Marcelo’s heart thumped painfully but so coldly into the ice that had filled the cavity of his chest.
All too clearly he could envisage Clara as a six-year-old child trying her best to be quiet and not make her mummy’s head hurt any more than it already did. He could envisage it clearly because he remembered his sister at that age. Alessia was seven years younger than him and when she’d been six, Marcelo thirteen and Amadeo fifteen, their parents had gone on a state visit to New Zealand over the Easter period for a month while the boys had been home from school. Alessia had missed their mother so much she’d spent days inconsolable. Marcelo had seen it as his job to cheer his baby sister up. It was that time, he was sure, that had forged the closeness between the two of them.
He closed his eyes and tried to get air into his closed lungs. ‘Do you think they lied because they were trying to protect you? You were very young.’
‘I’m sure that’s how they justified it to themselves,’ she answered matter-of-factly. ‘My brother said as much when I asked him about it once.’
That would be the same brother who’d sold her to a man rumoured to hit women. The same brother whose name Marcelo had searched two nights before when he couldn’t sleep. What he’d discovered had enraged him. Andrew Sinclair was worth fifty million pounds. He’d been the sole heir of their father’s will. A few calls later and he’d learned that Terence Sinclair had made no financial provisions for his only daughter once she reached the age of eighteen. He’d left her fate entirely in the hands of the half-brother who hated her.
No wonder Clara believed her father had gone to hell.
Marcelo forced his focus to remain on the words Clara was saying rather than his rage at the men whose duty had been to care and protect her.
‘But that doesn’t change the outcome, does it?’ she said. ‘I went to her bedroom one morning for our cuddle, and her bed was empty. She’d died in the night. The undertakers collected her body while I was dreaming in my bed and I never saw her again.’
‘Clara...’ He shook his head, trying to clear it of the noise filling it. His breakfast churned violently in his stomach.
What she’d lived through would churn anyone’s stomach.
She reached across the table and squeezed his fisted hand. Smiling kindly, she said, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to think of a platitude for me. I can see by your face that my story has upset you and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to ruin your breakfast.’
He loosened his hand and twisted it so he could squeeze her hand back. Gazing into her dark brown eyes that contained not a jot of self-pity, his guts cramped tightly.
Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I am glad you told me.’
Her nose wrinkled. ‘You don’t look like you’re glad about it.’
Any other time, he would have laughed at her astuteness and willingness to speak what she saw.
‘Glad is the wrong word,’ he conceded. ‘But you are going to be my wife and a member of the Berruti royal family, and it is my job to protect you for the time you and I are together. Understanding you will make it easier for me to do that.’
She stared at him with ringing eyes and a faintly disbelieving expression for the longest time. ‘You want to protect me?’
He squeezed her hand again without thinking.
Yes, he realised, a growing part of him did want to protect her. He’d thought Clara the woman least in need of protection and he still did think that, but his sister had been right—there was something about Clara that made you want to protect her. He couldn’t put his finger on what that vulnerability was but it was there.
‘You are giving up a year of your life for my family’s sake,’ he said. ‘Protecting you is the least I can do. Understanding you will help me do that.’
‘I can’t lie,’ she said simply. ‘Even the thought of telling a lie makes me want to be sick.’ A hint of mischief flashed in her eyes. ‘I can’t begin to tell you the amount of trouble telling the truth has got me into over the years.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said drily. ‘How on earth have you held a job down for so long?’
‘Because I spend most of my time with the animals, I’m great at my job and they pay me such a pittance it’d be hard to get anyone else, which is why I asked you to make that donation to them as they really need the boost in funds.’ Then the mischief faded and her voice slowed and quietened. ‘It’s not just that I can’t tell a lie. I can’t bear to hear them either.’
‘Understandable.’
Her fingers tightened around his. An urgency came into her voice. ‘Promise you will never lie to me.’
Marcelo’s guts cramped again. He didn’t like to think of himself as a liar but, like most people, he told white lies to spare others’ feelings and, sometimes, to spare his own. This might be the hardest promise to keep he’d ever made because Clara would view a white lie as seriously as any other lie. Taking a deep breath, he jerked a nod. ‘I promise.’
Her shoulders and mouth loosened. ‘Thank you. Trust is very hard for me but I want to go into our marriage giving you the benefit of the doubt, otherwise I think it would make life difficult for both of us. And, while we’re discussing my many faults, if you hadn’t already noticed, stress and heightened emotions tend to make my mouth run away with me even more than normal. I try to control it but I’m not always successful, so if we’re on an official engagement and you notice me blabbing away like a roadrunner on speed, you might need to step in and shut me up.’
‘Our first public engagement is planned for the weekend,’ he informed her.
Alarm flashed. ‘That soon?’
‘The world needs to see us together. We’re going to have a pre-wedding party the week before the wedding which will be a much more formal affair, so this will be a good primer for you. It’s a closed, select event at the Agon embassy so a good way for you to get a taste of a royal engagement without overwhelming you.’