‘And what if you feel nothing for him tonight?’
‘It won’t make any difference.’
His eyes flash to mine.
‘What?’ I demand, wondering at the fire in my belly. ‘What does it matter?’
‘It doesn’t,’ he insists, but his voice is not mute of emotion now. I hear disapproval in every syllable, and something else too—something a lot like anger.
‘Then why are you reacting like this? Why are you cross with me?’
His features show contempt. I shiver.
‘What if you see him tonight and suddenly find there is chemistry between the two of you, querida?’
I don’t know what he wants me to say. The idea disgusts me. I know that I likely won’t feel anything more for Heydar that I have before. I know I won’t feel anything for any man that equates to what I’ve shared with Santiago. I tilt my face away from his, looking towards the window.
‘Then I guess that’s good,’ I lie, mumbling the words.
He curses in his native tongue, and I jerk my face back to his, surprised by the outburst.
‘You would actually go from my bed to his?’
‘Hang on a second—you’re the one who was just extolling the virtues of sex and sharing sex with different partners.’
‘And you’re the one who is seeing her fiancé tonight, while naked beneath me.’
‘He’s not my fiancé,’ I contradict.
‘That is semantics,’ he dismisses. ‘You intend to marry the man. You’re seeing him tonight and hoping that you feel attracted to him.’
‘And what? You’re jealous?’
‘No,’ he denies swiftly.
My breath is coming in little fits. I move my head to the side in an attempt to find sanity, then look back at him. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest...’
‘Yes, you did.’ His eyes challenge mine, so I find it hard to breathe. Guilt and shame at my childish behaviour heat my cheeks.
‘I just...wish I felt for him what I do for you. That would be far more convenient,’ I correct quietly.
‘Because he is a suitable husband?’ Santiago responds in a tone that is so quiet it roars.
My heart stammers. We stare at each other, the air between us sparking with the power of a thousand lightning bolts.
‘Yes,’ I say eventually. ‘Because he will be my husband.’
His nostrils flare as he expels a breath. ‘Tell me, Princesa, what about this man makes him suitable?’
‘I... Everything.’
‘By your own admission, you hardly know him.’
‘I know enough.’
His eyes narrow. ‘He is royal; is that your sole criterion?’
His vehemence surprises me. But hadn’t I goaded him to this? Hadn’t I wanted to make him jealous? It was a petty manoeuvre, to push him to reveal some kind of feeling for me—even a dark one, like envy.