curtain was swept aside again and the rush of heat that came from outside broke the bubble they’d been cocooned in.
“It is done,” Luciano said firmly. “The wedding will take place in eight weeks, after Sunday Mass.” He turned to Maximo and said something in his native language.
A dull red stained Maximo’s cheekbones and his eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw jumping with tension. “Si. I am certain.”
“It’s good to be sure.” Luciano patted his son on the back before stopping in front of her. “Make him happy.”
Luciano and Elisabetta exited the room, leaving Alison and Maximo alone.
“What did he say?” she asked, knowing it hadn’t been flattering to her.
“It isn’t important.”
She let out an inelegant snort. “For something unimportant it certainly made you angry.”
“He asked if I was certain it was my child.”
That stung a little bit. But then, the king didn’t know her. He had to suspect that she and Maximo hadn’t known each other for very long. Really, she couldn’t blame him for his concern.
She shrugged. “Well, I suppose we don’t know for sure. If they were careless enough to give me your sample they might have been mislabeled. That would let you off the hook.” The color in his face darkened and she felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. That was a tasteless thing to say.”
“It was.” He slipped his arm through hers and led her back toward their rooms. “I don’t consider myself on the hook. I want this child.”
“I only meant the marriage,” she mumbled.
“The marriage should hardly be noticeable for either of us. Despite the change in location for you.”
“Glad to know I won’t be too heavy a ball and chain,” she snapped.
“Not at all. And make no mistake, I’ve been married, and I’m not looking for that sort of relationship out of this.” He released her arm and made his way up the stairs without her.
He had mentioned that he hadn’t been planning on getting married again and up until then she had been certain it was love for his wife that kept him from wanting a new wife. Now she wasn’t entirely certain.
And why should she care? He wasn’t going to be her husband in any true sense of the word. He would be her partner. They would raise their baby together during the day and at night he would warm the bed of some lithe, six-foot-tall blonde. And she would go to bed alone and enjoy the solitude of her bed. And cold sheets. So why didn’t that sound fair, or appealing, at all?
“This is wonderful!” Isabella hadn’t stopped chattering since she and Alison had gotten into the limo. “My mamma never allows me to go shopping.”
“Your mother never lets you go shopping?” Alison couldn’t imagine being controlled to such a degree. The very thought of it made her feel claustrophobic. “And are we supposed to be doing this now?”
Isabella had been very excited about taking a trip to help furnish a new, princess-worthy wardrobe for Alison, but Alison had assumed it had been Max’s idea. And she certainly hadn’t imagined that her future sister-in-law might be forbidden from going.
A slight blush stained Isabella’s high cheekbones. “Not exactly.”
Anger, not directed at Isabella, tightened her stomach. “Why aren’t you allowed to shop?”
A mutinous expression creased Isabella’s forehead. “Shopping is not a skill required of the future wife of a sheikh.”
“You’re engaged?” The other woman seemed very young to her. Naive, but very sweet.
She shrugged one very lovely shoulder. “More or less. I have an arranged marriage.”
“An arranged marriage?”
It felt wrong to Alison, the thought that such a lovely, gentle person was being farmed out to a man she didn’t even love. But then, wasn’t that essentially what was happening with her? Except it was different for her. Isabella was clearly a romantic, and Alison had never imagined that she would marry for love. Anyway, Max was an honorable, handsome, decent man and any woman would be lucky to marry him.
Her own line of thinking shocked her. When had she come to think of him like that? It was ridiculous. She’d only known him for a few days. And she didn’t want to marry him. She was only doing it because it was the right thing to do. That was all.
Isabella’s eyes shone with passion now. “I thought I was entitled to experience a little something before I gave it all up for duty and honor. I just want to live a little bit of life. The life of my choosing.” She took a deep breath as though she was trying to regain some composure. “But arranged marriages are normal in our family. It’s just how things work. Well, except with you and Max, of course.”
“Was Max and Selena’s marriage arranged?” She felt a tiny twinge of guilt for digging into Maximo’s past. It would have been one thing if she were really the woman he loved, if they had the sort of relationship where they shared confidences. But they didn’t.
“Yes. Well, my mother met Selena after one of her shows. She was an opera singer … a very talented one. My parents had been pushing Max to settle down and start having babies. They encouraged him to pursue Selena and he did. I know he loved her, though, after a while. I could tell. So it was an arranged marriage in a way. Not like mine, though.” She sighed. “I’ve never even met my fiancé.”
Alison only half heard the rest of the conversation. She was too busy processing the information she’d just received. No wonder Maximo’s view on marriage was so pragmatic. He’d made it sound as though his mother had introduced them, but she had assumed that he’d married her for love, not duty. Although Isabella was certain he’d grown to love Selena.
She was also starting to suspect that his marriage hadn’t been a perfect one. She could see it in the tension that pulled up around his eyes when he spoke of his late wife. But they had been through so much as a couple, perhaps it was only natural that they would have had some strain put on the relationship.
She couldn’t figure out why it all suddenly seemed so important. It just did. The more she got to know Max as a person, the more she wanted to know about him. She just wanted to … to understand him. And that was normal. He was the father of her baby; of course she wanted to understand him.
The limo pulled up to the curb of what looked like a very upscale row of boutiques. The driver opened the door and Isabella slid out. Alison followed. The ocean was only a hundred yards away from the shops, and the chilly salt air did wonders for the eternal churning in Alison’s stomach. The shops were all set into small, historic stone buildings, but just at the end of the row of boutiques there was a new, massive casino. It wasn’t all lit up like Vegas, rather it was more sedate, in keeping with the theme of the rest of the district. Maximo really was a genius. What he’d done to revamp the economy of his country was brilliant.
Women in expensive clothing milled around on the cobblestone walks sipping coffee that was as designer as their handbags. The men, Alison assumed, were in the casino.
“Princess
