“No. Just that I worried about you. And I thought that perhaps...”
“Because you don’t think anything of me. You don’t think that I’m equal to Maximus. If you did, then you wouldn’t have done this to me. I can’t believe... I can’t believe you.”
She could keep on arguing with her father, or she could accept the fact that he had sold her as chattel to a stranger. And with that realization, she knew that she needed to simply get off the phone. There was no redeeming this. Nothing at all that would fix it.
She had come face-to-face with how little she meant to her father, how little he thought of her.
She had taken his reaction to Minerva coming home with the baby to mean that he was enlightened, but that wasn’t it at all. Minerva was being traditional, even if she hadn’t had a husband initially when she had brought the baby home.
Still, he would rather have seen Minerva, in all her quirky glory, with a baby, than see Violet as a serious businesswoman.
There was no talking to him. She stared across the limo at the man who had taken her captive, and she realized...
That he was a saner option than arguing with her father.
She hung up the phone.
“So you are telling the truth.”
“I have no investment in lying to you,” Javier said. “I also have no investment in this deal as a whole. My brother has asked that I retrieve you, and so I have done it.”
“So, you’re a Saint Bernard, then?”
A flash of icy amusement shot through his dark eyes, the corner of his mouth curving up in a humorless smile. “You will find that I am not so easily brought to heel, I think.”
“And yet here you are,” she said. “Doing the bidding of someone else.”
“Of my king. For my country. My brother and I have been the stronghold standing between Monte Blanco and total destruction for over a decade. My father was always a dictator, but his behavior spiraled out of control toward the end of his life. We were the only thing that kept his iron fist from crushing our people. And now we seek to rebuild. Who my brother wants as his choice of bride is his business. And if you’ll excuse me... I don’t care one bit for your American sensibilities. For your money. For your achievements. I care only that he has asked for you, an
d so I will bring you to him.”
“Good boy,” she said.
His movements were like liquid fury. One minute he was sitting across from her in the limousine, and the other he was beside her. He gripped her chin and held her fast, forcing her to look into his eyes. But there was no anger there. It was black, and it was cold. And it was the absence of all feeling that truly terrified her.
She did not think he would hurt her.
There was too much control in his hold. He was not causing her any pain. She could feel the leashed strength at the point where his thumb and forefinger met her chin.
“I am loyal,” he said. “But I am not good. The cost of keeping my country going, the cost of my subterfuge has been great. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that I’m good.”
And then he withdrew from her. It was like she had imagined it. Except she shivered with the cold from those eyes, so she knew she hadn’t.
“How are you going to make me get on the plane?”
“I will carry you,” he said. “Or you could get on with your own two feet. Your father won’t harbor you. I assume that he told you as much. So there’s no use you running back home, is there?”
She was faced then with a very difficult decision. Because he was right—she could try to run away. But he would overpower her. And she had a feeling that no one would pay much attention to what would look like a screaming match between two rich people, culminating with her being carried onto a private plane. They were far too adjacent to Hollywood for anybody to consider that out of the ordinary.
And even if she did escape... Her father had verified what he’d said. Her father saw nothing wrong with using her to get out of a bad situation. He had sacrificed not only her, but her livelihood.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said. And she searched those eyes for something. All right, he’d said that he wasn’t good. But she had a feeling that he was honest. Otherwise, there would have been no reason for him to tell her he wasn’t good, except to hit back at her, and she had a feeling that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why.
There was more to it than that.
Somehow she knew that if she asked this question, he would answer. Even if the answer was yes, he was going to hurt her. He had no reason to lie to her, that was the thing. She was at his mercy and he knew it.
“No,” he said. “I swear to you that no harm will come to you. My brother intends to make you his bride, not his slave. And as far as I go... I’m your protector, Violet, not your enemy. I have been charged with transporting you back to Monte Blanco and if I were to allow any harm to come to you, you can rest assured that my brother would see me rotting in my father’s favorite dungeon.”