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‘You don’t believe that superstitious nonsense, do you?’
‘No. But just in case, I’m not going to risk it by telling you.’
His firm lips curved into the first real smile he’d bestowed on her. It transformed his face into something that made her already weak legs go all watery and a deep throb pulse inside her, somehow managing to make him look a decade younger despite the crinkles around his eyes and the grooves that appeared down the sides of his mouth.
Her returning smile didn’t falter when a glamorous woman of around thirty dressed in a kimono-style robe and with her dark hair piled messily but artfully on top of her head appeared on his balcony and padded like a panther to stand beside him.
‘Buenos días,’the woman said, rising on her toes to plant a kiss on Gabriel’s cheek.
The violence of the nausea that caught hold of Alessia at this was so strong she pressed both hands to her abdomen. So loud was the roaring in her head that she almost missed Gabriel’s introduction.
‘Alessia, this is my sister, Mariella.’
His sister?
There hadn’t been time for her to think about who this woman could be, but the spinning sensation that had her clutching the balustrade was undoubtedly relief, and she only realised Gabriel had introduced her in Spanish when Mariella’s eyes widened and she dropped into a deep curtsey.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Alessia croaked. ‘Please, Gabriel,’ she added when his sister lifted her head and looked at her non-comprehendingly, and her own proficiency in Spanish had deserted her, ‘tell her not to do that.’
Not taking his eyes off Alessia’s flushed face, Gabriel translated while his mind whirled with what could have caused the strange turn she’d just had. Pregnancy hormones? Whatever the cause, the same needle of concern that had fired in his blood when she’d called him in the middle of the night pierced him again.
She’d sounded so vulnerable that night. He’d laid awake a long time after that call wondering whether he should fly back to Ceres. It still disturbed him how strong the pull had been.
It disturbed him too how hard a thump his heart had made when he’d recognised the number flashing on his phone and how deep the prickles that had covered his skin when her voice first seeped into his ear.
Having no need to fight himself from thinking about her any more, Alessia had unleashed in his mind a permanent vision that must have blurred because, looking at her now, she was more impossibly beautiful than his mind’s eye had remembered. As his thoughts now skipped forwards to their wedding night, anticipation let loose in his blood and he came to the realisation that there was nothing disturbing in his reactions to her. Quite the opposite. He should be celebrating that he was pledging his life to a woman who aroused him more than any woman before her.
Yes, he thought thickly. Much better that he felt the pull to be with her than the alternative.
Mariella pushed herself up off the floor, and pulled Gabriel’s thoughts away from the sensual delights the evening promised.
‘Please,’ Alessia said in that same strange croaky voice, placing a hand on the balustrade next to his, ‘tell her we don’t stand on ceremony.’
Unable to resist, he covered it with his own and was gratified when, though her eyes widened and more colour saturated her cheeks, she made no effort to move it. Pressing his abdomen against the cold stone, he leaned his face closer to hers and dropped his voice. ‘You wish for me to lie to her?’
‘But we don’t,’ she protested, her indignation making her sound a fraction more like her usual self.
‘Perhaps not compared to your ancestors,’ he agreed lightly. The compulsion to reach over the balustrade, grip her handspan waist and lift her over it and to him sent a throb rippling through his loins. She was so tiny, well over a foot shorter than him and roughly half his weight, and yet they had fit together so well.Perfectlywell, he recalled with another throb in his loins. Like two pieces of a two-piece jigsaw...
‘We don’t,’ she insisted, bringingherface closer tohiswith a piqued glare. ‘Please tell your sister that I’m delighted to meet her and that I look forward to getting to know her.’
An unexpected zip of humour tugged at him at her formal tone but, remembering they had an audience, he reluctantly moved his hand, took a step back and made the translation.
The Berrutis did not expect commoners to bow and scrape to them any more, he conceded, but there was an absolute expectation of deference. From the expression on Alessia’s face, this expectation was so deeply ingrained that she likely didn’t realise it was there. In fairness to her, there was nothing he’d seen of her behaviour to indicate she thought herself better than anyone else. She didn’t parade on her royal dignity like so many royal people were wont to do, Amadeo, her eldest brother, being one of them. But she was oblivious to how elegant and regal her bearing was, even when dishevelled, wearing pyjama shorts that perfectly displayed her toned, golden legs and a strappy pyjama top her small breasts jutted against. Her perfect breasts, he remembered thickly as he slowly swept his gaze over her again. They’d tasted so sweet. Fitted in the palms of his hands. And as he feasted his eyes on her, another flush of colour crept over her face, and the tips of those perfect breasts became visible through the silk of her pyjama top.
She was extraordinary. As desirable a creature as he had ever seen. Her dark, velvet eyes were locked on his, an expression in them he recognised: it had lodged itself in his retinas in that breath of a moment before their lips had first fused together. Unfiltered want. Want for him.
Mariella tugged at his arm, pulling him out of the strange, heady trance-for-two he’d become frozen in. Dragging his gaze from Alessia’s, he stooped down a little so his sister could whisper in his ear.
He cleared his throat and translated for Alessia. ‘Mariella says it’s bad luck for us to see each other before the wedding.’
She blinked before responding. Then blinked again. The heightened colour still stained her cheeks but she pulled—and he swore he saw the effort it took to achieve it—a smile to her face. Taking a step back, she said lightly, ‘You don’t believe in that superstitious nonsense, do you?’
‘I don’t believe in superstition.’
‘Neither to do I, but as with my dream, I don’t want to take risks so I’m going to use your sister’s reminder as an excuse to go back inside. I’ll see you at the chapel.’ Then she turned to Mariella and, in almost perfect Spanish, said, ‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ before she padded into the quarters he’d be sharing with her before the night was out.
Alessia reached for the glass of water on her dressing table and tried to quench her parched mouth, but her hand trembled so hard more water ended up spilling down her chin than down her throat. A drop splashed on her wedding dress. It felt like a portent.
