No, as a princess, she would never truly have a profession, but with that came the release of pressure of earning money to pay bills.
Of figuring out where the road between what she dreamed of doing, and what would help her survive, met.
But the idea of marrying someone selected by her stepbrother, who no more knew her than liked her, was not a simple thing.
And underneath that, the idea of marrying any man, touching any man, being intimate with any man, who wasn’t Luca was an abomination unto her soul.
For it was only him. Luca and those eyes as hard as flint, that mouth that was often curled into a sneer in her direction, those large hands that were much rougher than any king’s ever should have been. It was only him who made her want. Who made her ache with the deep well of unsatisfied desire. Only him.
Only ever him.
“I will be holding a ball,” Luca said, his tone decisive. “And at that ball will be several men that I have personally curated for you.”
“You make them sound like a collection of cheeses.”
“Think of them however you like. If you prefer to think them as cheese, that’s your own business.”
Something burst inside her, some small portion of restraint that she had been only just barely holding on to since she had come into the throne room. “How do you know I like men, Luca? You’ve never asked.”
Luca drew back slightly, a flicker in his dark eyes the only showing that she had surprised him at all.
“If it is not so,” he said, his tone remote, “then I suggest you speak now.”
“No,” she responded, feeling deflated, as her momentary bit of rebellion fell flat on its face. “I’m not opposed to men.”
“Well,” he said, “one less bit of damage control I have to do.”
“That would require damage control?”
“How many gay princesses do you know?” he asked. “The upper echelons of society are ever conservative regardless of what they say. And here in this country it would be quite the scandal, I assure you. It is all fine to pay lip service to such things as equality, but appearances, tradition, are as important as ever.”
“And I am already a break with tradition,” she pointed out.
“Yes,” he said, that tone heavy. “My father’s actions in granting you the same rights as I have were unheard of. You are not his by blood, and in royal lines blood is everything. It is the only thing.”
“I will go to the ball,” she said, because there really was no point arguing with Luca once he had made pronouncements. But whatever happened after that... It would be her decision.
But she was too raw, too shocked, from this entire conversation to continue having a fight with him.
He wanted to marry her off to another man. He wanted her to be someone else’s problem.
He felt nothing about doing it.
He did not want her.
He’s your stepbrother, and even if he did he couldn’t have you. As he just said, tradition is everything.
She squared her shoulders. “When is this blessed event?”
“In a couple weeks’ time,” he responded.
She blinked. “Oh. I’m not certain my mother will be back from France before then.”
“She will be. I have already spoken with her.”
That galled her. Like a lance through her chest. Her mother, of course, had no idea how Sophia felt about Luca. She told her mother everything. Everything except for that. Everything except for the completely forbidden lust she felt for her stepbrother. But even so, she couldn’t believe that her mother had allowed Luca to have this conversation with her without at least giving her a call to warn her first.
“I told her not to tell you,” Luca said as if he was reading her mind.
She sniffed. “Well. That is quite informative.”
“Do not be indignant, sorellina,” Luca said. “It is not becoming of a princess.”
“Well, I’ve certainly never been overly becoming as princesses go,” she said stiffly. “Why start now?”
“You had better start. You had better start so that all of this will work accordingly.”
He looked her up and down. “We need to get you a new stylist.”
“I use the same stylist as my mother,” she said defensively.
“It doesn’t work for you,” he said, his tone cold.
And with a wave of his hand he dismissed her, and she was left somehow obeying him, her feet propelling her out of his royal chamber and into the hall.
She clutched her chest, gasping for breath, pain rolling through her.
The man she loved was going to marry her off to someone else. The man she loved was selecting from a pool of grooms for her to meet in two weeks’ time.
The man she loved was her stepbrother. The man she loved was a king.
All of those things made it impossible for her to have him.
But she didn’t have any idea how in the world she was supposed to stop wanting him.
“WHAT IS THIS?” The disdain in Sophia’s tone when Luca presented her with a thick stack of files the following week was—in his estimation—a bit on the dramatic side.
“It is the list of possible husbands to invite to the upcoming ball. I feel strongly that an excess of five is just being spoiled for choice. Plus, you will not have time to dance with that many people. So I suggest you look it over, and find a way to pare them down.”
“This is...” She looked up at him, her dark eyes furious. “These are dossiers of...men. Photos and personal profiles...”
“How else would you know if you’re compatible?”
“Maybe meeting them and going out for dinner?” Sophia asked.
She crossed her arms, the motion pushing her rather abundant décolletage up over the neckline of the rather simple V-neck top she was wearing.
They really needed to get ahold of that new stylist and quickly. She was, as ever, a temptation to Luca, and to his sense of duty. But soon it would be over. Soon he would have his problematic stepsister married off, and then she would be safely out of his reach.
He could have found a woman to slake his lust on, and over the years he had done just that. After all, whatever was broken in him...Sophia should not have to suffer for it.
But during those time periods he had not been forced to cohabitate with Sophia. Always, when he had spent too much time with her, he had to detox, essentially. Find a slim blonde to remind himself that there were other sorts of women he found hot. Other women he might find desirable.
And then, when it was really bad, he gave up entirely on playing the opposite game and found himself a curvaceous brunette to pour his fantasies into. The end of that road was a morass of self-loathing and recrimination, but on many levels he was happy to end up there. He was comforted by it.
But this... Sharing space with her. As he had done since his father had died. No other woman would do. He