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Alex remained still until years of sarcastic deflection came to his aid. ‘No, I can’t stay, sorry,’ he breezed. ‘I just came to collect my wife.’

‘What?’ His father gawped. ‘Your what?’

‘My wife, Matilde,’ Alex unapologetically elaborated.

‘What?’ Domenico’s already ruddy complexion reddened more. ‘What do you mean, wife?’

The popping veins proved his father really didn’t like that. Tilly had been right. But why did Domenico want her to marry Francesco? Because that wouldn’t go down well with the public. While there was mockery of that AI video, while there was a section of the public who disapproved of her Princess title, many others supported Tilly’s quiet loyalty and frankly pathetic docility. Domenico prized popularity and public opinion. It was the only reason why Alex was still Crown Prince. The reason for Francesco-as-preferred-groom must run deep and warranted further investigation. Alex would get on to it once he and Tilly were home.

‘Alex!’ Domenico fired up, demanding explanation.

Tilly pressed her soft curves closer as if she literally had his back. He didn’t need it. The more furious his father grew, the more Alex relaxed. He’d already won. It was done.

‘You didn’t know?’ he asked, all innocence. ‘We kept it secret a long time, what with that slightly forbidden issue of our being step-siblings and all.’

Tilly stiffened. Right. She’d never been his sister. They’d never lived beneath the same roof, never spent much time together. He slung barbs, she shot baleful looks. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make the most of the suggestion to wind up his asshole of a father. Really it was having his plan thwarted that bothered Domenico. The brute got off on power and control and he’d just lost both over them. Satisfaction rippled through Alex.

‘But we are married,’ he added loudly so the hovering courtiers heard. ‘The heart wants what the heart wants.’ He released Tilly’s hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and draw her closer, this time breathing in a deep hit of her honey-sweet scent. ‘She’s coming with me now,’ he growled possessively. ‘She won’t be back.’

Domenico stepped forward so the staff behind couldn’t see his face. ‘Alex!’

Fire with fire.

‘Don’t you dare take her.’

The ugliness his father usually kept hidden emerged. In his eyes. In his tone. In his shaking hands. It had been years since Alex had seen him this bad, but his father’s rage was impotent. There was a floor between them and what was the jerk going to do—order the guards to seize them?

Alex smiled bitterly. Too late, old man.

‘Tilly!’ Domenico’s irate focus turned to her. ‘It isn’t true, is it? You can’t have married him…you’re meant to—’

‘To what?’ Alex goaded.

Domenico ignored him. Honing in on a perceived weaker opponent, like the bully he was.

‘How could you?’ Spittle landed on his chin. ‘How dare you?’

Silence. But she twitched. Sharply. Alex glanced at her. She was staring at Domenico and she’d turned the colour of the parchment scrolls locked away in her precious museum. He pulled her even closer and felt her whole body shaking. It was barely visible yet beneath that loose silk blouse she was violently drawing on herself as if trying to shrink. Alex’s triumphant amusement morphed into fury as Domenico’s seething roar savaged her.

‘You—’

‘Need to leave.’ Alex cut him off harshly.

Tilly didn’t drag her feet. If anything Alex had to work to keep up with her. The second they were in sight of his small team he circled his finger in the air. His pilot fired the engine as Rafa, his bodyguard, helped Tilly in. As Alex snapped in Tilly’s safety belt the machine rose. He sat back and fastened his own before handing her a headset, trusting there was a private channel open. But naturally she said nothing. Alex’s lungs tightened as he clocked her lingering pallor and quickened breathing. He risked looking into her eyes.

Oh. No wonder his little brother always leapt to defend her. Her huge eyes held such sombre vulnerability—his arms ached to hold her. He glanced out of the window for reprieve. He would take her to Zaffira, where she could hide out for a bit and finalise a plan—get a bloody passport for starters. Then they’d end this sham marriage and she’d be gone. For good. Out of Erik’s life. Out of his own. God, he couldn’t wait.

She was so damned beautiful.

As he watched dimoro miele disappear from view his brain unhelpfully replayed his father’s fury. He’d needed to take action before his father turned physical. It mightn’t have happened in years, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still. The monster within might be well-concealed but Alex knew it was still there.

Tilly had glimpsed it too—that was why she’d pressed so close, why she’d been bleached of life and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Only now a horrible question circled in his mind. Growing louder and gnawing away the little peace he’d just achieved. He needed to know because if he knew he would turn this machine around and take the prick out for good. He looked at Tilly again. Still too pale—more distressed now than she’d been about the video, about Domenico’s marriage order. This was different. He was never able to tolerate looking at her for long, but now he couldn’t look away.

‘Did he ever hit you?’ He ground out the question.

Tilly’s pale skin turned almost transparent and slowly, too slowly for his shredded nerves, she shook her head.

He inhaled sharply. ‘Good.’