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‘It’s not possible.’ If it’s strange to have this conversation while our bodies are still joined together, it doesn’t occur to me. ‘And particularly not now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because next year my coronation will take place, and directly afterwards my engagement to His Royal Highness Heydar van Anjers will be announced. It would be highly inappropriate for me to date anyone right now. So please don’t think that this...’ I run my fingers down his side ‘...is going to complicate your life in the slightest—virgin or not.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU’RE ENGAGED?’
It’s not the reaction I’d expected, and nor is the darkening of his face; there is a look there I can’t interpret.
‘“Betrothed” is a more accurate description,’ I explain as he pulls away, shifting to lie on the bed beside me, a frown etched on his lips.
‘What is the difference?’
‘Well...’ I consider that a moment. ‘To say we’re “engaged” makes it sound like we’ve been dating and decided to get married. Whereas I’ve only met Heydar a couple of times. Our relationship isn’t—and never has been—romantic.’
‘Obviously.’ He pushes up onto one elbow so he can see me better. His scrutiny is unnerving. ‘So why the hell are you marrying him?’
‘Because we’re betrothed.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that, a long time ago, his parents and my parents, who were very dear friends, entered into a contract binding Heydar and me. The terms were crystal-clear. On my twenty-fifth birthday, our engagement would be announced, with the wedding to take place no more than three months later.’
He says something under his breath, something Spanish, and I guess from his tone that it’s a swear word. I blink up at him, unsure of his reaction.
‘What is it?’
His dark eyes probe mine for several seconds.
‘Frankly, I don’t like the idea of having slept with another man’s fiancée.’
I laugh, because it’s so completely unexpected. ‘I just told you, we’re not engaged. It’s not like that. Besides, I’m sure he’s not letting our arrangement stop him from seeing other women.’
‘And it’s okay for him to date, but not you?’
I sigh dramatically. ‘That almost sounds like there might be a double standard for men and women,’ I observe with a fine peppering of sarcasm. ‘Men are expected to have girlfriends. It’s old-fashioned and it sucks, but he doesn’t have the same expectations to be morally beyond reproach that I do.’
‘How can you accept such restrictions so calmly? I’d want to burn the house down.’
‘It’s my life,’ I say with a shrug.
‘But it doesn’t have to be.’
‘A second ago you looked half-terrified I was going to latch onto you and beg you to spend the rest of your life with me, and now you’re trying to talk me out of going through with my wedding?’
‘I can feel both those things,’ he assures me. ‘This is an academic discussion; it has no bearing on what just happened between us.’
I wonder at the slight pain in my chest, as if a blade’s pressing against my heart.
‘So why did you sleep with me?’
The question barrels towards me like a freight train. The answer is right there, glaringly obvious, but I feel that to admit the truth to Santiago would lay me bare. I angle my head a little, pretending fascination with a painting across the room. The art work in this suite is a blend of classic and contemporary—there are pieces from the Renaissance juxtaposed with paintings featuring bold, bright colours, abstract and happy-making.
His fingers touch my shoulder lightly, sending goose bumps across my skin.
‘Freja?’
