Читать книгу Scandals Of The Royals: Princess From the Shadows - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 12

“THERE will be a formal announcement of our engagement today.” Rodriguez walked into the dining area, where she and Luca were having breakfast, looking respectable in his tailored suit, yet somehow managing to look disreputable at the same time.

Or maybe that was just Carlotta’s mind, objectifying him. She’d certainly been doing a fair amount of it lately. She’d been absent any sort of sexual thrills for quite a while, and one thing Rodriguez provided, just by walking into a room, was sexual thrill. So, it wasn’t entirely her fault.

Anyway, there were scores of tabloid tales, provided by exes, talking about all his prowess. Prowess she would be experiencing soon.

Her face got hot and prickly.

“How formal? Are you sending an aide or …”

“We’re having a press conference.”

Carlotta set her coffee cup down on its saucer. “A press-conference press conference? With a room full of reporters and flashbulbs and hideously invasive personal questions? That kind of press conference?”

“If there’s any other kind I haven’t yet been to it.”

Luca took another bite of churro and Carlotta winced as he set it down on the white tablecloth, then planted his sticky, sugar-coated hands on the formerly pristine surface. Rodriguez didn’t seem to notice. “What’s that mean?”

She waited to see if Rodriguez might answer, but he seemed as oblivious to the question as he’d been to the sugary handprints. Or at least he was pretending to be.

“There will be reporters, people who work for the television news and the paper, and they’re going to come and ask Rodriguez and me questions. Take our picture.”

“Me too?” Luca asked.

Carlotta shook her head. “No. You would be bored. You’d have to sit still.”

Luca frowned. “I’ll stay and play with Angelina. She said she had movies.” His nanny had arrived late the night before and Luca was thrilled to see her.

Angelina hadn’t been full-time when they’d lived in Italy, but she’d agreed to drop her other charges and come to Santa Christobel to live in the palace. Because now life was different. Carlotta had responsibilities outside of her son. It was sort of jarring and depressing.

“Good,” she said, her response halfhearted now.

“We only have a couple of hours to prepare,” Rodriguez said.

“And why didn’t you tell me this last night?” she asked.

“It didn’t seem … important.” The way he said that, the way his tongue caressed the words, his deep voice almost like a physical embrace, it reminded her of everything that had happened last night. And everything that hadn’t. Everything she’d wanted to feel, and then been ashamed for later.

She’d wanted him to do more than kiss her hand. Had wanted to feel the slow glide of his tongue sliding over her skin as he made the contact more intimate. Had wanted to feel the hot press of his mouth on her neck, her lips, down again to her breasts …

It was as though part of her, a part she’d ignored and forced down deep inside herself, had reawakened. She really, really didn’t want that part to wake up. She’d given in to that wild, reckless bit of herself before. The one that had always wondered what it would be like the slide down banisters and run barefoot on the palace lawn when she was a child. The one who wanted to find out what it was like to have a wild, passionate affair as an adult. Oh, yes, she’d given in to that part of herself once. Only once.

And she’d paid for it. Endlessly.

She loved Luca more than her own life, which made it hard to regret everything. But shaming her family like she had, bringing the paparazzi down on her head. The fact that, whether the other woman knew it or not, Carlotta had taken someone’s husband into her bed. And her final moments with the man … the ones she could never erase … she regretted all of that bitterly.

It galled still. Made her feel dirty every time she thought of it, as though there was a permanent film covering her skin. One that never washed clean, no matter how many times she showered. No matter how many times she chose the sensible option instead of the risky one. It was always there. Waiting to betray her.

And now that she was experiencing this uncontrollable … thing around Rodriguez, it was coming back stronger than it had been in years. Along with the reminder of what happened when you chose impulse over propriety.

“Well, it is important. I have to get ready.”

His lips twitched. “You look fine.”

She put her hand to the back of her head to see if the high, spiky ponytail she’d managed early that morning was still there. “No. I don’t,” she said, after confirming that she was still, in fact, a disaster.

“All right, maybe you should get ready.”

She stood, trying to remember all of the grace and poise she’d learned living in the palace in Santina. It was sort of laughable when one had the crazy ponytail and gray sweatpants. Even if they were cute gray sweatpants.

She was going to have to get into the mindset of being on show again. All the time. All day, every day. That was royal life, and even though she’d let herself forget it these past five years, it was still there in her.

Along with a few other things she thought she’d left behind.

She looked down at Luca, who had a ring of sugar around his mouth and half a churro and cup of hot chocolate left to eat. “Can you stay with him while I get myself sorted?” she asked.

Rodriguez looked down at Luca, trying to keep his face blank of emotion. A tough thing to do since his chest was tightening with a strange feeling he was reluctant to identify. Fear. He was afraid of a five-year-old boy. Wasn’t that a joke.

“Fine,” he said, taking a seat a few chairs away from Luca.

“I’ll be back in a bit. I’m good at getting ready fast.”

Carlotta walked out of the room, and he felt compelled to watch. The way the loose, gray pants hugged her pert butt when she walked was the biggest tease he’d come across in a while. Because she should have looked plain. Boring. And yet, something about her face scrubbed free of makeup, and her hair so obviously unstyled was … eye-catching. He had to look twice. A third time.

And he’d had to watch her walk—sashay, really—from the room like she was in her finest dress and heels, when she was wearing slippers and sweats. Shockingly, he’d found a lot to look at.

“I like these.”

Rodriguez turned his head, Luca’s little voice as effective as a bucket of cold water in his lap. The arousal that had tightened his gut eased and the tightness in his throat returned.

“Do you?” he asked, assuming Luca meant the churro he was holding up in his little hand.

He nodded. “I like this table too. It’s big. I bet you could fit a really big cake on it.”

Rodriguez looked at Luca, not sure of what he was supposed to say to that. The boy just kind of … chattered. About cakes and crowns and whatever came to his mind. It didn’t make him angry. That kind of thing would have made his father angry. As a result, he hadn’t chattered much, and he’d never been around children who did.

He’d never really been around children at all, not even when he was one.

Dios. He was actually sweating. Small beads of cold moisture forming on his brow, his back. Being near Luca made it so easy to remember …

“I like chocolate cake. With sprinkles. It’s what I had for my last birthday. And I got Sherbie and Sherbet.”

Rodriguez sucked in a breath. “And they are?”

“My owls. They aren’t real. They’re toys.”

“And he thinks I have a funny name,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Are you going to school this year?” he asked. That seemed safe. And normal. Not something random about stuffed animals.

“I don’t know. I was going to, but Mama said that now I might not. I might have school here. Because it’s different to live in a castle.”

Images of his own childhood, lonely, with no one but adults around him. On a good day, a stern nanny or teacher. And then there were days when there was only his father.

“It can be,” he said slowly, his eyes meeting Luca’s. “But it can be fun.” He wasn’t sure if that was true. All of his fun had been away from the castle. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d discovered women here, at a much too early age. They had been a revelation. A way to feel happy.

He frowned. He knew already he didn’t want that for Luca. Growing up fast had been a must for him, but the thought of this boy behaving like he had in just ten short years … that didn’t settle well with him.

He tried again. “If you want to go to school away from the palace, we can arrange it.” Luca nodded and Rodriguez wasn’t at all sure he’d understood what he was saying. “I mean, you can stay here for school if you want.” He looked over his shoulder and at the door Carlotta had walked out of only a few short moments ago. “Or you could go to a class with friends.”

“I think it would be more fun with friends.”

“I’m sure it would be.” Rodriguez couldn’t comment on that for sure either. “We’ll talk to Car—your mama.”

Luca’s nanny, a petite redhead with pale skin and freckles, walked in, a smile on her face. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, her focus on him, her smile bright. “And good morning to you too, Luca.”

Rodriguez stood, hoping the swiftness of the motion didn’t betray just how eager he was to get out of the room. “Buenos dias. You must be Angelina.”

“I am,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She was cute. In a flashier way than Carlotta, thanks to her fiery red hair and glittering golden eyes. Not so long ago, a week ago, he would have been tempted to make a pass at her.

But now he thought she didn’t quite measure up to Carlotta’s quiet sophistication. Carlotta was … sleek. Her hair always so neat, except for this morning, her appearance always perfectly pressed. Again, except for this morning. And that added dimension had only made her more interesting. She had layers. He couldn’t remember ever caring if a woman had layers before.

Strange.

“Nice to meet you. I have …”

“The press conference,” she said, moving to the table and sitting right next to Luca. He should have done that. Not sat with three chairs between them as though the boy were a leper.

“Yes. The press conference.” He took one last look at Luca, who had his serious green eyes trained on him. “I’ll … I’ll see you later, Luca.”

Luca brightened, a smile curving his small mouth. “Bye.”

Rodriguez turned and walked out of the room, trying to ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest.

For Carlotta, the press held about as much appeal as a food-borne illness and all the charming symptoms that came with it. They were, in her estimation, beneath contempt. People who preyed on the mistakes and tragedies of others, weaving them into salacious stories for the consumption of a scandal-hungry public.

Walking into a room full of the vultures was about the lowest thing on her to-do list. Still, she was doing it. In style too. With the kind of heels normally reserved for … well, never. She’d gotten out of the habit of wearing high shoes when pregnant with Luca. Then after he was born, carrying him in heels was about as practical as waddling around in heels with a big pregnant belly.

So, her fabulous, sky-high black stilettos had been on hold in the back of her closet for years, and now, paired with a sedate, but cheery, yellow sheath dress, she was looking quite … well, almost sexy, in an understated way. It was a welcome break from her typically sedate appearance. At least, that’s what she was telling herself.

She took a deep breath and started down the long corridor that led to the room they were holding the conference in. She was confident. Strong. Sexy—at least, she had been in another life, and was trying it out again. She could do this.

She lengthened her strides and tipped her chin up, the razor-blunt edges of her hair skimming her shoulders. Yes, she could do this. She was strong, sexy and in control.

She rounded the corner and ran into Rodriguez’s broad frame, her breasts and tipped-up chin hitting the hard wall of his chest and his neck, respectively.

“Oh, I’m sorry! This is … I’m sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to ramble. When had she become so … not a princess? Just clumsy and coming to breakfast in her sweats and … and she couldn’t do that now. She was in a palace. She was marrying Rodriguez.

She had to change. Again. Just when things had been getting really comfortable it was all changing again.

Oh, no. Not this, not now. Tears were stinging her eyes, her throat tight and aching. This was not the time for an emotional breakdown.

He put his hands on her shoulders, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, sending a little zing of electricity through her. “It’s fine.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t … I don’t really want to do this.”

His brows locked together. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just …” She blew out a breath and waved her hand. “Me. And the media. I don’t like to be in the news.”

He frowned. “Because of Luca?”

“Because of what they did to me when they found out I was pregnant with Luca. Do you have any idea …?” She blinked and looked away. “It was horrible. They followed me everywhere. Crowding me while I ate. I was sick all the time anyway and to have a camera shoved in my face while I was just trying to have a relaxing meal … and there were pictures of me walking with my belly circled, drawing attention to it, along with the flattering headline Who’s the Father? And when they realized we weren’t telling them, they switched to things like Has Princess Carlotta Put on Too Much Baby Weight?”

His thumbs moved up and down, from her satin-covered shoulders down to the bare skin of her arms. “I know. It’s a necessary evil though. The way I can communicate with my people. They’ve written … I don’t even know what all they’ve written about me. Things about my exploits. Most probably true, but not something I want to read in black and white. Not something I’d want my maiden aunt to read.”

“Do you have a maiden aunt?”

“That was for illustrative purposes. The point is, the press is a part of royal life, of our lives. I employ a ‘keeping my enemies closer’ strategy with the media.”

“And does it work?”

He smiled, that wicked half-smile of his. “I have no idea, I don’t read that sort of thing, remember?”

“You mentioned.”

He slid one hand down her arm, warm fingertips trailing over her skin before he took her hand in his. “Now, let’s go have a press conference.”

Her heart started moving to its own rhythm, too fast, too hard, to be normal. Why did he have to be charming? Or, the bigger question, why did it work on her? Why did it make her stomach tighten, her nerve endings sizzle, when she knew how easy this kind of charm came to men like him?

She didn’t know why. She only knew it did.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

His smile widened, and as it did, she felt something in her chest expand. “Good. Now, try not to run into me on your way in.”