Читать книгу His Pregnant Christmas Princess - Leah Ashton, Leah Ashton - Страница 13

IT TOOK HOURS for Ana to fall asleep.

Her thoughts weren’t particularly coherent as exhaustion warred with her overthinking, but they centred mostly on her immediate family: her mother and grandparents. How must they be feeling?

Her mother had sent her several text messages, but she’d responded to only one, just to reassure her she was okay and would be home in a few days’ time.

Her mother would be devastated. She’d fought for years for Ana to be acknowledged by the royal family, and now that she had been, her mother was convinced Ana’s life was perfect. Petar had been a natural progression of that perfection—the living embodiment of all of her mother’s dreams come true.

Ana could see now that she’d bought into it too—that she’d allowed herself to be swept up in Petar and the idea she was living a fairy-tale happy-ever-after.

Their engagement, and then agreeing to a televised wedding—it had all been part of Ana’s fantasy life. The life that her mother had always dreamed of for her only daughter.

Maybe that was why she’d allowed it to go so ridiculously far, despite her reservations—which she had had, no matter how well she’d repressed them. Maybe she’d just wanted to make her mother happy.

But that felt like such a cop-out. Ana was her own woman. She alone was ultimately responsible for dating Petar, for accepting his proposal and for actively organising her own magazine-spread wedding.

She’d done all that, and now, as she tossed and turned in a strange bed in the mountains of Northern Italy, she was no closer to working out why…

Thanks to the heavy blackout curtains in her room, it was dark when Ana eventually woke from a dreamless sleep. She had a shower, got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and headed out into the kitchen.

It was mid-morning, and the curtains that had covered the walls of windows last night had all been pulled aside, revealing the remarkable view the house offered of the surrounding Dolomites. And what a spectacular view it was—all snow-capped mountain ranges and emerald tree-filled vistas that rolled and dipped. Even though it was November, the sun was bright today, showcasing the stunning view in perfect, postcard-worthy light.

However, Ana didn’t spend a particularly long amount of time admiring the view, as just at her left she had an alternative view on offer.

Rhys North, jogging on his treadmill.

His back was to her as he ran, his attention focused on the view in front of him.

He wore a loose sleeveless T-shirt that revealed arms and shoulders heavy with muscle, and knee-length jogging shorts. All his clothing was dark with sweat, which possibly should have been unattractive, but somehow Rhys managed to make sweat seem virile and strong.

He must have heard her, because he punched a button on the treadmill’s console and slowed to a walk.

He turned to catch her gaze over one shoulder. ‘Just need to cool down,’ he said.

Ana walked up to him. ‘Good morning,’ she said.

He grinned a greeting. ‘Good morning to you too.’

‘Sorry about last night,’ Ana blurted out suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t have rambled on about all that stuff. You’re my bodyguard, or my hotelier or something—’

‘Security consultant,’ Rhys interjected helpfully, with another grin.

‘Okay,’ Ana said. ‘Security consultant. But that definitely doesn’t require you to play psychologist or counsellor. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear all the messy details of my relationship.’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind.’

He pushed another button and the treadmill came to a stop. He then unselfconsciously used the bottom of his shirt to clear his brow of sweat, the action revealing what seemed like hectares of muscular abdominal ridges.

Oh, my.

* * *

Rhys honestly hadn’t planned to do that. It had been an automatic action, but seeing Ana blush as she took in his chest and stomach made him glad he had. He was human, he had an ego and he worked damn hard to stay this fit… So, yes, it felt good to see that Ana liked what she saw. Really good.

He took longer than necessary to wipe his face—which probably made him a very bad person, given nothing had changed as far as the situation between him and Ana. She’d just ended a relationship. He was protecting her.

But he couldn’t help himself.

It was just like those long minutes in her room…magnetic and addictive. And all the more so because he knew nothing would happen. He didn’t have to worry about Jess, or about how he’d feel being with a woman other than his wife. He didn’t need to deal with any of the complicated stuff—he needed only to experience this undeniable snap and tension between him and the Princess.

As he dragged his shirt back down, Ana jerked her gaze towards the window.

‘Amazing,’ she breathed.

Seriously?

He grinned. ‘Well, I’ll take that—’

She whirled to face him, muttering a string of Slavic curses to herself. ‘I meant the view, Mr North,’ she said firmly.

He was starting to really like her insistence on addressing him so formally. It felt like a shared joke, almost intimate—it certainly wasn’t putting space between them, as he knew she intended it to.

She was staring with determination at his face, not allowing her gaze to drift.

‘Christmas must be wonderful here, Mr North,’ she said.

‘Christmas?’ he asked, thrown by the change of subject.

She clasped her hands primly in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Christmas. I believe Castelrotto is famous for how beautiful it is at Christmas time. I couldn’t sleep last night, so did a bit of research about where I’m staying, and Christmas is clearly a big thing here. There’s a Christmas market that starts in a few weeks—during Advent. Is it as enchanting as all the tourist websites say?’

Rhys stepped off the treadmill and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, quite stiffly.

She followed him. ‘Really? I’d imagine you’d need to go to quite a bit of effort to avoid it, given how small the town is.’

He filled a tall glass with water. ‘I don’t avoid the market,’ Rhys said. ‘I just don’t pay much attention to anything to do with Christmas.’

She was looking at him, curiosity wrinkling her forehead. She’d kept her hair down today, and it hung in heavy waves over her shoulders. It would be much easier to answer with a white lie—Ana would have neither known nor cared if he’d just agreed that the market was, in fact, enchanting.

‘I adore Christmas,’ Ana said. ‘I always have.’ She paused, then said carefully, ‘Do you not have a family to celebrate with?’

He downed the water in a series of long swallows, really hoping that Ana would walk away. But of course she didn’t.

Here was another opportunity to lie—as Ana had pointed out, it wasn’t his role to play counsellor or psychologist. Equally, it wasn’t his role to spill his guts.

‘I have a big family back in Australia,’ he said. ‘A sister, a brother, great parents and a wonderful extended family. Christmas was incredible when I was growing up—my parents have a huge pool in the backyard and we’d host a barbecue for the whole family and anyone who had no one else to celebrate with. It was great. I loved it.’

So he didn’t lie.

What was it about this woman?

He knew the question she was going to ask next.

‘What happened?’ she said.

The sympathy in her eyes almost made him leave the room. He’d never wanted this—never wanted people to feel sorry for him. To pity him. Yet to this woman who’d exposed her own vulnerability to him last night he found he could be nothing but honest.

‘My wife died,’ he said simply. ‘And everything changed.’