can you turn your nose up at a Rolex?” Serafia reached down and plucked one off the tray. “Try this on. It’s steel and yellow gold, so it will coordinate nicely with whatever you might be wearing. The faceplate is surrounded by pave diamonds and there are diamonds on the hours. I think it will really look elegant—”
Gabriel didn’t move fast enough and before he knew what she had planned, he felt the cold steel of the metal at his wrist. His whole body tensed in an instant. On reflex, he hissed and jerked away from her. He was instantly transported back to Venezuela and the dark, claustrophobic room he was held in for almost a week. He could smell the mildew and filth, the air stale and thick with humidity.
“I said no!” he shouted without intending to. His eyes flew open, taking in the open, airy bedroom. He drew in a deep breath of air scented with hibiscus flowers and felt the tension fade from his shoulders. Looking at Serafia, he immediately regretted his reaction. There was fear as real as his own reflected in her dark eyes. “I’m sorry to yell,” he said, but it was too late. The damage was done.
She shied away from him, turning her back and carrying the hundred thousand dollars’ worth of watches back to the desk. She didn’t speak again until she returned, more composed. It was amazing how she always seemed so put together. He could rattle her for a moment, but she always seemed to snap right back. That was one skill he could use, but she hadn’t taught him that yet.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. “What was all that about?”
Gabriel didn’t like talking about his abduction. And his family had done a good job keeping the story out of the media. “I...I just don’t like to wear a watch. I don’t like the feel of anything around my wrists.” He didn’t want to elaborate. She already looked at him as if he was flawed. She had no idea how truly flawed he was. He was broken.
Serafia sighed, searching his face for answers he wasn’t going to give her. “Okay, fine. No watch.” She picked up her tablet and tapped through a few screens. “Your first public event in Alma will be a party hosted by Patrick Rowling. We need to get you fitted for your formal attire.”
Patrick Rowling. Gabriel had heard his father and brother talking about the man, but he hadn’t paid any attention. “Who is Patrick Rowling?”
“He’s one of the richest men in Alma. He’s British, actually, but when oil was discovered in Alma, his drilling company led the charge. He owns and operates almost all the oil platforms and refineries in the country. He’s a very powerful and influential man. This party will be your first introduction to Alman society. Forging a solid relationship with the Rowlings will help secure a strong foothold for the monarchy.”
Gabriel would be king, but somehow he got the feeling that he would be the one kissing Patrick’s ring and not the other way around. He was already dreading this party and he didn’t know anything about it.
“Now, this is a formal event, so custom dictates that you should wear ceremonial dress.”
Serafia swung open the door of the armoire and pulled out a navy military uniform that looked like something out of an old oil painting in a museum. It looked stiff and itchy and he had absolutely no interest in wearing it.
“All right, now,” he complained. “I’ve been a really good sport about most of this makeover stuff, but this is going too far.” Gabriel frowned at Serafia as she held up the ridiculous-looking suit. “I let you cut my hair, give me a facial, a manicure, a pedicure and all other kinds of cures. You’ve given half my wardrobe to charity and spent thousands of dollars of my own money on suits no man under sixty would want to wear. I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut and go with it. But that...that outfit is ridiculous.”
Serafia’s eyes grew wider the longer he complained. “It’s the ceremonial dress of the king!” she argued.
Of course it was. “It’s got ropes and tassels and a damn baby-blue sash. I’m going to look like Prince Charming at the ball.”
Serafia frowned. “That’s the point, Gabriel. You are going to be Su Majestad el Rey Don Gabriel I. That’s what kings wear.”
“Maybe in the 1940s when my great-grandfather was the king. It’s old-fashioned. Outdated.”
“It’s not for every day. It’s for events like coronations, weddings and formal events like this party at the Rowling Estate. The rest of the time you’ll wear normal clothes.”
“Normal clothes you picked out,” he noted. Not much better in his estimation.
Serafia sighed and returned the suit to the armoire. When she shut the door, she slumped against it in a posture of defeat. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “We leave for Alma in two days and we have so much to cover. At this rate, we’re never going to get it all done. You hired me, Gabriel. Why are you fighting me on every little thing?”
He didn’t think he was fighting her on everything. The watch issue was nonnegotiable, but they’d gotten that unpleasantness out of the way. The clothing was just a hard pill for him to swallow. “I’m not intentionally trying to make your job more difficult. It just seems to be a gift I have.”
Serafia rolled her eyes. “So it seems. Admittedly, you appear to enjoy getting me all spun up. I’ve seen you smile through my irritation.”
Gabriel had to admit that was true. There was something about the flush of irritation that made Serafia even that much more beautiful, if it was possible. In his mind, he imagined the same would hold true when she was screaming out in passion, clawing at the sheets. The woman who had sashayed down the runway all those years ago had nothing on the vision in his mind as he thought of her at night.
And he had. Since the night on the patio, he’d lain alone in bed every night thinking about her. He hadn’t intended to. Serafia was a fantasy from his younger years; the image of her in a bikini was the background of his first computer. It had been a long time since he’d had a crush on Serafia, and yet those desires had rushed back at the first sight of her.
It was probably his family-imposed curfew. The day his brother abdicated, he was practically dragged from his penthouse to the family compound. He’d gone weeks with no clubs, no bars, no socializing with friends at parties. His every move was watched and that meant he was on the verge of his longest dry spell since he broke the seal on his manhood.
It didn’t really matter, though, at least where Serafia was concerned. He could’ve bedded a woman this morning and he would still want her the way he always had wanted her.
“Yes,” he admitted at last. “I get pleasure from watching you spin.”
“Why? Are you a sadist?”
Gabriel smiled wide and took a few steps closer to her. “Not at all. It might be cliché to say it, but, Serafia, you are even more beautiful when you’re angry.”
* * *
Serafia rejected the flicker of disbelief in the back of her mind and silenced the denial on her lips. As her therapist had trained her, she identified the negative thoughts and reframed them. She was a healthy, attractive woman. Gabriel found her eye-catching and it wasn’t her place to question his opinion of her. “Thank you,” she said. “But please don’t spend the rest of our time together trying to annoy me. You might find I’m more attractive, but it’s emotionally exhausting.”
Gabriel took another step
