Santina's Scandalous Princess

Ben nodded again towards the door, a dismissal. Still trembling, her chin held high, Natalia walked towards the front door. She saw he’d left her trainers lined up neatly by the door, next to his, a small yet achingly painful thoughtfulness, and she blinked back tears. She imagined, for one blinding second, how things could be different. She imagined her sweater tossed carelessly on a chair, her shampoo and makeup scattered over his Spartan sink. Her life here. Her here.

Then, without looking at him, she reached for the trainers and slipped them on. Ben didn’t say anything. After an endless moment when her fingers fumbled with the laces she finally straightened, opened the door and walked out of his life.

Ben stood in the centre of the dining room, the front door closing a final-sounding click that echoed through his heart. She’d left. She’d just…left.

And she was getting married.

What the hell…?

Ben raked his hands through his hair, stared in uncomprehending disbelief at the two plates of breakfast, the coffee, the papers. He’d envisioned a relaxed, enjoyable morning; he’d anticipated being real—being normal—with Natalia. He’d wanted that. He’d wanted that so much.

You seem to have fallen into the role of attentive boyfriend rather easily.

Shame and fury churned in his gut, pulsed through his blood. He had fallen into that role, a role he’d never wanted or envisioned for himself. A role he’d disdained. And yet with Natalia he’d been all too ready to imagine a life—a love—with her. It felt humiliatingly ridiculous. She hadn’t had any intention of taking what happened between them beyond last night…and he’d been picturing fairy tales. Happy endings. A relationship. His behaviour reminded him of his mother’s, always eager and willing to forgive. Willing to try again.

He wouldn’t be like that. He couldn’t.

And he wouldn’t even be given the opportunity. Natalia was getting married.

In one abrupt movement Ben cleared the plates from the table, dumped the eggs in the bin. Even these cleansing actions felt shameful, humiliating. How many meals had his mother made that his father hadn’t eaten? How many evenings had she waited for him, and he’d stumbled in late, drunk and smelling of another woman’s perfume? He loved his father; he’d forgiven the man his weaknesses, but that didn’t mean he’d ever intended to be like his mother.

And yet here he was, alone, abandoned, his heart aching.

No. His heart had nothing to do with this.

I’m about to marry someone else.

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe in all the time he’d known her, she’d forgotten to mention such a relevant and important detail. It felt like a lie. He knew, of course, that her parents were intent on lining up spouses for all the Santina siblings. He would have expected, if he’d allowed himself to think of it, that they might have someone in mind for Natalia. The papers had been full of her broken engagement to a prince of some small European principality.

The papers.

Why hadn’t the newspapers, the tabloids, mentioned anything about Natalia’s forthcoming marriage? Why hadn’t King Eduardo announced it at Allegra’s party three weeks ago? Why had he never heard a whisper of it all this time?

Because it wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. Not yet anyway.

His breath released in a shuddering rush as realisations clicked into place. Natalia had told him this wasn’t easy for her. He knew she was afraid. He understood that last night had been both wonderful and frightening for her, that the vulnerability of even an orgasm had shaken her.

And when she’d snatched the first excuse she could to allow her to walk out of here, he, frightened fool that he was, had believed her.

Ben straightened and smiled grimly. Natalia wasn’t going to get off that easily. Not by a long shot.

* * *

She hadn’t thought through things. Natalia realised that as soon as she returned back to the palazzo, having texted Enrico to pick her up. The chauffeur didn’t pass any judgements, but she could tell something was going on. Something was wrong.

So much was wrong. She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, exhaustion and misery swamping her. She saw Ben’s shocked face in her mind’s eye and felt a rush of guilt as well. Yet she’d spoken the truth. She was going to be married, if not quite as soon as she made out. This thought only added to her unhappiness.

Yet the fact that she’d only told him about her possible marriage because she’d been afraid of what was happening between them needled her, burrowed under her skin, a