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"Did she really?"
Rathe had no trouble meeting his mother's gaze. "Yes."
Alyssa bit back a sigh. How proud this boy of hers was. Every inch of him was indeed as aloof and perfect as only a nobleman should be, and it was just sad that his grandfather, the Duke of Flanders, still refused to acknowledge her son as kin.
"You need to stop letting yourself be bothered by what other people are saying about us," she advised gently. "Why people think your father and I married is unimportant." She waited for her son to say something, but his lips only tightened. "It's what we know is true that counts, and when you're older, you'll realize that I was never too young—-"
"This isn't about you at all," Rathe gritted out.
It was so unlike her son to display such an outburst, and Alyssa's heart broke, since only tremendous pain could make Rathe act and speak in this manner.
"Heis the only one at fault here. He was the older one. He should've known better than to go after someone made impressionable by her age. He should've known that it was better to wait!"
"Love doesn't follow a timetable—-"
"He still should've known better," her son gritted out, and the bitterness underscoring his voice had her heart breaking anew.
"It's because of him that the whole world looks down on you—-"
"Oh, Rathe."
He knew his mother would once again insist that love made everything alright, but he knew better. Love could never exist between prey and predator, love could only be a sham if one was too young for it.
His father might not care about what the world thought of Alyssa, but he did. And as her son, the least he could do was make sure that he gave the world no added reason to further disrespect his mother.
Chapter One
Even seated at theback of the class, Mary still didn’t feel comfortable, doing her best to slouch as low as possible in her seat. It was utterly imperative she didn’t draw any attention to herself. Right now, most of the girls seemed to be talking about—-
“Did you see the feature on him last night?” The words were spoken in a dreamy tone, which just about everyone used when describing England’s #1 Heartthrob. “He was so beautiful. And the way he didn’t smile at all?”
“I know what you mean. It’s not like those American men who keep grinning all the time. At least the Duke of Flanders knows when to be dignified.”
“Good thing he didn’t have that cheap American tramp with him.”
The gagging sounds and nose wrinkling that followed made Mary slowly cover her face with her notebook. To distract herself, she checked her iPhone, clicking on the CCTV app that Rathe had installed. The application was like being given keys to the Duke of Wellesley’s empire, with access to cameras installed in all his offices and estates around the world, his private jet, and his favorite cars.
