- -
- 100%
- +
Her refusal was imminent but he shook his head to forestall her. ‘To discuss our son. You must see how important that is?’
She was tense, her face rigid, her eyes untrusting. But finally she nodded. A tight shift of her head and an even tighter grimace of those cherry-stained lips. ‘Fine. But just a quick meal. I told Becky I’d be home by nine.’
‘Becky?’
‘My downstairs neighbour. She helps out with Leo when I’m working.’
He filed this detail away, and the image it created, of the mother of his child, the mother of the heir to the throne of Tolmirós, a child worth billions of euros, being minded by some random woman in the suburbs of New York.
‘A quick meal, then,’ he said, giving no indication he was second-guessing her child-minding arrangements.
‘Well?’ The owner of the gallery appeared from behind the desk, his eyes travelling from Frankie to Matthias. ‘Isn’t she talented?’
‘Exceptionally,’ Matthias agreed, and he’d always known that to be the case. ‘I will take all of the artworks against that wall.’ He gestured through the doorway, to the display that housed the portraits of his son.
‘You’ll what?’ Frankie startled as she looked up at him, though he couldn’t tell if she was surprised or annoyed.
He removed a card from his wallet. ‘If you call the number on this card, my valet will arrange payment and delivery.’ He nodded curtly and then put a hand in the small of Frankie’s back, guiding her towards the front door.
Shock, apparently, held her quiet. But once they emerged onto the Manhattan street, a sultry summer breeze warming the evening, she stopped walking, jerking out of his reach and spinning to face him.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘You think it strange that I should want paintings of my son?’
She bristled and he understood—she had yet to come to terms with the fact that he was also the boy’s parent, that she now had to share their son.
Not only that—he couldn’t have paintings of his child, the heir to his throne, for sale in some gallery in New York. It wasn’t how things were done.
‘No,’ she admitted grudgingly, and the emotion of this situation was taking its toll on her. The strength and defiance she carried in her eyes were draining from her. Wariness took their place.
‘Come on.’ He gestured towards the jet-black SUV that was parked in front of the gallery. Darkly tinted windows concealed his driver and security detail from sight but, as they approached, Zeno stepped out, opening the rear doors with a low bow.
Frankie caught it, her eyes narrowing at the gesture of deference. It was so much a part of Matthias’s day that he barely noticed the respect with which he was treated. Seeing it through Frankie’s eyes though, he understood. It was confronting and unusual.
‘You know, I never even had your surname,’ she murmured as she slid into the white leather interior of the car—her skin was so pale now it matched the seats.
There was so much he wanted to ask about that. Would she have given their child his name if she’d known it? The idea of his son being raised as anything other than a Vasilliás filled him with a dark frustration.
He wanted to ask her this, and so much more, but not even in front of his most trusted servants would he yet broach the subject of his heir.
With a single finger lifted to his mouth, he signalled silence and then settled back into the car himself, brooding over this turn of events and what they would mean for the marriage he had intended to make.
* * *
‘I presumed you meant dinner at a restaurant,’ she said as the car pulled up to a steel monolith on United Nations Plaza. The drive had been conducted in absolute silence, except for when the car drew to a stop and he’d spoken to his driver in that language of his, all husky and deep, so her pulse had fired up and her stomach had churned and feelings that deserved to stay buried deep in the past flashed in her gut, making her nerve-endings quiver and her pulse fire chaotically against the fine walls of her veins.
‘Restaurants are not private enough.’
‘You can’t speak quietly in a restaurant?’
‘Believe me, Frankie, this is better.’ His look was loaded with intensity and there was a plea in the depth of his gaze as well, begging her to simply agree with him on this occasion. There was a part of her, a childish, silly part, that wanted to refuse—to tell him it didn’t suit her. He’d disappeared into thin air and she’d tried so hard to find him, to tell him he was a father. And now? Everything was on his terms. She wanted to rebel against that, but loyalty to their son kept her quiet. All along, she’d wanted what was best for Leo. She’d spent all her life feeling rejected and unwanted by her biological parents, and she had wept for any idea that Leo might feel the same! That Leo might grow up believing his father hadn’t wanted him.
‘Fine,’ she agreed heavily. ‘But I really can’t stay long.’
‘This is not a conversation to be rushed.’ He stepped out of the car and she followed. He placed a hand on her elbow, guiding her through the building’s sliding glass doors. The lifts were waiting, a security guard to one side.
She hadn’t noticed this degree of staff with him back then. There hadn’t been anyone except a driver, and she’d never really questioned that. It was obvious that he had money—but this was a whole new degree of wealth.
‘Have you had some kind of death threat or something?’ she muttered as the doors of the lift snapped closed behind them.
The look he sent her was half-rueful, half-impatient; he said nothing. But when the lift doors opened into the foyer of what could only be described as a sky palace, he urged her into the space and then held a hand up to still the guard.
More words, spoken in his own tongue, and then the guard bowed low and slipped back into the lift, leaving them alone.
She swallowed at that thought—being alone with him—distracting herself by studying the over-the-top luxury of this penthouse. It wasn’t just the polished timber floors, double height ceilings, expensive designer furnishings and crystal chandeliers that created the impression of total glamour. It was the views of the Manhattan skyline—the Chrysler Building, the Empire State, Central Park—it all spread before her like a pop-up book of New York city.
Large sliding glass doors opened out onto a deck, beyond which there was a pool, set against a glass rail. She imagined swimming in it would feel a little like floating, high above the city.
The contrasts between her own modest apartment in Queens and this insanely beautiful penthouse were too ridiculous to enumerate.
‘Matt,’ she sighed, turning to face him, not even sure what she wanted to say. He was watching her with a look of dark concentration.
‘My name,’ he said quietly, ‘is Matthias Vasilliás.’
It was perfect for this man—as soon as he gave her the full version of his name it resonated inside her, like the banging of a drum. Matt was too pedestrian for someone like him. He was exotic and unusual.
‘Fine.’ She nodded curtly, pleased when the word sounded vaguely dismissive. ‘Matthias.’
At this, his eyes flashed with something she couldn’t comprehend. ‘You have not heard of me?’
Something like an alarm bell began to ring inside Frankie’s mind. ‘Should I have?’
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. ‘No.’
But it sounded like judgement rather than offence, and she bristled. ‘So? What gives?’ Her frown deepened. ‘What’s with all the security?’
He sighed heavily. ‘This is a light protection detail.’ He shrugged. ‘At home, there are many more guards.’
‘Why? I don’t get it. Are you some kind of celebrity or something?’
‘You could say that.’
He moved into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine. Her stomach rolled at the memories of the wine they’d shared that night—only a few sips, but it had been the nicest she’d ever tasted. He poured her a glass and walked around to her; she took it on autopilot.
‘What’s going on, Matt—Matthias?’
His eyes narrowed and she wondered if the sound of his full name on her lips was as strange for him as it was for her. Matt had suited him, but Matthias suited him better. She liked the taste of those exotic syllables on the tip of her tongue.
‘My family was killed in an accident many years ago. When I was a boy of fifteen.’ He spoke matter-of-factly, so it was impossible for Frankie to know how those deaths had affected him. She could imagine, though.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured crisply, wishing she didn’t feel sympathy for him. Wishing she didn’t feel anything for him.
His lips twisted in acknowledgement. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘I’m sure it still hurts.’
‘I have become used to being alone.’ He brushed her concern aside. ‘My father’s brother took on many of the responsibilities of my father. At fifteen, I was too young.’
‘What responsibilities?’ she asked.
‘Shortly after their deaths, it was decided that on my thirtieth birthday I would assume my role.’ He pinpointed her with his gaze, but he was obviously back in time, reflecting on the past. ‘One week before I turned thirty, I met you. I was only in New York for the weekend. One of my last chances to travel as myself, without this degree of...company.’ His expression shifted.
‘What did your parents do?’
But this wasn’t a conversation with questions and answers. It was a monologue. An unburdening of himself, and it was an explanation she’d wanted for such a long time that she didn’t even particularly mind.
‘I shouldn’t have got involved with you, but you were so... I cannot explain it. I saw you, and I wanted you.’ He stared at her, his eyes glinting like steel, and her heart was ice in her chest. It had been that simple for him. He’d seen her. He’d wanted her. And so he’d had her.
‘I knew it would only ever be a brief affair.’
Her throat constricted with those words, damning what they’d been to such a cynical seduction. ‘Yet you did it anyway?’
He was quiet.
‘Did you think about how I’d feel?’
‘No.’ He swept his eyes shut. ‘I told myself you were just like me—looking for a weekend of pleasure. Casual, easy sex.’
‘I think the term “casual sex” is oxymoronic,’ she said stiffly, turning away from him so she didn’t see the way his expression shifted, the way a fierce blade of possession pressed into him.
‘If I had known you were a virgin...’
‘I didn’t lie to you intentionally,’ she muttered. ‘I just got caught up in how I felt. It was all so overwhelming.’
He dipped his head forward in silent concession. ‘It is in the past,’ he said. ‘What I’m interested in dealing with is our future.’
And here it was. The custody discussion she’d been dreading. And as the days had turned into months and her status as a single mother had been firmly established, she’d come to accept that it was a conversation she’d never need to have. Now, though, faced with the father of her baby, she had no interest in denying him his right to see their child. To be a part of his life. Even when his admission that he’d gone into their affair expecting it to be ‘casual sex’ had cut her deep inside.
‘After I left you, I went back to Tolmirós and took up the position that was my birthright.’
She frowned. ‘Just what kind of family business are you in?’
His smile was more like a grimace. ‘It is not a business, Frankie. My name is Matthias Vasilliás and I am the King of Tolmirós.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘I’M SORRY.’ SHE blinked slowly. ‘I thought you just said you were...’ She laughed, a brittle sound of disbelief. ‘I mean, is this some kind of joke?’
But she looked around the penthouse with new eyes, seeing the degree of luxury and wealth as if for the first time, understanding how uniquely positioned a person would have to be to enjoy this kind of residence. And it wasn’t just this ludicrously expensive apartment—how much would something like this even cost? More than she could imagine, that was for sure. And she saw everything through the veil of his words and her stomach dropped and her knees shook. Because it was so obvious now.
Even then, staying at a hotel, he’d been so different to anyone she’d ever known. He’d spoken to her of ancient myths and he’d weaved magic into her being.
He’d been totally unique. A king.
‘It’s no joke. That weekend with you was my way of trying to ignore the reality of how my life was about to change, of pretending I wasn’t about to take the throne and the mantle of King. But I do not believe in hiding, Frankie. And so I left you in order to return to my country, my people, and my role as ruler.’
His words came to her from very far away.
He was a king.
Which meant... Oh, God. She reached behind her for the sofa, dropping down into it with a thud and drinking her wine as though it were a lifeline.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, moving closer to her, the word drawn from deep in his throat. ‘Our son is my heir. He is a prince, Frankie.’
‘But...he’s not... We weren’t married.’ She clutched at straws desperately. ‘So doesn’t that mean he can’t be your heir?’
His expression darkened and he took a moment to answer. ‘It complicates matters,’ he agreed eventually, with a shrug. ‘But nothing changes the fact he is the future of my people.’
She swallowed, his certainty formidable.
‘Do you remember the Myth of Elektus?’
She swayed a little, the words he’d spoken that night burned into her memories. ‘No,’ she lied huskily, staring out at New York.
‘My family has ruled Tolmirós for over a millennium. Our line remains unbroken. Wars and famines consumed neighbouring countries but, within the borders of Tolmirós, life has been prosperous and stable. The myth of our First Ruler is one my people hold in their hearts, even now. It is believed that my family’s lineage is at the root of Tolmirós’s wealth and happiness. Leo is not simply a boy—he is the fulfilment of a myth and ruling Tolmirós is his destiny, as much as it was mine.’
The magic he’d wound around her heart was weaving into her soul once more, and her beautiful child, who was so kingly, even as a child, began to pull away from her as she saw him as a figure of the fabric of this faraway country.
But he wasn’t only the heir to Tolmirós’s throne: he was her son. A child she had grown in her belly and nursed through fevers and helped to take his first step. He was a child she’d read to every night of his life, played ball with, lain beside when night terrors had caused him to cry out.
‘My people need him to come home, Frankie. He is part of that myth—he is our future.’
Her eyes swept shut on a wave of desolation. ‘You speak of your people, and you speak of his destiny. These are the words of a king, not a father.’ She turned to face him. ‘How can you not care about him as your son? He is a little boy and for two and a half years he has existed and all you care about is his destiny to rule a country he hasn’t even heard of. You haven’t asked me a single thing about him!’
His eyes glittered at the truth of her accusation. ‘You think I am not burning to know every single detail about my son? You think I am not desperate to meet him and hold him to me, and look into his face and understand him? Of course I am. But first I must secure your understanding for what will happen next. We must move quickly if we are to control this.’
‘Control what?’
He expelled an impatient breath and his nostrils flared.
‘Our marriage.’
‘Marriage?’ She paled visibly. ‘I’m not marrying you!’
‘With respect, Frankie, that decision was taken out of our hands the minute you conceived Leo.’
‘That’s not how I see it.’
‘Then let me be clear: there is no reality where I will not be raising my son as my son and heir.’
‘Fine. Be his father. Even let him be the heir to your damned country—’
Matthias’s expression darkened.
‘But don’t think you can show up after three years and try to take over our lives. Whatever we shared that night, it was fleeting. Meaningless. Just like you said. And it’s over. You’re just some guy I frankly wish I’d never met.’
His cheekbones were slashed a dark red. ‘That may be the case, but we did meet. We slept together and now we have a son. And I cannot ignore that. We must marry, Frankie. Surely you can see it’s the only way?’
She drew in a shaking breath at the finality of that, and fear trembled inside her breast.
‘No.’
‘No?’ he repeated, and then laughed, a harsh sound of disbelief. ‘You cannot simply say “no” to me.’
‘Because you’re a king?’
His eyes narrowed watchfully. ‘Because I am his father, and I will fight you with every breath in my body to bring him home.’
‘He is home!’
‘He is the heir of Tolmirós and he belongs in the palace.’
‘With you?’
‘And you. You’ll be my wife, the Queen of a prosperous, happy country. It’s not like I’m asking you to give him up. Nor to move somewhere unpleasant. You wouldn’t even have to live with me—I have many palaces; you could choose which you wanted to reside in. Your life will be significantly improved.’
‘How can you say that? I’d be married to you.’
‘And?’
‘I hardly even know you!’ The words flew from her mouth and her body immediately contradicted them. Her body knew his well. So well. Even now, dressed as he was, she saw him naked. She saw his broad, muscular chest, his swarthy tan, his wide shoulders, and her insides slicked with moist heat as—out of nowhere—she remembered the way he’d possessed her utterly and completely.
‘We will get to know each other enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Enough to raise a family together, enough to be a good King and Queen.’
He spoke dispassionately, calmly, but the words he spoke, the images they made, filled her with a warm, tingling sense in her gut. ‘It’s that easy for you?’
‘I’ve never expected any differently.’
‘Wait a second. You told me tonight that you’re engaged. So what’s your fiancée going to say about this?’
‘There is no such person. I haven’t yet selected a bride.’
Frankie felt as if her head was about to explode. ‘“Selected” a bride?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You make it sound like shuffling a deck of cards and drawing one at random.’
‘It is far from a random process,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Each of the women have been shortlisted because of their suitability to be my wife.’
‘So go back to your damned country and marry one of them.’
He swept his heated gaze over her body, and goosebumps spread where his eyes moved.
‘Think it through,’ he said finally. ‘What happens if I do as you say—if I return to Tolmirós and marry another woman. She becomes my Queen, and Leo is still my son. Our son, mine and my wife’s. I will fight for custody of him and, Frankie, I will win.’ A shiver ran down her spine at his certainty, because she knew he was right. She knew the danger here, for her. ‘I will win, and I will raise him. Wouldn’t you prefer to avoid an ugly custody dispute, a public battle that you would surely lose? Wouldn’t you prefer to accept this and simply agree to marry me?’
‘Simply?’ There was nothing simple about it. ‘I would prefer you to go right away again.’
He made a small sound—it might have been a laugh, but there was absolutely no humour in it. ‘No matter what we might wish, this is the reality we find ourselves in. I have a son. An heir. And I must bring him home. Surely you can see that?’
The city twinkled like a thousand gems against black velvet. She swallowed, her eyes running frantically over the vista as her brain tried to fumble its way to an alternative. ‘But marriage is so...’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s so much. Too much.’ She spun back to face him, and her heart thudded in her chest. Marriage to this man? Impossible. He had embodied so many fantasies in her mind but, over time, the lust which might have become love, given the proper treatment, had instead turned to resentment.
He’d disappeared into thin air, and she’d made her peace with that.
Now? To expect her just to marry him?
‘Why? People do it all the time,’ he said simply, moving across the room and pouring a generous amount of Scotch into two tumblers. He carried one over to her and, despite the fact she didn’t drink often and the wine had already made her brain fuzzy, she took it as if on autopilot.
‘Do what all the time?’ Her mind was still fumbling for something to offer that might appease him.
‘Get married because it makes sense.’
Now it was Frankie’s turn to make a strangled sound. Not a laugh, not a sob—just a noise driven by emotions emanating from deep in her throat. ‘People get married because they are in love,’ she contradicted forcefully. ‘Because they can’t bear to spend their lives apart. People get married because they are full of optimism and hope, because they have met the one person on earth whom they can’t live without.’
She spoke the words with passion, from deep within her soul; they were words that meant the world to her. Words by which she lived. But each word seemed to have the effect of making Matthias withdraw from her. His handsome face tightened until his features were stern and his eyes flinted like coal.
‘A fantasist’s notion,’ he said at length. ‘And not what I’m offering.’
It was such an insult that she let out a sigh of impatience. ‘It’s not what I’m asking for—not from you, anyway.’ She ignored the strange thumping in the region of her heart. ‘I’m explaining that marriage means something.’
‘Why?’ He took a step closer to her, his eyes so focused on her they were like a force, holding her to the spot.
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why can it not just be that it makes sense?’
‘Making sense,’ Frankie said with a shake of her head, trying to break free of the power his gaze had over her ability to think straight, ‘would be us working out how we’re going to do this.’ It hurt to think of sharing Leo, but she pushed those feelings aside. This was about Leo, not her. ‘You are his father, and it was always my wish that you’d be involved in his life. I can bring him to Tolmirós for a visit, to start with, and we can allow him to gradually adjust to the idea of being the heir to your throne. Over time, he might even choose to spend more time over there, with you. And of course you can see him when you’re in New York.’ Yes. That all made perfect sense. She nodded somewhat stiffly, as though she’d ordered a box neatly into shape. ‘There’s definitely no need for us to get married.’
‘I say there is a need,’ he contradicted almost instantly. His voice was calm but there was an intensity in his gaze. ‘And within the month.’
‘A month?’ Her jaw dropped, her stomach swooped and spun.
‘Or sooner, if possible. We must act swiftly. There is much you need to learn on the ways of my people. Much Leo will have to learn too.’
‘Hang on.’ She lifted her hand, pressing it into the air between them as though it might put an end to this ridiculous conversation. ‘You can’t talk like it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll marry you! You’ve suggested it and I’ve said, “Absolutely not”. You can’t just ride roughshod over me.’
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. ‘Do you think not?’
‘Definitely not. Unless you think I’m not a sentient person, capable of making my own decisions?’
‘On the contrary. I think you are very capable of that—which is why I’ll expect you to make the right one. But be assured, Frankie, regardless of what you think and feel, I have no intention of leaving this country without my son. It is obviously better for everyone if you come with him as my fiancée.’
She sucked in a breath as the truth of what he was saying settled around her. ‘You’re actually threatening to take him away from me?’