Page 4 of Pregnant By the Wrong Prince

‘Rafael,’ Matias said from behind Rafael’s massive shoulders, clearly oblivious to his brother’s frozen rage. ‘What is happening? You were supposed to be here two hours ago.’

But Rafael didn’t turn. He didn’t acknowledge his brother in any way. He only looked at Lia as if he’d like to crush her where she stood.

‘You will come with me,’ he said in that same casually arrogant tone. ‘And you will come without a fight.’

She swallowed, desperately trying to find her voice. ‘But I—’

He leaned in slightly, looming over her, his mouth near her ear, that terrible voice dropping even lower, so she felt it in her chest. ‘Unless, of course, you wish all of Santa Castelia to know that the baby you’re carrying isn’t my brother’s.’

Lia nearly let go of her bouquet of white roses, a rush of the most intense heat flashing through her, closely followed by a wash of ice.

Did you really think you could keep it a secret for long?

No, not for long. Just until the wedding. Just until she could tell Matias, who would be surely understanding. Theirs wasn’t a love match after all, but something arranged between her father and King Carlos, a long time ago when they were children.

But it was too late for that now.

She felt dizzy, sick. Her brain struggled through a morass of shock, trying to figure out how she’d let it slip, or whether the doctor she’d crossed the border into Italy to see had somehow told someone...

More whispers were rustling through the cathedral, people getting restless, wanting to know what was going on. Why had the Regent so abruptly called a halt to the wedding? And why was he talking to the bride? What terrible, delicious thing could it be?

You have no choice. You have to go with him. No one else can know your shame.

She could feel her father next to her, feel his shock and his confusion. He’d want to know what was happening, too, and what would he think when he found out? What about her mother? What would they say when they discovered how badly she’d let them down?

Her cheeks were burning and she wanted to cry, but somehow she found the strength to look into those terrible silver eyes.

She’d deny it. She’d tell him that he was wrong. She’d demand a test, get him to prove it—

‘No.’ The word was an anvil, crushing all her fight before she’d even had the chance to speak. ‘There will be no denial. Just as there will be no escape. There is nowhere you can run to and there is nowhere for you to hide. Not from me,princesa.’ He smiled and it turned her heart into a block of ice. ‘I am inevitable.’

Rafael Navarro had never considered himself a good man. Good wasn’t really in his nature. What was in his nature was a certain facility—some would say genius—with money, impeccable attention to detail, and the iron will required to run a tiny, mountainous nation sandwiched between Spain and Italy with relentless efficiency.

Oh, and he preferred to get his way in all things.

He was also a man who hated shocks, despised surprises and loathed plans that did not proceed in the direction he wished them to go, and right now he was furious, even though fury was not something he customarily allowed himself. Then again fury was the only logical response to the past two hours.

Two hours that had contained nothing but shocks, surprises and seemingly his entire life upended and very much not according to his plan, and all because of the woman standing in front of him.

A small, delicate woman wearing an eye-wateringly expensive confection of a bridal gown that he knew the price of down to the last euro, made of the finest white silk, hand-embroidered with silver thread and tiny crystals. He knew the price of her embroidered gossamer silk veil and the circlet of diamonds on her glossy black hair, the Alighieri ruby on her hand and the small hand-made silver slippers on her feet.

He knew the price of this entire wedding fiasco and the price of its cancellation, too.

Her fault.

It was she who’d upended his perfectly ordered life, she who’d ruined it, and he should have known from the minute he’d laid eyes on her that she would end up costing him.

And now he would make her pay for it.

It’s notentirelyher fault.

An inconvenient thought that he ignored, watching instead with some satisfaction the fear that glowed in her deep blue eyes.

She should be afraid. There would be a reckoning and it would be now.

Her face was white, the make-up that was supposed to highlight the serene perfection of her features unable to hide her sickly pallor. Even so, she was beautiful. Delicate, black arched brows and lush, silky black lashes. A sinful mouth tinted the prettiest shade of pink. A pointed chin that he knew from experience could be forceful and stubborn.

She was not the good, quiet, well-behaved girl she was reputed to be and he’d known that the night he’d caught her in her father’s office, drinking his whisky and smoking one of his cigars.

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