Vows to Save His Crown

She sighed, wondering why she was continuing this ridiculous line of discussion, even as she recognised it was safer than many others. ‘I can talk about chemistry. But other things...’

‘Because you are passionate about it,’ Mateo agreed with a swift nod. Rachel felt her face go pink at the word passionate, which was embarrassing. He wasn’t talking about passion in that way, and in any case she couldn’

t think about that aspect of a marriage between them without feeling as if she might scream—or self-combust. ‘So you will have to find other things you are passionate about,’ he continued calmly. ‘I am sure there are many.’

Now her face was fiery, which was ridiculous. Rachel snatched up her menu. ‘Why don’t we order?’

‘I have already ordered. The menu is simply so you can see their offerings.’

‘You ordered for me?’ Her feminist principles prickled instinctively.

Mateo gave a small smile. ‘Only to save on time, since I know you are concerned about your mother, and also because I know what you like.’

‘I’ve never even been to the restaurant.’ Now she was a bit insulted, which was easier than feeling all the other emotions jostling for space in her head and heart.

‘All right.’ Mateo leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, a cat-like smile curling his mobile mouth. A mouth she seemed to have trouble looking away from. ‘Look at the menu and tell me what you would order.’

‘Why? It’s too late—’

‘Humour me. And be honest, because if you order the black truffle and parmesan soufflé, I’ll know you’re lying. You hate truffles.’

How did he know that?

One of their seemingly innocuous conversations in the lab or the pub, Rachel supposed. They might not have shared the intimate details of their personal lives, but food likes and dislikes had always been a safe subject for discussion.

She glanced down at the menu, feeling self-conscious and weirdly exposed, even though they were just talking about choices at a restaurant. Across the table Mateo lounged back in his chair, that small smile playing about his lips, looking supremely confident. He was so sure he knew what she was going to order.

Rachel continued to peruse the offerings, tempted to pick something unlikely, yet knowing Mateo would see through such a silly ploy.

‘Fine.’ She put the menu down and gave him a knowing look. ‘The beetroot and goat cheese salad to start, and the asparagus risotto for my main.’

His smile widened slightly as his gaze fastened on hers, making little lightning bolts run up and down her arms. Now, that was alarming. She’d inoculated herself against Mateo’s obvious attraction years ago. She’d had to.

You couldn’t work with someone day in and day out, heads bent close together, and feel sparkly inside while the person next to you so obviously felt nothing. It was positively soul-deadening, not to mention ego-destroying, and Rachel had had enough of both of those. And so she’d made herself not respond to him, not even think about responding to him.

Yet now she was.

‘So is that what you ordered for me?’ she asked, a little bolshily, to hide her discomfort and awareness.

‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ As if on cue, a waiter came quietly into the private room, two silver-domed dishes in his hands. He set them at their places, and then lifted the lids with a flourish. Rachel stared down at her beetroot and goat cheese salad and felt ridiculously annoyed.

‘You just like winning,’ she told him as she took her fork. The salad did look delicious. ‘I mean, how many hours did you practise reciting the periodic table just to beat me?’

‘Practise,’ Mateo scoffed. ‘As if.’

She shook her head slowly as she toyed with a curly piece of radicchio. ‘You might know what I like to eat, but that’s all.’

‘All?’

‘That is not a challenge. I just mean...we don’t actually know each other, Mateo.’ She swallowed, uncomfortably aware of the throb of feeling in her voice. ‘I know we’ve worked together for ten years, and we could call each other friends, but... I didn’t even know you were a prince.’

‘No one knew I was a prince.’

‘And you don’t know anything about me. We’ve never really talked about our personal lives.’

She felt a ripple of frustration from Mateo, like a wavelength in the air. He shrugged as he stabbed a delicate slice of carpaccio on his plate. ‘So talk. Tell me whatever it is you wish me to know.’

‘What an inviting prospect. Why don’t I just give you my CV?’