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‘Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘We need to go.’
Rosie nodded, bewildered by Corso’s sudden coolness and change of attitude towards her and wondering what had caused it, especially as he had been so spontaneous and passionate before he’d left that morning. Was he already winding down the affair and giving her a hint of what lay ahead? Because they were travelling to London the day after tomorrow and once that part of the tour was over...
She shivered as they took the elevator to the underground car park. After that, she would probably never see him again. There would be no reason to. Their very temporary relationship would seamlessly come to an end. They would say goodbye and Corso would jet back to Monterosso, preparing for a life very different from her own. And while he was selecting the woman who would become his queen, she and Bianca would be busy buying Mum a lovely new home. Once that was done she would look round for a job in the art world—for how could she fail to find a decent appointment, with Corso da Vignola as her referee? She ought to be counting her blessings instead of focussing on the dull ache in her heart, which seemed to be growing by the minute. Did she really want to ruin their last few days together by longing for something which could never be hers?
But despite all her attempts at conversation, Corso remained silent and remote during the short car-ride to the exclusive venue and once again she got the sense that he was excluding her. They arrived at the exclusive venue and were shown into an elegant room whose silk-lined walls were studded with old masters. A warm burst of applause greeted Corso’s entry and the glittering throng began to converge on her consort.
Rosie listened while he spoke to a couple of prominent politicians, as well as a Hollywood star she recognised—though she’d never seen any of his films—and was ridiculously pleased when a woman came up and told her how much she’d enjoyed going round the exhibition earlier that day.
‘The Queen’s wedding coronet was just...charming!’ she enthused.
Rosie beamed. ‘Wasn’t it just? All those pearls!’
Dutifully, she ate some sushi and tried to enjoy the beautiful artwork in the room. At one point, she commented on a stunning painting, but Corso didn’t appear to have heard her. He had grown completely still and was staring at the door with an expression on his face she’d never seen there before. Following his gaze, she noticed a man who’d just walked in—breaking the cardinal rule that nobody should ever arrive after the royal party.
Rosie blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening. It was weird, because the powerful-looking stranger seemed oddly familiar—even though she was certain she’d never seen him before. He reminded her a bit of Corso, though his hair was black rather than lit with flames and his eyes were black too, not golden. But it wasn’t just about his looks. It was the way he held himself—as if he owned the space around him. A woman at his side was gazing up at him with open adoration but he barely seemed to notice her—nor the others of her sex who had turned to study him with predatory interest. Instead, his eyes scanned the room, before coming to rest briefly on Corso. But there was nothing unusual about that because everyone always looked at Corso.
Did she imagine the King’s quiet intake of breath or the sudden rigidity of his body as the gazes of the two men clashed? For a moment she thought he was about to walk across the room and greet the stranger—though whether to shake his hand or punch him, she couldn’t quite decide—such was the tension radiating from his powerful frame. But instead, he shook his head, as if rousing himself from a deep sleep. Suddenly, he touched his hand to her elbow and let it remain there, the tips of his fingers curving lightly around the crook. It was the most innocent of touches but it was remarkable because it was so unprecedented. And significant. Rosie knew that royals were rarely intimate in public and certainly not with a commoner like her—because such a gesture spoke volumes. She heard a faint murmur as people picked up on it and was aware of heads turning in their direction.
And despite her professed dislike of having people look at her, Rosie felt the warm wash of pleasure sliding over her skin as she started to dream. Who could blame her when he was touching her so proprietorially? She started wondering if maybe thisthingbetween them couldn’t continue for a while longer and that maybe they could be flexible—or creative—about the future. She didn’t want a wedding ring. She wasn’t that dumb. She didn’t imagine for a moment there could be any kind of permanence in their arrangement—but was it so wrong to want to be with him for as long as possible? If Corso suggested carrying on with the relationship once the tour was over, wouldn’t she be crazy not to agree? He had planes, didn’t he? And boats. And cars. Travelling between Monterosso and England shouldn’t throw up too much of a logistical nightmare.Why should she give him up if she didn’t have to?
But what if your feelings for him keep growing? taunted a tiny voice inside her head. Aren’t you already more than halfway in love with him?
‘Come on,’ he said, his abrupt tone roughly shattering her reverie. ‘We’re going.’
‘But we’ve—’
‘Don’t let me spoil your fun, Rosie. Stay if you want. I can easily arrange for a driver to wait,’ he added coolly, dropping his hand from her elbow. ‘But I’m leaving.’
It was a terse and inexplicable way to end the evening and Rosie didn’t understand. In the space of a few seconds he had elevated and then trampled on her dreams—and the easy atmosphere between them had suddenly evaporated.
‘Is something wrong?’ she ventured during the journey back to the apartment.
Was something wrong?
Corso wondered what she would say if he told her the truth—that suddenly all his certainties about life had been smashed. He clenched one fist to mimic the hard clench of his heart. He had always thought of himself as unique. The sole heir, born to rule. That had been a given—the one constant, which impacted on everything and everyone around him. Even in his most contemplative moments, he had rationalised that seeing his illegitimate half-brother for the first time would have no real effect on him.
But he had been wrong.
Laying eyes on Xanthos in the flesh had felt visceral. Powerful. Unsettling. A sombre connection to the past, and... He swallowed. Because only a fool would ignore the possibility of how it might impact on his future.
‘Corso?’ prompted Rosie’s voice at his elbow and he looked down at her upturned face, to see concern written in her grey eyes. And, oh, the temptation to confide in her was overwhelming—because didn’t he trust her gentle common sense and honesty? Wouldn’t her uncomplicated softness be like a soothing balm, taking some of the sting out of his discovery?
But he would not do that. It was not fair. Not to him and especially not to her. She was a temporary fixture who would soon be gone—so why on earth would he tell her?
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he bit out, turning away from the brief hurt which clouded her expression.
He excused himself when they returned to the penthouse, citing urgent work which required his attention. He was still at his desk at midnight, when she hovered in the doorway, her blonde hair lit from the light in the hallway behind her. She was wearing a silky nightgown the colour of ice, edged with a darker lace which emphasised the creamy swell of her breasts. But if she was hoping to seduce him, he was going to disappoint her. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, not to answer any of the questions he could see were still written in her eyes.
‘You go to bed without me,’ he said, and he saw the disappointment which made her bite her lip before nodding and turning away.
It was only after she had gone that he realised this was the first time they hadn’t gone to bed together.
