Married for the Prince's Convenience

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Over the next four days she barely saw Reyes. She caught glimpses of him—as he paced the terrace just before the midday sun hit full blast, or as Armando took a tray into his study. Once she looked down from her window early in the morning and saw him swimming, his powerful strokes carrying him from one end of the enormous pool to the other.

Voyeuristically, she watched him, unable to look away from his magnificent, streamlined body. When he heaved himself out of the pool and scrubbed a towel through his wet hair, desire settled low and heavy in her belly.

As she lay in bed now, remembering how that body had felt up close against hers in Rio drenched her whole body in sensation. Ashamed, she flipped over, punched her frustration into a pillow and pulled the covers over herself as if her actions would block out the feelings.

But being in bed only reminded her of another bed, where their bodies had writhed, strained into each other as they’d ridden the storm of passion breaking over them.

Unnerved by the sheer depth of her riotous feelings, Jasmine threw back the covers and jumped out of bed.

Too late, she remembered that, lately, her mornings were best approached gingerly. Rushing to the bathroom, she vomited until her eyes stung.

Afterwards, clutching the sink, her fingers dug into the cold porcelain as she calculated dates and tried not to panic. She’d had her period two weeks ago, albeit a lighter than usual one.

And Reyes had used condoms in Rio. Hadn’t he?

No, it was all in her head. Being cooped up in San Estrela was making her stir-crazy!

Today she was going to offer Reyes whatever input she thought would help with salvaging the treaty. Failing that, she’d ask him what he intended to do with her. This suspended limbo was sending her imagination into overdrive.

Why else would she think she could be pregnant with Reyes’s baby? The very thought made her tremble.

Quickly showering, she dressed in a light blue sleeveless linen dress with a tan belt and slipped her feet into tan heels. Brushing her hair and tying it loosely at her nape, she massaged a small amount of sun protection into her skin and face and left her suite.

Carmelita, the housekeeper, was carrying a large bale of towels towards the guest suites in the west wing when Jasmine reached the top of the stairs. About to ask the whereabouts of Reyes, Jasmine paused at the sound of male voices in the hallway.

Reyes strolled into view, accompanied by four men. The first thing she noticed was that his beard was gone. A tiny, completely unprepared and shocking part of her mourned that she’d never got to experience the rasp of his facial hair against her skin.

The second thing she noticed was that all the men wore suits. And that she was the sole focus of their attention as she stood, poised, at the top of the stairs.

A block of silence passed.

Reyes turned to the men, his voice low. Without glancing her way, he led them to his study and shut the door with a firm click.

Jasmine stood rooted to the step, unable to move. She wasn’t sure why she was so hurt that she’d been dismissed like a piece of trash.

What did she expect?

She was a prisoner here. Barely worth the food or accommodation she took up. Did she really expect Reyes to introduce her as his guest?

With leaden feet, she came down the stairs and went onto the terrace, where she usually breakfasted.

Carmelita brought her fresh coffee. She helped herself to a slice of toast and a plump orange, but her mind churned. When Carmelita emerged again to clear away the dishes, Jasmine’s curiosity got the better of her.

‘Who are those men with His Highness?’ she asked casually.

The housekeeper looked uncomfortable for a moment, then she replied, ‘One is the Santo Sierra embajador to France. Other men are from Santo Sierra.’

‘How long have they been here?’

‘They came late last night.’ She bustled about, hurriedly gathering the used tableware.

Unwilling to question her any further, Jasmine left her in peace. Clearly, her meeting with Reyes would have to take a backseat to his meeting with his ambassador and council. But she needed something, anything to stop her thinking of what her past week’s morning sickness meant.

Because if her suspicions were true...then...oh, God!

Going back to fetch her sunglasses, Jasmine came downstairs and let herself out through the solarium.

She bypassed the gardens and headed for the trees. In a distant past, she’d harboured a secret wish to be a gardener. That was before another one of her mother’s liaisons had run off with her savings and they’d ended up in a tower block, where the only green in sight had been from the bile-coloured paint on the walls.