Pleasure has seeped through me. I am exhausted and satiated. It occurs to me that I’m happier in this moment than I’ve ever been.
‘And now, Your Highness, I must go.’
It jerks me out of my reverie. ‘What? Why?’
His smile is arrogant and hot. I don’t care that I’ve shown how much I enjoy his company, or that my disappointment is blatantly obvious. ‘I have a meeting.’
I reach for my phone, checking the time. ‘It’s almost midnight.’
‘And, in a casino, that’s prime time.’
My face probably shows what I think of that. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
His laugh is laced with mocking humour. ‘So prim,’ he teases as he stands and walks towards me, his body brushing mine when he sits on the edge of the sofa, our hips connecting.
Pride be damned. ‘Do you have to go?’
‘Yes,’ he says, but I don’t think I’m imagining the regret in his voice now. ‘Besides, it is better if I don’t stay the night. Your guards might do some of that gossiping you are so afraid of.’
He’s right but I don’t know if I care right now. I lower my eyes, painfully aware of what a hypocrite that makes me.
‘Sleep naked,’ he says gruffly. ‘And dream of me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
MY PARENTS WERE close to my uncle Richard. They adored him. My father’s younger brother, he’d had all the advantages of royal life and none of the pressure and expectations that had weighed down my father and which had ensured he was sensible in his life choices.
My uncle had been free to do as he wished, largely left alone by the media. My father told me, when I was only small that at one time he’d envied his brother that freedom. He’d wished he’d been born second, able to live without the scrutiny and watchfulness of the world. And, while I can understand that sentiment, it was not borne out by history.
Uncle Richard had grown up without expectations and therefore he’d never striven to meet them. And, worse, he had everything he could ever want in life, so even the basic pleasure of aspiring to achievement had been denied him. What could he do that would make a difference to anyone?
His gambling addiction had grabbed hold of him before anyone had known—the amount of money he’d lost eye-watering. I wake with my uncle in my mind and the sting of tears in my eyes, a sense of betrayal tightening around my chest.
How can I be making this deal? How can I be sleeping with the man who wants to bring a casino to my country?
It takes me a second to realise that I didn’t wake up by chance. There is knocking at the door. I push the covers back, my heart racing in the hope it’s Santiago. I wrap a silken robe around my body—yes, I slept naked—and pull the door inward.
A hotel staff member stands there, one of my guards at his side.
‘Room service,’ he offers in accented Spanish.
‘Oh.’ I take a step back, gesturing towards the marble-topped dining table. ‘Thank you.’
It takes him a moment to wheel the trolley into position, placing it beside the table, then unstacking plate after plate of food, each covered in a golden lid. My attention drifts to the sunlit vista beyond the window, the sheer size of Barcelona fascinating me and giving me a desire to explore. In the distance, the sea glistens with shades of turquoise and aqua, so beautiful, particularly on a clear, sunny day like this. Impatience bursts through me. Impatience to be alone and free.
It’s the first time in my life I’ve felt like this.
I nod as the waiter leaves, waiting until the door is closed to begin lifting lids off the platters. Fruit, Danish pastries, and an omelette filled with smoked salmon and drizzled with hollandaise sauce, as well as hash browns and sausages. It’s too much food. There are two plates left to uncover. I pull the lid off one, frowning as I reach for what’s beneath. Definitely not food. My fingers run over something soft and brown. Closer inspection reveals a chic wig. Beneath it is a brightly coloured scrap of fabric—a bikini.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I open the final lid to find a note from Santiago.
Meet me at the marina at midday. Wear the disguise. Bring the swimmers.
I stare at the bikini with a thudding heart. It’s turquoise in colour and, so far as bikinis go, not too revealing. But the idea of wearing something like this...
I quickly shove it back onto the plate and replace the lid. I’m ravenous after last night—we ate only oysters and expended a lot of energy—and eat my way through the fruit and omelette, sipping orange juice and coffee, before tackling a Danish for good measure.
When I travel on official trips, my schedule is usually packed from morning to night. What a strange and pleasurable change this makes. I have nothing on the horizon, the day is my own. Or perhaps it’s Santiago’s...