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He frowned, wishing he could figure out what was bothering her, and why it was so much. ‘And that is a problem?’
‘It’s not a problem. It’s just...an inequality.’ She looked away, blinking rapidly, and Mateo realised that no matter her seemingly calm and practical exterior, something about their kiss had affected her deeply, and not on a physical level.
‘Why were you a drama queen, Rachel?’ he asked slowly, feeling his way through the words. ‘What made you respond so...emotionally?’
She was silent, her expression distant as she looked away from him, and Mateo decided not to press.
‘When are our main courses coming?’ she finally asked. ‘I stormed out of here without eating my salad, and I’m starving.’
‘So why did you storm out of here, exactly?’ Mateo asked, taking the obvious opening. Rachel paused, her once determined gaze sliding away from his. Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want to tell him. ‘Rachel,’ he said gently, ‘if we’re going to be married, I need to know.’
She swung back towards him, her face drawn in lines of laughing disbelief. ‘“If we’re going to be married”? A little cocksure, aren’t you, Mateo?’
‘I meant hypothetically,’ he returned smoothly. ‘If it’s something you’re thinking about even remotely...and you must be, because you came back here.’
‘Maybe I came back here because I value your friendship.’
‘That too.’
‘And I didn’t want to look like a prima donna.’
‘Three reasons, then.’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, Mateo. If we don’t get married, I will miss you.’
Something leapt inside him and he leaned forward. ‘Then marry me, Rachel.’ His voice throbbed with more intent than he wanted to reveal. More desire.
Her eyes widened as her gaze moved over his face, as if she were trying to plumb the depths of him, and Mateo didn’t want that. He held her gaze but he schooled his expression into something calm and determined. How he really felt.
‘The reason I might have overreacted,’ she said slowly, her gaze still on his face, ‘is because I’ve... I’ve been burned before. By an arrogant man who thought I’d be grateful for his attentions, and then made a joke of them afterwards.’
Mateo didn’t like the sound of that at all. Everything in him tightened as he answered levelly, ‘Tell me more.’
She shrugged, spreading her hands. ‘Sadly there’s not much more to tell. He was a doctoral student when I was in my second year at Oxford—he paid me special attention, I thought he cared. He didn’t, and he let people know it.’ Her lips tightened as she looked away.
What was that supposed to mean? ‘He hurt you?’ Mateo asked, amazed at how much he disliked the thought. Not just disliked, but detested, with a deep, gut-churning emotion he didn’t expect or want to feel.
‘Emotionally, yes, he did. But I got over it.’ Rachel lifted her chin, a gesture born of bravery. ‘I didn’t love him, not like that. But my ego was bruised, and I felt humiliated and hurt, and I decided for myself that I was never going to let another man treat me that way ever again, and so far I haven’t.’
Realisation trickled icily through him and he jerked back a little. ‘And you think I did? Was?’
‘It felt like that at the time, but, I admit, I probably overreacted, due to my past experience.’ She shrugged again. ‘So now you know.’
Yet he didn’t know, not really. He didn’t know what this vile man had done, or how exactly he’d humiliated Rachel. He didn’t know how she’d responded, or how long it had taken her to recover and heal. But Mateo was reluctant to ask any more, to know any more. It was her private pain, and she’d tell him if she wanted to. Besides, information was responsibility, and he had enough of that to be going on with.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For what happened. And how I made you feel.’
‘You didn’t mean to. At least I don’t think you did. Which is why I’m still here.’ She gave him one of her old grins. ‘That, and the risotto that had better be here soon.’
‘I assure you, it is.’ Mateo reached for his phone and texted the maître d’ of the restaurant, whom he’d contacted earlier to make the reservation. Within seconds the waiter was back, with two more silver-domed dishes.
‘So if you really are a prince,’ Rachel asked after he’d whisked the lids off and left, ‘where’s your security detail? Why isn’t there a guy in a dark suit with a walkie-talkie in the corner of the room?’
‘That would be a rather unpleasant breach of privacy,’ Mateo returned. ‘He’s outside in the hall.’
Rachel nearly dropped her fork. ‘Is he?’
‘Of course.’
