‘It’s not that...’
Mateo said something in Greek, most likely a swear word. ‘You think I’m actually making it up!’
‘Not making it up,’ Rachel soothed. ‘I think you believe you’re a prince...’
Mateo swore again, this time in English. He rose from her battered sofa in one fluid movement of lethal grace. ‘Do I look or act like someone who is insane?’ he demanded, and Rachel cringed a little.
No, he most definitely did not. In fact, with his eyes blazing blue-green fire, in a suit that looked as if it cost more than she made in a month, he did look like a prince. She sagged against the back of her chair, causing the pile of laundry to fall in a heap to the floor, as the realisation thudded through her.
‘You really are a prince.’
‘Of course I am. And in a week’s time I am to be crowned king.’
He sounded so assured, so arrogant, that Rachel wondered how she could have doubted him for a minute. A second. And as for being deluded...of course he wasn’t. She’d never seen a more sane, focused, determined individual in her life.
‘But what does this have to do with me?’ she asked shakily, as she remembered what he’d said. He wanted to marry her...
Surely not. Surely not.
‘As King of Kallyria, I’ll need a bride,’ Mateo resumed his explanation as he paced the small confines of her sitting room. ‘A queen by my side.’
Rachel shook her head slowly. She could not reconcile that statement with him wanting to marry her. Not in any way or form. ‘Maybe I’m thick, Mateo, but I still don’t understand.’
‘You are not thick, Rachel.’ He turned to face her. ‘You are the smartest woman I know. A brilliant scientist, an incredibly hard worker, and a good friend.’
Her cheeks warmed and her eyes stung. He was speaking in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, but his words warmed her heart and touched her soul. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given so much sincere praise.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘I must marry immediately, to help stabilise my country. And produce an heir.’
Wait, what? Rachel stared at him blankly, still unable to take it in. She must be thick, no matter what Mateo had just said. ‘And...and you want to marry me?’ she asked in a disbelieving whisper. Even now she expected him to suddenly smile, laugh, and say of course it was a joke, and could she help him him to think of anyone suitable?
Yet she knew, just looking at him, that it wasn’t. He’d come back to Cambridge; he’d come to her flat to find her. He looked deadly serious, incredibly intent.
Mateo Karras—no, Karavitis—Prince—no, King of a country—wanted to marry her. Her. When no man had ever truly wanted her before. Still, she felt uncertain. Doubtful. Josh’s words, spoken over a decade before, still seared her brain and, worse, her heart.
How could any man want you?
‘Why?’ Rachel whispered. Mateo didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
‘Because I know you. I trust you. I like you. And we work well together.’
‘In a chemistry lab—’
‘Why not in a kingdom?’ He shrugged. ‘Why should it be any different?’
‘But...’ Rachel shook her head slowly ‘...you’re not offering me the vice-presidency, Mateo. You’re asking me to be your wife. There’s a huge difference.’
‘Not that much.’ Mateo spread his hands. ‘We’d be a partnership, a team. I’d need you by my side, supporting me, supporting my country. We’d be working together.’
‘We’d be married.’ An image slammed through her head, one she had no business thinking of. A wedding night, candles all around, the slide of burnished skin on skin...
Like something out of the book on the table. No. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t her. And Mateo certainly didn’t mean that kind of marriage.
Except he’d mentioned needing an heir. As soon as possible.
‘Yes,’ Mateo agreed evenly. ‘We’d be married.’