Princess's Nine-Month Secret Page 8

  There were clothes in her size in one of the wardrobes, and Halina wondered if Rico had had them chosen specially for her. Or did he simply have a woman’s wardrobe on hand for whatever mistress was his flavour of the week?

  Pushing the thought out of her mind, she dressed in a pale-blue shift dress that, despite being her usual size, hung off her currently gaunt frame. She’d lost more weight than she’d realised in the last few weeks. Twisting her hair up into a loose bun, Halina squared her shoulders and then went to meet her fate.

  Rico was sprawled on one of the sofas, a laptop in front of him, his forehead furrowed in a frown. He looked as sexy and as self-assured as ever, having changed into a knit shirt in charcoal-grey and dark trousers, both garments fitting his body to perfection and emphasising his incredible physique.

  He looked up as soon as she entered, and then snapped his fingers. A staff member sprang forward.

  ‘Sparkling water, orange juice and a full breakfast for both of us,’ he ordered. ‘And I’ll have coffee as well.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Halina watched as the man hurried to carry out his employer’s orders. ‘Are all your staff terrified of you?’ she asked as she sat down opposite Rico, tucking her legs to the side to avoid his own long outstretched ones. She was determined not to be caught on the back foot, as she had been ever since Rico had stormed into her room at the palace. Now she would regain some control and all her composure. She knew she needed both for whatever lay ahead.

  ‘Why should they be terrified of me?’

  ‘Because you shout at them.’

  ‘I didn’t shout.’ He looked mildly annoyed by her observation. ‘I gave an order. There is a difference.’

  ‘Is there? You don’t seem to use “please” or “thank you” the way most people do.’

  His mouth compressed. ‘I do not like to waste time with useless fripperies, but I can be as polite as the next person.’

  Halina looked away, wondering why she was baiting him over such a trivial matter at such a tense and crucial moment. Maybe because she felt so raw, chafing under his endless orders. He fully intended to command her life, and the truth was she didn’t think there was anything she could do about it, except perhaps face it head on.

  ‘So.’ She squared her shoulders and met his narrowed look directly. ‘What do you mean, you’re going to marry me in Rome?’ Rico regarded Halina and the way she was bracing herself, as if for bad news.

  ‘Exactly that,’ he informed her crisply.

  ‘I have to say, your proposal could use some work.’

  ‘I imagine it’s a sight better than your last fiancé’s,’ Rico remarked with a touch of acid, nettled, even though he knew he shouldn’t be. ‘As I’ve heard it, you never even met him.’

  ‘No,’ Halina said slowly. ‘I didn’t. Not until a few weeks ago, anyway.’

  Rico drew up short at that. He’d known the marriage had been called off, but he hadn’t realised Halina had actually seen al bin Nur. ‘You saw Prince Zayed recently? Since we...?’

  ‘Yes, since we.’ Her smile was tinged with wry sorrow. ‘When my father found out I was pregnant, he tried to reopen marriage negotiations with Prince Zayed.’ Fury flashed through Rico, a lightning strike of emotion he quickly suppressed. So his fears that another man might raise his child had been justified, making him realise how right he’d been to take drastic measures in finding Halina.

  ‘And?’ he asked, biting the word off and spitting it out.

  ‘And I refused him, because I didn’t want to marry a man who loved another.’

  ‘Who does the Prince love? The governess he kidnapped by accident?’ Contempt dripped from every word; how could a man be so unprepared, so foolish, as to abduct the wrong woman and, even worse, fall in love with her? Weakness twice over.

  ‘Yes.’ Halina’s eyes flashed darkly. ‘They fell in love with each other out in the desert, and I wanted them to be happy. And,’ she added, flinging out the word, ‘I didn’t want to bind myself to someone who could never love me.’ There was a challenge in her words, in her eyes, as if daring him to disagree, to disabuse her of such a notion—and so he would, without compunction.

  ‘You were willing to do so before, it seems.’

  ‘I knew Prince Zayed didn’t love me before,’ Halina clarified, ‘but he could have grown to love me in time, as we’d come to know one another. To go into a situation knowing it will never happen...that the man you have bound yourself to for ever will never feel even the smallest affection for you...that is truly hopeless. It is total despair.’

  Her words hammered through him, echoing emptily. Rico’s mouth twisted. ‘And yet here we are,’ he observed.

  She gave a small, strained smile, the knowledge of their situation clouding and darkening her eyes. ‘Yes. Here we are.’

  He regarded her closely, trying to gauge her mood. Acceptance, resignation, or something else? ‘I take it then you have no objections to our marriage?’ he said after a moment, making it not quite a question.

  ‘If you mean will I resist then, no, I won’t.’ She turned her head to look out of the window, acting as condemned as a prisoner in the dock.

  ‘You will want for nothing,’ Rico informed her, his tone harsher than he’d intended. ‘I can promise you that.’

  She turned back to stare at him, her expression bleak. ‘No, you can’t, Rico. You can’t promise me anything. You don’t know me, and you cannot presume to know either what is in my head or my heart. But if you meant I will live in comfortable circumstances...’ She glanced around the plane, appearing deliberately unimpressed despite her earlier comments about the jet’s luxury. ‘Then, yes, I believe that.’

  Rico stared at her, trying to suppress the ever-deepening twinge of annoyance her words caused. He shouldn’t care what she thought or felt, only that she wasn’t going to protest their inevitable marriage. Yet somehow her attitude of resignation rankled, as if he were marching her towards a noose rather than down an aisle.

  ‘I’m glad to hear you will not attempt some pointless protest.’

  She let out a huff of humourless laughter. ‘Exactly. It would be pointless. My life has never been my own. I suppose it doesn’t matter much whether it is you or my father who is pulling the strings.’

  ‘I think it would matter at least a little,’ Rico returned. ‘As my wife you will certainly have some freedom and autonomy. More, I think, than you would have had otherwise, should you have married Prince Zayed or stayed in your father’s home.’

  Halina’s eyes flashed dark fire. ‘Prison is prison, no matter how gilded the cage.’

  Although it wasn’t an avenue of discussion he really wanted to explore, Rico could not keep from asking, ‘What is the alternative, Halina? You are carrying my child. What would you propose, if not marriage?’ He thought of the way she’d hidden from him. ‘Would you really want to live the rest of your life out in the desert to escape me?’

  She was silent for a long moment, gazing out of the window at the azure sky, her expression thoughtful and a little sad. Rico felt himself getting tenser and tenser. What was she thinking? And why did he want to know so badly?

  ‘When I was a little girl,’ Halina began slowly, ‘I had this daydream. I wanted to live in Paris, in one of those tall, old houses, like Madeleine in the children’s story. Do you know those books?’ Wordlessly Rico shook his head. ‘I had them as a child, given to me by my French godmother. I loved them.’ She lapsed into silence and Rico waited, having no idea where she was going with this.

  ‘I pictured it all in my head,’ she continued in a dreamy, faraway voice. ‘I used to decorate it in my imagination. I’d live on the top floor, and there would be vines climbing outside and big French windows that opened onto a balcony with wrought-iron railings. I’d grow flowers and herbs in pots and I’d sit outside and sip my coffee and look at the
world bustling below.’ She smiled, caught in the memory, and Rico stared at her, bewildered. He had no idea what to say. What to think.

  ‘And there was a piano in the living room,’ Halina continued. ‘A grand piano that I played on. I’d give music lessons as well, and I’d have a tin of sweets on top of the piano to hand out to children when they were good. And when I wasn’t working I’d go outside and wander through the Tuileries Gardens—they were mentioned in the Madeleine books as well—and sketch.’ She glanced up at him, a hint of a smile in her eyes. ‘Do you know, I’ve never actually been to Paris? This is all just in my dreams.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll visit there one day,’ Rico said gruffly. ‘With me.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Halina turned back to the window. ‘The thing is,’ she said softly, ‘I always knew I’d never live that dream. I’d never even have the chance. I’ve never had any say in my life, Rico. That’s why I went to the party that night in Rome. The night I met you.’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘I just wanted one evening to myself, to make my own choices.’ She let out a hollow laugh. ‘And look what a disaster that was. Perhaps my father was right all along in restricting my life so much. Maybe I’m not capable of making my own choices, or at least wise ones. But I’ve always wanted the chance. I still do.’

  Her words resonated uncomfortably inside him, because in a strange way he could relate to them. His childhood had been entirely different to Halina’s; she’d been cossetted, protected, privileged. He’d grown up first on the docks and then in the orphanage, both places of nothing more than grim survival. And yet he’d felt as trapped and restricted as she had, and his only choice had been to fight his way out. To be seen as cold, arrogant, ruthless. Because at least then he was in control. At least then he couldn’t be hurt.

  What was Halina’s choice?

  She didn’t need one, Rico reminded himself. He would provide for her, protect her, give her every luxury she could possibly want. All this nonsense about an apartment in Paris was just a childish dream, meant to be discarded and forgotten upon adulthood.

  Their breakfasts arrived, putting an end to any more whimsical conversation.

  ‘You need to eat,’ Rico reminded her as he watched Halina push the eggs around her plate. ‘Keep up your strength.’

  ‘I know.’ She took a tiny bite of dry toast. ‘I’ve just been feeling so ill.’

  Which reminded him that she hadn’t yet seen a doctor. ‘As soon as we arrive in Rome, I want you to be checked over. I’m sure something can be prescribed for your nausea.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ Halina murmured, her gaze downcast. She took another bite of toast. Rico regarded her in growing frustration, unsure why he felt so dissatisfied.

  He’d found her, he’d got her on the plane and they were now only mere hours from Rome. She’d already agreed to marry him. He was getting everything he wanted, and still he felt disgruntled and annoyed. Hurt.

  The word popped into his head and he suppressed it immediately. He wasn’t hurt. He never felt hurt. He’d never allowed himself to feel such a thing, not since his father had walked away from him while he’d watched. If he was bothered by Halina’s lukewarm response to the idea of their marriage, then he knew just how to rev up her enthusiasm.

  In bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HALINA TOOK A deep breath as she gazed at her pale reflection in the mirror the morning after her arrival in Rome. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind of activity and movement: a limousine had met them at the airport and taken them to Rico’s penthouse apartment in a sleekly elegant modern building near the Spanish Steps.

  Halina had stepped into the sprawling luxury, too tired to be dazzled or impressed by the striking minimalist architecture and hand-crafted pieces of furniture. She’d felt as if she were a tiny boat being tossed on an endless stormy sea and Rico was the one controlling the wind and the waves.

  As soon as they’d arrived he had shown her to the guest bedroom and practically ordered her to rest. For once Halina had been glad to obey. She was so tired she was swaying on her feet.

  ‘Will you tell my father where I am?’ she’d asked as she stood on the threshold of her bedroom. ‘So at least he won’t worry?’

  Rico had given a terse nod, his expression flinty. ‘I think he already knows, but I will inform him of our plans at a suitable time.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  Rico had shrugged. ‘When I decide it is.’

  Of course. He decided everything. She’d turned into the bedroom and closed the door in Rico’s face. At least she had control over that.

  Six hours of sleep later, Halina was feeling refreshed physically even as her emotions remained wrung out. She lay in bed and relived the last twenty-four hours—the escape from the palace, the terrifying sandstorm, the flight to Rome. It all felt incredible, almost as if it had happened to someone else, scenes out of an action film or a melodrama. Until she’d met Rico Falcone, her life had been quiet, contained and definitely dull. Now, she acknowledged wryly, it was merely contained.

  By the time she awoke from her nap, dusk was falling over the city. Rico knocked on her door, telling her she needed to eat, which seemed to be his constant refrain. Halina went out and managed to choke down some soup before retreating to bed before Rico could ask her any more questions or give her any more orders.

  ‘I have made an appointment for you to see a doctor tomorrow morning,’ he informed her as she headed for her bedroom. ‘You need to start taking better care of yourself.’

  She didn’t trust herself to answer in a civil manner, so she merely nodded. Alone in bed that night, misery rushed over her. She’d thought being locked away in a palace in the remote desert of Abkar had been bad enough, but amazingly this actually felt worse. She was so alone. Rico was a hostile stranger who seemed intent on blaming her for everything, yet still intended her to marry him. What would her life be like with Rico? What would her child’s life be like?

  For a few seconds Halina imagined resisting. Running away, carving some kind of life for herself. But where would she go, and what would she do? She had no money, no clothes even, and her life skills were, she knew, pitiable. She could speak three languages, play two instruments and make sparkling conversation when required. They were not exactly qualifications for making her own way in the world.

  She hated feeling so trapped. Yet her one bid to escape her gilded shackles had resulted in her ruin, so she hardly trusted herself to try again, even if she could have worked up the courage or the means.

  ‘Halina?’ Rico knocked on the door of her bedroom, startling her out of her gloomy thoughts. ‘We leave in twenty minutes for the doctor.’

  ‘All right.’ She turned away from her wan reflection and opened the door. Rico stood there, looking both glorious and impatient, dressed in a pin-striped suit in deep navy, his eyes glinting like metal, his jaw freshly shaven and his hair spiky and slightly damp from the shower. He smelled of sandalwood, and the scent of him hit Halina like a fist squeezing her heart. She remembered his hands on her body all over again, the honeyed persuasion of his kiss.

  With effort she yanked her gaze away from him and walked past him into the living room. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘I sent out for some things I thought you might like to eat.’ Halina turned, surprised to see a flash of uncertainty on Rico’s rugged features. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look that way before.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There are some pastries and fresh fruit, and also ginger tea. I read that ginger helps with nausea.’

  Surprise rippled through her. ‘You’ve been reading up on it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I want to know as much as I can. Information is vital.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Halina said again. She felt strangely touched by his concern, although another part of her acknowledged how little it was in the larger sche
me of things. But maybe she’d just have to get used to little, at least in terms of affection or concern. Rico hardly seemed likely to offer anything else.

  Rome was shimmering under a haze of heat as they stepped outside Rico’s apartment. He held open the door of the limousine and she slid inside, edging to the far side as Rico sat next to her, seeming to take up all the space and air. Heat emanated from his powerful body and strength radiated from every taut muscle. The sheer power of his charisma left her breathless. She’d forgotten how overwhelming he was, and she was reminded again and again of that fact every time she went near him. It was no wonder she hadn’t been able to resist him back at that party.

  ‘So, do you live in Rome all the time?’ she asked as the limo pulled smoothly into the traffic. ‘I don’t actually know that much about you.’ Or anything, really, except that he was rich, ruthless and arrogant. And fabulous in bed.

  ‘Most of the time.’ Rico swiped his phone and slid it into his pocket, giving her his full attention, which felt like stepping into a spotlight. ‘I travel for business to my various concerns and properties, most of which are in Europe.’

  ‘Your penthouse isn’t really suitable for a baby,’ Halina said impulsively. ‘Would I live there?’

  Rico stared at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. ‘Of course we will need to work out the details, but I would most likely buy a house in Rome suitable for a family.’

  For a second Halina let herself imagine it—a happy home, a place she could decorate and fill with music and art, books and laughter. A place of her own, of their own, where she and Rico could learn to live and maybe even love together. But of course it wouldn’t be like that. How it would be, she didn’t yet know.

  ‘And when will we marry?’ she asked eventually. The silence between them had become strained, tense, as it always seemed to.

  Rico looked out of the window. ‘Let’s concentrate on today and making sure you and our child are both healthy. After that we can focus on the wedding.’