of her brows. ‘There are so very many of you.’
Ben Jackson narrowed his gaze, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Natalia gave him a bland smile back. She would not be anyone’s amusement. Not ever again. If she amused, it would be by choice, not because of what she could—or couldn’t—do.
‘And there are quite a few Santinas as well,’ he replied in as bland a tone as her smile. ‘Large families are such blessings, aren’t they?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Natalia murmured, although she’d hardly call her large family a blessing. Their relationships were too fractured and distant for that. Save for her twin sister, Carlotta, Natalia didn’t feel particularly close to anyone in her family, and certainly not her parents. Yet knowing what she did of Bobby Jackson’s clan, she didn’t think Ben thought his family such a blessing either.
The minister of tourism and culture had excused himself with a murmur, and Natalia nodded to his retreating back. ‘You were certainly having a cozy chat with our minister. Are you planning on spending some time on our fair island?’ She’d spoken playfully, giving him a flirtatious look from under her lashes, but Ben Jackson remained all too expressionless. Unaffected, or perhaps still amused.
‘As a matter of fact, I am.’
‘A holiday, perhaps?’
‘Not quite.’
He was definitely amused. Natalia suppressed another stab of irritation. She was used to managing such conversations better, or, if she were honest, wrapping men like Ben Jackson around one manicured pinkie. No, not men like Ben Jackson. She had a feeling she hadn’t met many men like Ben Jackson, which was something to be thankful for. The man was downright annoying.
‘Then perhaps,’ she suggested, ‘you’re here to keep an eye on your sister? Make sure she behaves herself?’
‘My sister is an adult and perfectly capable of behaving herself,’ Ben replied coolly, ‘unlike some women who have been happily plastered across the pages of most of the tabloids of Europe.’
Natalia jerked back just a little, shocked by the sudden sharpness in his tone. He didn’t sound amused any more; he sounded condemning. She knew she was featured heavily in most tabloids and gossip magazines. She sought out such publicity deliberately. Yet hearing this aggravating man mock her for the exaggerated stories of her evening exploits made her now burn with fury—and shame.
‘Then you must be watching out for the rest of your family,’ she said with an answering edge to her voice. She let her gaze sweep through the room, lingering pointedly on his outrageous father, who was laughing far too loudly, before moving on to one of his sisters arguing heatedly with a guest, and then another sister—some kind of reality TV star, for heaven’s sake!—who certainly looked the part, before finally resting on yet another sister, a curvy blonde who was poured into a dress and flirting outrageously with a man twice her age. ‘I don’t believe all of them are able to behave themselves, are they?’
Ben’s expression didn’t change, not one bit, yet Natalia experienced a ripple of unease anyway. She felt again that impression of latent strength, leashed power.
‘I believe,’ Ben said softly, ‘this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I hardly think we can compare families, Mr Jackson, despite their similar sizes.’
‘Ah, I see. You’re a snob as well as a brat.’
Natalia drew back, shocked. No one ever talked to her like that, at least not a commoner at a public event. Within the palace walls was another matter altogether. ‘You should know,’ she told him coldly, ‘that I could have you thrown out of here for making remarks like that.’
‘Is that a threat?’
Natalia said nothing. It was a threat, and a useless one at that. She could go and fetch one of the liveried guards standing sentry at the doors to the palace ballroom, and she could request that they eject Ben Jackson from the premises. Whether they would do so was highly questionable. Ben Jackson was the brother of the future queen of Santina and, despite his family’s insalubrious background, an honoured guest. And the palace staff, on orders from her parents, took any of her requests with an irritating dose of cautious skepticism. She’d just been very foolish.
‘Consider yourself warned,’ she told him, and he laughed softly.
‘At least you have some sense.’
‘And you have no manners,’ she shot back.
His eyebrows lifted once again, and another mocking smile quirked that rather mobile mouth. ‘Kettle?’ he reminded her softly. ‘Pot?’
Natalia resisted the very strong urge to remind him she was of royal blood. And to kick him in the shins. Or maybe somewhere a bit higher. She plucked a flute of champagne from a circulating tray and took a large sip. ‘So,’ she said, eyeing him over the rim of her drink, ‘why are you considering spending time on Santina?’
Ben regarded her for a moment, and then seeming to shrug although his shoulders barely moved, he decided—thankfully—to be civil. ‘I’m starting a sports camp for the island’s disadvantaged youth.’
Surprise flickered through her. She’d expected him to say something about touring Santina’s sights, or renting a private yacht or palazzo. The usual reason a restless millionaire came to their shores. ‘How very charitable of you,’ she finally murmured.
‘Thank you.’
‘And I suppose you’re hoping to find the next Lionel Messi or David Beckham? Get a few kickbacks?’
Ben narrowed his eyes. ‘If you’re implying that my aim in starting this camp is to find a future star and benefit financially from it then you would be very much mistaken.’
‘Oh, come now. Surely you can’t deny you have something of an ulterior motive? Or are you going to spend however many weeks or months setting up this little camp with no profit whatsoever?’
‘As incredible as it seems to you, Your Highness,’ Ben murmured, ‘yes.’
Natalia shook her head. She knew enough about business—or at least men—to realise that no one did anything for free. There was always a price; it just depended on who paid it. And even if Ben had the saintliest motives possible, she still liked to annoy him. Especially since he’d annoyed her so much. ‘Perhaps not a future star, then,’ she acknowledged, ‘but the publicity can’t be bad.’
‘You know what they say about publicity. No publicity is bad publicity, except I don’t think that’s quite true in your case?’ He left it as a question, but the iron in his eyes made Natalia quite sure that he had no doubt about the publicity she’d had—or its accuracy. Only last week she’d been photographed leaving a club at 4:00 a.m., in the company of two well-known jet-setting playboys. A man like Ben Jackson probably found that shocking—and shameless. ‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘the amount of publicity generated by a youth club on this small island will be negligible to my business or its profits.’
Natalia didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged by his complete dismissal of this small island. She was a bit of both. Her mother would possibly swoon at such scorn. ‘Well,’ she said, keeping her voice careless, ‘since you seem so well-acquainted
