Читать книгу His Pregnant Christmas Princess - Leah Ashton, Leah Ashton - Страница 12

ANA HAD BEEN in her room for over an hour—easily enough time for Rhys to brief the palace guards on his property’s security system, including the mechanics of the fibre-optic perimeter sensors and state-of-the-art surveillance cameras.

He’d had to tweak a few things—mainly because he generally reviewed the footage from his many cameras only if he had a reason to, but while Princess Ana was here one of the guards would be monitoring the cameras 24/7. Although in his five years here Rhys hadn’t seen anything more interesting on film than the goatlike chamois and several curious birds—the golden eagle his favourite—Marko wasn’t taking any risks, and therefore nor was Rhys.

When Ana finally emerged, Rhys had his head in his fridge, trying to work out what on earth he was going to feed a princess for dinner.

‘Excuse me, Mr North?’ she said, very politely.

Rhys took a step back so he could see her past the open fridge door. She looked different: she’d tidied her hair into a long ponytail that fell over one shoulder and she’d washed off the rest of her wedding make-up. It didn’t look as if she’d put any more make-up on, and she’d lost her dramatic eyelashes and the perfect shape of her brows and lips, but she was still—and this was frustrating to Rhys—just as pretty.

The fridge started beeping at him for keeping the door open too long, and he slammed it closed with far more force than necessary, making Ana jump.

He didn’t feel at all comfortable with what had happened in the doorway of her room. Or even earlier, when he’d first seen her. That had been easily dismissed—she was an attractive woman, who wouldn’t gawk at her just a little? But in her room…it had felt pretty intense. Impossible to ignore.

He had wanted Ana. It had been a primal thing, a primal need—something he hadn’t experienced in so very long he hadn’t thought it was possible any more.

Sure, he’d looked at women since Jessica died, but he hadn’t needed a woman. He certainly hadn’t planned to be celibate for so long, but casual sex just didn’t appeal—in fact, it felt somewhat disloyal to Jess just to sleep with some random woman.

Although he could just imagine Jess telling him he was an idiot, and could practically hear her voice telling him it was impossible to cheat on a dead person.

Jess had always been pragmatic. She never would have expected or wanted him to be single for the rest of his life.

But sex with Jess had been special. He’d slept with a few women before Jess, but it had never been with them as it had been with Jess. With other women it had been fun, but it hadn’t been all-consuming. And now he’d experienced more, he didn’t want to return to less.

And tonight… Tonight those moments with Ana had felt like more. Different from Jess, but equally intense. And that intensity had shocked him.

He hadn’t been looking for it, and certainly hadn’t expected to discover it with a woman he was being paid to protect.

And, more important, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to want someone other than Jess. If, even after all these years, he was ready.

‘Mr North?’ Ana prompted.

‘At your service,’ Rhys said, with a deliberate grin. ‘How can I help?’

Her gaze travelled over his face, but it wasn’t the sensual exploration of before—now it looked as if she was trying to work out what was going on. Clearly his smile was not entirely convincing.

‘Where are Adrian and Dino?’ she asked.

‘In the guest house,’ he said.

‘The guest house?’ Ana squeaked, her eyes wide. ‘Why would you have a guest house? You said you don’t have many guests.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t have any guests. It was here when I bought the place. The house only has two bedrooms—I guess the previous owner liked his own space as much as I do.’

‘So we’re alone?’ Ana said, her voice still just a little higher-pitched than usual.

Her obvious discomfort helped Rhys relax a little. For some reason knowing they were both less than thrilled to be alone together helped.

Ana had had a big day—and, given she still called the guy she’d jilted her fiancé, maybe she was still in a relationship. Either way, pursuing anything with Ana given her current circumstances—regardless of the fact he was working for the palace—would be extremely uncool.

So maybe right now wasn’t the time to be concerned about his wants and needs or whatever. There was no maybe, actually—there was no need at all.

Because nothing was going to happen between him and Ana.

* * *

Rhys ate dinner with Ana—which she hadn’t really expected. But they didn’t speak much while they ate, which suited her. The reality of the day required silence for her brain to begin to process it.

Had she really begun today planning to marry one man in Vela Ada and ended her day in a different country with another man altogether? Had she really done that? How had that happened?

Rhys had apologised for the lack of ‘fancy’ food. He’d heated up some lasagne he’d said he bought from a lady down in Castelrotto—the nearest town to Rhys’s property—and cooked some frozen potato wedges in the oven, but it had been fine. Ana hadn’t been in the mood for ‘fancy’ anyway. She didn’t really feel she deserved it, given she’d probably caused the waste of the hundreds of fancy meals planned for her wedding reception.

She’d forgotten to ask Petar about that. She hoped that at least some of the food had been somehow repurposed. Maybe for a homeless shelter? Or maybe gifted to the army of staff who had worked at the reception venue?

Anyway, Ana did know that the reception hadn’t gone on without her. She had naively hoped that maybe everyone had headed to the palace anyway, after it had been announced that the wedding wasn’t happening. She’d imagined a great big party, everyone having a fabulous time without her, dancing to the live band, drinking all the very expensive champagne.

That idea had made her feel a little better—at least if the party had gone ahead, then she hadn’t ruined the day for everyone. There’d been something salvaged from it.

But, no. Petar had said everyone had just gone home after they’d worked out that there really wasn’t going to be a wedding.

‘What would they have been celebrating?’ he’d asked, incredulous.

Which was a fair comment, Ana acknowledged.

What she hadn’t said in reply was: They could’ve celebrated me realising just in time that marrying you would be a terrible mistake.

Ana imagined a ballroom full of people, all dancing in celebration of Ana the Runaway Princess, maybe with balloons and streamers…

‘May I ask what you’re smiling about?’ Rhys asked.

He’d pushed his seat back a little and relaxed into it. His plate was empty, his cutlery neatly placed diagonally.

Ana covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I shouldn’t be smiling,’ she said. ‘I hurt a lot of people today.’

Not only Petar, but her mother too. Her grandparents. Her friends.

‘But you were smiling,’ Rhys prompted. ‘You have been for several minutes.’

How hadn’t she noticed him looking at her?

She didn’t know how to answer his question. As she’d said, she shouldn’t be smiling. She shouldn’t be feeling happy. She should be feeling bad. Guilty.

‘Why do you think I’m smiling?’ she threw back at him.

He folded his arms in front of his broad chest. ‘I have no idea,’ he said calmly. ‘That’s why I asked. I was curious.’

‘I’d rather not say,’ she said quickly. Then added, keen to change the subject, ‘Where in Australia are you from?’

‘Melbourne,’ he said.

That was it—no further elaboration. They fell into another silence.

Ana realised that Rhys was waiting for her to finish her meal before leaving the table, which was very polite of him. She knew she should tell him he didn’t need to wait for her—given she had so unexpectedly turned up at his doorstep, she could hardly expect him to be an attentive host. But she didn’t.

She liked having Rhys sitting at the table with her. She liked him, she realised. On a day that was definitely a low point in her life, he’d managed to make her smile—more than once.

Sure, she’d freaked out a bit when she’d realised they’d be alone in his house together, but it was clear now that nothing was going to happen between them. She hadn’t been able to interpret his expression when she’d first walked into the kitchen, after her call with Petar, but it had certainly held none of the heat from before. But it wasn’t that stony emptiness he seemed to so easily switch to either—that expression that gave nothing away.

If anything, she would have said he looked sad.

But that didn’t seem to fit with this strong, handsome, confident man—and she’d seen no evidence of sadness since.

She must have imagined it.

‘My fiancé seems to think I just have cold feet,’ she said suddenly.

Rhys’s expression was instantly uncomfortable. ‘You want to talk about your fiancé with me?’

Ana shrugged. She needed to talk to someone. ‘You asked why I was smiling. I thought you might be interested.’

‘That was because you have a nice smile—not because I want to know the details of your relationship.’

The casually spoken compliment did not go unnoticed, and Ana fought the blush that crept up her neck. She kept on talking in an effort to ignore it. ‘I just thought it was weird,’ she continued. ‘I thought he should know I wouldn’t do something so dramatic on a whim.’

Rhys didn’t say anything, but equally he didn’t get up, even though she’d now also arranged her cutlery in the ‘finished’ position.

‘He was incredibly calm on the phone before. If someone did that to me, I’d be really angry. Wouldn’t you?’

Rhys shrugged, non-committal.

‘He was all kind and patient and supportive. And you know what’s also weird?’ Ana didn’t wait for an answer—not that she expected one. ‘He didn’t seem particularly hurt. He made the conversation all about me—about how I must have felt so stressed, and overwhelmed, and how so much has happened in my life in the past twelve months, blah-blah-blah…’ She sighed. ‘Not that I want him to be feeling terrible, but I expect I would. I mean, I know I would if the man I loved didn’t turn up to our wedding.’

Ana looked down at her fingers as she absently traced the curved edge of her dinner plate. Her nails still looked immaculate, yesterday evening’s French manicure remaining perfect and unchipped.

‘It actually makes me a bit angry, really, that he was so calm,’ Ana realised. ‘If he cared about me, he’d…well, care more.’

‘Maybe he prefers to keep his emotions close to his chest,’ Rhys said.

Ana’s gaze jerked up to meet his gaze. ‘Or maybe he’s just continuing to be the perfect fiancé he always has been.’

She knew she didn’t make it sound as if that was a good thing.

‘You don’t want a perfect fiancé?’ Rhys asked.

‘No one’s perfect,’ Ana said. ‘But Petar has done everything in his power to pretend to be. Today I finally stopped lying to myself. Petar is prepared to do anything to become a member of the Vela Ada royal family. He’s never loved me.’

Despite acknowledging to herself that she didn’t love her fiancé, and subsequently realising today that Petar didn’t love her either, saying it out loud made it all real.

And that hurt.

Her gaze fell back to her plate as hot tears prickled.

‘It was always too good to be true,’ she said. ‘A man like Petar would never have wanted someone like me if I wasn’t a princess. Even today, after I’ve humiliated him, he’s still doing everything he can to change my mind. The way he’s reacted is supposed to be endlessly understanding and romantic, but really it’s all a total farce.’

Rhys murmured something that sounded a bit rude under his breath, but Ana didn’t quite catch it.

‘Pardon me?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

Ana straightened her shoulders and then pushed back her chair, ready to stand.

‘Wait,’ he said. He met her gaze and held it. ‘You made the right decision.’

‘How do you know that?’ Ana asked. ‘Because I can tell you know you did—even if you haven’t realised it yet,’ he said. ‘And also, a guy who is sitting back in Vela Ada, rather than doing everything in his power to find you, to try to change your mind? Well, he’s not the right guy. He doesn’t deserve you if he won’t fight for you.’

After her day—and the confusing maelstrom of guilt and hurt and disappointment that continued to whirl within her—it was the perfect thing to hear.

And he was right. She could regret hurting people, but she couldn’t regret finally coming to her senses.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and it would have been so easy to lose herself in the depths of his blue-grey gaze. In the gaze of a man she had no doubt would fight for the woman he loved. But instead she stood, and then added, ‘…Mr North.’