As they drove past the government building, Beatrice watched Dante’s face as his eyes lifted to the national flag fluttering in the breeze. She wondered what he was thinking.
As they reached the high point on the road, the panoramic vista widened and Beatrice caught a glimpse of the sea through the dense pine forest that bordered the white sand on the eastern side of the island. The western coast was where the famed colonies of seabirds nested in the protected area around the high cliffs, drawing naturalists from around the world every breeding season, and giving inspiration for countless nature documentaries.
Beatrice had read all the guidebooks about the place that Dante called home before she’d arrived, but she had quickly realised that until you experienced the place you didn’t really get just how dramatic the contrasts they spoke about were. It wasn’t just the geography of the place. San Macizo had been conquered several times over the centuries, and each successive wave of invaders had brought their own culture and genes to the mix. There was no such thing as a typical San Macizan, but as you walked the streets of the capital it soon became obvious there was an above average quantity of good-to-look-at people.
Great climate, pretty faces, an exceptional standard of living—small wonder the island kingdom frequently topped the list of happiest places in the world to live, and small wonder that few spoke out against the status quo of the monarchy.
Beside her, Dante was now on the phone as they left the city limits and went onto the flat plain that, though interspersed by villages and hamlets, was mostly agricultural, consisting of vineyards that produced the unique grape species that made the wine produced here famous the world over.
She didn’t know if the tension she could feel in him was connected to the conversation he was having, or his recent declaration of intent. Given her tendency to hear what she wanted, she tried to retain a sense of proportion.
There was nothing proportionate about the palace that loomed into view. It was visible for miles around because of its position on a hill that rose in the middle of a flat plain. She felt heavier as she looked at it—not physically, more emotionally. This might be some people’s happiest place to live, but it had not been hers!
A perfect defensive position, the history books she had pored over had explained, before they spoke of the family who had taken control of the island five hundred years earlier, and the generations’ contributions to the towering edifice to their wealth and power.
The palace was not a home, or even a fortress, which it originally had been; it was a statement of power and in reality a small city covering many acres of ground. The main body was devoted to state apartments, but many wings and towers were private apartments housing family. Other areas, like the world-famous art gallery, were a draw for international tourists and open to the public at certain times of the year.
The closer they got, the more daunting it became.
‘That’s a big sigh.’
Her head turned from the window. If the expression in the blue depths was an accurate reflection of the thoughts she had been so deeply lost in, they were not happy ones. In the time it took him to push away the inconvenient slug of guilt, the shadow vanished. Beatrice really had got good at hiding her feelings…which was a good thing, he acknowledged, but also…sad.
His lips tightened at the intrusion of emotion, and he wondered if there was such a thing as sympathy pregnancy hormones. He’d heard of sympathy about labour pains.
‘You were wishing you were somewhere else?’
The question was as much to silence the mocking voice as anything else, but it opened the door to a question he had exerted a lot of effort to avoid. With someone else?
He had not forgotten her explosive reaction when he had casually dropped the subject into the conversation. His innocent comment had produced such an explosive response that you had to wonder if her overreaction was not about guilt.
Why guilt?asked the voice in his head. Just because you have chosen to be celibate doesn’t mean she has to follow suit…
The golden skin stretched over the slashing angle of his cheekbones tightened, emphasising his dramatically perfect facial contours as he fought a brief internal battle to delete the images that came with the acknowledgement.
Celibacy was not a natural state, at least it wasn’t for him. Sex, just plain, uncomplicated, emotion-free sex of the variety he used to enjoy, was a great stress-buster.
So, problem solved,mocked the voice in his head, except you don’t want sex, you want sex with Beatrice.
‘Wishing…?’ she echoed, breaking into his thoughts.
Wishing was not going to be much practical help at this moment. Her time was better spent mentally preparing herself for what lay ahead.
As their eyes connected Beatrice pushed out a laugh that held no amusement, while Dante told himself that she would not have future relationships; he would be enough for her.
He would enjoy being enough for her.
‘Wishing is for little girls who want to marry a prince. I was never one of those little girls.’ One of life’s little, or in this case massive, ironies. ‘Actually, I was still thinking about Carl. I wanted you to know that I think he is very brave.’
She had liked Carl on the occasions they had met. He had been about the only member of the Velazquez family other than Reynard who had made her feel welcome.
‘So do I.’
‘We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for Carl’s choices. I wonder sometimes where we would be, don’t you?’
Dante leaned back, his head against the corner of the sumptuously upholstered limo interior as he turned his body towards her, his languid pose at odds with the tension in his jaw and the watchful stillness in his face.
Embarrassed now and wishing she’d never started this rather one-sided conversation, she dodged his stare.