My Forbidden Royal Fling
Another image floods my mind. I see Santiago as he was on the last morning, the way he’d read the newspapers from front to back, and I know there’s no way on earth he hasn’t seen this. Guilt rips through me and I fight an urge to message him to explain. I owe him nothing, just as he owes me nothing. If he did see the picture, only his ego will care.
I have to let it go.
* * *
A week later, at another state dinner, my heart lurches dangerously in my chest and I reach for the Prime Minister’s arm, squeezing it unintentionally hard. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Henrik follows my gaze. ‘Mr del Almodovár? I invited him, of course.’
‘But why?’ I turn to face him and am sure I must look as deranged as I feel—overjoyed and terrified all at once. It takes every ounce of will power I possess not to run across the room and throw myself into his arms.
‘He’s poised to invest billions of dollars into our economy. I thought it made good sense. Speaking of which, have you signed the contract yet, Your Highness?’
I think of the documents I was emailed six days ago, each condition I’d wanted spelled out in clear legalese. Why haven’t I signed them? After all, I made up my mind a long time ago. I’m going to sell the land to him. The casino deal will go ahead.
Perhaps Santiago senses my questions, because at that precise moment his head lifts and his eyes pinpoint me effortlessly, slicing through me, exposing me, making me yearn, ache and fly all at once. He murmurs something to the couple he’s in conversation with then begins to walk towards me. I have barely any time to brace for his proximity, or to work out how to behave. My instincts are to embrace him, to kiss him, to hold him close and never let go, but this is a very public setting and such a display would be a disaster.
I pull myself up to my full height and straighten my shoulders, aware of both the literal and figurative weight of the diamond tiara I’ve chosen to wear for the evening. It was my mother’s favourite and it seems fitting that I should have that reminder of her tonight, when I am the closest I’ve ever been to wanting to disregard everything that’s expected of me. The spirit of rebellion is almost impossible to tamp down.
Only two feet away from me, Santiago stops, addressing the Prime Minister first, extending a hand and shaking it as if they are old friends.
Seconds later, he turns to me, and I can’t work out what’s going through his mind. He looks at me and I feel a thousand and one things, but chief amongst them is relief. I thought I’d seen him for the last time, and until this moment I hadn’t realised how badly I needed that not to be the case.
The week since I left Spain has been the longest of my life. I have been more isolated and lonely than ever before, more dissatisfied with my gilded cage and the limitations of my role here. Being ceremonially important—and only ceremonially important—is stultifying and infuriating.
I hold my breath, staring at Santiago—I can do nothing more. I’m frozen to the spot.
‘Your Highness.’ He bows low, the deference so at
odds with the way he greeted me in our first meeting that a faint smile crosses my lips.
‘Mr del Almodovár.’ My voice shakes a little. ‘Thank you for joining us tonight.’
‘I was invited,’ he says, flicking a glance to the Prime Minister.
‘Of course, of course,’ Henrik interrupts, so I want to shove him. ‘I’m glad you came. Her Highness was just saying she’s been meaning to sign the contract.’
‘Has she?’ Santiago’s attention doesn’t leave my face.
‘I noticed you’ve incorporated the changes we discussed.’ I hope my gratitude shows in my tone.
‘I gave you my word that I would.’
My stomach tightens. ‘Yes, you did.’ I wish Henrik would go away. In fact, I wish everyone would. I want to be alone with Santiago so badly it hurts.
‘Well, then, that’s settled,’ Henrik says convivially, patting Santiago’s back. ‘Shall we discuss the specifics of your build time?’
Santiago nods once, but his eyes stay on my face. ‘However, there are some matters still to clarify with the Princess.’
‘Oh?’ Hope flutters in my chest. ‘There are?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Shall we do so now?’
‘Not tonight.’ He gestures to the room. ‘It isn’t the time, and I’d hate to take you away from your adoring public.’ I hear his cynicism, but it’s mixed with something else too, an emotion I can’t analyse. ‘Does tomorrow suit?’
‘I can clear my schedule,’ I say eagerly—too eagerly, but fortunately Henrik is champing at the bit for this deal to be finalised, presumably so he can announce it ahead of the upcoming election and get the credit for bringing in such a valuable project. If the Prime Minister notices my willingness to meet with Santiago, it only matches his own.