Duty At What Cost?

‘Since I’m not afraid of anything, and I move around continuously, I think it’s safe to go with the latter.’

Ava studied his brooding expression and knew he was afraid of one thing at least—revealing anything personal about himself.

‘Choosing that kind of lifestyle would indicate that you’re running away from something.’ She watched his response to her comment and just saw bland enquiry. Then another idea popped into her head. ‘Or is it more that you’re searching for something to add meaning to your life?’

The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only sign that she might have punctured his cool reserve in some form.

‘Why complicate things unnecessarily, Princess? It’s always better to lead with the head, not the heart.’

His use of the word Princess in his sardonic drawl told her it would be pointless to push him. He was a man who did what he wanted regardless of anyone else. ‘You should take coffee with my father,’ she said with measured indifference. ‘You’d get on well.’

His piercing gaze scanned her face and she knew he’d picked up on the bitterness that was never far from the surface at the mention of her father.

‘What’s up between you and your old man?’

About to tell him that she didn’t answer personal questions either, Ava found herself responding anyway. ‘The truth is we’ve never seen eye to eye. He is a man who is very set in his ways. Very practical and logical. I was never his idea of the perfect daughter.’

‘Why not?’

She could see his curiosity was well stirred and paused. She never talked about her relationship with her father—or lack thereof. Ever. But some small part of her wanted Wolfe to understand her. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d revealed how few lovers she’d had in her twenty-nine years—as if he’d expected there to have been a cast of thousands—and she hated that she cared what he thought of her. But it was senseless to deny that she didn’t—at least to herself.

‘I was too much of a tomboy growing up. Too impetuous. I liked bareback horse-riding and climbing trees and he wanted me to dress in pretty clothes and speak only when spoken to. I did like the pretty clothes, but...’ Her voice trailed off.

Wolfe gave her a small smile. ‘The speaking when spoken to...?’

She returned his smile, but it felt hollow. The pain of the past still had too tight a grip for her to find any lightness in those memories. ‘Not so much. When my mother died he got worse. My brother was sent to a military academy to start his leadership training and I was home-schooled because my job was to look pretty, not to go out and work. Nothing I ever did was good enough in his eyes. Do you know he’s never once visited my gallery in Paris—?’ She cut herself off with a self-conscious laugh when she realised just how much she had revealed to him. Why not blurt out that she was afraid she’d never find love either, and tell him all her deepest fears?

‘Does that make you feel like you’re still a disappointment to him now?’

Ava felt her stomach churn. ‘No. I don’t need his praise. I’m not a child.’ She cleared the strident note out of her voice. ‘But I resent that he wants everything his way.’ She bent and sniffed at one of her mother’s prized flowers, the scent faint now in the late evening. ‘Why do you think he wants me to marry?’

‘To make sure the monarchy is secure.’

‘To make sure there is someone beside me who can do the job, you mean.’

‘You think he doesn’t believe you’re capable?’ Wolfe’s brows rose in surprise.

‘I’m a woman. That speaks for itself as far as my father is concerned.’

Wolfe seemed to consider this and Ava moved farther along the path, wishing she’d never let this conversation progress as far as it had.

‘Do you?’

His question stopped her and she glanced back at him. ‘Do I what?’

‘Think you’re capable?’

‘Yes,’ she said, internally cringing at the defensiveness in her tone. She had a Fine Arts degree and a Master’s in Business and while she might not know everything involved in running a country, she... ‘I run a successful gallery.’ Which surely counted for something.

‘A small business,’ he dismissed, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling closer. ‘It hardly translates, wouldn’t you say?’

A wave of heat coursed through Ava at the slight. She might struggle to feel worthy in her personal relationships, but hadn’t she always backed herself professionally. ‘No, I would not say that.’ She didn’t even try to keep the indignation out of her voice. ‘Do you know how hard I had to work to prove myself in Paris? To make my “small” business successful?’ She straightened her spine. ‘How difficult it was to get anyone to take me seriously? To get artists to trust me to work for them when everyone just expected me to be a vacuous party girl?’