‘I see.’ He sips his beer. ‘I turned thirty-one a few months back.’
I nod thoughtfully.
‘And?’ he prompts, lifting a wooden board off the kitchen bench and bringing it to the coffee table in front of me. The décor in the yacht is striking. Instead of the white leather and chrome I might have imagined, the interior is stylish and minimalistic, with light timber and cream fabrics. He takes a seat beside me on the lounge, so close our knees brush and, although we’ve spent the afternoon in bed, my pulse goes haywire at the innocent touch.
‘Well, the first time we slept together...’ my cheeks spread with warmth ‘...you said something about always taking precautions. That you don’t want children.’
He dips his head once in silent agreement but there’s an inherent tension to him. He’s instantly wary, as though my line of questioning is the last thing he wishes to discuss.
‘Why not?’ I reach for an olive. It’s plump, salty and juicy, and I have to bite back a moan of pleasure as I swallow the flesh.
‘You think it’s strange?’
‘Why are you answering my questions with a question?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘No, I think I’ve just asked one you don’t want to answer.’
He weighs that up, his lips compressed in a tight line, and I wonder if he’s just going to ignore me. Time drags. Tension grows inside me. Finally, he responds, the words curt. ‘I have never wanted children.’
His tone leaves me in little doubt that this matter is closed, at least so far as his willingness to answer my questions. I consider pushing him, but know it would be futile. I’ve hit a brick wall.
‘I’ve always known I would have to have children,’ I explain. The full force of his attention is on my face, his eyes studying me intently. ‘And more than one. I’m an only child and it’s put a lot of pressure on me—I’m the sole surviving heir to the throne.’
‘So, when you are married this will be high on your agenda?’
I nod, but the idea suddenly fills me with a drowning sensation of panic. I will need to conceive almost immediately, and that will mean having sex with my husband, a man who leaves me cold. My eyes widen as I look at Santiago and what I see on his face stills my pulse. There is a coldness in his face, a look that sends a shiver down my spine.
‘And your fiancé agrees with this?’
‘He’s not my fiancé. I’ve told you.’ My voice shakes a little. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. ‘And we’ve never discussed any of this.’
‘Then what if he doesn’t want children?’
‘That’s not an option.’
‘How well do you k
now this man?’
‘We’ve met a handful of times.’
‘Then you know nothing about him.’
‘I know that his parents—’
‘And your parents were friends. But beyond this?’ His disapproval is obvious, and it frustrates me now just as much as ever.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know if it matters.’
‘That is insane.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re talking about marrying the guy. Shouldn’t you at least see if you’re compatible?’
‘Sexually?’