Читать книгу The Montoros Affair: The Princess and the Player / Maid for a Magnate / A Royal Temptation - Charlene Sands - Страница 8
ОглавлениеJames’s rebuff stayed with Bella into the evening.
Apparently he wasn’t of the same mind that a match between the Rowlings and Montoros could work just as easily between James and Bella as it could with his brother.
Being forced into a stiff, formal dinner with her father didn’t improve her mood. Gabriel and Serafia were supposed to be there, too, which was the only reason Bella agreed, but the couple had yet to show.
Five bucks said they’d lost track of time while indulging in a much more pleasurable activity than dinner with Little Sister and Frosty Father. Lucky dogs.
Bella spooned up another bite of Marta’s gazpacho, one of the best things the chef had prepared so far, and murmured her appreciation in case her father was actually paying attention to her today. But her mind was back on the boardwalk outside El Gatito. She’d have sworn the encounter with James would end with at least a kiss in the shadows of a storefront. Just to take the edge off until they got behind closed doors and let the simmering heat between them explode.
“Isabella.” Her father’s voice startled her out of an X-rated fantasy that she shouldn’t have envisioned at all, let alone at the dinner table.
Not because of the X factor, but because it had starred James, who had cast her off with the lovely parting gift of his brother. Call Will. As if James had already grown tired of her and wanted to be clear about what her next steps should be.
“Yeah, Dad?” He must have realized that they were actually sitting at the same table. For once. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten together.
“You should know your great-aunt Isabella has decided to spend her last days in Alma. She arrived this morning and is asking after you.”
Sudden happy tears burned Bella’s eyelids. “Oh, that’s the best news ever. Isn’t she going to stay here with us?”
“The restoration of the monarchy is topmost on your aunt’s mind.” Rafael’s gaze bored into her; he was no doubt trying to instill the gravity of royal protocol. “Therefore, she is staying in Del Sol. She wished to be close to El Castillo del Arena, so that she may be involved in Gabriel’s coronation to the extent she is able.”
Bella swore. Del Sol was, what? An hour away? Fine time to realize she should have taken her father up on the offer of a car...except she hadn’t wanted to learn all the new traffic laws and Spanish road signs. Too late now—she’d have to take the chauffeured town car in order to visit Tía Isabella.
“Playa Del Onda is practically like Miami.” Bella grumbled, mostly to herself. “You’d think she’d prefer the coast.”
Her father put his spoon by his plate even though his bowl of gazpacho was still almost full. It hadn’t been long enough since the last time they’d dined together for her to forget that meant a subject of grave importance was afoot and it wasn’t her aunt’s preference of locale.
“I have another matter to discuss. How was your first meeting with Will Rowling?”
Biting back a groan, she kept eating in a small show of defiance. Then she swallowed and said, “I haven’t scheduled it yet.”
Her father frowned. “I have it on good authority that you spoke to him today. On the boardwalk.”
Spies? Her father had stooped to a new low. “I wasn’t talking to Will. That was James.”
Oh, duh. Her brand new security-guards-slash-babysitters had spilled the beans. Too bad they were the wrong beans.
Rafael’s brows snapped together. “I cannot make myself more clear. Will Rowling is the man you should be pursuing.”
Bella abandoned her spoon and plunked her elbows on the table to lean forward, so her father didn’t miss her game face. “What if I like James better?”
Never mind that James had washed his hands of her. Regardless, it was the principle of the thing. Her father liked to try and run her life but failed to recall that Bella’s typical response was to tell him to go to hell.
“James Rowling is bad news wrapped with trouble,” Rafael shot back with a scowl. “He is not good enough for my daughter.”
It seemed as if James had quoted this exact conversation to her yesterday on the beach. What was he, psychic? James’s comment about the photographs that had gotten him into trouble crossed her mind and she realized there must be more to the story. She actually knew very little about the man other than the way he made her feel when he looked at her.
She eyed her father. What if Rafael had told James to brush her off? Would James have listened? She wouldn’t put it past her father to interfere and now she wished she’d chased James down so she could ask. Shoot. She’d have to arrange another accidental meeting in order to find out.
“Maybe I’d like to make that decision on my own.”
“Perhaps you need a few more facts if you’re determined to undo the work I’ve already done on your behalf.” Her father rubbed his graying temple. “Will Rowling is the next CEO of Rowling Energy, and he will be of paramount importance to your brother’s relationship with the entire European oil market. How do you suppose the Montoros will lead a country rich with oil if we do not have the appropriate alliances in place?”
“Gabriel’s smart. He’ll figure it out,” she said, but it came out sounding a little sullen. As smart and capable as Gabriel may be, he’d never been king before and besides, Alma hadn’t had a king in a long time, so her brother would be a bit of a trailblazer.
She owed it to Gabriel to give him a leg up.
“Have you given any thought to Will Rowling’s feelings, Isabella? You haven’t reached out to him in the three days since you’ve arrived. You could not have insulted him more if you tried.”
No, she hadn’t thought of that. She swore. Her father had a very small point. Miniscule. But a point nonetheless. How would she feel if Will had come to Miami to meet her and then didn’t call her, choosing instead to flirt outrageously with her best friend, Nicole, for example?
She’d hunt Will down and tell him to his face what a dog he was. So why should she get a pass to do whatever pleased her? It didn’t matter if her father had scared off James—this was about doing what she said she’d do.
“I’ll meet Will. Tomorrow, if he’s free,” Bella promised and turned her attention to eating. The faster the gazpacho disappeared, the faster she could as well.
It didn’t go down as well this time. Righteousness wasn’t as fun as it looked in the brochure.
* * *
Will Rowling took Bella’s call immediately, cleared his schedule for the next morning and agreed to take her on a tour of Alma. He’d been very pleasant on the phone, though his British accent sounded a bit too much like James’s for her liking.
When Will picked her up at 10:30 a.m. on the dot, she flung the door open and actually had a bad Captain Obvious moment when she realized Will looked like James, too. Duh. As common as fraternal twins were among the moneyed set of Miami, she’d never actually met a set of identical twins.
She studied him for a long second, taking in the remarkable resemblance, until he cleared his throat and she found a dose of manners somewhere in her consciousness. “I’m so sorry! Hello. You must be Will.”
“I don’t know if I must be, but I am Will,” he agreed.
Was that a joke? Trying not to be too obtrusive, she evaluated his expression but it was blank. With James, she never had to wonder. “I’m Bella, by the way.”
“I assumed so. I have your picture.”
Of course he did. And this was her house. Wasn’t this fun? “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, if you are.” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he held out a hand toward his car, and waited until she left the house to follow her so he could help her into the passenger seat.
Will climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled his seat belt carefully before starting the car, which guilted Bella into fastening hers as well. Seat belts. In an itty-bitty place like Alma, where nothing happened.
She sighed and pasted on a bright smile. “Safety first.”
Usually she trotted that line out during a condom discussion. She almost cracked a joke along those lines, but something told her Will might not appreciate the parallel. Sinking down in her seat, she scouted for a topic of discussion. They were supposed to be seeing how they meshed, right?
Will must have had a similar thought process because he spoke first. “Thanks for arranging this, Bella. I’m chuffed to show you around Alma, but I’d like to know what you might be interested in seeing. Anything jump out at you? I’m at your command.”
Did he mean that in the double-entendre way? A provocative rejoinder sprang to her lips that she’d have let fly if she’d been in the car with James. Should she flirt with Will, the way she normally did on a date, or would that just lead to him taking her up on it, when she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to? Maybe she should just be herself, but what if Will hated her immediately? Would her father lay another guilt trip on her?
All of this second-guessing was making her nuts. She wasn’t with James, and everyone—including James—wanted her to make nice with the proper Rowling. Yeah, she’d looked up James last night, finding far more information about him than she’d expected, and little of it would fit the definition of the word proper.
No one, not even James, had thought it relevant to mention the man was a professional soccer—football in Europe, apparently—player. Since he appeared to have quite a bit of fame, maybe he’d assumed she already knew. Regardless, bad press followed James around like it did her. No wonder her father had nearly had a heart attack when she mentioned James’s name. He was the very opposite of the proper brother.
Proper pretty much covered Will’s personality. Five minutes in, and judging by the stiff set of Will’s shoulders, he wasn’t as much of a fun time as his brother. Hopefully, she’d judged wrong and would soon discover otherwise.
“Thanks,” she responded. “I’ve only seen the coast and a bit of Del Sol. Why don’t you pick, since this is your home?”
“No problem.” He shot her a small but pained smile, cluing her in that this whole set up might be as difficult for him as it was for her.
She should give him a break. “So, Will. How long have you lived in Alma?”
An innocuous enough subject, hopefully, and given the brothers’ accents, it was a safe bet they hadn’t been born here.
“Since I was seven. My father moved us here from England.”
“Oh, that must have been quite an adventure.”
She’d lived in Miami her whole life and living someplace new did have appeal for that reason alone. If only this arranged marriage business hadn’t soured the experience of coming to Alma, she’d be having a blast. And that was why she still didn’t think of it as her home... She still reserved the right to go back to Miami and play aunt instead of princess if the royal pressure grew too great.
Though with Tía Isabella’s arrival in Alma, going home held much less appeal.
Will’s face remained expressionless, but he tapped his pinky on the steering wheel in a staccato rhythm as he drove north out of Playa Del Onda along the coastal road that circled the main island.
“The move was difficult,” he said shortly and paused so long, she wasn’t sure he planned to continue. But then he said, “My mother had just died.”
“I’m sorry,” Bella murmured. “That would be difficult on young boys.”
All at once, she realized this was James’s history as well as Will’s. And now she was absurdly interested in learning more. The gorgeous deep blues of the bay unfurled as far as the eye could see on her right but she ignored the spectacular view in favor of watching Will.
“Thanks.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and double-checked the side mirrors before changing lanes. Will Rowling might very well be the most careful driver she’d ever met. “Look, let’s just get all of it out on the table, shall we?”
“Depends on what you mean by all and table,” she countered, a little puzzled by his abrupt change of subject.
Was this the part of the date where he expected her to air all her dirty laundry? She’d never had a long-term relationship, never wanted one, never thought about what went into establishing a foundation for one. Maybe they were supposed to spill deep, dark secrets right off the bat. She was so not on board with that.
“About the arranged marriage,” he clarified. “We should clear the air.”
“I’m not a lesbian looking for a fake husband and I don’t have a crazy uncle chained up in the closet, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”
He flashed a brief smile, the most genuine one yet, giving her a glimpse of what he might be like if he loosened up a little. “I wasn’t fishing. I meant, I wanted to tell you that marriage wasn’t my idea. I’m not after your title or your fortune.”
“Oh. Then what are you after?”
The smile vanished as his expression smoothed out into the careful nothingness he’d worn since the first moment. “Aligning myself with the Montoros through marriage is advantageous for Rowling Energy. It would be fitting if we suited each other. That’s the only reason I agreed to meet you.”
Ouch. That was kind of painful. Was she actually disappointed his motives for this pseudo-date nearly matched hers word for word? Well, not really, but no woman liked to find out a man was only interested in her connections. At least he’d admitted it up front.
All on the table, indeed.
“Yeah. I get that. My father pretty much insisted that I get on a plane and fall in love. Not necessarily in that order.” Her lips twisted into a grimace automatically. “Since we’re on the subject, would you really go through with it?”
“Marriage, you mean?” A shadow darkened his gaze though his eyes never left the road. “Rowling Energy is on the brink of gaining a starring role on the world’s oil stage. Our alliance makes very good sense. My assumption is that you thought so as well.”
“Wow.” Bella blinked. Had he memorized that careful statement in one sitting or had he repeated it to himself in the shower for the past week so he could get it out without stumbling? “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
If she’d ever had any shred of doubt about her ability to tolerate an arranged marriage, it had just been crushed under the heel of Will’s ambition. There was no way she’d marry anyone unless the words deliriously happy, scorching passion and eternal love entered into the conversation about a hundred times first, and even then, vows would be far, far in the future.
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Meaning?”
She rolled her eyes. “I just hadn’t pegged you for a romantic. That’s all.”
“It wasn’t intended to be romantic,” he explained, and she had the distinct impression he really thought she’d needed the clarification.
As nightmare dates went, this one hit the scale at about eleven point five. So much for being herself. Check, please.
“Will, I have a confession to make. Instead of seeing the sights, I’d really like a ride to Del Sol to visit my great-aunt Isabella.” She blazed ahead before he could say no. “She’s very sick and I’d like to see her. The timing is terrible, I realize, but my mind is just not where it should be for this outing.”
Hitching a ride hadn’t been her intent when she’d called him, but a savvy woman knew when to cut her losses and she might offend Will if she screamed bloody murder in his ear...which she might very well do if forced to spend five more minutes in his company.
This was not going to work out. Period. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in a horrible marriage to a coldhearted man, as her mother had been. If it didn’t make you happy, why do it? Why do anything that didn’t have fun written all over it?
“No problem.” Will checked forty-seven points of the car’s position and did a U-turn to head to the interior of the island. “I sensed that you were distracted. Glad to know the reason why.”
Yet another reason they would never work—obviously Will read her about as well as she could read Spanish. She’d been the opposite of distracted, but only because she’d been hoping for a scrap of information about James, God knew why.
“Yeah, I’m a mess. My aunt has Parkinson’s and her prognosis is...not good.” Bella left it at that and choked back the wave of emotion for a situation she couldn’t change and hated with all her heart.
Good thing Will wasn’t her type. Now she had the morning free to visit Tía Isabella and she didn’t even have to feel guilty about it because she’d gone out with Will, as ordered.
“I’m sorry,” Will said earnestly. “You should definitely visit her. We can go out another time when you’re feeling more in the mood for company and conversation.”
Oh, so she was the problem in this equation? She scowled but didn’t comment because then she might say something she couldn’t take back about the stick up Will’s butt. “Sure. That would be nice.”
“Well, this may be an ill-timed invitation, then, but Rowling Energy is throwing a party tonight at my father’s house for some of our elite associates. Would you care to attend as my date? Might be less pressure and more fun than being one-on-one like this, trapped in a small car.”
How...reasonable. Oh, sure it was strictly an opportunity for Will to trot her out around his snobby business partners who only cared about whom he knew. She wasn’t stupid. But a party was right up her ally and the magic word fun only sweetened the pot. With enough champagne, she might even forget the whole setup reeked of royal responsibility and actually have a good time. Less pressure, as advertised.
Maybe she’d misjudged Will Rowling. “I have the perfect dress.”
“It’s settled, then.”
In no time and with only one internet map miscalculation, they found Tía Isabella’s narrow cobblestone street in the heart of Del Sol. Like a true gentleman, Will helped Bella from the car at the door of her great aunt’s rental house, and had a word with Tía Isabella’s housekeeper to ensure Bella would have a return ride home. The housekeeper promised to have a car sent from Playa Del Onda, so Will took his leave.
All in all, Will seemed like a nice, upstanding guy. He was certainly handsome enough and had gorgeous aqua-colored eyes. Too bad she couldn’t get the sexier, more exciting version she’d tripped over at the beach off her mind.
* * *
“Patrick James Rowling!”
James groaned and thought about ducking out the door of the sunroom and escaping Casa Rowling through the back gate. When his father three-named him, the outcome was never fun nor in his favor.
Actually, any time his father spoke to him it was unpleasant. Even being in the same room with Patrick Rowling reminded James that his mother was dead and it was his father’s fault. Time healed all wounds—except the ones that never should have happened in the first place. If his father hadn’t yelled at his mum, she wouldn’t have left in tears that night back in Guildford. Then his mum’s single-car accident would never have happened. He and Will wouldn’t have become motherless seven-year-old boys. The fractured Rowling family wouldn’t have subsequently moved to Alma, where James didn’t know anyone but Will, who was too shell-shocked to do anything other than mumble for nearly a year.
But all of that had happened and James would never forgive or forget.
As a result, James and Patrick gave each other a wide berth by mutual unspoken agreement, but it was harder to do when under the same roof. James should really get his own place, but he still wasn’t sure if he planned to stay in Alma, so here he was.
Patrick Rowling, the man who’d named his first born after himself in a moment of pure narcissism, stormed into the sunroom and shoved a newspaper at James’s chest with a great deal more force than necessary. “Explain this.”
“This is commonly known as a newspaper.” James drew out the syllables, ladening them with as much sarcasm as possible. “Many civilized nations employ this archaic method of communicating information and events to subscribers. Shall I delve into the finer points of journalism, or are we square on the purpose of this news vehicle?”
His father’s face had grown a deeper, more satisfying shade of purple the longer James baited him. A thing of beauty. James moved his half-empty teacup out of the line of fire, in case of imminent explosion. It was Darjeeling and brewed perfectly.
“You can dispense with the smartass attitude. I’ve had more than enough of it from you to last a lifetime.”
What he really meant was that he’d had enough of James doing the opposite of what Patrick commanded. But if James toed the line, how could he make his father pay for his sins? Of course, his father could never truly pay in a lifetime. The sad part was that James might have settled for an apology from his father for all the horrible things he’d caused. Or at least a confession. Instead, his father heaped praises on Will the Perfect Son and generally pretended James didn’t exist.
Until James managed to get his attention by doing something beyond the pale. Like whatever had gotten the elder Rowling’s dander up this time.
His father poked the paper again. “There’s a rather risqué photo of you on the front page. Normally, I would brush it off as further proof you care nothing for propriety and only your own self-destruction. But as it’s a photo of you with your brother’s fiancée, I find it impossible to ignore.”
“What?” His brother had a fiancée? “What are you talking about?”
James shoved his father’s hand away and shifted the paper so he could see the front page. There it was, in full color. He whistled. What a gorgeous shot of Bella in his arms. Her hair all mussed and legs tangled in his. He might have to cut it out and frame it.
Wait... Bella was Will’s fiancée? This was news to James. Last he’d heard, Bella planned to see how things went before committing to marriage. Had Will even met Bella yet?
“Your timing is impeccable, as always. Now that we’re all caught up, please explain how you managed to create a scandal so quickly.” Dear old Dad crossed his arms over the paunch he liked to pretend gave him a stately demeanor, but in reality, only made him look dumpy.
Obviously they were nowhere near caught up.
“Maybe that’s Will—did you ever think of that?” James challenged mildly and went back to sipping his tea because he had a feeling he’d need the fortification.
“Your brother is with the Montoro princess as we speak and it’s their first meeting.”
Montoro princess. Really? James rolled his eyes. His father couldn’t be more pretentious if he tried. “If they hadn’t even met until today, how are they already engaged?”
Waving his hand with a snort, Patrick gave him a withering look. “Merely a formality. They will be engaged, mark my words. So as far as you’re concerned, she’s your brother’s fiancée. Will is quite determined to woo her and I’ve never seen him fail at anything he set his mind to.”
Despite what should be good news—his father had deliberately thrown the word fiancée in James’s face even though it wasn’t true—James’s gut twisted at the thought of Will and Bella together. Why, he couldn’t explain, when he’d been the one to suggest Bella should ring Will. Obviously, she’d taken his advice and rather quickly, too. He’d just run into her in town yesterday.
“Smashing. I hope they’re having a fantastic time and fall madly in love so they can give you lots of royal babies, since that’s the most important accomplishment a Rowling could hope to achieve.” The sentiment had started out sincerely but halfway through, disappointment had tilted his mood. James lived his life with few regrets but stepping aside so Will had a fair shot with Bella ranked as a decision he’d questioned more than once.
“Don’t change the subject. If you deliberately staged that picture with the princess to ruin your brother’s chances, the consequences will be dire,” his father warned.
James couldn’t quite bite back the laugh that burst out. “Oh, please, no. Perhaps you’ll disown me?”
What else could his father possibly do to him besides constantly express his displeasure in everything James did? Being signed with Real Madrid hadn’t rated a mention. Being named captain of the Alma World Cup team wasn’t worthy enough of a feat to get a comment.
Oh, but miss a goal—that had earned James an earful.
Patrick leaned forward, shoving his nose into James’s space and into his business all at the same time. “If you don’t stay away from the Montoro princess, I will personally ensure you never play football again.”
James scoffed. “You’re off your trolley. You have no power in my world.”
And neither did James, not now. It pricked at his temper that his father would choose that method to strike at him. Patrick clearly failed to comprehend his son’s life crisis if he didn’t already know that James had managed to thoroughly subvert his own career with no help from anyone.
The threat gave him a perverse desire to prove he could come back from the twin failures of a missed goal and a dropped contract. He needed to play, if for no other reason than to show everyone James Rowling couldn’t be kept down.
“Perhaps. Do you want to wager on that?”
James waved nonchalantly with one hand and clenched the other into a tight fist. What colossal nerve. A supreme act of will kept the fist in his lap, though letting it fly against the nearby wall might have ended the conversation quite effectively.
“Seems like pretty good odds to me, so don’t be surprised if I roll the dice with Bella.” He waggled his brows. “I think that picture is enough of an indicator that she fancies me, don’t you think?”
Which might have been true when the picture was snapped, but probably wasn’t now that he’d stepped aside. Will would be his charming self and Bella would realize that she could have the best of both worlds—the “right” Rowling and her father’s blessing. Probably better for everyone, all the way around.
Deep down, James didn’t believe that in the slightest. He and Bella had a spark between them, which wouldn’t vanish with a hundred warnings from the old geezer.
“The monarchy is in its fledgling stages.” Patrick hesitated for the first time since barging into the sunroom and James got the impression he was choosing his words carefully. “Rowling Energy has a unique opportunity to solidify our allegiance and favor through the tie of marriage. There is only one Montoro princess.”
“And only one heir to the company,” James said sourly. “I get it. Will’s the only one good enough for her.”
His father sighed. The weariness that carved lines into his face around his mouth had aged him quickly and added a vulnerability to his expression that James hadn’t been prepared for. Patrick had never been anything other than formidable for as long as James could remember.
“I would welcome you at Rowling Energy if you expressed but a smidgen of determination and interest.” Then his father hardened back into the corporate stooge he’d become since entering into the high stakes oil market. Dad had too many zeroes in his bank account balance to truly be in touch with his humanity. “Will has done both, with remarkable success. If you would think of someone other than yourself, you’d realize that Will has much to gain from this alliance. I will not be at the helm of Rowling forever. Will needs every advantage.”
Guilt. The best weapon. And it might have worked if James truly believed all that drivel. Marrying into the royal family was about his father’s ambition, not Will’s.
“Maybe we should let Bella sort it on her own, eh?” James suggested mildly. He didn’t mind losing to Will, as long as the contest was fair.
“There’s nothing to sort,” his father thundered, growing purple again. “Stay away from her. Period. No more risqué pictures. No more contact. Do not ruin this for your brother.”
To put the cap on his mandate, Patrick Rowling stormed from the sun-room in much the same manner as he entered it. Except now Bella Montoro had been transformed into the ripest forbidden fruit.
James had never met a scandal he didn’t want to dive headlong into, especially when it involved a gorgeous woman who clearly had the hots for him. Pissing his father off at the same time James introduced himself to the pleasures of Princess Bella was just a sweet bonus.
