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She stretched her legs out, hooked her ankles together and folded her arms across her ample breasts. ‘Why not?’
He removed a full bottle of fifteen-year-old Scotch and two glasses from the cabinet at the far end of the room and carried them to the table. Pouring them both a hefty measure, he slid one to Clara and took a large drink from the other.
He let the welcome fire burn down his throat and said, ‘I’m afraid that I agree with my family.’
Once his mother had spelled out how quickly and spectacularly the fallout of his rescue had spread, there had been no other conclusion to reach.
It was his mother’s disappointment that smarted the most. That it was deserved disappointment only made it worse.
Marcelo had let his ego and need for excitement overrule his good sense, and now Dominic had a clear photograph of Marcelo’s face as he held tightly to Clara in her wedding dress hanging from a helicopter flying above the House of Fernandez palace. Marcelo was media savvy enough to know it was going to be press dynamite.
His family were right to be angry with him. He was furious with himself. Three years of duty and self-control thrown away in one impulsive action causing a diplomatic incident that could easily escalate. Unlike Ceres, which had a ruling government, Monte Cleure had a ruling monarchy, which meant Dominic was in charge. The Berruti royal family were mere figureheads of their great nation, an anachronistic relic of the past kept alive only because of the affection of its people. It had been drilled into Marcelo and his siblings since they first learned to talk how precarious their positions and titles were. Their castle was wholly owned by the family, its upkeep and maintenance paid for by the income from foreign tourists—they allowed Ceresians in for free—but everything else that came with their position was subject to keeping the public and politicians onside.
Ceres people were romantics at heart. They would forgive a tale of madness caused by love more easily than they would a tale of madness caused by ego, boredom and a loss of self-control.
‘Have you got a copy of the photo of us?’ she asked once she’d had a sip of her Scotch.
‘On my phone.’ He brought up the picture that had been forwarded to him and passed it to her.
She studied it with avid interest. ‘You can’t see my face to identify me but that’s definitely you.’
The guard who’d taken the photo had captured Marcelo’s face in its entirety.
‘When I manage to get a new phone you’ll have to send it to me,’ she added, pushing the phone back to him. ‘I might get it made into a poster and stick it on my bedroom wall...although I might have to photoshop my bum—it looks huge!’
If he wasn’t so filled with anger at himself and the dangerous situation he’d put his family in, he would have laughed.
‘If I refuse to marry you, what happens?’ she asked. ‘Do you lock me in a room and put armed guards outside my door to stop me escaping, then drag me up the aisle and threaten to kill my dog if I make a scene?’
Marcelo raised an incredulous eyebrow that she even had to ask that, then had another drink of his Scotch and rubbed his forehead. ‘I can’t force you to marry me. My family have much influence in this country but our power is limited. And if I could force you to marry me, I wouldn’t—I didn’t rescue you from that bastard to force you into an unwanted life with me.’
Curiosity danced in her eyes. ‘Then why did you?’
‘Boredom.’
‘Boredom?’
Marcelo grunted and shook his head in self-recrimination. That’s what his actions boiled down to. Boredom. Three years of unswerving, mind-numbing tedium dressed as duty had been smashed apart by one loss of tightly leashed self-control.
He must never let it happen again.
A slow grin spread over Clara’s face. ‘If I marry you, I guarantee you won’t be bored.’
That pulled him up, and he studied her open face. ‘You’re not considering it?’
The grin didn’t dim a jot as she downed her drink and pushed the glass back to him. ‘Fill me up, big boy. And yourself. My demands don’t come cheap.’
He couldn’t believe she was even contemplating it. ‘You are serious?’
‘I’m in your debt, remember? I mean, you can’t have forgotten. You only rescued me, what, ten hours ago?’
Was that all the time that had passed?
He refilled her glass. ‘Marrying me goes far beyond any debt you owe me.’
‘Not to my mind. You saved my life and Bob’s life. I’m happy to be a princess for a while if you’re certain it will help...’ Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘We wouldn’t have to share a bed, would we?’
‘No.’His answer was emphatic but her question made him reel as sleeping arrangements were something he hadn’t yet considered. There hadn’t been time to consider anything other than his mother’s forceful if sympathetic insistence that he fix the mess he’d created for their family and their people by marrying Clara.
