Santina's Scandalous Princess

‘Your parents decided that? To keep it secret? Because of publicity? Didn’t you—didn’t you get any proper tutoring? There are a lot of ways to help dyslexia these days… .’

Another shrug; her throat felt tight. Not getting the proper help had been the least of it. She wasn’t going to tell him how her governess had locked her in a dark cupboard for being so slow to learn her letters, or how her teacher had mocked her repeatedly in front of her entire year. She wasn’t going to explain how her parents had wanted it kept secret, since princesses didn’t need much learning anyway, or how she always felt so slow and stupid and at least dressing up and going out had made her feel accomplished, even though she knew inside it was nothing. She couldn’t say that even now she didn’t want him to look at her differently, that she knew he’d thought she was strong and now she felt so weak.

She didn’t say any of it, but then she didn’t need to. She saw from Ben’s thoughtful, narrowed gaze that he guessed it all, that he’d put the fragmented pieces of her life together in a way even she had never been able to.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ he finally said quietly. ‘Thank you for being honest. That must have been hard.’

‘It doesn’t really matter now.’

‘Oh?’ His voice cooled, very slightly, but she could still tell. ‘Why not?’

‘I mean…’ She gestured uselessly to the space between them. ‘It doesn’t matter to us. I was afraid to tell you…things…before, because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. And I’m not used to telling anyone much of anything.’

‘I’ve gathered that.’

‘But it doesn’t matter, because there can’t be anything between us now, even if I—we—wanted there to be. I’m getting married.’ The words felt weighted, like lead, falling so heavily into the stillness. ‘It will be announced this week.’

‘Ah, yes. Your marriage.’ Ben nodded, and Natalia felt a sharp twist of unease. His voice sounded so very neutral. He nodded towards the newspaper. ‘That’s what I wanted you to look at actually, although there isn’t really anything to read.’ He gazed at her, his expression hard again, demanding something from her. ‘You’re not in the papers, Princess. Your sisters and brothers are, all over the place. But there’s no mention of you or this groom of yours.’

‘I told you, it hasn’t been announced yet.’

‘It hadn’t even been decided yet,’ Ben returned. ‘Has it? Officially?’

She swallowed, her throat still tight and aching. ‘It’s being arranged—’

‘Being. Yes. Because this is all quite recent, isn’t it, Natalia? Six weeks ago you were engaged to the Prince of Montenavarre.’

‘He called it off—’

‘Funny, how royals can just do that.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Ben?’

‘What’s your intended’s name?’

‘His name?’

‘Yes. His name. His first name.’

For the life of her she couldn’t think of it. ‘He’s the Sheikh of Qadirah—’

‘His name, Princess.’

She felt impotent fury rise up in her. What was he trying to do? Prove? ‘Khaled,’ she finally said, a revealing note of triumph in her voice. ‘His name is Khaled.’

‘And this Khaled,’ Ben asked, prowling close to her with a decisive, long-legged stride, ‘does he know you?’

She took an inadvertent step backwards, her hip bumping the table. ‘Know me?’

‘Have you met?’

She lifted her chin. Fine. She’d answer all his questions. She had nothing left to hide. ‘No, we haven’t met yet, but we will this week.’

‘So this Khaled doesn’t know you,’ Ben clarified. He stepped closer so she could feel the heat of him, smell the musk of his sweat and the tang of his aftershave. His knee nudged her thigh as she bumped against the table again, her back pressed against its hard edge.

‘I just told you, we haven’t met.’

‘He doesn’t, for example,’ Ben continued, his voice dropping to a raw whisper, ‘know that you go blotchy when you blush. Or that you’re afraid of the dark.’ She felt his hand, warm and strong, slide slowly, purposefully, up her bare thigh. She gasped aloud as his fingers slipped under her shorts, beneath her underwear, to her damp feminine heat. ‘He doesn’t know,’ he continued, his voice dropping so low she could barely hear him, ‘that you cry when you come.’