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My insides roll with unmistakable desire. I know he’s doing it to mock me but the way he keeps using my title is making my pulse go nuts.
‘It’s just—not something I want to advertise to my—’
‘Your people, I know.’
Something tightens inside me. He could never understand what it’s like to live like this. The expectations and speculation, the constant fishbowl nature of my life.
‘I’ll see you later, then,’ I say, but don’t hang up.
And, interestingly, neither does he.
‘Santiago?’
Oh, great. Now what am I going to say?
‘Sí?’
Who are you with? The words tingle on the tip of my tongue but I force myself to swallow them away. His social life has nothing to do with me. The kiss we shared was a mistake, an aberration, something I won’t allow to happen again. I can’t let it happen again. There are so many reasons for this man to be off limits to me. Not least because I genuinely, chemistry aside, can’t stand him!
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you soon.’
CHAPTER FOUR
IN THE END, I’m able to wangle a trip with only two security agents, and they keep a distance from me, so that as the plane lands in Barcelona and I walk down the steps, sunglasses and baseball cap in place, I feel anonymous and free. So free.
It’s a warm afternoon and a light breeze lifts off the runway. I smile spontaneously, looking around before being swallowed by the milling passengers all bee-lining for the terminal. I join the crowd, happy to be absorbed by them, thrilled to have been unrecognised so far. The terminal building is air-conditioned. I flash my passport—with a brief moment of discomfort as the customs worker clearly identifies me and bows, but fortunately no one else seems to register his strange response.
Once through customs, I follow the signs to the baggage hall, taking in every detail of this pedestrian travel experience. Compared to the usual fanfare of my trips, this is low key and low stress. The noises that swirl around me are new—conversation and play, children running, adults scolding. There is none of the muted, carefully managed interaction I generally experience.
I want to remember every single detail!
In the baggage hall, I frown, not sure how to find my suitcase, but one of my agents approaches. He’s also dressed casually, to blend in, and I can’t help but grin at the sight of him in jeans and a T-shirt rather than the customary suit.
‘This way, Your Highness.’
‘Remember, Alex, I’m just Freja for the duration of this trip.’
He lifts a brow in silent scepticism then gestures with his hand. I walk alongside him but freeze. Standing at the carousel and sticking out like a sore thumb is Santiago del Almodovár.
I stop walking so abruptly that one of the children who’d been playing around bumps into my legs. I ruffle the child’s hair apologetically then keep walking, my pulse in my throat, my mind in overdrive.
Santiago was not dressed particularly formally the first time we met, but now far less so, in faded black jeans and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem untucked. He wears a baseball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses. With his forearms exposed, I notice th
at he has tattoos. A snake on one arm spirals around and around towards his wrist, where its head appears to be biting the base of his thumb. The other bears a sentence in cursive script. I can’t make out any detail from this distance.
‘Would you mind getting my bag, Lars?’
‘Of course, madam.’
‘Madam’ is a compromise I can live with. I stalk towards Santiago, my stomach doing loop-the-loops.
‘What are you doing here?’
He lifts off his aviator glasses. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
My heart thumps.
‘I came to get you.’ He pulls off his hat. ‘I even brought a disguise but I can see you’ve got that covered.’
