She shrugged. ‘You can never be objective about your parents’ marriage, can you? Anyway, you make marriage sound like a choice. Like something you can just decide to do—like picking a can of beans off the supermarket shelf.’
‘I guess, for me, it is a bit like that.’
‘Because you’re a man?’
‘Because I’m a king.’
‘How easy you make it sound, Corso. Like clockwork! Any idea when this auspicious event might take place, so that I can buy myself a hat?’
‘You might not be invited to the wedding.’
‘Well, tell me anyway—so at least I can start saving up for a toaster!’
He failed to hold back the glimmer of a smile. ‘There is no definite time-frame, but it is going to happen,’ he said resolutely. ‘When I am satisfied that my country is finally on the right track for a prosperous future, then it will be time to take a bride.’
‘And where are you planning to take her?’ she asked.
He ignored the flippant interruption, finding himself in full flow as he answered a question nobody had ever dared ask before. His courtiers wouldn’t dream of being so presumptuous and he had spurned close relationships for so long that keeping his own counsel had become second nature. ‘She must be of royal blood, of course,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘That is a given to a man in my position. I have always found it ironic that, although an eligible king can have his pick of almost any woman he desires, his choice of whom he can marry is, by necessity, limited.’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying all this,’ she breathed.
‘I’m saying it because it’s the truth,’ he retorted. ‘Even if it isn’t a particularly fashionable one.’
‘And does the lucky, high-born woman have any say in your decision to marry her, or is her fate sealed like a sacrificial lamb?’
‘You don’t think most woman would be delighted to marry me, Rosie?’
Rosie could hear the mockery in his voice but also the unmistakable arrogance. And the most annoying thing was that he probablywasspeaking the truth because she could imagine there were plenty of women who would want to marry him. He was, after all, a golden-eyed sex god who ruled one of the most powerful kingdoms in the Mediterranean. What was not to like? She met his gaze. ‘If they have a penchant for patriarchal men with archaic views, then yes, I’d say they’ll already be forming a long line to your door.’
His eyes narrowed and for a moment Rosie wondered if she’d gone too far. If he were about to reprimand her for her outspokenness, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave her a lazy smile, which was far more lethal than his anger. She didn’t want him to smile at her like that—and, of course, she did. She wanted it far too much.
‘Are you planning to join us for dinner later?’ he questioned. ‘Or intending to do another disappearing act?’
‘Actually, I’d prefer to have a tray in my room, if that’s okay.’
‘Actually, it isn’t okay,’ he said tightly. ‘And not just because it’s an insult to request“le sandwich”, night after night when the embassy chef provides some of the finest cuisine in the city. You are here as part of my delegation so you can damned well put in an appearance, if I command it. Which I do. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Rosie?’ he finished coolly.
‘I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear.’
‘In that case, I will take my leave.’ He paused and inclined his head. ‘But be in no doubt that I like very much the changes you’ve made to the exhibition.’
‘Is that a compliment, Corso?’
‘Indeed it is. Accept it with grace.’ He gave a cool smile. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
He turned and swept away and Rosie was left gazing after his retreating form, her heart still racing with unwanted longing. As the King’s party departed to the flash of affiliated press cameras waiting outside, Phillipe le Clerc made his way back across the room towards her, his dark hair flopping attractively over one eye.
‘Mon dieu, le Roi est magnifique!’observed the handsome curator, his voice dropping to an appreciative purr.
‘Magnificent indeed,’ agreed Rosie woodenly, because how could she possibly deny his words? Yet despite all the jewelled beauty which lay beneath the gleaming glass of the display cabinets, the room seemed empty and lustreless now that Corso had gone. She forced herself to smile at Phillipe. To flick her blonde plait back over her shoulder as if she didn’t care about anything other than the upcoming exhibition. ‘Shall we just have a last-minute look at the brochures—and then we could grab ourselves a coffee?