Maisey Yates
For my kids, Aidric, Kian and Alani. You provided a lot of inspiration for this book. Thanks for always keeping me on my toes, and for teaching me about love every single day.
“WHAT do you mean she’s gone?” Prince Rodriguez Anguiano looked down at Eduardo Santina, King of Santina, and his future father-in-law, and swore he saw sweat beading on the older man’s brow.
The king was known for being formidable, tough and unbending. Watching him sweat was unexpected. And more than a little bit interesting.
King Eduardo cleared his throat. “Just that. Sophia is gone. She left with a maharaja.”
Rodriguez felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “A maharaja? Is marrying a prince not enough for some women? They feel the need to pursue a more… exotic title?”
King Eduardo’s face darkened, color creeping into his cheeks. “She has done so without my permission.”
“I’m assuming, since my intended fiancée has run away with a maharaja, the wedding is off?” The king only looked at him and Rodriguez felt a vague sense of relief wash through him. He had been prepared to do the marriage thing, but truly, he hadn’t been looking forward to it. In his estimation it was a ball and chain situation, and he didn’t know anyone who would willingly shackle themselves in that manner. Yet people did seem to get married. It was the heir factor, one he couldn’t ignore forever, but for a while longer, maybe.
Sophia had been pretty enough, a beautiful brunette with a real classic beauty. But even that would get old after a while. Now he could go back to Santa Christobel and celebrate with a blonde. Maybe a redhead. Maybe both. Not that he usually went in for that sort of thing but he’d had six long, unheard-of months of celibacy so that he could present his future bride with medical proof of his good health. And now that there would be no wedding, it had just been six months of physical torture.
“Father?”
Rodriguez turned, his ears always tuned in to sultry, feminine tones. But in this instance, the tone did not match the looks. One of Eduardo’s other daughters was standing in the entryway, sleek brown hair hanging just beneath her chin. All no-nonsense and practical, as was the rest of her attire.
Wide-leg beige slacks, a white button-up top and metallic ballet slipper-style shoes. She looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of a business-casual catalog. She was tall, slim, only a couple of inches shorter than he was, and her face was pleasant enough, but with none of the flash and paint he was accustomed to seeing on a woman.
“Sorry,” she said, inclining her head. “I didn’t realize that you were busy.” She turned to go, and for some reason, he was sorry to see it.
“Carlotta.”
She paused and turned back again. This time he noticed how green her eyes were. “Yes, Father?”
“Stay for a moment.”
Carlotta gave him a brief icy look before turning her focus back to her father.
“This is Prince Rodriguez Anguiano. Your sister Sophia’s fiancé.”
She looked at him again, her expression blank. She was strange, contained, demure almost, and yet he could sense something beneath it. Something she seemed determined not to reveal.
“Charmed,” he said, flashing her a grin. “Though I don’t know that I’m Sophia’s fiancé any longer. As she’s run off with the maharaja.”
Carlotta blinked owlish green eyes at him before shooting her father a worried look. That’s where her emotion was, reserved for the old man. She seemed to fear him, or at least feel nervous around him. Rodriguez couldn’t even find the slightest bit of fear in himself. The king posed no threat to him. A lion who was all roar and no maul. He knew the other kind, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to tear out your throat. It made it very hard to take a man like Eduardo Santina seriously.
His daughter, on the other hand, seemed to feel differently.
“She did not ‘run off’ with the mahar—with Ashok,” Eduardo said.
“I don’t care if she walked, ran or flew in his private jet. The bottom line is the same. I am out a fiancée, and we seem to have no more marriage bargain,” Rodriguez countered.
Carlotta shifted on her sensible shoes. “Can I go?”
“No,” her father