“Yes. The press conference.” He took one last look at Luca, who had his serious green eyes trained on him. “I’ll … I’ll see you later, Luca.”
Luca brightened, a smile curving his small mouth. “Bye.”
Rodriguez turned and walked out of the room, trying to ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest.
For Carlotta, the press held about as much appeal as a food-borne illness and all the charming symptoms that came with it. They were, in her estimation, beneath contempt. People who preyed on the mistakes and tragedies of others, weaving them into salacious stories for the consumption of a scandal-hungry public.
Walking into a room full of the vultures was about the lowest thing on her to-do list. Still, she was doing it. In style too. With the kind of heels normally reserved for … well, never. She’d gotten out of the habit of wearing high shoes when pregnant with Luca. Then after he was born, carrying him in heels was about as practical as waddling around in heels with a big pregnant belly.
So, her fabulous, sky-high black stilettos had been on hold in the back of her closet for years, and now, paired with a sedate, but cheery, yellow sheath dress, she was looking quite … well, almost sexy, in an understated way. It was a welcome break from her typically sedate appearance. At least, that’s what she was telling herself.
She took a deep breath and started down the long corridor that led to the room they were holding the conference in. She was confident. Strong. Sexy—at least, she had been in another life, and was trying it out again. She could do this.
She lengthened her strides and tipped her chin up, the razor-blunt edges of her hair skimming her shoulders. Yes, she could do this. She was strong, sexy and in control.
She rounded the corner and ran into Rodriguez’s broad frame, her breasts and tipped-up chin hitting the hard wall of his chest and his neck, respectively.
“Oh, I’m sorry! This is … I’m sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to ramble. When had she become so … not a princess? Just clumsy and coming to breakfast in her sweats and … and she couldn’t do that now. She was in a palace. She was marrying Rodriguez.
She had to change. Again. Just when things had been getting really comfortable it was all changing again.
Oh, no. Not this, not now. Tears were stinging her eyes, her throat tight and aching. This was not the time for an emotional breakdown.
He put his hands on her shoulders, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, sending a little zing of electricity through her. “It’s fine.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t … I don’t really want to do this.”
His brows locked together. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just …” She blew out a breath and waved her hand. “Me. And the media. I don’t like to be in the news.”
He frowned. “Because of Luca?”
“Because of what they did to me when they found out I was pregnant with Luca. Do you have any idea …?” She blinked and looked away. “It was horrible. They followed me everywhere. Crowding me while I ate. I was sick all the time anyway and to have a camera shoved in my face while I was just trying to have a relaxing meal … and there were pictures of me walking with my belly circled, drawing attention to it, along with the flattering headline Who’s the Father? And when they realized we weren’t telling them, they switched to things like Has Princess Carlotta Put on Too Much Baby Weight?”
His thumbs moved up and down, from her satin-covered shoulders down to the bare skin of her arms. “I know. It’s a necessary evil though. The way I can communicate with my people. They’ve written … I don’t even know what all they’ve written about me. Things about my exploits. Most probably true, but not something I want to read in black and white. Not something I’d want my maiden aunt to read.”
“Do you have a maiden aunt?”
“That was for illustrative purposes. The point is, the press is a part of royal life, of our lives. I employ a ‘keeping my enemies closer’ strategy with the media.”
“And does it work?”
He smiled, that wicked half-smile of his. “I have no idea, I don’t read that sort of thing, remember?”
“You mentioned.”
He slid one hand down her arm, warm fingertips trailing over her skin before he took her hand in his. “Now, let’s go have a press conference.”
Her heart started moving to its own rhythm, too fast, too hard, to be normal. Why did he have to be charming? Or, the bigger question, why did it work on her? Why did it make her stomach tighten, her nerve endings sizzle, when she knew how easy this kind of charm came to men like him?
She didn’t know why. She only knew it did.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
His smile widened, and as it did, she felt something in her chest expand. “Good. Now, try not to run into me on your way in.”
“WHERE did he propose?”
This question came from one of the reporters in the front, directed at Carlotta, who seemed stiffer than usual at his side. He’d gotten a glimpse of the depth of her discomfort in the hallway. Visible cracks in that smooth veneer of hers.
“He … In his office,” she said.
It was true, even if it was a very unromantic picture to paint for the press. Not that he really cared. The press would take what they said and do whatever they pleased with it. That was how it worked. They didn’t get a vote on how they were portrayed in the media. He’d given up caring years ago.
But Carlotta cared. He could see it, in her stance, in the tenseness in her body. She cared a lot.
“You make it sound dull, Carlotta, when we both know it wasn’t.” He turned to her and brushed his thumb over her cheek gently, fascinated by the stain of pink that spread over her cheeks, beneath her smooth golden skin.
“Of course it wasn’t,” she said, her voice stronger now. “But I didn’t want to give away the entire story. You were so sweet and romantic.”
Her comment made his breath rush out on an involuntary chuckle. “All right. Then we won’t tell them about the doves.” He tossed the crowd of reporters a look. “Boring story. Next question?” With any luck, their little display would have the reporters writing about secret glances and shared jokes.
“Prince Rodriguez, you’re the first ruler in the Anguiano family to marry a woman who already has a child. What does that mean for the country? Are you concerned about watering down the line?”
He heard Carlotta suck in a sharp breath and a strong surge of some unidentifiable emotion rose in his chest. It burned. He felt like there was a pool of fire in his chest, and if he gave it free rein it would take over. And if it did … he did not know what he would do.
Teeth clenched, he forced words forward. “Luca is a child, not an incidental. He is off-limits. Next question, and if you cannot keep it on a topic I approve of, we can be finished here.”
More questions followed, about the wedding date, how they met. All of which he glossed over with practiced ease.
“I think that’s enough for one morning,” he said.
“Pictures?” A photographer stood up in back.
Rodriguez nodded his head once in affirmation and drew Carlotta to his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She felt cold. The fire in his chest kindled again. He leaned in, his lips touching her ear. “Try to smile.”
She turned