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“As well as I expected. My mother loved Selena like a daughter. This is difficult for her.”
“Then wouldn’t it be better if they knew how I got pregnant instead of assuming that …”
“Selena did not wish for my mother to know. She did not want my parents to see her as a failure.”
Maximo began to walk back toward his quarters, and she had to take short, quick steps to keep up with his long strides. “That’s ridiculous. Not being able to have children doesn’t make you a failure.”
“It felt that way to my wife.” He paused for a moment. “My mother introduced us. It was her opinion that Selena was perfect for me. Her family was wealthy and well-known, she was talented and cultured. In my mother’s estimation she would make a wonderful princess. A wonderful mother. When Selena could not fulfill that part of what she considered to be her requirements, she became very depressed.”
“But that wasn’t the only thing you loved her for,” Alison said softly.
Maximo turned to face her, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “No.”
“I understand why you don’t want it to become public knowledge. I won’t tell anyone.” It might make things easier in a way, although Alison imagined the queen would dislike her regardless, but she just didn’t want to hurt Maximo by dredging up things from the past. And it would hurt him. His expression was always stoic when he talked about Selena, but she had seen glimpses of devastating pain in his dark eyes. And she cared about that. A lot more than she should.
She shouldn’t be able to feel his pain in her chest, shouldn’t ache for him, want to take his hurts and heal them. She really shouldn’t want that at all. But she did. Her heart hurt for him, felt linked to his. Was that because she was pregnant with his baby? It was a link between them that was impossible to ignore. He was a part of her, in a way.
On the heels of that revelation came a slug of panic. She didn’t want to feel so much for him. Didn’t want to feel anything for him beyond a circumspect amount of tolerance.
Once they were back in Maximo’s quarters he led her into a small dining room that looked as if it belonged in a more casual home. A very, very upscale home, but the room was definitely intended for family use, unlike the massive dining hall in the main portion of the palace.
He sat at the head of the table and it seemed natural for her to sit at the other end. It was easy for her to picture a child sitting between them, chubby fingers gripping a cookie, a big smile on their baby’s face. Would their child be fair like her? Or olive-skinned like Maximo? The thought made her stomach tighten painfully, the image of family, their family, so poignant that it touched her more deeply than she’d imagined possible.
This was a new picture, one that was quickly replacing the original images she’d had of life after her baby was born. Now she couldn’t help but see Maximo, his presence there both physically and in the features of their child. The ache that settled in her heart was both sweet and scary at the same time. She shouldn’t want this. But part of her did. Very, very much.
“Anything special you want to eat?” Maximo asked.
He was so handsome. She couldn’t help but notice. With the overhead lighting from the chandelier above the table throwing the planes and angles of his face into sharp relief, making his cheekbones look more prominent, his jaw even more chiseled, he was almost devastatingly handsome. That was a term she’d never understood before this moment. It had never made sense that a person’s looks could devastate. But his could. And did. Because looking at him filled her with so much longing, for things she shouldn’t want, that it made her heart squeeze tight.
“Honestly, all food sounds basically disgusting to me so it doesn’t really matter.”
He nodded. “Then I will have the staff bring what they prepared for my parents.”
A few minutes later a woman came in pushing a trolley that was laden with silver domed trays. She set two in front of Alison, along with another glass of homemade ginger ale.
Alison didn’t even bother to uncover the trays, but went straight for the ginger ale to calm her perpetually unsettled stomach.
“You need to eat,” Maximo said. “You are too thin.”
She paused midsip. “I’m not too thin! I’ve been to see a doctor and he said I, and the pregnancy, were perfectly healthy.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like you should allow yourself to get any thinner.” Maximo rose from his spot at the end of the table and leaned over to uncover her food. There was pasta with marinara sauce on one and what looked like half of a beautifully roasted chicken on the other. But the sight of poultry turned her stomach.
“I might be able to try the pasta,” she said, shoving the bird away from her.
Maximo sat in the chair next to her, putting the chicken in front of himself.
“Was your wife on a special diet?” She regretted saying anything the moment the words left her mouth. Usually she was very selective about what she said, but she’d had her fair share of outbursts in the past forty-eight hours. Maximo seemed to have that effect on her.
He shrugged slightly. “Vitamins. Any kind of herbal remedy she could think of. Hormones for the IVF. Plus any food rumored to benefit fertility.”
“She really wanted to be a mother,” Alison said softly, guilt and anguish almost stealing her breath. Selena had tried so hard to have Maximo’s baby, had wanted it so badly, and here Alison was, pregnant with his child. And it had been an accident. It seemed like a cruel joke for fate to play on all of them.
“Yes. She did. We tried IVF three times. We were unsuccessful. She had just taken the final negative test a few hours before her death.”
Alison put her hand over his, the gesture intended to comfort. Heat spiraled through her from the point of contact down to her belly. His skin was warm beneath her hand, the hair on his arm crisp and sexy. She’d never imagined that arm hair could be sexy. His was. It reminded her that he was very much a man, and that she was a woman. A woman who was going to marry him in just a few weeks.
She pulled her hand away and set it in her lap, but she could still feel the burn of his skin on her palm. Her heart pounded hard in her chest and an answering pulse pounded in the core of her body, not letting her deny that what she was feeling was definitely arousal. She looked up at Maximo. His eyes were dark, the heat from them searing her, making the flame that had been smoldering in her belly flare up, the fire threatening to consume her at any moment.
She pushed her chair back and stood, desperate to put distance between them. What was it that he did to her that stole all of her ability to think rationally? Being near him, touching him, it took all of that carefully guarded control of hers and stripped it from her, leaving her bare and unprotected.
“I’m tired,” she said. “I need to … I’m going to go to bed.”
A knowing smile curved his lips. “You are so intent on fighting this thing between us.”
“This isn’t what I want, Max,” she whispered, closing her eyes, trying to block out his handsome face.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, his voice suddenly hard.
She shook her head. “Not in the way you mean. But I can’t … don’t ask me to do this.”
“I would never force myself on you.”
She knew that. She had no doubts, none at all, that Maximo was a man of his word. A man of honor. But it wasn’t the idea of him forcing himself on her that she feared. It was the fact that force wasn’t necessary. All he would have to do was touch her, kiss her, and she would forget all of the reasons it was such a bad idea to become physically involved with him.
And she was afraid that, like her mother, if she allowed herself to become dependent she would forget how to take care of herself, and if he left she would just crumble.
She and Maximo were getting married to give their child a family. They were committed to being in each other’s lives for at least the next eighteen years. She was already far too dependent on him due to the nature of the situation, and adding feelings, adding sex, had the potential to make it deadly to her.
“I’m tired,” she said again, turning to go.
“Get some rest,” he said, his voice rough, and she wondered if it was due to arousal; the kind that was making her blood thick and her throat tight. “Tomorrow we will be announcing our engagement to the world.”
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_47d9c29a-ce1e-5257-9928-fcf23158856b)
ALISON shifted and winced as the boning in the corset top of her gown took another dig at her side. It was hot. Dear heaven was it hot! And humid. Stray wisps of her hair hung down out of her glamorous updo in lank strands. The air seemed thick, and breathing it in only seemed to increase the nausea that was her constant, reviled companion.
The servant that had helped her get dressed had insisted that this was a formal announcement and would require formal dress. So here she was, made-up, sucked in, pushed up and buffed to a highly glossed sheen, waiting behind a heavy red curtain for her time to step out onto the balcony with Maximo so they could make a horribly clichéd announcement to the television cameras and the citizens who had gathered below.
It wasn’t just the people of Turan that were watching, but the world. Maximo was charismatic and popular, both in his home country and abroad, and his wedding would be attended by the rich and famous from every corner of the world. No pressure, though. She almost laughed at that thought.
She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that her breasts seemed to be trying to make an escape from the sweetheart neckline of the gown. She imagined it was supposed to be demure, in its jewel-tone sapphire color, with cute ruffled cap sleeves. And it might have been, if she hadn’t been quite so generously endowed up top.
She could hear Maximo out on the balcony, on the other side of the curtain, addressing his people, speaking in Italian. If there was a sexier sound in the world she’d never heard it. His voice did things to her, and not only her. He was an amazing public speaker; she could tell from behind the curtain. He had charisma. She couldn’t understand a word he was saying but it sounded good.
He was the sort of leader that inspired. The sort of leader his country needed.
She straightened and nearly cursed out loud when the boning dug into her again. She was making the right decision. Maximo was a good man. He would be a wonderful example for their child, and a wonderful father. No matter how overwhelming all of it seemed to her, this was her son’s or daughter’s legacy. The people waiting down there were her child’s people. There was no way she could have denied them this chance.
Luigi, the man who coordinated most big events for the royal family, signaled for her to make her entrance onto the balcony. He swept the curtain aside for her, careful to keep himself out of view, and she took a tentative step out into the blinding Mediterranean sunlight.
The height, the heat and vibrating sea of people below made her head swim. She tried to paste a smile on her face, as she had been instructed to do, and took her place at Maximo’s side.
He put his arm around her waist and drew her close. His father, who was standing with the queen, took the center of the balcony and spoke into the microphone. A cheer erupted from the crowd.
Maximo turned to her and brushed her cheek softly with the back of his hand. The light touch sent a shimmer of something wonderful through her. His eyes were intent on her face, his expression serious, but almost caring.
He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her lips. She hadn’t been expecting a gesture of affection like that and it had her heart pounding so hard she was afraid the microphones would pick it up, and everyone would be able to hear for themselves just what Maximo did to her. He held her tightly against his body, his strong arms cradling her. She shifted and her breasts brushed his hard, masculine chest. Electricity zinged through her.
She couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Her future husband. He was so handsome dressed in a traditional mandarin-collared suit with a long dark jacket that accentuated his broad chest, slim waist and spare hips. The plain jacket was adorned with medals pinned to the right breast, over his heart. The Latin words written on the pin spoke of duty to God and country.
An intense feeling swelled in her chest. Pride, she realized. She was proud to stand by his side. Proud that he was the father of her baby. And who wouldn’t be? He was a good man, a man who understood responsibility, a man who valued honor. Maximo wasn’t the kind of man who would walk away from his responsibilities. He was the kind of man who would stand and face challenges when they came. When the results of the test came, the test that would tell them if there was a chance their child might be affected by Cystic Fibrosis, Maximo would face it head-on, of that she had no doubt. He wouldn’t run from a painful situation, wouldn’t walk away if things were hard.
Maximo leaned in again, his hot breath touching her neck, making goose bumps break out over her skin, despite the heat.
“Wave at your people,” he commanded gently. She turned, still in his arms, and put her hand up in a shy wave. She was greeted by another round of enthusiastic cheering. Many of the people waved back or waved flags.
“Bene,” he whispered near her ear and nuzzled her gently with his nose.
Lightning flashed through her from that simple brush of skin on skin, igniting a desire that was hot and insistent, and totally outside of her experience. It was all for show. She knew that. It didn’t mean anything to him. But her body didn’t seem to know, much less care. She felt her knees weaken and she slumped against him, against the solid wall of his body. She realized how easy it would be to just melt into him, to lean against him forever.
The strength of those feelings shocked her, made her knees shake. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She moved then, turning her body away from him, trying to keep her lips glued into a smile. And then she was being ushered back behind the curtain, leaving the king and queen to continue speaking to the crowd.
“You did very well,” Maximo said, releasing her from his hold once they were out of view.
“A smile and a wave,” she said breathlessly. “Not too impressive.”
“When a woman looks like you, that’s about all it takes. They loved you.”
She laughed shakily. “It’s the dress.”
“It’s a lovely dress.” His eyes traveled over her, over each of her curves.
For once, such a close inspection didn’t make her think of what might happen if she let a man get too close to her. It lit a fire that smoldered hot in her belly.
It wasn’t virginal nerves that made her draw back from the obvious attraction between them. It was a different kind of fear. Fear of the strength of her response to him, of the almost overwhelming need she felt to melt into him, have him assuage the ache he made settle between her thighs. The intense desire to allow him to make her lose control.
“You are truly beautiful.” His eyes, those hard, dark, commanding eyes, softened. He cupped her cheek and let his thumb trace her upper lip.
The curtain was swept aside again and the rush of heat that came from outside broke the bubble they’d been cocooned in.
“It is done,” Luciano said firmly. “The wedding will take place in eight weeks, after Sunday Mass.” He turned to Maximo and said something in his native language.
A dull red stained Maximo’s cheekbones and his eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw jumping with tension. “Si. I am certain.”
“It’s good to be sure.” Luciano patted his son on the back before stopping in front of her. “Make him happy.”
Luciano and Elisabetta exited the room, leaving Alison and Maximo alone.
“What did he say?” she asked, knowing it hadn’t been flattering to her.
“It isn’t important.”
She let out an inelegant snort. “For something unimportant it certainly made you angry.”
“He asked if I was certain it was my child.”
That stung a little bit. But then, the king didn’t know her. He had to suspect that she and Maximo hadn’t known each other for very long. Really, she couldn’t blame him for his concern.
She shrugged. “Well, I suppose we don’t know for sure. If they were careless enough to give me your sample they might have been mislabeled. That would let you off the hook.” The color in his face darkened and she felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. That was a tasteless thing to say.”
“It was.” He slipped his arm through hers and led her back toward their rooms. “I don’t consider myself on the hook. I want this child.”
“I only meant the marriage,” she mumbled.
“The marriage should hardly be noticeable for either of us. Despite the change in location for you.”
“Glad to know I won’t be too heavy a ball and chain,” she snapped.
“Not at all. And make no mistake, I’ve been married, and I’m not looking for that sort of relationship out of this.” He released her arm and made his way up the stairs without her.
He had mentioned that he hadn’t been planning on getting married again and up until then she had been certain it was love for his wife that kept him from wanting a new wife. Now she wasn’t entirely certain.
And why should she care? He wasn’t going to be her husband in any true sense of the word. He would be her partner. They would raise their baby together during the day and at night he would warm the bed of some lithe, six-foot-tall blonde. And she would go to bed alone and enjoy the solitude of her bed. And cold sheets. So why didn’t that sound fair, or appealing, at all?
“This is wonderful!” Isabella hadn’t stopped chattering since she and Alison had gotten into the limo. “My mamma never allows me to go shopping.”
“Your mother never lets you go shopping?” Alison couldn’t imagine being controlled to such a degree. The very thought of it made her feel claustrophobic. “And are we supposed to be doing this now?”
Isabella had been very excited about taking a trip to help furnish a new, princess-worthy wardrobe for Alison, but Alison had assumed it had been Max’s idea. And she certainly hadn’t imagined that her future sister-in-law might be forbidden from going.
A slight blush stained Isabella’s high cheekbones. “Not exactly.”
Anger, not directed at Isabella, tightened her stomach. “Why aren’t you allowed to shop?”
A mutinous expression creased Isabella’s forehead. “Shopping is not a skill required of the future wife of a sheikh.”
“You’re engaged?” The other woman seemed very young to her. Naive, but very sweet.
She shrugged one very lovely shoulder. “More or less. I have an arranged marriage.”
“An arranged marriage?”
It felt wrong to Alison, the thought that such a lovely, gentle person was being farmed out to a man she didn’t even love. But then, wasn’t that essentially what was happening with her? Except it was different for her. Isabella was clearly a romantic, and Alison had never imagined that she would marry for love. Anyway, Max was an honorable, handsome, decent man and any woman would be lucky to marry him.
Her own line of thinking shocked her. When had she come to think of him like that? It was ridiculous. She’d only known him for a few days. And she didn’t want to marry him. She was only doing it because it was the right thing to do. That was all.
Isabella’s eyes shone with passion now. “I thought I was entitled to experience a little something before I gave it all up for duty and honor. I just want to live a little bit of life. The life of my choosing.” She took a deep breath as though she was trying to regain some composure. “But arranged marriages are normal in our family. It’s just how things work. Well, except with you and Max, of course.”
