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‘I can imagine his ego wouldn’t have liked that. Particularly when he’s used to women tripping over themselves to fall at his feet.’
I grab onto that, my breath uneven. ‘Do you think he’s really such a...?’ I search for the right word.
‘Oh, yes. A total man-whore,’ she supplies with an impish grin. ‘I think he’s every bit as bad as the press says, and then some. Trust me, I’ve known men like him before.’ She wiggles her brows. ‘And, while they’re fun to spend time with, you definitely can’t trust them as far as you might wish to throw them.’
I am not a jealous person but, illogically, I feel the blade of that emotion cutting through me.
‘I don’t think he’s ever had a relationship that’s lasted longer than one night. Probably more than one hour.’ She winks, no idea how those words are tightening something in my chest. It’s so stupid of me to feel like this. All those romance novels have predisposed me to ideas that make no sense. Besides, in less than a year’s time my own engagement will be announced—to the man my parents dearly wanted me to marry. Never mind that I’ve met him only a handful of times and feel nothing for him whatsoever. That doesn’t change the fact I have no business fantasising about Santiago, or being jealous of his sleazy flings.
Except...the way he kissed me is all I can think of. I don’t care that he goes through women faster than most men do underwear. I liked the way it felt to be kissed, the way it felt to be touched, the way it felt to be spoken to as an equal.
My eyes flare wide as I realise that’s a huge part of this. Santiago didn’t revere me, he didn’t ‘ma’am’ me. He ignored all the conventions and spoke to me like any other person, and I loved that.
‘He wants me to go to Spain to see his casino in Barcelona.’ I ponder, the idea having more weight with me than I’d allowed him to see.
‘It’s not a terrible idea,’ Claudia responds.
‘Really? I’d have thought you’d object.’
‘Oh, to anyone else I’d say that if you’ve seen one casino you’ve seen them all. But you’ve never been inside a casino before—’
‘With good reason,’ I mutter.
‘I know you hate the very idea.’ She’s sympathetic. ‘But I don’t think this is a fight you really want to pick; it’s definitely not a fight you’ll win. So why not go and see his hotel and try to talk yourself into feeling good about it all?’
Except it’s not the casino that’s playing on my mind so much as the way it felt to be kissed by Santiago. In a matter of months, my engagement will be announced, my marriage will take place only a few months after that and then the rest of my life will be lived according to the blueprint my parents set out. I’ve never questioned that fate but, for the first time in my life, I have an insatiable hunger to experience something outside of what’s expected of me.
My days are always scheduled. Everything in my life is planned. Right down to who I’ll spend my time with. What if this is the last chance I’ll ever get to do something spontaneous and ‘normal’?
The idea is seductive, almost as seductive as the thought of seeing Santiago again away from all this—the palace that reminds me at every turn of my parents and their legacy.
‘I don’t think it would create the right image,’ I point out, almost hoping she’ll contradict me and save me from myself.
‘So don’t let anyone know.’
I roll my ey
es. ‘Yeah, right. I’ll just slip through the airport security unnoticed. Me, my luggage and four security agents.’
She laughs. ‘The agents don’t have to sit with you. As for being recognised...’ She stalks to my wardrobe and returns a moment later, carrying a baseball cap. ‘Try the time-honoured tradition of dressing in disguise.’
* * *
In order to keep the visit low-key, Claudia arranges everything. She alone deals with my diary secretary, booking the flights and accommodation, ensuring my schedule simply states ‘personal trip’.
I wait until everything’s locked in before I draw Santiago’s card from where I stashed it on my bedside table, dialling his numbers with fingers that aren’t quite steady. As the phone begins to dial, my stomach swoops, so I pace to the window and stare out at the banks of the river, reminding myself this is business. At least, that he doesn’t know this will be a last-ditch and first ever taste of freedom for me. That the idea of escaping from my life for a few days holds an immeasurable appeal. It’s nothing to do with him, really, so much as him being the first man to flirt with me so brazenly, the first man to kiss me with such obvious hunger.
As soon as he answers, his voice rolls through my body like sensual heat and honey. My knees tremble.
‘Del Almodovár.’ His voice is gruff, accent-spiced.
‘Santiago.’ I clear my throat. ‘It’s Freja Henriksen. From Marlsdoven.’ I cringe at my own awkwardness.
A beat passes and then there’s the sound of a door closing. ‘Your Highness.’ His surprise is evident. ‘How are you?’
My heart turns over at the question—a normal, polite, civil enquiry.
‘Fine.’
