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‘Easy for you to say. As the Regent of an entire nation.’
His silver eyes gleamed, his hard features not softening one iota. ‘I’m a bastard,princesa.I grew up on the edge of poverty in Barcelona. I expected nothing and was given nothing. Everything I have, I made. And everything I am, I created for myself. You think your father and Santa Castelia would have come to me if I’d still been that skinny boy grubbing in the gutter? No. They came to me because of what I’d turned myself into.’
And you turned yourself into their perfect daughter, ready for the role they’d given you. With no thought in your head as to what you wanted for yourself.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d wanted to be Matias’s wife and Santa Castelia’s Queen. Her parents had so worked hard to give her that future, how could she refuse them? Especially after they’d gone through so much to even have her in the first place.
Plus, she loved her country and she knew she could do good for it. She could help Matias take a different path to that of his notorious father, put the scandals of the past behind them and forge a new future. One where the King and Queen served the country and not the other way around.
Except in the end you’re no better than Carlos was. Falling prey to your own lusts. Putting your own desires ahead of everything else.
Lia ignored that, very conscious of Rafael’s gaze on her and that she had no answer to what he’d just said. Because it was true. Everyone in the world knew Rafael Navarro’s background; it had been one of the most talked-about stories of the last five years. How Gian, as the nation’s first advisor, had gone begging to the bastard son of King Carlos after he’d died, desperate for someone to take over the disaster that had once been Santa Castelia. Inflation and unemployment had been sky-high, the treasury empty.
Matias had been too young to take over and there was provision for any illegitimate offspring to rule until the legitimate heir came of age.
So they’d come to Rafael, needing his financial genius to save the country and he had. Single-handedly.
But someone needed to ensure its future and Lia had always thought that person would be her, at Matias’s side.
Not any more.
Her stomach dipped and hollowed, and she had to look away again, forcing down the riot of violent emotions that churned inside her, struggling to find her usual calm.
She didn’t want to talk to Rafael or think about what he’d said, so she didn’t, ignoring him as his phone rang a few moments later and he answered it, the dark, rough textures of his voice filling the car.
Twenty minutes later, they turned off the increasingly treacherous mountain road, drove through a pair of massive, wrought-iron gates and went up a winding, equally treacherous driveway. Snow-covered trees loomed on either side, making Lia feel claustrophobic and suffocated. As if she was a prisoner being transported from one prison to another, and this one smaller, darker...
The limo drew up outside what appeared to be a concrete bunker covered in snow. It was only after she’d blinked a few times and told herself not to be so stupid that she realised that it wasn’t actually a concrete bunker, but an architectural house made of stone and built against the mountainside in a series of boxes, each on different levels, looking as though they’d been carved out of the mountain itself.
Snow blanketed what in summer would be lovely terraces, making a white carpet on the flat roofs. The house was heavy and monolithic, and, like its owner, looked as if it could withstand any kind of natural disaster thrown at it and then some.
Rafael got out of the car first and held the door open for her. Icy air made her shiver as she collected her skirts and followed him out. Instantly she was freezing, the silver satin slippers she wore ruined as they sank into the snow on the ground. The wind was biting, blowing her skirts and her veil around and making walking difficult. Snow fell everywhere, settling in her eyelashes and falling like white hot sparks on the exposed skin of her shoulders and arms.
Struggling to take a step, she slipped on the icy ground, only to feel a muscular arm slide around her waist, drawing her into the wicked heat of a hard, masculine body.
His scent hit her, warm and spicy and familiar. Unexpected, too, as it always was. In those first few days when he’d come to the palace and she’d been half-terrified, half-fascinated by him, she’d thought that he might smell of cordite or gunpowder, something sharp and dangerous and cold.
But he didn’t. He smelled of sandalwood and cloves, making her think of warm nights in a desert, or spices in an exotic souk, fascinating, far-off places that she’d always wanted to visit and yet never had the opportunity.
Oh, God, the last time she’d been this close to him had been that night they’d spent together, his hands on her skin, that same, warm scent surrounding her, setting every nerve-ending she had ablaze with a sudden, insistent heat.
She’d known it was Rafael in that moment and her heart had swelled with happiness and relief. And the terrible knowledge that even if it had been Matias, she would never have been able to go through with her plan to sleep with him.
Because the only man she’d ever wanted was his half-brother.
Lia could feel her body melting into Rafael’s heat now, into the strength and power of his hard, muscled torso, the cold that had gripped her fading, vanishing under a wild rush of pent-up physical desire.
Instantly, she tried to pull away, not wanting to give in to it, but his grip on her only tightened. Her skirts trailed in the snow, making it hard for her to take a step even with his help, and so the next minute she found herself swept up into his arms and being carried across the snowy ground to the big black metal front doors of his granite fortress-like house.
She wanted to struggle, to fight the terrible urge to melt against him, because it felt wrong, as though she was giving in somehow, but it was cold and she had to get inside and this was the quickest way.
She held herself rigid, though he didn’t seem to notice, much to her irritation.
The door opened for them, a black-uniformed staff member murmuring something in Spanish. Rafael replied in a low tone, but Lia wasn’t listening. Because despite how hard and cold the house appeared from the outside, inside it was beautifully warm.
The front entrance was flagged with dark stone, the walls a pale cream, the light warm and welcoming. Used to the clutter of decor in the palace, Lia couldn’t help but notice that Rafael’s house was comparatively bare and minimalist. There was art on the walls, but it was obvious that each piece had been chosen and placed there with some care. And each piece was beautiful, full of texture and colour: a beautiful landscape in oils, an antique woven tapestry, a rustic pot with a vivid red glaze, an evocative black and white photo.
Rafael turned and carried her down a short hallway and into a big living area where a crackling fire roared in a stark black fireplace. The floor was covered with a nearly black, thick charcoal carpet, the furniture low, comfortable-looking couches upholstered in heavily textured cream linen. The stark black and white decor was softened with jewel-bright rugs, more pieces of carefully chosen art, cushions and discreet lighting.
