, then reached over her shoulder and grabbed it from above, tugging it up the rest of the way. She looked in the mirror and pulled on the neckline, trying to make sure everything was in its proper place. Her figure was a bit fuller since her pregnancy and sometimes she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her new curves.

Not that they were pin-up worthy or anything. But at least she could fill out the top of her dress now, with a little cleavage.

She wondered what Rodriguez would think. If he would check her out. That made her cheeks feel hot. She tried to find some hold on her control, tried to keep in command of her body’s reaction.

This is what happens when you give in. When you’re weak.

That was what her father had shouted at her the day she’d told him she was pregnant. The day she’d told him who the father of her baby was through heartbroken sobs. It was so easy to feel the shame, the sick, crawling feeling of dirt on her skin, as she confessed the truth about Gabriel.

She was determined never to be weak again.

“Ready,” she said, turning away from her reflection, redirecting her thoughts.

The door swung open and Rodriguez was there, leaning against the frame. He didn’t look last season, not even close.

His crisp, white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a wedge of golden brown skin and just a little bit of dark chest hair. His dark hair was disheveled. He looked like a man who’d just come from his lover’s bed.

She wrinkled her nose. She’d been upstairs for a couple of hours, it was entirely possible that he’d …

“So, how was your evening?” she asked, stepping past him, out into the corridor.

“Fine. I had some work to see to.”

“Great.”

“You?”

“Luca seems settled in. I don’t know if he really understands that we’re staying here. But then, I guess that makes two of us.”

“Three,” he said, walking ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed as quickly as her kitten heels would allow.

“You don’t feel at home here?”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at the painted ceiling. “I never have.”

“You could … redecorate.”

A short laugh escaped his lips and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks. “That’s almost like suggesting I paint over the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. I mean, not quite, but as far as Santa Christobel and our history is concerned, it is.”

“Well, that would be a bad idea then.”

“Very likely.”

He paused and turned to her, placing his hand on her lower back. She felt the heat of his touch blaze through her, like fire had ignited in her bloodstream, moving through her like a reckless spark on dry tinder.

Was she so desperate for a man’s touch that such a simple thing could turn her on so quickly? Well, clearly she was. A man she didn’t even know, a man she wasn’t sure she liked. She truly was no better now than she’d been six years ago. It was still there, that reckless passion. The one she’d worked so hard to shove down deep, to lock away forever. It was a sobering, gutting realization.

“This way,” he said, unaware of the turmoil his hand on her back had caused.

She kept her shoulders straight, tried to keep it so his hand only touched the fabric of her dress and didn’t press it down so that it came into contact with her back again. Because that had been far too disturbing.

The dining room was as opulent and formal as the rest of the house, the sprawling ceiling mural continuing through, with scenes of a massive feast painted just above the long, expansive table.

“Cozy,” she said.

That earned a laugh from Rodriguez. “Isn’t it? Perfect for an intimate dinner for two. Plus twenty.”

“The palace in Santina is a bit like that. It’s daunting. Luca … he’s not used to this.”

“Why did you take him away from Santina?”

“The press,” she said, her voice soft.

He pulled a chair out for her and she sat, touching the golden fork that was set beside an ornate dinner plate.

“It was bad for you?” Rodriguez took his seat opposite her.

She looked nice tonight, pretty even. She dressed too plainly for his taste, her hair too well ordered and smooth for his liking. But she was attractive, more than he’d given her credit for the first time he’d seen her.

She looked up, her green eyes hard. “I have the only illegitimate child in the entire Santina family. Going back generations.”

An incredulous laugh escaped him. “That anyone has ever owned up to. Do you honestly think there haven’t been others?”

“My father said …”

“I’m sure there are descendants of Santina bastards all over Europe. It’s the nature of things.”

She gritted her teeth, her eyes suddenly bright with rage. “My son is not a bastard.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Pick your words a bit more carefully then.”

She had teeth. And claws. Neither of which he’d seen in the interaction with her father. However, when it came to the boy, she was fierce. Good. It would make her a good mother for his heir. Protective. Strong. Something that had certainly been lacking in his life.

She would be a good queen too. While he found her a bit plain, it would suit her position. She had that regal quality to her. He preferred a sex-on-legs quality when it came to his bed partners, but a wife needed something else entirely. And Carlotta had that something else.

He hadn’t fully appreciated it until that moment.

“Noted, princesa.”

“Anyway,” she said, looking back down at her empty plate. “That’s why I’ve been in Italy. It’s simpler there. I came back for the engagement party. A chance to see someone else mess up.”

“You think your brother is making a mistake?”

“In my father’s eyes he is. It’s petty. But … I don’t like being the bad one.”

“I’ve never minded bad girls.” He watched her eyes round with shock, and he also saw a spark of interest flash in those green depths. Perhaps his bride-to-be wasn’t quite as plain as he had imagined.

Maybe there was more beneath that prim and proper exterior.

It was certainly a fascinating thought. One that caused a flash fire of arousal to roar through his blood. Six months without sex. Dios, that was a long time. The longest he’d gone since he was sixteen and he’d found out that life came with some very lush and interesting perks.

Women were just another of the many reasons he didn’t mourn the loss of his childhood. Giving women pleasure, taking his pleasure with them, had provided him with moments of total release. Oblivion. He had always treasured those moments.

“No, you haven’t, according to your tabloid reputation,” she said. “Which reminds me, and I’m sorry to bring it up just before dinner, do you have a clean bill of health? I mean, have you had a recent physical? Because from what I’ve read, you’ve been around.”

“Not wrong of you to bring it up,” he said, ignoring the unfamiliar prickle of shame. “Being safe is important. And I always am. And it so happens, I have a doctor’s report for you.”

“I … That’s more than I expected.”

“It’s reality. I’ve never denied living a certain lifestyle, but I’m careful, and I make sure to protect my lovers. As I will make sure to protect you.”