by Kate Hewitt
‘All right.’ Mateo leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, a cat-like smile curling his mobile mouth. A mouth she seemed to have trouble looking away from. ‘Look at the menu and tell me what you would order.’
‘Why? It’s too late—’
‘Humour me. And be honest, because if you order the black truffle and parmesan soufflé, I’ll know you’re lying. You hate truffles.’
How did he know that?
One of their seemingly innocuous conversations in the lab or the pub, Rachel supposed. They might not have shared the intimate details of their personal lives, but food likes and dislikes had always been a safe subject for discussion.
She glanced down at the menu, feeling self-conscious and weirdly exposed, even though they were just talking about choices at a restaurant. Across the table Mateo lounged back in his chair, that small smile playing about his lips, looking supremely confident. He was so sure he knew what she was going to order.
Rachel continued to peruse the offerings, tempted to pick something unlikely, yet knowing Mateo would see through such a silly ploy.
‘Fine.’ She put the menu down and gave him a knowing look. ‘The beetroot and goat cheese salad to start, and the asparagus risotto for my main.’
His smile widened slightly as his gaze fastened on hers, making little lightning bolts run up and down her arms. Now, that was alarming. She’d inoculated herself against Mateo’s obvious attraction years ago. She’d had to.
You couldn’t work with someone day in and day out, heads bent close together, and feel sparkly inside while the person next to you so obviously felt nothing. It was positively soul-deadening, not to mention ego-destroying, and Rachel had had enough of both of those. And so she’d made herself not respond to him, not even think about responding to him.
Yet now she was.
‘So is that what you ordered for me?’ she asked, a little bolshily, to hide her discomfort and awareness.
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ As if on cue, a waiter came quietly into the private room, two silver-domed dishes in his hands. He set them at their places, and then lifted the lids with a flourish. Rachel stared down at her beetroot and goat cheese salad and felt ridiculously annoyed.
‘You just like winning,’ she told him as she took her fork. The salad did look delicious. ‘I mean, how many hours did you practise reciting the periodic table just to beat me?’
‘Practise,’ Mateo scoffed. ‘As if.’
She shook her head slowly as she toyed with a curly piece of radicchio. ‘You might know what I like to eat, but that’s all.’
‘All?’
‘That is not a challenge. I just mean...we don’t actually know each other, Mateo.’ She swallowed, uncomfortably aware of the throb of feeling in her voice. ‘I know we’ve worked together for ten years, and we could call each other friends, but... I didn’t even know you were a prince.’
‘No one knew I was a prince.’
‘And you don’t know anything about me. We’ve never really talked about our personal lives.’
She felt a ripple of frustration from Mateo, like a wavelength in the air. He shrugged as he stabbed a delicate slice of carpaccio on his plate. ‘So talk. Tell me whatever it is you wish me to know.’
‘What an inviting prospect. Why don’t I just give you my CV?’
‘I’ve seen your CV, but do feel free.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘It’s not just a matter of processing some information, Mateo. It’s why we don’t know anything about each other. Ten years working together, and you don’t even know...’ she cast about for a salient fact ‘...my middle name.’
‘Anne,’ Mateo answered immediately. And at her blank look, ‘It’s on your CV.’
Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, something else, then. Something that’s not on my CV.’
Mateo cocked his head, his gaze sweeping slowly over her, warming everywhere it touched, as if she were bathed in sunlight. ‘I’m not going to know something you haven’t told me,’ he said after a moment. ‘So it’s pointless to play a guessing game. But I know more about you than perhaps you realise.’
Which was a very uncomfortable thought. Rachel squirmed in her seat at the thought of how much Mateo could divine from having worked so closely with her for ten years. All her quirks, idiosyncrasies, annoyances... She really did not want to have the excoriating experience of having him list everything he’d noticed over the past decade.
He was a scientist, trained in matters of observation. He would have noticed a lot, and she should have noticed the same amount about him, but the trouble was she’d been exerting so much energy trying not to notice him that she wasn’t sure she had.
Which put him at a distinct and disturbing advantage.
‘Look, that isn’t really the point,’ she said quickly. ‘This is not even about you knowing or not knowing me.’
‘Is it not? Then what is it about?’
Rachel stared at him helplessly. She wasn’t going to say it. She wasn’t going to humiliate herself by pointing out the glaringly obvious discrepancies in their stations in life, in their looks. She didn’t want to enumerate in how many ways she was not his equal, how absurd the idea of a marriage between them would seem, because she’d been in this position before and it had been the worst experience of her life.
‘It’s about the fact that I don’t want to marry you,’ she said in as flat and final a tone as she could. ‘And I certainly don’t want to be queen of a country.’
Something flickered across Mateo’s beautiful face and then was gone. His gaze remained steady on hers as he answered. ‘While I will naturally accept your decision if that is truly how you feel, I do not believe you have given it proper consideration.’
‘That’s because it is so outrageous—’
He leaned forward, eyes glinting, mouth curved, everything in him alert and aware and somehow predatory. Rachel tried not to shrink back in her seat. She’d never seen Mateo look so intent.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘it is my turn to give my arguments.’
CHAPTER FIVE
RACHEL’S EYES WIDENED at his pronouncement, lush lashes framing their dark softness in a way that made Mateo want to reach across the table and touch her. Cup her cheek and see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He realised he hadn’t actually touched his former colleague very much over the last ten years. Brushed shoulders, perhaps, but not much more. But that was something to explore later.
Right now she needed convincing, and he was more than ready to begin. He’d patiently listened to her paltry arguments, sensing that she wasn’t saying what she really felt. What she really feared. And he’d get to that in time, but now it was his turn to explain why this was such a very good idea.
Because, after an evening in her presence, Mateo was more convinced than ever that it was. Rachel was smart and focused and, more importantly, he liked her. And best of all, he only liked her. While he sensed a spark of attraction for her that could surely be fanned into an acceptable flame, he knew he didn’t feel anything more than that.
No overwhelming emotion, no flood of longing, desire, or something deeper. And if he didn’t feel that after ten years basically by her side, he would never feel it.
Which was a very good thing.
‘All right,’ Rachel said, her voice wavering slightly although her gaze was sharp and focused, her arms folded. ‘I’m waiting for these brilliant arguments.’
‘I didn’t say they were brilliant,’ Mateo replied with a small smile. ‘But of course they are.’
Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’
Mateo paused, enjoying their back and forth as he considered how best to approach the subject. ‘The real question, I suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘is why wouldn’t we get married?’ He let that notion hover in the air between them, before it landed with a thud.
; ‘Why wouldn’t we?’ Rachel repeated disbelievingly. ‘Please, Mateo. You’re a scientist. Don’t give me an argument from fallacy. Neither of us is married. Therefore we should marry. That is not how it works.’
‘That is not how science works,’ Mateo agreed, hiding his smile at her response. She was so fiery. He’d never enjoyed it quite so much before. ‘But this isn’t science.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she challenged, a gleam in her eye that looked a little too much like vulnerability. ‘Because I’m not sure what else it could be.’
She had him on the back foot, and he didn’t enjoy the sensation. Mateo took a sip of the wine the waiter had brought—a Rioja because he knew Rachel liked fruity reds—to stall for time. ‘Elucidate, please.’
‘Fine, I’ll elucidate.’ She lifted her chin slightly, her eyes still gleaming, making Mateo feel even more uncomfortable. Something more was going on here than what was apparent, and it made him a little nervous. ‘You came back to Cambridge to convince me to marry you. Considering we’ve never dated or even thought about dating for an entire decade, it’s hardly love or physical attraction that brought you to my doorstep.’ She spoke matter-of-factly, which was a relief. He must have been imagining that unnerving note of vulnerability in her voice, of something close to hurt. Yes, he had to have been.
‘True,’ Mateo was willing to concede with a brief nod.
‘So the reasons for wanting me to marry you are scientific, or at least expedient, ones. Let me guess.’ She paused, and Mateo almost interrupted her. He wasn’t sure he wanted his arguments framed in her perspective.
‘All right,’ he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair to make it seem as if he were more relaxed than he was. ‘Guess.’
Rachel pursed her lips, her gaze becoming distant as she considered. Mateo waited, feeling tense, expectant, almost eager now to hear what she thought.
‘We get along,’ she said at last. ‘We have a fairly good rapport, which I imagine would be important if we were working together to rule a country.’ She shook her head, smiling ruefully. ‘I can’t believe I’m even saying that.’
‘I take exception to fairly,’ Mateo interjected with a small smile, willing her to smile back. She did, tightly.
‘Fine. We get along well. Very well, even.’
He inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
Rachel let out a breath. ‘And we know each other, on a basic level.’
‘More than a basic—’
‘You said you trust me,’ she cut across him.
‘I do.’ His heartfelt words seemed to reverberate between them, and Mateo watched with interest as her cheeks went pink.
‘Still,’ Rachel pressed. ‘None of that is reason to get married.’
Mateo arched an eyebrow. ‘Is it not?’
‘If it was, you should have asked Leonore Worth to marry you,’ she flung at him a bit tartly.
‘Leonore?’ She was a lecturer in biology at the university, a pointy woman with a nasal laugh whom he’d escorted to a department function once. He hadn’t made that mistake again. But why was Rachel mentioning her? ‘Why would I do that?’ he asked.
‘Because she’s...’ Rachel paused, drawing a hitched breath. Her cheeks were turning red. ‘More suited to the role than I am,’ she finished.
Mateo stared at her, mystified. ‘I am wondering, from a purely scientific view, of course, how you arrived at that conclusion.’
She shook her head, looking tired, even angry. ‘Come on, Mateo,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t.’ Of that he was sure. They were skirting around something big and dark but damned if he knew what it was.
Rachel flung her arms out, nearly knocking her plate of almost untouched salad to the floor. ‘I am not queen material.’
‘Define your terms, please,’ Mateo said. Perhaps it would be easier if they did make this as scientific as possible: What is queen material?
‘Oh, this is pointless,’ she cried. ‘I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to leave my job—’
‘Toadying up to smarmy Simon?’ he interjected. ‘You’ve already said you’re considering looking elsewhere.’
‘I didn’t really mean that.’
‘Your job has changed, Rachel, and not for the better. I’m offering you a greater opportunity.’
‘To hang on your arm?’ Her sneer was insulting.
‘Of course not. If I wanted a mere trophy wife, I would have picked one of the eminently suitable candidates on the list my mother drew up.’
Rachel nearly choked at that, her soft brown eyes going shocked and wide. ‘There’s a list?’
‘Yes, more’s the pity. I don’t want a trophy wife, one who ticks all the boxes. I want someone I can trust. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who, dare I sound so sentimental, gets me.’
Tears filled her eyes, appalling him. He’d been trying for humour, but he feared he’d only sounded twee. ‘Rachel...’
‘Why are you making this so hard?’ she whispered, blinking back tears. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, creating two rosy indents he had the urge to soothe away—with his tongue. Mateo forced the unwanted and unhelpful image back.
‘I’m making it hard because I want you to agree.’
‘And if I did?’
The thrill of victory raced through his veins, roared in his ears. Never mind that she sounded a bit sad, a touch defeated. She was actually considering it.
‘Then I’d arrange for you to travel back to Kallyria with me as soon as possible. We’d be married as soon as possible after that, in the Cathedral of Saint Theodora. Everyone in the royal family has been married in the Greek Orthodox church. I hope that is acceptable to you.’
‘Mateo, I was speaking hypothetically.’
He shrugged, refusing to be deterred. ‘So was I.’
‘But after the ceremony? What then?’
‘Then we live together as man and wife. You accompany me to state functions, on royal tours. You decide on which charitable institutions you wish to pioneer or support.’
‘And I give you an heir?’ She met his gaze even though her cheeks were fiery now. ‘That’s a part of this marriage deal you haven’t actually mentioned yet.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Mateo agreed after a moment. He wished he knew why she was blushing—was it just because they were talking about sex? Or was it something else, something more? ‘It seemed fairly obvious.’
‘That this would be a marriage in...in every sense of the word?’
‘If, by that phrase, you mean we’d consummate it, then yes.’ He held her gaze evenly despite the images dancing through his mind. Images he’d never, ever indulged in before, of Rachel in slips of silk and lace, smiling up at him from a canopied bed in the royal palace, her thick, wavy hair spread across the pillow in a chocolate river...
‘Don’t you think that’s kind of a big thing to discuss?’ Rachel asked, her voice sounding a little strangled. ‘Obvious as it may seem?’
‘Fine.’ Mateo spread his hands as a waiter came in to quickly and quietly clear their dishes. ‘Then let’s discuss it.’
What had she got herself into? Rachel sat in silent mortification, willing her blush to recede, as the waiter cleared their plates and Mateo waited, completely unfazed by the turn in the conversation, just as he’d been unfazed by everything that had already been said.
He was like a bulldozer, flattening her every objection, making his proposal seem obvious, as if she should have been expecting it. And meanwhile Rachel felt as if she kept stumbling down rabbit holes and across minefields, dodging all the dangers and pitfalls, as she was accosted by yet another reason why a marriage between them would never work.
‘You’re not att
racted to me,’ she stated baldly. It hurt to say it; it humiliated her beyond all measure, in fact, and brought up too many bad memories or, really, just one in particular, but Rachel had long ago realised that confronting the elephant in the room, naming and shaming it, was the only way forward for her dignity. She’d done it before and she’d do it again, and she’d come out stronger for it. That much had been her promise to herself, made when she was a shy and naïve twenty and still holding true today, twelve years later.
She held his gaze and watched his lips purse as an expression flickered across his face that she would have given her eye teeth to identify, but could not.
‘Sexual attraction is not a strong foundation for a marriage,’ he said at last, and Rachel swallowed, trying not to let the sting of those words penetrate too deeply.
‘It’s not the most important part, perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But it matters.’
Another lengthy silence, which told her just how unattracted to her he had to be. Rachel took a sip of wine, her gaze lowered, as she did her best to keep Mateo from knowing how much he was hurting her.
‘I don’t believe it will be an obstacle to our state of matrimony,’ he said at last. ‘Unless you have an intense aversion to me?’ He said this with such smiling, smug self-assurance that Rachel had the sudden urge to throw her wine in his face. Oh, no, of course it couldn’t be the case that she found him undesirable. Of course that was a joke.
‘It might surprise you,’ she said with a decided edge to her voice, ‘but I want more from a potential marriage than the idea that my attractiveness, or lack of it, won’t be an obstacle.’
Mateo’s eyes widened as he acknowledged her tone, the rise and fall of her chest. She saw his lips compress and his pupils flare and knew he didn’t like her sudden display of emotion. Well, she didn’t like it, either.
She was far too agitated for either of their own good, and their reasonable, scientific discussion had morphed into something emotional and, well, awful. Because she really didn’t want any more explanations about how he was willing to sacrifice sexual attraction on the altar of—what? His duty? Their compatibility? Logic? Whatever it was, Rachel didn’t want to know. She’d had enough of being patronised. Enough of being felt as if she’d just about do. She’d had enough of that before this absurd conversation had even begun.
