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I’d liked it that he’d listened to me, and I’d known he was listening because sometimes he’d responded. But I hadn’t liked it when Domingo had come in and Constantine had sent me away. He’d never talked about Domingo, and whenever Domingo had been near him, he’d tense up, go as cold as ice. I hadn’t been sure why, but even back then I’d known that whatever it was, the problem was Domingo, not Con.
He might have been my prince, but I had never been his princess. And I was still just Jenny, his short, round and plain stepsister. With no shoes on her feet and her hair in a mess. Wearing a cheap dress that she’d slept in and now was all creased.
Anger flickered through me. I’d never felt pathetic in front of him before but I did now, and I hated it. It was almost as if I wasn’t good enough or didn’t measure up. My mother was an expert at making me feel that way and I didn’t need it from him.
I lifted my chin, about to say something cutting, when my stomach growled. Loudly.
Constantine’s brows twitched. ‘You’re hungry,’ he said coolly.
‘The baby is.’ I sniffed. ‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He said it without anger, his voice detached. ‘We’ll talk over breakfast.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We won’t. I have nothing to say to you.’
He ignored me, striding to the door and going out into the corridor. I heard him issue a couple of orders and then he was back, one large hand catching me beneath the elbow as he urged me over to the armchairs near the window.
My anger flickered at his high-handedness, yet I was powerless to resist. His palm was warm against my bare skin, and it reminded me of the dream that hadn’t been a dream, of his arms around me, my head resting against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.
I forced the memory away as he sat me down in one of the armchairs, then sat in the one that stood opposite himself.
‘I’ve ordered breakfast.’ His gaze pinned me like a black obsidian spike. ‘It shouldn’t be long.’
I sat rigidly in the chair, trying not to be aware of how comfortable it was and how my instinct was to curl up in it. A childish instinct, borne of trying my best to avoid my mother and her lectures on my appearance and my clothing choices and how I’d never get a man if I didn’t make an effort, because I was already starting at a disadvantage due to my face. How I needed to smarten myself up, get some make-up, lose some weight, wear something more flattering. Because how was I going to get ahead in life if I didn’t look the part?
Now, with Con sitting across from me, staring at me, I couldn’t help but feel that same sense of judgment.
It’s different, though. He’s not your mother.
True. And he’d never once made disparaging comments about my appearance. In fact, in the months before I’d moved to London, a couple of times I’d sworn I’d seen heat there in his eyes.
But of course I’d been seeing things. And even if he’d opened his arms to me right there, right now, I wasn’t going to fall helplessly into them the way I’d had three months ago. Been there, done that. My mother might be moved by a pretty face, but I wasn’t.
I stared back at him, trying not to give in to the urge to lower my gaze under the pressure of his. ‘Well,’ I said, trying to sound as cool as he did, ‘I think you owe me an explanation for why I’m not currently in my flat in London, don’t you?’
If he noticed my tone, he gave no sign. ‘I never promised to take you back to your flat.’
‘The man who took me to the car told me I was going back to England,’ I pointed out. ‘Which was the whole reason I went with him in the first place.’
‘He wasn’t lying. You were taken back to England.’
‘But you—’
‘But I what?’ One black brow lifted. ‘Scotland is part of the United Kingdom.’
So we were in Scotland. Good to know.
‘But Scotland isn’t England. And I didn’t say you could take me to...this place.’ I waved at the mountains and the loch outside.
‘“This place” is one of my private residences. Glen Creag. It’s in the Highlands.’
‘That’s great. But I don’t recall mentioning an overwhelming urge to visit the Highlands someday soon.’
‘You didn’t. If you’d bothered to wait as I instructed, instead of leaving the mansion, you would know that we’re here to discuss the question of marriage.’
An echo of the same shock I’d felt last night rippled through me. ‘You said—’
‘I said that I wanted to marry you,’ he interrupted yet again. ‘I meant it.’
