CHAPTER SEVEN

C RISTHIAN HAD BEEN careful not to look too much in Zia’s direction since she’d appeared. There was a danger in her beauty, in the way those fluffy sweaters hugged the fascinating bump she’d grown since he’d last seen her.

So he didn’t look at her for more than the briefest of seconds, until he’d delivered his current challenge. Her eyes went wide, her mouth a little slack. He’d certainly shocked her. She blinked once, and when she spoke it wasn’t with that haughtiness she’d come into the dining room with this morning.

“You brought me here and you don’t believe me?” she asked, sounding...younger and more hurt than she had any right to.

He could let her think that he didn’t believe her. He wanted to let her think that. But every time his mercenary instincts wanted to take over, he was reminded of his parents. Of the way they had worked together—no matter all their outside problems—to ensure he was safe and well.

His parents had loved each other, so it was different, but everything he had been able to rise above had been because they had started his life out in a safe, loving place.

He wanted the same for his children, and that meant he could not be cruel to their mother, even when it would be a solid weapon to use to save himself.

But that made every step he took more complicated than he was used to. There was no clear enemy here. For all Zia represented a complicated issue, she was not like his mother’s family trying to use him. The paths ahead were all thorny. And he did not doubt his ability to maneuver through them and come out on top. He was just uncomfortable with the time and care it would take to accomplish the perfect, controlled outcome. One that did not leave him open to being used. One that did not result in rash decisions to run away, and the punishments that came from that.

So sometimes he would have to give her the truth. Even when he didn’t want to.

“It is not about belief. It is about everything legal that will plague us. Inheritances, trusts, titles.” He wanted to blame her for bringing those things to the table, but she was a little too on the nose about all the royal things he disdained...but hadn’t formally denounced. That had been the deal he’d struck with his aunt. That had been the condition in getting his freedom, his own life.

Most days, he considered that a great win. Standing up, not running away. It grated that in the face of Zia it felt less a win and more a concession.

His feelings, however, did not matter. Only settling this did. “We will need to have incontrovertible proof that our children are biologically ours in order to move forward.”

She swallowed at that, and he had to look away from the way her emotions chased across her face. They had to work together in order to make the world a safe place for their children, but that did not mean he needed to concern himself with her feelings .

“I suppose that makes sense. But you said we’d be stuck here for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Yes.”

“What shall we do in the meantime?”

It wasn’t meant to be flirtatious. He could tell by the way her gaze was on her food, the way she didn’t offer him any sultry looks. But when he didn’t respond right away, when he let the silence settle after her question, she must have realized what it sounded like. Because her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, how do you entertain yourself in this large castle? Alone .” She tacked on the last word forcefully enough he could not quite resist the slight curve of his mouth.

“Did I say I spend a lot of time here alone ?” he returned, when that’s exactly what he did. Of all his estates, this was the one he considered his personal, private sanctuary, when he wanted nothing to do with the world around him.

It was happenstance it was his closest holding to her home country, which was why he’d brought her here. Geography.

She sighed. “I suppose you have a parade of women littered at every spot. Women do love a prince.”

He knew she was poking at him, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from scowling.

Her smile went sharp, delight in a barb landed. That look shouldn’t hit him like a blow, knocking enough sense out of him he remembered all too clearly what she tasted like.

“However,” she continued, “unless you have someone locked away in an attic, I believe we—and your minimal staff—are all that are here in the moment. So what do you suggest we do for the next forty-eight hours? Get to know one another?”

“I thought we were well acquainted, Zia.”

She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps it is worth mentioning that there are many things I shouldn’t do in my condition.”

He could ignore her meaning. He probably should ignore her. But he couldn’t help himself. “Is that pointed, Zia?”

Her gaze didn’t flutter. She didn’t look away from him. She lifted her chin, all royal and dignified. But he had seen her very undignified, and that memory served neither of them.

He indulged it all the same.

“Does it need to be pointed, Cristhian?”

He lifted a shoulder. Did his best to embody a casual carelessness he didn’t exactly feel at the moment. “What is it you want to know then?”

She rested her chin on her fist as if she took that question very seriously. “Who were you raised by after your parents died?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but not that, and he did not care for the way it made him feel like he was backed into a corner, in a defensive position. Particularly when it was clear she was curious, not starting some kind of war.

Pretending the answer meant more than it did would no doubt give her ammunition for whatever battles lay ahead, so he spelled it out as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“I bounced around family. They had a lot of it.”

“They? Not you?”

“My father’s family was interested, but American and less powerful when it came to things like citizenships and titles. My mother’s family was not the biggest proponent of her marriage. I was...a problem to be solved more than anything, but an heir of sorts, whether they liked it or not. And a convenient story to trot out when they wanted attention.”

“I have found that you do not have to be the result of a disdained marriage to be considered a problem to be solved.”

Cristhian studied her as she finished the last bite of her breakfast. “You are a princess. An heir. What’s the problem?”

“I had more interest in playing football than learning protocol. I was much better at sneaking around the rules than following them. I need...ed freedom and fresh air, and there is little of that to be had while growing up a princess. My sister would have been better suited, I think, to some of it, but...” She shrugged her shoulders.

“You are older?” he prompted when she said nothing more. He could have found this information out himself, but in his work he found the stories people told themselves, and then shared, offered more information than facts did.

“No. Beau is actually three minutes older. But since there were two of us, my parents got to choose who would be considered the heir. They held it over our heads like a prize, but neither of us were too eager to win it.”

“Then how did you get chosen?”

“I was deemed prettier. Easier to mold. My sister... She has a head for details. She could recite protocol back to you better than even my father. But...” She shook her head, and the smile on her face was found even though she was explaining her own demise. “You cannot threaten or manipulate Beaugonia. She will do as she will. I...did not like the consequences my parents threatened me with, so I learned to pretend better than she did. And so I was chosen.”

She leaned forward then, a serious, intent look on her face. When she spoke, it was with a quiet, careful fervor. “If I am returned to my father, he will insist we marry. Since you are royal, we will be named heirs to his throne. Me as queen, you as something. And we will be told to make the same choices with our children. Well, unless one is a boy and one is a girl. Guess who gets chosen then.”

He did not like the picture she painted at all, but he also had infinite confidence that if he did return her to King Rendall, Cristhian would find a way to get what he wanted out of the arrangement. She wouldn’t sway his opinion of what must be done, of what would be best. So what struck him in the moment was her unless one is a boy .

“You do not know the sex of the babies?”

She sat back in her chair, rested her hands over that swell of her stomach. “I wanted to be surprised,” she returned, so primly and without meeting his gaze that he knew there was more to that story than she was giving him at the moment.

But he would know it eventually.

“The doctor will tell us. So that we can make the appropriate plans.”

She eyed him then, with a disdain he didn’t care to admit made him want to fidget.

Unheard of.

“It does not matter their sex. They will not be heirs to anything. I will not imprison my children.”

“Come, Princesa, surely you’re not so dramatic as to liken prison to the privilege and opportunity you were raised with.”

“I try to tell myself that. I try to be grateful for all that I have, but, Cristhian, do you have any idea what it’s like to know everything you are is a mismatch for the life you are expected to lead? And so the entirety of that life stretching out before you will be nothing but a farce. For someone else. Never yourself.”

He didn’t scowl at her, though he wanted to. “So many people concerned with themselves, and so little concern for the people who must deal with the fallout of their actions.”

The rejoinder didn’t seem to land as he’d hope it might. She tilted her head and studied him, as though she could see straight through. When no one saw straight through.

Not even yourself.

He pushed that thought away as she spoke.

“You see, the difference here is, I can acknowledge the great privilege you were brought up with, and still imagine that losing your parents, being bounced around without love, was difficult for you.” She stood then, and he couldn’t quite take his gaze from the pregnant belly. Where his children grew inside her. His .

Children who would not be bounced around. Who would feel love, and not have it ripped away from them by fate.

“I can have empathy for you, no matter the circumstance, Cristhian. I consider that a gift.”

He looked up at her then, at those green eyes. And he knew what he must do. “I must thank you for this little speech. It has given me clarity on how we will move forward.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“The moment we can get a minister here, we will be married.”

Zia wondered if she’d had some kind of cardiac event. She was standing, but she couldn’t feel her legs. Her breath didn’t come in and out as it should.

“I beg your pardon?” she managed.

“We will marry,” he repeated, pushing out of the chair himself. “There is no other way that truly gives our children the childhood I want them to have. Bouncing around is a no go for me, and a life without their mother would also not do.”

“What about a life without their father?”

“You should have hidden better if you wished for that.”

“Better than an isolated arctic island shrouded by polar night?” she demanded, facing off with him as if they were in a boxing ring rather than a posh dining room.

He smiled at her then, and she had to wonder what was wrong with her that his smile could still send a shimmer of sparks through her when he was being the most ridiculous man alive.

“Unfortunately for you, Zia, I would have found you anywhere.”

Which might have been romantic if he’d been the one looking for her. But no, it had been her father. Cristhian had no doubt forgotten about her the morning she’d disappeared. Hopped in the next bed and so on and so forth for the past seven months.

Which was reason enough to stop this right here, right now. “I will not marry you.”

“I did not ask. You said it yourself. Your father will insist we marry should I return you to him. I cannot really be insisted upon, if I do not agree, but in this case, it is the best-case scenario.”

“To marry a veritable stranger so we don’t have to work out a custody agreement?”

He considered this, or more likely pretended to. Then he shrugged. “Yes.”

She shook her head. She had known he wouldn’t be reasonable, but she didn’t think he’d be this. “This is ridiculous. You clearly haven’t thought this through at all.”

“On the contrary, I’ve done nothing but think since I was met with this.” He gestured at her stomach. “The options are limited with our complicated backgrounds. We must marry and prepare a united front against all that will come. We are not enemies, Zia. We will work out what is best for the children. Together.”

But he didn’t say that like some kind of promise of compromise and reason. He said it like together meant her trotting along after him, doing whatever he wished. And that was exactly what she’d escaped.

She wouldn’t go back. Her children would be raised to be strong and independent and not victims to other people’s whims or power. She knew what it was like. To endure it. To watch other people endure it. She wanted more for them. So much more.

“Perhaps I am not your enemy, Cristhian, but you are turning into mine.”

He chuckled at that. Chuckled. She wanted to slap him.

“What is it you think a marriage should be that we could not accomplish? If we are both reasonable, we can make all important decisions as a team. We have many estates to choose from. We can be as involved or as not involved in Lille as you wish. It’s actually the perfect answer to all your problems.”

“Is it?”

“You were all set to marry that duke or what have you?”

She didn’t believe for a second he didn’t know exactly who she’d been set to marry. “A crown prince,” she bit out.

“Ah, of course. Were you desperately in love with him? Did you know each other well? My guess is no if you so willingly went to my bed all those months ago.”

She had no argument for that. She had met Lyon Traverso all of twice. And they’d never been alone together. He’d shown about as much interest in her as he’d shown in the salmon that had been served at dinner.

“So, what is the difference?” Cristhian asked, with a kind of patience she didn’t trust at all. “Rank?” he asked silkily.

“It has nothing to do with rank.” He wanted to paint her some spoiled, ignorant, materialistic princess, and maybe she should let him. Maybe it would take this ridiculous idea of marriage off the table.

“Then what does it have to do with?” he asked, with an innocence so ludicrous she was tempted to chuckle herself.

“It has to do with the fact I have a right to...make my own decisions. To be free of yet another man who wants me to follow along, regardless of my own thoughts or opinions or fears. I knew what I was getting into with the arranged marriage.” Protecting her sister if nothing else, but now she had children to protect. “I don’t know what I’m getting into with you, Cristhian, and I will not put myself through that simply because you think it’s the best course of action, when I know it’s not.”

All his casual masks melted off his face in that moment. His mouth got very hard, very serious. His eyes all dark flame and intensity, which reminded her of things it shouldn’t when he looked as angry as he had when his gaze had met hers through the window back in her cabin.

But her body couldn’t seem to tell the difference between anger and heat. Fury and lust. They seemed all tangled up together low in her belly, in the heaviness of her breasts.

When he stepped closer, she had to internally remind herself to breathe. Not lean in.

“One thing I will make sure of, Zia, regardless of you, is that these children will come first. Your whims are immaterial.”

Whims . He really was the most frustrating and infuriating man she could have made this mistake with. “My whims?” She gestured at the castle around them. “What about yours? They seem to be winning.”

“ I am thinking about what’s best for the children. You keep talking about yourself.”

Perhaps that’s what it sounded like to him. She couldn’t even quite blame him for thinking that was what she meant. Even if it poked at her so that everything seemed to deflate. Exhaustion crept in, tears trying to find purchase in her eyes, though she fought them.

She could explain it to him. What it was like to watch a mother bow and scrape to a father who had all the control. She could tell him what it felt like as a young girl to watch her mother whisper truths, but always, always capitulate to her father’s orders and mandates. No matter what she told her daughters. She could tell him in no uncertain terms she wanted more for her children. A mother who they could be proud of, who they could trust.

That all the things she desired for herself were really for them. And so much she’d done before this pregnancy had been for Beau, not herself. Because for all Beau’s strong personality, her panic attacks left her vulnerable. She’d needed a protector. Zia had the ability to be that. Just like she had the ability, the requirement to be her children’s staunchest supporter. This was love, above all else, she believed. Sacrificing everything to protect those who needed it.

But he couldn’t possibly understand. He wanted her to be the selfish, pampered princess. And so, in his mind, she always would be. So it was with her father, so it was with no doubt every man.

“Well, Cristhian, this self you’re so disdainful of will have to say I do for you to force me into marriage. So unless you have mastered brainwashing or ventriloquism, I think we are at an impasse.” And with that, she turned on a heel and left his grand dining room and his fuming expression.