Princess from the Shadows Maisey Yates (15 page)

But the thought of losing Luca’s trust.

At least he wouldn’t lose Carlotta’s. He seriously doubted he’d ever had it.

“How was the movie?”

He turned his head and saw Carlotta, her dark hair pulled back, large gold earrings highlighting her perfectly made-up features. She was wearing an ethereal white dress with a bold, black geometric pattern on the bodice, so at odds with the sheer, delicate fabric. But the pattern drew the eye to her figure, to her perfect, heavenly curves.

“He slept through most of it,” Rodriguez said, forcing the words through his suddenly dry throat.

“I hope he sleeps through the night. It’s too late for a nap.” She smiled, the look on her face so sweet, so full of love. A look reserved for her son.

He envied it right then. So much that it was physical. Not just because he wished she would look at him with such emotion, but because he wished someone in his life could have. His mother, his father. Someone, anyone.

Holding Luca against him, it was hard to imagine how anyone could strike a child. How someone could abandon a child. He hadn’t even been able to move Luca to allow the blood flow to return to his arm, much less leave him in the room by himself. The thought of walking out of his life forever, and leaving him with someone who would treat him horribly.

Not even he could do that, and he’d always considered himself emotionally broken.

“Angelina is here. She’s ready to take him.”

“Can I carry him to his room?” he asked, a question he hadn’t known he was going to ask until he had.

This time, she did smile at him. “Of course.”

He scooped Luca up and stood from the couch, crossing the intimate living area, a room that had been designed for family movie viewings and games nights. One that had gone unused by his family.

It was a short walk to Luca’s room, and the little boy didn’t even stir when Rodriguez laid him in bed and tucked the covers around his still form.

Carlotta leaned in and kissed Luca’s forehead before they left the room.

“Sorry about earlier,” she said.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to tell you sooner.”
Sorry I’ve been gone all week. Sorry I’ve been unable to face you
.

He didn’t say the last part out loud.

“I understand. Things happen. I was. on edge already.” They walked down the stairs and greeted Angelina, who was on her way up, then headed out of the palace. Rodriguez’s convertible was parked in front, idling, ready for them. He opened Carlotta’s door for her, the subtle hint of perfume and a scent that was uniquely her assaulted him, causing a surge of lust to hit him in the gut.

“Why were you on edge?” he said, as he started the car and maneuvered the vehicle out of the courtyard and through the first gate.

“I talked to Natalia.”

“Your twin?”

“Yes. It was. good. I think.” She cleared her throat. “I think we might be on the way to fixing things. And even though she denied it, I think she’s met someone special. Natalia needs someone special. I’m happy for her.”

“You sound thrilled.”

She looked at him, her expression baleful. “It’s a lot for one afternoon.”

“And Luca jumped over the red ball.”

That got a laugh from her. “Yes, he did. Thank goodness for Luca. He makes everything so much. He brings perspective.”

“Yes,” Rodriguez said. “He does.”

“You seemed more comfortable with him tonight.”

Carlotta looked at Rodriguez, trying to gauge his reaction. It was impossible, as always. “I’m figuring this all out. I’m not sure what, or who, I’m supposed to be to him yet. Not sure what he’ll want from me.”

Carlotta had given it a lot of thought too. “I. He’ll always have a lot of friends, Rodriguez. And I have brothers, so he’ll have uncles. The one thing he’ll never have is a father.” She swallowed. “Unless you’re willing to step into that role.”

Rodriguez tightened his hold on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he turned it sharply, driving expertly along the winding country road that bordered the beach.

“I thought. I thought I would be able to keep distant, but he doesn’t allow that, does he?”

“No.”

“No child will,” he said, almost heavily.

“Is that a problem?”

“I was under the impression a wife and children wouldn’t alter my life. It didn’t seem to alter my father’s all that much.”

Carlotta looked at her hands. “You’re not the same man as your father, Rodriguez. You must realize that.”

“I do,” he said, his voice rusty.

“Then it shouldn’t surprise you that you can’t ignore us quite as easily as your father was able to ignore you and your mother.”

“He ignored me until my mother left. Then I became … a target of some kind. The way you look at Luca. I’ve never understood how she could leave me with him. And now, seeing you with him … she did not love me like that.”

“Not every person is meant to be a parent.”

“No,” he said. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. And she was, truly, deeply, the pain of his childhood running through her bones, making her ache for him. “You should have been given better. And I know you say it doesn’t matter. But it does. They owed you more than they gave you.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

She didn’t understand the cryptic statement and she didn’t have time to ask before he turned the radio on, effectively ending the conversation.

She wished he wouldn’t close down on her. She wanted him, all of him. She’d given herself to him, not just her body, but her secrets. Everything in her.

He had her heart. She didn’t want to admit it. Not to herself, and definitely not to him, but there wasn’t much point in denying it. She was in love with Rodriguez. Not the man he pretended to be, the man he showed the world, but the man he was inside.

The man she sensed beneath that light, flirtatious facade. The man who had listened to her darkest secrets without even a hint of judgment. The man who had made love to her with such passion and fire she thought it would consume her.

The man who took her son to the zoo. Who held him while he slept.

The man he didn’t want her to see. The man he didn’t seem to want to be.

They drove on in silence, and Carlotta kept her eyes glued to the lights of the city, drawing closer as they drove down the beach highway.

The charity event was being held in Santa Christobel’s famous gardens. An expansive, outdoor area with flowers and plants from most of the world’s tropical locales.

Rodriguez pulled the car up to the front of the walled garden, and gave his keys to the valet. He came around to her side, ever the charming gentleman, and helped her from the vehicle. She shivered when his hand touched her bare arm. He hadn’t touched her in a week. She missed his touch.

Missed his kiss. Missed him most of all.

She ignored the vast well of longing that opened up in her and followed him into the event. The air inside the walls of the garden was thick and perfumed. The expansive lawn area lit up by white paper lanterns.

People were standing around, laughing, talking. Drinking. It was a light event, and money was flowing out of wealthy pockets and into the charity, which was nice to see.

Except she wasn’t able to feel as happy about it as she should. Because she was still turning over their conversation in her mind. Trying to dissect it, to find the meaning.

They owed you more than they gave you
.

Perhaps not
.

Did he really think he hadn’t deserved more than a mother who abandoned him and a father who beat him? How was that even possible?

Rodriguez, at their first meeting at least, had seemed arrogant. Full of himself. The kind of man who thought women falling at his feet, or into his bed, was his due. Not the kind of man who would think he deserved the treatment his parents had shown him.

Yet in those moments when she’d glimpsed the haunting emptiness in his eyes, she’d known there was more to him than that. More than that thin facade he wrapped around himself like a cloak.

“Drink?” he asked, pulling two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray without waiting for her answer.

She took it from him. “I thought we agreed that the refreshments at things like this were …”

“Awful?”

“That.”

“Alcohol is still alcohol. It makes everything more fun, right?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“I don’t know if that’s a healthy attitude,” she said, sensing a recklessness in him that shocked her. Bothered her a bit.

“Maybe not. But then, I’m not really renowned for healthy attitudes, am I?”

Whatever was on his mind was prevented from escaping by the people who came to talk to them. Everyone wanted a piece of the Crown Prince. The man who would soon be their king. And, of course, she was a fascination as well, since she was wearing his ring.

Carlotta could sense Rodriguez’s growing annoyance and she tried to maintain her civility, tried to be friendly to the guests since he didn’t seem to be in the mood to play nice.

“What’s wrong with you?” she hissed when one well-wisher departed.

“I’m not in the mood for all of this.” He turned his dark gaze to her. “I want to be alone with you.”

“You’ve had all week to be alone with me. You avoided me.”

He trailed his finger along the line of her jaw. “A mistake, I think.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice flat.

“Carlotta.” He leaned in and his cell phone rang.
“Un momento. Hola…. Si…
. How long does he have? … Why did no one tell me?” He paused for a moment. “We’ll be there in a moment.” He snapped the phone shut, his gaze not meeting hers. “We have to go. It’s my father. He’s. We have to go.”

THE king was in a private wing of the hospital, but it was still very much a hospital. White, pastel and sterile. Carlotta hadn’t been in many hospitals.

She hadn’t been back to one since Luca was born. She was thankful for it.

The environment was unsettling, the smell of antiseptic stinging her nose. Even more unsettling was the dark emotion rolling off Rodriguez.

When they arrived at his father’s room, the priest was there, standing by to administer last rites. Carlotta’s stomach clenched tight. This was very likely it, and she knew that Rodriguez wasn’t ready. How could he be ready?

Her own father was a tyrant in many ways, and yet, she still couldn’t fathom the thought of losing him.

“I will go in alone,” he said, his voice hard.

Carlotta stayed outside the room, leaning against the wall, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her heart pounding hard in her chest, tears threatening to fall. Her throat burned with the effort of keeping them back.

She watched the hands on the clock turn. Watched the priest go in, and come back out. Felt her heart sinking lower.

She finally moved to a chair, felt her eyes growing heavy.

“It’s done, Carlotta.” Rodriguez’s thick voice shook her from the sleep she hadn’t realized she’d fallen into.

“What? No,” she said, her heart aching.

“He’s gone.” Rodriguez’s face was set, his expression immovable, flat as though it had been carved from stone.

“Rodriguez, I’m …”

“Let’s go,” he said.

She stood from the chair, trying to shake off the dizziness that came from being jerked out of such a deep sleep.

She followed him out of the hospital and into the cold night air. She felt her body start to shake. “I don’t. What do we do now? What does this mean?”

“We’ll hold a press conference. First thing in the morning. And I am king.” He walked to where he had parked his car, at the front of the hospital. He had not used a parking space, and no one had corrected him.

He jerked the driver’s side door open, then froze. “And my father is gone.”

She rounded the car and threw her arms around him, not caring if it was what he wanted or not. He needed it, even if he would never admit it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

One of his arms came around her, his hand resting on her back. She felt his sharp intake of breath against her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, holding him to her. Just holding him.

The chill night wind blew in from the sea, cold and wet, salty. It blended with the tears on her cheeks. She squeezed his hand. “Do you want to walk for a while?”

“Yes,” he said.

He kept hold of her hand, and they left the car, the door standing open. Everything seemed deserted this late. The hospital was out of the city by a couple of minutes, nestled in the hills, by the ocean. She and Rodriguez walked through the lot, to where it ended and a path began, through the grass and down to the sand. Neither of them spoke until they were standing at the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping near their feet.

“My father is gone,” he said again. “And there is no chance of. fixing what passed between us. No chance at reconciliation. No chance for him to. apologize. He never would have, but the possibility was there. And it’s gone now. That was all I will ever have with my father. A childhood filled with pain and fear, and then years of stony silence when I avoided him as much as I possibly could.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I do not know what to feel. If I should feel anything at all.”

“There’s no right or wrong answer,” she said. “Just … whatever you feel. That’s what you’re supposed to feel.”

He didn’t speak. He lowered himself to the sand and sat. Carlotta sat with him, not caring that she was getting sand on her dress. Not caring about anything but being next to him. Comforting him.

Rodriguez tried to breathe past the tightness in his chest. He wasn’t certain he could. Everything with his father was final now, and with that realization came both relief and a grief that went down into his bones. Made them hurt.

“I have. simplified things,” he said slowly, not sure why he was sharing with her, but certain he could no longer hold it in. “I have dealt with my father on my terms, when I could. Separating myself from who I was, who he was, when I was a child. But it was never simple. I thought I could bury it. Make it so that it didn’t matter so I could deal with him at functions, in interviews. But so much of me hated him, Carlotta. For what he did to me. For making my mother leave.”

His voice broke and he felt weak, humiliating emotion overpowering him, felt moisture in his eyes he couldn’t blame on the ocean spray. “Because she couldn’t live with a monster and I know, I understand, that she never could have taken his heir from him. But it was easier to be mad at her because she was gone. I didn’t have to try to exist with her.”

Carlotta put her hand on the back of his neck, her touch strengthening him.

“When she left. he took my toys. Because I was bad, he said. My mother left because I was bad, and a bad boy didn’t deserve toys.” He’d never told anyone any of this. He’d made himself believe it was stupid. Unimportant. At least he’d tried to force himself to believe it. “And after that, a while after, he hit me for the first time. For fidgeting in church. We’re supposed to set an example, you see, and I wasn’t being an example. I was Luca’s age then. Barely five. That’s why I learned to shut it all down. And I never have figured out how to feel. normal again.”

She leaned her head against him, her face in the crook of his neck. He felt the dampness of her tears on his skin.

“I’m supposed to be sad,” he said. “That he’s gone. But all I’m really sad about is that he’ll never be my father. Not really. It’s finished now. My mother. for all I know she’s gone too. I can’t ever have it back, and I think part of me believed that I would.”

She put her arms around him then and he realized he’d never shared his sadness with anyone before. Had never been held while he cried, or while he felt like crying. Not for as long as he could remember.

He’d never had anyone to listen to him.

He’d invited countless women into his bed, but not into him. He’d never shown anyone who he was. And now she knew. She knew how broken he was. That his own mother had left him, that his father had beaten him.

That his parents had never loved him. His own parents.

A violent pain stabbed at his heart. His own parents hadn’t loved him. What must be wrong with him? No wonder he’d ignored feeling for so many years. Damn his father for making him feel again. And Carlotta too.

He pulled away from her, standing, his breath coming hard and fast, his entire body heavy, on fire, as though it were filled with hot lead. Burning him. Weighing him down.

“Rodriguez …”

“No,” he said sharply. “You can’t make this better. We’re not going to have a … a phone call reconciliation like you were able to do with your sister. It’s not fixable. It’s done.”

He turned and walked off the beach. Cursing and kicking his shoes off when they filled with sand, walking the rest of the way to the car in his bare feet, the rocks biting into his flesh, his shoes abandoned.

He got into the car and slammed the door. He waited until Carlotta slid in beside him. He started the engine and pulled out of the hospital lot, his entire body tight, on the verge of breaking.

Neither of them spoke on the ride back to the palace. He wished she would. He wanted to draw strength from her and he hated himself for it. Hated the dependence.

Hated that, somehow, he’d let his emotions start functioning again. And they were eating him alive now.

He didn’t care that when he pulled into the palace courtyard he sprayed gravel on the lawn by turning too sharply. He didn’t care that the servants stared at him, openmouthed, when he walked through the halls, without shoes.

He went into his room and closed the door firmly behind him. Never looking back. Hardly seeing anything.

He wanted Carlotta. For all he knew she was still sitting down in the car. He wanted her with a ferocity that denied everything he believed about himself.

But tonight, everything he’d tried to make himself was coming unraveled.

No, not just tonight. From the first moment he’d seen Carlotta. Everything, the carefully laid plans, the vague concept of a wife he hardly noticed, one who didn’t interfere … it had all started to erode. And right now, he needed her so badly he couldn’t regret it.

He tore open the door to his room and stalked down the hall, taking his shirt off and letting it fall to the marble floor as he did. He pushed open the door to Carlotta’s room without knocking.

She whirled around, her eyes wide. She was wearing a cotton nightgown. One she’d probably just put on. He wanted it off.

“I need you,” he said, the admission torn from him.

She nodded slowly and moved across the room and into his arms, kissing him with just the right amount of pressure. Somehow she knew what he needed. She always knew.

Her fingers skated over the skin on his back, teasing him, tantalizing him, getting him hot. Pushing away the conflicting knot of emotions with a fire of need that started to burn in his gut and spread through him, cleansing him. Making things seem clearer. Simpler.

She kissed his neck, his collarbone, hands moving to his bare chest, skimming his nipples.

He looked down at her lovely face, stoic with concentration. The burning in his stomach intensified.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes meeting his.

“Not, do you want to fix me? Do you want me?”

“Of course I do.”

He held her away from his body, the desperation in him real, overtaking everything else. “I don’t want pity sex, dammit. I want you. I want you to want
me
. Like I want you. Not because you’re supposed to be my wife, or because you feel sorry me.”

“From the moment I met you, I wanted you. You steal my control, Rodriguez. Wholly and completely,” she said, her voice steady. “And I want you now, just like I have every time. Not because anyone’s forcing me. As much as you need me right now, I need you just as much. If you told me I could walk away from this, from us, our marriage, right now, I wouldn’t. I’m in this with you. For life. I promised it, and I will keep that promise,” she vowed.

“Make me forget.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing in heavily.

“Don’t forget who you’re with.”

“I want your face to be the only thing I can remember. Your touch. Your face. You, Carlotta, nothing else,” he said, lowering his head, pressing a kiss to her cleavage. “Please.”

She stepped back and tugged the nightgown over her head, consigning it to the floor while he did the same with the rest of his clothes.

He got into bed with her, sliding beneath the covers, the sheets soft on his skin, her bare body even softer.

He ran his hands over her curves, inhaled her scent, so unique, so Carlotta. “I want you, Carlotta Santina,” he said. “Only you.”

“I want you, Rodriguez Anguiano.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, her tongue sliding along the seam of his mouth.

He put his hand beneath her bottom and she parted her thighs, granting him access. He slid into her hot, wet body, pleasure, emotion, crashing over him. He shuddered as she enveloped him, her arms, her legs, trapping him against her.

They moved in rhythm, their breath blending, hearts pounding in time. She met each of his thrusts, her hands linked with his, fingers laced together.

They reached the peak together, their sounds of pleasure mingling in the quiet room.

And then he held her to him, his breathing fractured, harsh. His heart pounding, the fire in him burning even hotter now than before, edging everything out. Everything but the need for Carlotta, not for sex, that desire was satisfied for now. But for her. To be in her arms. In her bed. Just with her.

Her legs tangled with his, her heavy, satisfied sigh bringing him even more pleasure than his climax had.

For now, at least, things seemed good.

And hopefully, by morning, he could have his walls rebuilt. Could turn off the emotion, the need, the deep, heavy desire for more than a man like him could ever hope to have.