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* * *
Bella entered the Playa Del Onda house through the kitchen, and snagged a glass-bottled cola from the refrigerator and a piece of crusty bread from the pantry. Both the colas and the bread tasted different in Europe but she didn’t mind. All part of the adventure.
Thoughts still on the sexy man she’d abandoned on the beach, Bella munched on the bread as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She almost made it before a dark shadow alerted her to the fact that her least favorite person in the house had found her.
“Isabella.” Her father’s sharp voice stopped her dead, four steps from the landing on the second floor.
“Yeah, Dad?” She didn’t turn around. If you didn’t stare him in the eye, he couldn’t turn you to stone, right?
“Is that how you dress to go out?”
“Only when I go to the beach,” she retorted. “Is there something new you’d like to discuss or shall we rehash the same subject from last night? You didn’t like that outfit either, if I recall.”
Ever since Adela, Bella’s mother, had left, this is how it went. Her father only spoke to her when he wanted to tell her how to run her life. And she pretended to listen. Occasionally, when it suited her, she went along, but only if she got something out of it.
“We’ll rehash it as many times as it takes to get it through your scattered brain. Gabriel is going to be king.” Rafael stressed the word as if she might be confused about what was happening around her. “The least you can do is help smooth his ascension with a little common sense about how you dress. The Montoros have no credibility yet, especially not with that stunt your brother pulled.”
“Rafe fell in love,” she shot back and bit her tongue.
Old news. Her father cared nothing for love, only propriety. And horror of all horrors—his eldest son had gotten a bartender pregnant and then abdicated the throne so he could focus on his new family. In Daddy’s mind, it fell squarely into the category of impropriety. Unforgivable.
It was a reminder that her father also cared little for his daughter’s happiness either. Only royal protocol.
“Rafe is a disappointment. I’ll not have another child of mine follow his example.” He cleared his throat. “Face me when we’re speaking, please.”
She complied, but only because the front view of her bikini was likely to give him apoplexy and she kind of wanted to see it.
He pursed his lips but, to her father’s credit, that was his only reaction. “When have you arranged to meet Will Rowling?”
Ah, of course. Complaining about her bikini was a smoke screen—this was actually an ambush about her arranged marriage. With the scent of forbidden fruit lingering in her senses coupled with her father’s bad attitude, she’d developed a sudden fierce desire to spend time with someone who had clearly never met a good time he didn’t like.
And his name wasn’t Will. “I haven’t yet.”
“What are you waiting for, an invitation? This is your match to make, Isabella. I’m giving you some latitude in the timing but I expect results. Soon.” The severe lines around his mouth softened. “This alliance is very important. To the entire Montoro family and to the royal legacy of Alma. I’m not asking this for myself, but for Gabriel. Remember that.”
She sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I do want to be a credit to the royal family.”
Hurricane Bella couldn’t whirl through Alma and disrupt the entire country. She knew that. Somehow, she had to be better than she’d been in Miami. The thought of Miami reminded her of Buttercup and Wesley, her feathered friends she’d left behind. Some said the wild macaws that nested in southern Florida were people’s pets set free during Hurricane Andrew. She’d always felt an affinity with the birds because they’d all survived the storm. Buttercup and Wesley could continue to be her source of strength even from afar.
“Good. Then arrange to meet Will Rowling and do it soon. Patrick Rowling is one of the most influential men in Alma and the Montoros need his support. We cannot afford another misstep at this point.”
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but on the heels of meeting James, the warning weighed heavily on her shoulders. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to be thrust suddenly into a starring role in the restoration of the monarchy to Alma’s political landscape. But he’d stepped up nonetheless. She could do the same.
But why did it matter which Rowling she married anyway? Surely one was as good as the other. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage by seeing where things went with James.
“I’ll do my best not to mess this up,” Bella promised.
If it didn’t matter which Rowling she picked, that meant she didn’t need to call Will anytime soon. The reprieve let her breathe a little easier.
Her father raised his eyebrows. “That would be a refreshing change. On that note, don’t assume that you left all the tabloids behind in Miami. The paparazzi know no national boundaries. Stay out of scandalous situations, don’t drink too much and for God’s sake, keep your clothes on.”
She saluted saucily to cover the sharp spike of hurt that she never could seem to stop no matter how many times she told herself this was just how he was. “Yes, Father.”
Escaping to her room, Bella took a long shower but it didn’t ease the ache from the showdown with Rafael.
Why did she still care that her father never hugged her or told her he was proud of her? Not for the first time, she wondered if the frosty temperature in her father’s demeanor had caused her mother to leave. If so, Bella hardly blamed her. She hoped Adela had found happiness.
Happiness should be the most important factor in whom you married. The thought solidified Bella’s resolve. If her father wanted a match between the Montoros and the Rowlings, great. Bella would comply—as long as the Rowling was James.
She’d rather see where that led than try to force a match with the right brother.
Why shouldn’t she be allowed to be as happy as Rafe and Gabriel?
* * *
The loud, scornful whispering at the next table over started to annoy James about two bites into his paella. Couldn’t a bloke get something to eat without someone publicly crucifying him? This time, the subject of choice was his lack of a decision on whether to take a spot on Alma’s reserve team.
The two middle-aged men were in complete agreement: James should be happy to have any position, even though Alma wasn’t a UEFA team. He should take his lumps and serve his penance, and then it would be acceptable to play for a premiere club again, once he’d redeemed himself. Or so the men opined, and not very quietly.
The paella turned to sawdust in his mouth. He was glad someone knew what he needed to do next in his stalled career.
Playing for Alma was a fine choice. For a beginner. But James had been playing football since he was seven, the same year his father had uprooted his two sons from their Guildford home and moved them to the tiny, nowhere island of Alma. Football had filled a void in his life after the death of his mother. James loved the game. Being dropped from Real Madrid had stung, worse than he’d let on to anyone.
Of course, whom would he tell? He and Will rarely talked about anything of note, usually by James’s choice. Will was the perfect son who never messed up, while James spent as much effort as he possibly could on irritating his father. James and Will might be twins but the similarities ended there—and Will was a Manchester United fan from way back, so they couldn’t even talk football without almost coming to blows.
And Will had first dibs on the woman James hadn’t been able to forget. All without lifting a finger. Life just reeked sometimes.
Unable to eat even one more bite of the dish he’d found so tasty just minutes ago, James threw a few bills on the table and stalked out of the restaurant into the bright afternoon sun on the boardwalk at Playa Del Onda.
So much for hanging out at the beach where fewer people might recognize him. He might as well go back to Del Sol and let his father tell him again how much of a disappointment he was. Or he could swallow his bitterness and get started on finding another football club since none had come looking for him.
A flash of blond hair ahead of him caught his eye. Since Bella had been on his mind in one way or another since he’d met her the day before, it was no wonder he was imagining her around every corner.
He shouldn’t, though. She’d been reserved for the “right” Rowling, the one who could do no wrong. James’s black sheep status hadn’t improved much. Frankly, she deserved a shot at the successful brother, though he had no clue if Will was even on board with the match their father had apparently orchestrated. When Bella mentioned it yesterday, that was the first he’d heard of it. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t legit.
The woman in front of him glanced into a shop window and her profile confirmed it. It was Bella.
Something expanded in his chest and he forgot why he wasn’t supposed to think about her. Unable to help himself all of a sudden, James picked up his pace until he drew up alongside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Tilting her head down, she looked at him over the top of her sunglasses and murmured something reassuring to the burly security detail trailing her. They backed off immediately.
“James Rowling, I presume?” she said to him.
He laughed. “The one and only. Getting in some shopping?”
“Nope. Waiting around for you to stroll by. It’s about time. I was starting to think you’d ordered everything on El Gatito’s menu.” She nodded in the direction of the restaurant he’d just exited and leaned in to murmur, “I hope you skipped the cat.”
She’d been waiting for him? The notion tripped him up even more than her wholly American, wholly sexy perfume, for some odd reason.
“I, uh, did. Skip the cat,” he clarified as he caught her joke in reference to the restaurant’s name. “They were fresh out.”
Her smile set off a round of sparks he’d rather not have over his brother’s intended match.
“Maybe next time.”
“Maybe next time you’ll just come inside and eat with me instead of skulking around outside like a stalker,” he suggested and curled his lip. What was he doing—asking her out? Bad idea.
One of her eyebrows quirked up above the frame of her sunglasses. “I can say with absolute authority that me noticing you heading into a restaurant and accidentally-on-purpose hanging around hoping to run into you does not qualify as stalking. Trust me, I’m a bit of an expert. I have the police report to prove it.”
He had a hard time keeping his own eyebrows from shooting up. “You’re a convicted stalker?”
Her laugh was quite a bit more amused this time. “Not yet. Don’t go and ruin my perfect record now either, okay?” She shrugged and slipped off her sunglasses. “I picked up a stalker in Miami a couple of years ago. So I’m pretty familiar with American law. I would hope it’s reasonably similar in Alma.”
Sobering immediately, he tamped down the sudden and violent urge to punch whomever had threatened Bella’s peace of mind. She’d mentioned it so casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but it bloody well was. “What do you mean, you picked up a stalker? Like you went to the market to get milk and you just couldn’t resist selecting a nutter to shadow you all the way home? No more jokes. Is he in jail?”
That may have come out a little more fiercely than he’d intended, but oh, well. He didn’t take it back.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “He was practically harmless. A little zealous with his affections, maybe. I was out for the evening and he broke into my bedroom, where he waited for me to come home, bouquet of flowers in hand, like we were a couple. Or at least that was his sworn testimony. When my father found out, he immediately called the police, the mayor of Miami and the CEO of the company who’d sold him the security system installed on the grounds. I’m afraid they were rather harsh with the intruder.”
Harmless? Anyone who could bypass a security system was far from harmless.
“As well they should have been.” James developed an instant liking for Bella’s obviously very level-headed father. “Was that the extent of it? Do I need to worry about the nutter following you across the pond?”
James had had his share of negative attention, invasions of privacy and downright hostile encounters with truly disturbed people. But he had fifty pounds and eight inches on Bella, plus he knew how to take care of himself. Bella was delicate and gorgeous and worthy of being treated like the princess she was. The thought of a creepy mouth-breather following her through the streets of Alma in hopes of doing depraved things made him furious.
“I doubt it. I haven’t heard a peep from him in two years.” She contemplated James with a small smile and crossed her arms over the angular sundress she wore. “You seem rather fierce all of a sudden. Worried about me?”
“Yes,” he growled and shook his head. She was not any of his concern—or at least she shouldn’t be. “No. I’m sure your security is perfectly adequate.”
He waved at the pair of ex-military types who waited a discreet distance away.
“Oh, yeah. My father insisted.” Her nose wrinkled up delicately. “I’m pretty sure they’re half security and half babysitters.”
“Why do you need a babysitter?”
He couldn’t leave it alone, could he? He should be bidding her good afternoon and running very fast in the other direction. But she constantly provoked his interest, and it was oh-so-deliberate. She wasn’t walking away either and he’d bet it was because she felt the attraction sizzling between them just as much as he did.
Hell, everything he’d learned about her thus far indicated she liked the hint of naughtiness to their encounters...because they weren’t supposed to be attracted to each other.
“I have a tendency to get into trouble.” She waggled her brows. “These guys are here to keep me honest. Remind me that I have royal blood in my veins and a responsibility to the crown.”
That was too good of a segue to pass up. “Really? What kind of trouble?”
“Oh, the worst kind,” she stressed and reached out to stroke his arm in deliberate provocation. “If you’ve got a reputation to uphold, you’d best steer clear.”
The contact of her nails on his bare arm sang through him. This was the most fun he’d had all day. “Sweetheart, I hate to disillusion you, but I’ve managed to ruin my reputation quite nicely all by my own self. Hanging out with you might actually improve it.”
“Huh.” She gave him a wholly inappropriate once-over that raised the temperature a few thousand degrees. “I’m dying to know. What did you do?”
“You really don’t know?” That would be a first.
When she shook her head, he thought about glossing over it for a half second, but she’d find out soon enough anyway. “Mishap in Rio. Some unfortunate photographs starring me and a prostitute. I swear, money never came up, but there you go. The world didn’t see it as an innocent mistake.”
Gaze locked on his, she squeezed his arm. “Man after my own heart. Of all the things I thought we might have in common, that was not it. I’m recovering from my own photographer-in-the-bushes fiasco. Cretins.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Sorry.”
A moment of pure commiseration passed between them. And it spread into something dangerously affecting. They shared a complete lack of reverence for rules, their chemistry was off the charts and they were both in Alma trying to find their footing. It was practically criminal that he couldn’t explore her gorgeous body and even more attractive mind to his heart’s content.
But he couldn’t. While he might have competed with Will over women in the past, this one was different. James wasn’t in a good place to start anything with a woman anyway, especially not one who would live in the public eye for the foreseeable future. She needed to be with Will, who would take care of her and not sully her with failure.
Not to mention that his father seemed to have struck some kind of bargain with the Montoro family. Until James knew exactly what that entailed, he couldn’t cross the line he so badly wanted to.
She’d flat out told him he’d have to be the strong one, that he should stop tempting her. So that was the way it had to be.
James smiled and slipped his own sunglasses over his eyes so she couldn’t read how difficult this was going to be for him. “Nice to see you again, Bella. I’ve got an appointment I’m late for so I’ve got to dash.”
Casual. No commitment to calling her later. Exactly the right tone to brush her off.
She frowned and opened her mouth, but before she could say something they’d both likely regret, he added, “You should ring Will. Cheers,” and whirled to take off down the boardwalk as fast he could.
Being noble tasted more bitter than he would have ever anticipated.
Three (#ulink_637f10a0-80b4-5818-9767-8e0910c5395a)
James’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.
