Читать книгу Mr Right All Along - Natalie Anderson - Страница 22

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JUST OVER TWELVE hours later Eduardo was struggling to breathe. For the first time in years he was anxious. Not for himself, but for her. She’d twirled for him upstairs and asked if she looked okay. He’d told her she looked beautiful. That she always did, no matter what she was wearing.

She’d told him he was a silver-tongued pirate.

Now she was only a few feet away, entrancing three diplomats. She’d been entrancing everyone in the ballroom since she’d made her grand entrance alongside him three hours ago.

Her hair had been made glossy and perfect with product and hours of the stylist’s care, but he missed her workout ponytail and its hint of kink. Her make-up had been applied more heavily, to cope with the demands of the flashing bulbs of the mass-media reps, but her skin was still luminescent. Her pale pink silk dress was cut wide at the shoulder, threatening to slip should she do anything too rash with her arms. A dangerous, sexy element to such a demure-coloured dress.

Every man in the room had his eyes glued to her, hoping she’d move her arm in just the right way to send the fabric tumbling and expose those perfect plump breasts. And then there was the sapphire, resting just above those ripe treasures. There had never been such a statement as that. The jewel’s significance wouldn’t be lost on San Felipe society. It had been given once before to a woman who wasn’t meant to be queen. To a woman who’d been adored, chosen, elevated to the throne. Breaking all the rules—putting love before duty.

So, yes, he’d chosen it deliberately, knowing that it echoed that great royal romance of a century ago. But, despite the calculation in his decision, it was perfect for her. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her how it deepened her eyes.

This morning’s headlines had been as he’d envisaged. She was the commoner soldier who’d stolen the Prince’s heart. Tomorrow there’d be pictures of her in uniform placed alongside her ‘princess makeover’ look tonight. The fashion bloggers would gush over her ‘transformation’. It irritated the hell out of him.

But there’d be no doubt that this was a love match. Even the innuendo-drenched pictures of them crossing the tarmac the other day emphasised that. Her popularity was assured. She’d given loyal service to her country. She was beautiful. And tonight she’d proved she could nail the glamour and grace expected of a princess.

They didn’t know there was so much more to her— determination, intelligence, integrity, humour. And fragility. She’d aced her ‘mission’, but he wondered about the price she was going to pay.

He saw her glance at the soldiers stationed in the four corners of the room—saw the longing in her eyes. She’d rather be on the sidelines than centre stage. He understood. He felt it.

Suddenly there was nothing more important than standing with his wife, holding her hand and staring the world down. Except as he stepped towards her one of his aides requested that he meet with another of the foreign politicians in attendance.

He masked his irritation with a smile. But as he talked he kept his focus on her—and those around her. As she’d predicted, they did stare at her—all of them. Men. Women. He realised, too late, that he didn’t much like it either.

There were women here who’d been tagged as possible princesses, but Antonio was too frozen to be bothered and Eduardo had stunned them all by turning up with a bride already on his arm. Part of him had enjoyed thwarting those stuffy aides’ plans. But that lick of satisfaction hadn’t lasted. Now he wondered how ‘perfect’ his plan really was—about the pressure she’d be under from here on in.

How many almost-anorexic socialites did he know? Women who lived in the public eye were ruthlessly and relentlessly judged on their appearance, on their every move, until it almost broke them. And he’d put Stella at the epicentre of all that stress.

Eduardo’s head ached. He hadn’t thought this through properly. He hadn’t thought about everything he was making her sacrifice and asking her to do and be. How had he ever thought this would be easy?

Hell. He hadn’t thought at all.

He didn’t want her to change, to lose herself. He didn’t want her to hate this life.

But he’d put her into it. He could have let her go to New Zealand and she could have lived there in quiet, peaceful anonymity.

But he needed the child she carried. And he still wanted her.

* * *

Stella glanced sideways, trying to spot Eduardo. Not because she needed him, but because she wanted him to see that she was killing this moment. He was only a couple of feet away, talking to the finance minister of another small European country. As she watched Crown Prince Antonio joined him. In their formal regalia the two brothers looked so alike, but they were so different. For one thing, Eduardo was human. And so hot.

Across the small distance he met her gaze and smiled softly. Smiling back, Stella fought the instinct to put a hand to her belly. It would be the ultimate giveaway, given that her every movement was being watched and recorded, to be discussed and analysed in magazines and on daytime chat shows.

She was the news right now. She had to project the right image and protect their secret. It was the most challenging mission of her life. But she was doing okay. She even liked what she was wearing. The pleasure of success deepened her smile.

‘Your Highness.’

Stella’s heart seized and that smile fell as she turned to face the man who’d spoken. Her father, in full military colours, regarding her as expressionlessly as ever.

‘General,’ she answered quietly, aware that the people nearest them had stepped back, apparently to give them space, but at the same time avidly watching.

She waited, stupidly aching to see something in his expression. Recognition. Approval. Anger. Anything. But there was only the blank expression of a dutiful official. He’d stripped her of the thing she’d loved most and sent her away—alone. And now he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her.

Nothing personal. Nothing paternal. Ever.

That old disappointment leached the pleasure of success from her.

She knew there weren’t just people watching, that there were cameras, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She just stood silently, unable to hide her hurt.

‘Stella.’ Eduardo was suddenly beside her, his hand warm on her back. ‘General Zambrano.’

That was when she finally saw some emotion in her father’s eyes. But it wasn’t the emotion she’d expected—not loyalty nor respect for the Prince. The look was utterly venomous.

She was so surprised she stepped forward. ‘Father.’ She reached out.

Her father glanced back at her and the bland mask dropped back into place. He didn’t answer her.

‘Perhaps you will visit us soon.’ She faltered over her words, her father’s quiet rejection slicing even deeper.

She didn’t dare look at Eduardo.

He bowed again. ‘I wish you well, Your Highness.’ He stepped away, disappearing into the throng.

Shaken, Stella blinked, struggling to regain control and hide her hurt. She vowed once more to give her child everything she’d never had. Support. Compassion. Love.

Her victorious feeling died. Only ash was left.

Eduardo turned to her. ‘Stella?’

‘We’d better get mingling again.’ She was aware that he was looking at her intently, but she needed to get her game face back on before she could look at him.

‘Why don’t we dance?’ he suggested. ‘They’re expecting us to.’

Oh, he had to be kidding. ‘I can’t dance. I never dance.’

‘Not at all?’

‘No, and my first time isn’t going to be here.’

Anger surged. She’d just been publicly rejected by her father—she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself in front of the world. She might be able to wear a designer dress, but she couldn’t move with the grace these glamorous women had spent their lives perfecting. She’d show them just how much of a fake—and a failure—she was.

‘But it’s a ball.’

‘Then find another dance partner,’ she snapped viciously. ‘There are a million here for you to choose from. Wasn’t that the point?’

She’d had enough.

He put both hands on her waist, just as she was about to push past him and stalk out. She glared up—wordlessly demanding that he let her go. But her gaze was caught—and locked—in his. His hold on her tightened.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly.

His question snuffed out her anger. All that was left was the hurt her father had inflicted. His rejection always hurt, and it never eased, but tonight’s public blanking had been so much worse. And now this?

‘Don’t...’ she whispered. His concern made her emotions impossible to control.

‘Don’t ask if you’re okay?’ His eyebrows lifted.

Desperately she tried to hold herself together. But that tender tone from him...that intensity... She couldn’t bear to be exposed to anyone, but especially not to him. She ached to twist away and hide from the understanding in his eyes. He made her too vulnerable. He made her want more than he’d ever want to give.

‘Eduardo—’

‘You’re the only one I want to dance with,’ he professed, relinquishing her waist only to take her hand in his. ‘So we’ll leave.’