Prince's Son of Scandal

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. But it’s your first public appearance since we married. We should be seen together.”

“Well, of course you were invited. I just didn’t think...” She was taken aback, which was justified, he supposed. “Doesn’t it send the wrong message?”

Because of the way their press release had been worded.

Given Ms Sauveterre’s preference for avoiding the spotlight, the marriage is a formality to ensure the legitimacy of Prince Xavier’s heir and won’t be continued in the new year.

“I’ve spent a month having my devotion to my family questioned. I’d like to change the optics.” There. That was the excuse he had given his grandmother and he stood by it. Their countrymen were going mad over the three photos he’d released of the young prince, but they were questioning why he wasn’t spending more time with him.

Trella understood how the PR game was played. She wouldn’t fault this move.

The warmth that had pinkened her cheeks drained away, though. Her expression stiffened. “Of course. And we both know how unimpeachable your sense of obligation is. Most of my packing is done. I only have to shower and change. Shall I send a nanny to take him? After you’ve had time to post some selfies, of course.”

He had set himself up for that, but it still landed on target. “I’ll keep him,” he said in a tone that let her know she was walking a fine line.

She flipped her wet hair and walked away.

* * *

Trella fell asleep on the flight so they were in Madrid before she was alone with Xavier again. Physically she was recovered, but Tyrol was so little he needed to feed often, even if that meant waking him. She was up several times a night so tended to nod off midday. But rather than dozing, she would have preferred to spend the time working through Xavier’s surprise appearance.

Optics? Really? It was incredibly insulting. Her entire family had been used a million times over to sell magazines and promote products, all without their consent. She was tempted to tell him what she thought of him, but part of her disbelieved him.

For a minute, as they’d stood by the pool, she’d thought—But, no. His carnal look had been gone once he’d picked up Tyrol. She had imagined it. What kind of wanton did it make her that she had responded to blatant lust, anyway?

She had responded, though. She had run to the shower to cool off, slowing the race of her pulse and willing away the thrumming awareness in her loins.

Fat lot of good it did. Flutters of intrigue were still playing like butterflies in her middle, gaze straying to the cut of his pants over his butt and the sculpted muscles beneath his shirt as he paced in front of her. She had missed him!

Tyrol finished nursing and was fast asleep so she unlatched him and handed him off to a nanny, then she struggled to put herself together behind the screen of a receiving blanket that didn’t want to stay in place.

Yes, I’m half-naked under here. Stop staring.

A flush of heat went through her. It was a lusty reaction that had simmered at merely sensual while she’d been feeling squat, scared and vulnerable in a hospital. Or when he’d been on the other side of the planet.

Now she was more confident on so many levels, but still unsure of herself with her husband. This was as bad as his ambush in Innsbruck when he’d left her with nowhere to hide.

“Ready?” he said, tucking away the phone he’d been tapping while she’d nursed.

“For?”

“I’ve been waiting to look around. I haven’t seen the house, either.”

“Oh. Um, sure.” The mansion was on a small estate in La Moraleja, farther out of the city from the historical home in the Salamanca neighborhood that had been in her mother’s family for generations. This house was built with old-world touches like columns and wrought iron rails, but it was very modern, perhaps only a few years old.

“Did you lease it? Or...?” Surely he hadn’t purchased something for a long weekend?

“It belongs to a friend. We studied architecture together. He showed me the plans a few years ago. I’m interested to see how it all came together.”

He waved for her to lead him from the lounge to a small dining area that was likely used for intimate lunches. The gallery that overlooked the main door was above them. A row of tall windows afforded a view of the landscaped grounds.

“I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.” She watched him take in the elevator, set in a convenient location, but made unobtrusive by disguising it with the rise of the stairs. Why did a bit of small talk make her so nervous?

“I’m an architect.”

“Really! What have you designed?”