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The crease between her fine, silky black brows deepened. ‘You looked upset.’
He didn’t like that she’d seen the doubt inside him, the uncertainty that no matter how much he told himself he didn’t feel, he did all the same.
‘I am not upset.’ He kept his tone casual, betraying nothing. ‘Perhaps you would like a shower or a bath? You have some time. Dinner will be in a few hours.’
She was quiet a moment, just looking at him. ‘You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?’
The tight feeling in his chest that had driven him from the living room reminded him once more of its presence. ‘No.’ He gave her a smile that he knew held no amusement whatsoever. ‘I find myself very dull.’
‘I don’t.’ The expression on her face was searching. ‘I’m going to be your wife, Rafael. Shouldn’t a wife know a little more about her husband?’
He didn’t want to talk about himself, not when there was nothing interesting about him or his past. Then again, he knew more about her than she knew about him and that didn’t seem fair. And she was right; she would be his wife, so perhaps he could give her a little more?
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’
Her mouth curved. ‘Anything.’
‘All right.’ He stroked his thumb absently over the silky skin of her wrist. ‘I could start with my father, though what to say about him that you don’t already know? He used to visit me when I was growing up in Barcelona. Never at the apartment I shared with my mother, only ever in his territory, which was the hotel where he met my mother. I wasn’t a son to him. I was an object to gloat over, a reminder of his own prowess, and really, it was pity that I was a mistake. I would have made a much better king than his legitimate child.’ He couldn’t hide the bitter edge in his voice, so he didn’t bother. ‘My mother, on the other hand, was decent. She didn’t like me, but she cared for me all the same. She fed and clothed me, taught me right from wrong. Saw me as well educated as she could manage.’
She never loved you, though, and why would she?
He knew why. But that wasn’t his truth to tell.
‘She died when I was eighteen,’ he went on, conscious of a certain tension gripping his muscles, an ache he hadn’t even been aware of until this moment. ‘Is that what you wanted to know?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
RAFAEL’SEXPRESSIONWASso neutral as he said the words, his tone so casual. As if none of the things he said had any real meaning. As if they didn’t touch him in any way.
But she knew they did and the signs were there in the burning silver of his eyes. Anger, hot and deep.
It made sense though, that he was angry. Why wouldn’t he be? Carlos was always going to be a terrible father and then losing his mother. A mother who hadn’t liked him...
That felt personally painful to her, though she had no idea why.
He’d never mentioned a word of this in the nights they’d spent together, talking and arguing about everything under the sun except their personal lives.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Why would you?’ His expression betrayed nothing, his tone mild. ‘I didn’t tell you.’
She stared up into his face, searching. His childhood must have been painful and yet he sounded casual, the way he always did. ‘That must have been awful.’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘No more terrible than other people with bad parents. It was all so long ago anyway. It doesn’t matter now.’
It did matter, though, she could sense it. And now that she looked past the careful, expressionless mask he always wore, she could see it in his eyes, too.
‘If it doesn’t matter now,’ she said quietly, ‘then why are you still angry?’
Rafael’s gaze flickered and she knew she’d struck a nerve. ‘I’m not angry.’
‘Like you weren’t upset just now?’
‘Lia—’
‘Why do you always do this?’ she said before she could think better of it. ‘Why do you always pretend that nothing’s wrong? You start talking about painful things as if you’re asking for milk in your tea.’
His expression hardened. ‘If you don’t like the way I talk about certain topics, then perhaps you shouldn’t ask questions about them.’
