The king’s irresistible seduction...

...leads to an inescapable royal consequence!

As King Luca of San Gennaro prepares to take the throne, the last thing he needs is a scandal. Especially one of his own making! But his plan to select a husband for his stepsister, Sophia, backfires wildly when their forbidden desire explodes passionately into life! However much they long for each other, it must never happen again. Until Luca discovers Sophia is pregnant with his heir...

Step into the king’s palace with this dramatic royal romance...

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of over seventy-five romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Also by Maisey Yates

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption

Carides’s Forgotten Wife

Brides of Innocence miniseries

The Spaniard’s Untouched Bride

The Spaniard’s Stolen Bride

Heirs Before Vows miniseries

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

Once Upon a Seduction… miniseries

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

The Italian’s Pregnant Prisoner

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

His Forbidden Pregnant Princess

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08815-2

HIS FORBIDDEN PREGNANT PRINCESS

© 2019 Maisey Yates

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Nicole Helm.

Ask and you shall receive. Dare and I shall deliver.

Can I make a children’s cartoon a romance novel?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

SHE WAS BENEATH him in every way. From her common blood to her objectively plain appearance—that years of designer clothing, professional treatments from the finest aestheticians and beauticians and the work of the best makeup artists money could buy had failed to transform into true beauty—from the way she carried herself, to the way she spoke.

The stepsister he had always seen as a particularly drab blot on the otherwise extravagant tapestry of the royal family of San Gennaro.

The stepsister he could hardly bear to share the same airspace with, let alone the same palace.

The stepsister he was now tasked with finding a suitable husband for.

The stepsister he wanted more than his next breath.

She was beneath him in every way. Except for the way he desired most.

And she never would be.

There were a thousand reasons. From the darkness in him, to the common blood in her. But the only reason that truly mattered was that she was his stepsister, and he was a king.

“You requested my presence, Luca?” Sophia asked, looking up at him with a dampened light in her blue eyes that suggested she was suppressing some emotion or other. In all probability a deep dislike for having to deal with him.

But the feeling was mutual. And if he could endure such an indignity then Sophia—in all her borrowed glory—certainly could.

“I did. As you know, it was my father’s final wish that you be well cared for, along with your mother. He wrote it into law that you are part of this family and are to be treated as a daughter of his blood would be.”

Sophia looked down, her lashes dark on her pale cheek. She had visible freckles that never failed to vex him. Because he wanted to count them. Because sometimes, he wanted to kiss each one.

She should cover them with makeup as most women of her status did. She should have some care for the fact she was a princess.

But she did not.

Today she wore a simple shift that made her bare legs seem far too long and slender. It was an ungainly thing. She also wore nothing at all to cover them. She had on flat shoes, and not a single piece of jewelry. Her dark hair hung limp around her shoulders.

He could only hope she had not gone out in public that way.

“Yes,” she said, finally. Then those dark eyes connected with his and he felt it like a lightning bolt straight down to his stomach. He should not. For every reason cataloged in his mind only a moment before. She was not beautiful. Not when compared to the elegant women who had graced his bed before her. Not when compared to nearly any other princess the world over.

But she captivated him. Had done from the moment he had met her. At first it was nothing more than feeling at turns invaded and intrigued by this alien creature that had come into his life. She had been twelve to his seventeen when their parents had married.

Sophia had possessed a public school education, not a single hint of deportment training and no real understanding of the hierarchy of the palace.

She had a tendency to speak out of turn, to trip over her feet and to treat him in an overly familiar manner.

Her mother was a warm, vivacious woman who had done much to restore his father’s life, life that had drained away after the loss of his first wife. She was also a quick study, and did credit to the position of Queen of San Gennaro.

Sophia, on the other hand, seemed to resist her new role, and her new life. She continued to do so now. In little ways. Her bare legs, and her bare face, as an example.

His irritation with her had taken a sharp turn, twisting into something much more disturbing around the time she turned sixteen. That sense of being captivated, in the way one might be by a spider that has invaded one’s room, shifted and became much more focused.

And there had been a moment, when he had found her breathless from running out in the garden like a schoolgirl when she had been the advanced age of seventeen, that everything had locked into place. That it had occurred to him that if he could only capture that insolent mouth of hers with his own she would finally yield. And he would no longer feel so desperately beguiled by her.

It had only gotten worse as the years had progressed. And the idea of kissing her had perverted yet further into doing much, much more.

But it was not to be. Not ever.

As he had just told her, his father had decreed that she was family. As much as if they were blood.

And so he was putting an end to this once and for all.

“He asked me to take care of you in a very specific fashion,” Luca continued. “And I feel that now that it has been six months since his passing, it is time for me to see those requests honored.”

A crease appeared between her brows. “What request?”

“Specifically? The matter of your marriage, sorellina.” Little sister. He called her that to remind himself.

“My marriage? Shouldn’t we see to the matter of me getting asked to the movies first, Luca?”

“There is no need for such things, obviously. A woman in your position is hardly going to go to the movies. Rather, I have been poring over a list of suitable men who might be able to be brought in for consideration.”

“You’re choosing my husband?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

“I intend to present you with a manageably sized selection. I am not so arrogant that I would make the final choice for you.”

Sophia let out a sharp, inelegant laugh. “Oh, no. You’re only so arrogant that you would inform me I’m getting married, and that you have already started taking steps toward planning the wedding. Tell me, Luca, have you picked out my dress, as well?”

Of course he would be involved in approving that selection; if she thought otherwise she was delusional. “Not as yet,” he said crisply.

“What happens if I refuse you?”

“You won’t,” he said, certainty going as deep as his bones.

He was the king now, and she could not refuse him. She would not. He would not allow it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You are welcome, of course, to make a mockery of the generosity that my father has shown to your mother and yourself. You are welcome, of course, to cause a rift between the two of us.”

She crossed her arms, cocking one hip out to the side. “I could hardly cause a rift between the two of us, Luca. No matter what you might say, you have never behaved as a loving older brother to me.”

“Perhaps it is because you have never been a sister to me,” he said, his voice hard.

She would not understand what that meant. She would not understand why he had said it.

And indeed, the confusion on her face spoke to that.

“I don’t have to do what you tell me to.” She shook her head, that dark, glossy hair swirling around her shoulders. “Your father would hardly have forced me into a marriage I didn’t want. He loved me. He wanted what was best for me.”

“This was what he thought was best,” Luca said. “I have documentation saying such. If you need to see it, I will have it sent to your quarters. Quarters that you inhabit, by the way, because my father cared so much for you. Because my father took an exceptional and unheard-of step in this country and treated a child he did not father as his own. He is giving you what he would have given to a daughter. A daughter of his blood. Selecting your husband, ensuring it is a man of impeccable pedigree, is what he would have done for his child. You are welcome to reject it if you wish. But I would think very deeply about what that means.”

* * *

Sophia didn’t have to think deeply about what it meant. She could feel it. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might pass out; small tremors running beneath the surface of her skin. Heat and ice pricking at her cheeks.

Oh, she wasn’t thinking of what this meant in the way that Luca had so imperiously demanded she do.

Luca.

Her beautiful, severe stepbrother who was much more king of a nation than he was family to her. Remote. Distant. His perfectly sculpted face only more desperately gorgeous to her now than it had been when she had met him at seventeen. He had been beautiful as a teenager. There was no question. But then, that angular bone structure had been overlaid by much softer skin, his coal-black eyes always formidable, but nothing quite so sharp as crushed obsidian as they were now. That soft skin, the skin of a boy, that was gone. Replaced by a more weathered texture. By rough, black whiskers that seemed ever present no matter how often he shaved his square jaw.

She had never in all of her life met a thing like him. A twelve-year-old girl, plucked up from obscurity, from a life of poverty and set down in this luxurious castle, had been utterly and completely at sea to begin with. And then there was him.

Everything in her had wanted to challenge him, to provoke a response from all of that granite strength, even then. Even before she had known why, or known what it meant that she craved his attention in whatever form it might come.

Gradually, it had all become clear.

And clearer still the first time she had gone to a ball and Luca had gone with another woman on his arm. That acrid, acidic curling sensation in her stomach could have only been one thing. Even at fourteen she had known that. Had known that the sweep of fever that had gone over her skin, that weak sensation that made it feel as though she was going to die, was jealousy. Jealousy because she wanted Luca to take her arm, wanted him to hold her close and dance with her.

Wanted to be the one he took back to his rooms and did all sorts of secret things with, things that she had not known about in great detail, but had yearned for all the same. Him. Everything to do with him.

As Luca had said not a moment before, he had never thought of her as a sister. He was never affectionate, never close or caring in a way that went beyond duty.

But she had never thought of him as a brother. She had thought of him in an entirely different fashion.

She wanted him.

And he was intent on marrying her off. As though it were nothing.

Not a single thing on earth could have spoken to the ambivalence that he felt toward her any stronger than this did.

He doesn’t want you.

Of course he didn’t. She wasn’t a great beauty; she was well aware of that. She was also absolutely and completely wrong for him in every way.

She didn’t excel at this royal existence the way that he did. He wore it just beneath his skin, as tailored and fitted to him as one of his bespoke suits. Born with it, as if his blood truly were a different color than that of the common people. As if he were a different creature entirely from the rest of the mere mortals.

She had done her best to put that royal mantle on, but much like every dress that had ever been made for her since coming to live at the palace, it wasn’t quite right. Oh, they could measure it all to fit, but it was clear that she wasn’t made for such things. That her exceedingly nonwaiflike figure was not for designer gowns and slinky handmade creations that would have hung fabulously off women who were more collar and hip bone than curves and love handles.

Oh, yes, she was well aware of how little she fit. And how impossible her feelings for Luca were.

And yet, they remained.

And knowing that nothing could ever happen with him, knowing it with deep certainty, had done nothing to excise it from her soul.

Did nothing to blunt the pain of this, of his words being ground into her chest like shards of glass.

Not only was he making it clear he didn’t want her, he was also using the memory of his father—the only man she had ever known as a father—to entice her to agree.

He was right. King Magnus had given her everything. Had given her mother a new lease on life, a real life. Something beyond existence, beyond struggle, which they had been mired in for all of Sophia’s life prior to her marriage to him.

He had met her when she was nothing more than a waitress at a royal event in the US, and had fallen deeply for her in the moment they met.

It was something out of a fairy tale, except there were two children to contend with. A child who had been terrified of being uprooted from her home in America and going to a foreign country to live in a fancy palace. And another child who had always clearly resented the invasion.

She had to give Luca credit for the fact that he seemed to have some measure of affection for her mother. He did not resent her presence in the way he resented Sophia’s.

She had often thought that life for Luca would have been perfect if he would have gotten her mother and his father, and she had been left out of the equation entirely.

Well, he was trying to offload her now, so she supposed that was proven to be true enough.

“That isn’t fair,” she said, when she could finally regain her powers of speech.

Luca’s impossibly dark eyes flickered up and met hers, and her stomach—traitorous fool—hollowed out in response. “It isn’t fair? Sophia, I have always known that you were ungrateful for the position that you have found yourself in your life, but you have just confirmed it in a rather stunning way. You find it unfair that my father wished to see you cared for? You find it unfair that I wish to do the same?”

“You forget,” she said, trying to regain her powers of thought. “I was not born into this life, Luca, I did not know people growing up who expected such things for their lives. I didn’t expect such a thing for mine. I spent the first twelve years of my life in poverty. But with the idea that if I worked hard enough I might be able to make whatever I wanted of myself. And then we were sort of swept up in this tidal wave of luxury. And strangely, I have found that though I have every resource at my disposal now, I cannot be what I want in the same way that I imagined I could when I was nothing but a poor child living in the United States.”

“That’s because you were a delusional child,” Luca said, his tone not cruel in any way, but somehow all the more stinging for the calm with which he spoke. “You never had the power to be whatever you wanted back then, Sophia, because no one has that power. There are a certain number of things set out before you that you might accomplish. You certainly might have improved your station. I’m not denying that. But the sky was never the limit, sorely not. Neither is it now. However, your limit is much more comfortable, you will find, than it would have been then.”

Her heart clenched tight, because she couldn’t deny that what he was saying was true. Bastard. With the maturity of adulthood she could acknowledge that. That she had been naive at the time, and that she was, in fact, being ungrateful to a degree.

Hadn’t her position in the palace provided her with the finest education she could have asked for? Hadn’t she been given excellent opportunities? Chances to run charitable organizations that she believed in strongly, and that benefited all manner of children from different backgrounds.

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.

CHAPTER TWO

“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 couldn’t find it in him to feel even a hint of desire for anyone else. And that was unacceptable. As all things to do with Sophia invariably were.

“You are not going on dinner dates,” Luca said. “You are a princess. You are part of the royal family. And you are not setting up a Tinder profile in order to find yourself a husband.”

“Why not?” she asked, her tone defiant. “Perhaps I want nothing more than to meet a very exciting IT guy who might swipe me right off my feet.” He said nothing and she continued to stare at him. “Swipe. Swipe right. It’s a dating app thing.”

“That isn’t funny in the least. As I said, you are part of this family.” Perhaps if he repeated it enough, if he drilled it into both of them that they were family, his body would eventually begin to take it on board. “And as such, your standards of marriage must be the same as mine.”

“Why aren’t you looking for a wife yourself?” she asked.

“I will,” Luca said. “In due time. But my father asked that I make your safety, your match, a priority.”

He would marry, as duty required. But it would not be because of passion. And certainly not because of love. Duty was what drove him. The preservation of reputation, of the crown. If that crumbled, his whole life was nothing.

He would choose a suitable woman.

Sophia was far from suitable.

“What about the production of an heir?” Sophia lifted a brow. “Isn’t that important?”

“Yes. But I am a man, and as such, I do not have the same issues with a biological clock your gender does.”

“Right,” she huffed. “Because men can continue to produce children up until the end of their days.”

“Perhaps not without the aid of a blue pill, but certainly it is possible.”

For a moment she only blinked up at him, a faint pink tinge coloring her cheeks. Then Sophia’s lip curled. “I find this conversation distasteful.”

“You brought up the production of heirs, not me.”

She scowled, clearly having to take his point, and not liking it at all. “Well, let me look through the dossiers, then,” she said, lifting her nose and peering at him down the slender ridge, perfecting that sort of lofty look that was nothing if not a put-on coming from Sophia.

Though, possibly not when directed at him.

“Erik Nilsson. Swedish nobility?”

“Yes,” Luca responded. “He’s very wealthy.”

“How?”

“Family money, mostly. Though some of it is in sheep.”

“His money is in sheep?” Sophia asked, her expression completely bland. “Well, that is interesting. And one would never want for sweaters.”

“Indeed not,” he said, a vicious turn of jealousy savaging his gut. Which was sadistic at best. To be jealous of a man whose fortune was tied up in sheep and who had the dubious honor of being a minor noble in some small village that wasn’t part of the current century.

A man he had not expected his stepsister to show the slightest interest in. And yet, here she was.

“So he will have access to...wool. And such,” Sophia said. “And...he’s quite handsome. If you like tall and blond.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Very much,” she said with a strange injection of conviction. “He’s on the table.” She set the folder aside. “Let us get on with the next candidate, shall we?”

“Here you are,” he said, lifting up the next folder and holding it out toward her. “Ilya Kuznetsov.”

She arched a brow. “Russian?”

He raised one in response. “Very.”

Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Is his fortune in vodka and caviar?”

“I hate to disappoint you but it’s in tech. So, quite close to that IT guy you were professing to have a burning desire for.”

“I didn’t say I had a burning desire for anyone,” she pointed out, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of the file.

He couldn’t help but imagine those same fingers stroking him.

If he believed in curses, he would believe he was under one.

“I don’t know anything about computers,” she continued, setting the folder off to the opposite side of the first one. “I prefer sheep.”

She was infuriating. And baffling. “Not something you hear every day. Now, to the next one.”

She set aside the next two. An Italian business mogul and a Greek tycoon. Neither one meeting up to some strange specification that she blathered on about in vague terms. Then she rejected an Argentine polo player, who was also nobility of some kind, on the basis of the fact that a quick Google search revealed him to be an inveterate womanizer.

“You’re not much better,” she said mournfully, looking up from her phone.

“Then it is a good thing that I am not in the files for consideration.”

Something quite like shock flashed through her eyes, and her mouth dropped open. Color flooded her cheeks, irritation, anger.

“As if that would ever happen. As if I would consider you.” She sniffed very loudly.

“As my sister, you could not,” he bit out.

“Stepsister,” she said, looking up at him from beneath her dark lashes.

His gut twisted, his body hardening for a moment before he gathered his control. The moment seemed to last an eternity. Stolen, removed from time. Nothing but those eyes boring holes through him, as though she could see right into him. As though she could see his every debauched thought.

Every dark, terrible thing in him.

But no, there was no way she could.

Or she would run and hide like a frightened mouse.

“In terms of legality, in terms of my father’s will, you’re my sister,” he said. “Now, the next one.”

She went through the folders until she had selected five, though she maintained that the Swedish candidate was top of her list.

It did not escape his notice that she had selected all men with lighter features. Diametrically opposed to his own rather dark appearance.

He should rejoice in that.

He found he did not.

“Then these are the invitations that will be sent out,” he said. “And I will be reserving dances with each of the gentlemen.”

“Dances?” She blinked. “Are we in a Regency romance novel? Am I going to have a card to keep track?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can keep track of it in an app.”

She barked out a laugh. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but if you can think of a better way to bring together the most eligible men in the world, I’m all ears.”

“And what happens if I don’t like any of them?”

“You’re very excited about the sweaters.”

“What if I don’t like any of them?” she reiterated.

“I imagine something will work out.”

“I’m serious,” she said, her blue eyes blazing with emotion. “I’m not marrying a man I don’t like because you have some strange time frame you need to fulfill.”

“Then we will keep looking.”

“No,” she said. “I promise that I will be fair, and I will give this a chance. But if it doesn’t work, give me six months to make my own choice. If I can’t find somebody that is suitable to me, and suitable to you, then I will let you choose.”

“That was not part of the original bargain.”

Six months more of her might just kill him.

“I don’t care,” Sophia said. “This isn’t the Dark Ages, and you can’t make me do what I don’t want to. And you know it.”

“Then you have a bargain. But you will have to put in serious effort. I am not wasting my time and resources.”

“Well I’m not marrying a man just to suit you, Luca. I want to care for the man I marry. I want to like him, if I can’t love him. I want to be able to talk to him. I want him to make me laugh.”

Luca braced himself. Braced himself for her to start talking about passion. About wanting a man who would set her body on fire.

She didn’t.

She had stopped at a man who made her laugh, and had not said she wanted a man who would make her come. He shouldn’t think such thoughts. Shouldn’t want to find out why that didn’t seem to occur to her.

Why attraction didn’t come into her lists of demands to be met.

It made him want to teach her. Didn’t she understand? That physical desire mattered?

And if she didn’t understand...

Some Swedish sheep farmer would be the one to teach her.

Luca gritted his teeth. “But do you need to want him, sorellina?”

He should not have asked the question. He shouldn’t entertain these thoughts, and he certainly shouldn’t give voice to them.

Cursed.

If he weren’t a logical man, he would swear it.

“Want him?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes,” he bit out. “Want him. His hands on your body. His mouth on yours. Does it matter to you whether or not you want him inside you?”

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d moved closer to her with each sentence. And now he was so near her he could smell her. That delicate, citrus scent that always rose above the more cloying floral or vanilla perfumes the women around the palace typically favored. A scent he was always assured he could pick out, regardless of who else was around. Always Sophia, rising above the rest.

“I... I...” Her cheeks blushed crimson, and then she stood, her nose colliding with his cheek before she wobbled backward. “I’ve only ever wanted one man like that.” The words seemed to be stuck in her throat. “I never will again. I’m sure. And I refuse to discuss it. Least of all with you.”

And then she turned and ran from the room.

CHAPTER THREE

SINCE MAKING A fool out of herself in front of Luca days earlier, Sophia had done her best to avoid him. It wasn’t that difficult. Luca was always busy with affairs of state, and it was actually for the best. The problem was that every time she heard heavy, authoritative footsteps on the marble floors of the palace, her heart caught, and held its position as if it was waiting, waiting to bow down to its king.

She did not want Luca to be the king of her heart. Being King of San Gennaro was quite enough power for one man. But her heart didn’t listen. It beat for Luca, it stopped for Luca, tripped over itself for Luca.

It was starting to feel like she was running an obstacle course every time she made any movement in the palace. One wherein Luca was the obstacle that she was trying desperately to avoid.

But she wanted to see him, too. That was the real conundrum. The fact that she wanted to both avoid him and be with him all the time. Foolish, because he wasn’t even nice to her. He never had been. But still, he captivated her in ways that went beyond sanity.

And today there would be no more avoiding him as he had engaged the services of a new stylist to help her prepare for the ball. The ball wherein she was supposed to choose a husband.

Luca and those dossiers had enraged her. She had picked every man who was completely opposite to him, to spite herself, mostly.

She highly doubted that she would marry any of these men. But one thing she knew for certain was that she would not marry a man who was simply a pale carbon copy of her stepbrother. She would not choose a man who was tall, dark and handsome, who had that kind of authority about him that Luca possessed. Because it would simply be an effort at giving her body a consolation prize. And that was far too tragic, even for her.

She shouldn’t be tragic, she mused as she wandered down the labyrinthine hall toward the salon where she was meeting the new stylist. She had been a commoner, and she had been raised up to become the princess of a country. She had been adopted by a king. A man who had loved her, and had loved her mother. Who had shown them both the kind of life that neither of them had ever dreamed possible.

But Luca. Always Luca.

It was as though her heart was intent on not being happy. As though it wanted to be tragic. In the same way that it had determined that Luca would be its owner.

In a palace, a life of luxury, and with that came a fervent, painful love for the one man she could never have.

And, he didn’t like her.

Star-crossed lovers they were not. Because Luca could hardly stand to share the same space as she did. He thought she was silly, that much was apparent from their exchange yesterday. They were from completely different worlds. The man couldn’t understand why she found it off-putting to be looking through file folders filled with profiles of men she had never met, trying to work out which one of them she could see herself marrying.

Although she supposed it wasn’t entirely different from online dating.

No. She refused to pretend that any of this was reasonable. It wasn’t.

She wondered if she would ever find someone who just wanted her. These men, who had agreed to come to the palace, would never have done so if she wasn’t a princess.

It was the only reason her biological father had ever spoken to her. After he’d seen her mother in the media, marrying King Magnus.

King Magnus had loved her. But...he had only strived to love her because of her mother.

And Luca...

Well, nothing seemed to make Luca like her at all. Not status, or herself.

He was consistent, at least.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the sight of him. That was another problem with Luca. Too much exposure to him and her poor heart couldn’t recover between moments. Not enough, and it always flung itself against her breastbone as though it were trying to escape. Trying to go to him. To be with him.

Her heart was foolish. And the rest of her body was worse.

She gathered herself up, drew in the deepest breath possible, hoping that the burning in her lungs would offset the rest of her physical response. That it might drown out the erratic tripping of her pulse.

Then, she pushed the door open.

And all the breath left her body in a rush.

There was no preparing for him. No matter how familiar she was with his face, with that imposing, muscular physique of his, it was like a shock to her system every time. Those dark eyes, eyes that she sometimes thought might see straight through her, but they couldn’t. Because if they did, then he would know. He would know that she was not indifferent to him. He would know that her feelings toward him were in no way familial.

He would be disgusted by her.

It took her a while to notice that there was a woman standing next to him. The new stylist, presumably. It took her a while, because as far as she was concerned when Luca was in the room it was difficult to tell if anyone else was there at all.

“You must be Princess Sophia,” the woman said. “I’m Elizabeth.”

“Nice to meet you.” Belatedly, she decided that she should try and curtsy or something, so she grabbed the edge of her sundress and bent forward slightly. She looked up and saw that Luca was watching her with a disapproving expression on his handsome face.

If she bowed down and called him King of the Universe he would disapprove. He was impossible.

“She needs something suitable for an upcoming event,” Luca said. “She must look the best she ever has.”

“I am confident that I can accomplish such. It is simply a matter of knowing what sort of energy Sophia should be projecting. All these colors that she’s wearing now are far too drab. And from what I have seen in pictures and publications over the years, her overall color palette doesn’t suit her. I have plans.”

Suddenly, Sophia felt very much like she was being stared down by a hungry spider. And she was a fly caught in the web.

“Just leave it to me,” she said, shooing at Luca.

“I must approve the selection,” he said. Obviously not taking kindly at all to being shown the door in his own palace.

“You will approve,” Elizabeth said, her tone stubborn. “You will see soon.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent styling and plucking and scrubbing.

Sophia felt as though she had been exfoliated over every part of her body. This woman did not try to have her hair completely straightened, but rather, styled it into soft waves, which seemed to frame her face better, and also—so she said—would not revert halfway over the course of the evening. Which was the problem that Sophia usually had with her hairstyles. Her hair wasn’t curly, but it was not board-straight, either, and it could not hold such a severe style for hours on end. It became unruly when she got all sweaty. And she supposed it was not a good thing to sweat when you were a princess, but she did.

Then there was the matter of the gown she chose. None of the navy blue, black or mossy-green colors that her mother’s stylist favored. No, this gown was a brilliant fuchsia, strapless with a sweetheart neckline that did nothing at all to cover her breasts. It draped down from there, skimming her waist, her full hips. Rather than making her look large like some of the high-necked gowns that had been chosen for her before, or blocky like the ones that hit her in strange places at the waist, she actually looked...curvy and feminine.

Typically, she didn’t show this much skin, but she had to admit it was much more flattering when you could see that she had cleavage, rather than a misshapen mono breast.

Her lipstick matched the dress, and her eye makeup was simple, just black winged liner. Her cheeks were a very bright pink, much brighter than she would have normally done, but all of it created a very sophisticated effect. And for the first time she thought maybe she looked like she belonged. Like maybe she was a princess. Not a girl being shoved into a mold she resolutely could not fit into, but one who’d had a mold created just for her.

“He will approve of this,” Elizabeth said.

“You know he is my stepbrother,” Sophia pointed out. “He doesn’t need to approve of it in that way.”

The very idea made her face hot. And that she wanted him to...that she wanted him to want her was the worst humiliation of all.

“I know,” the woman said, giving her a look that was far too incisive. “But you wouldn’t mind if he did.”

Sophia sputtered. “I... He can’t.”

“That has nothing to do with what you feel. Or what you want.”

Sophia felt like she had been opened up and examined. Like her skin had been peeled away, revealing her deepest and most desperate secrets. She hated it. But she didn’t have time to marinate in it because suddenly, the door was opening, and Luca had returned. Obviously, Elizabeth had texted him to say that Sophia was ready. But she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to face him, not with the woman next to her knowing full well how Sophia felt about Luca. Because now she felt like it was written across her skin, across her forehead, so that it could clearly be read by the man himself.

Her earlier confidence melted away, and her skin began to heat as Luca stopped, his dark eyes assessing her slowly.

Her body tingled, her breasts feeling heavy, her nipples going tight as though his fingertips were grazing her skin. As if he was doing more than simply looking.

“It will do,” he said, his tone as hard as his features.

Her throat felt prickly, and she swallowed hard, feeling foolish, her heart fluttering like a caged bird trying to escape. How could she feel so much when he looked at her, while he felt nothing for her at all? While he clearly saw her as an annoyance.

He didn’t look impressed; he didn’t look awed or surprised with what she had felt was a total transformation.

“I am glad that I reach at least the bottom of your very lofty standards, Your Majesty,” she said stiffly. “I can only hope that a certain Swedish noble has a slightly more enthusiastic response.”

“I said that it will do,” he reiterated. “And it will. What more do you want from me, sorellina?”

“I spent the entire day receiving a makeover. I would have thought it would garner a response. But it seems as if I am destined to remain little more than wallpaper. It is okay. Some women are never going to be beautiful.”

She grasped the flowing skirt of her dress with her fists and pushed past Luca, running out of the room, down the hall, running until her lungs burned. The sound of the heels she was wearing on the floor drowned out the sound of anything else, so it wasn’t until she stopped that she heard heavy footsteps behind her. And she was unprepared for the large, strong hand that wrapped around her arm and spun her in the opposite direction. It was then she found herself gazing up into Luca’s impossibly dark and imposing eyes.

“What is it you want from me?” he asked, his voice low and hard. Shot through with an intensity she had never heard in his voice before. “What do you want me to give you? What reaction would have been sufficient? In the absence of the one man you have ever wanted, what is it you expected me to give you? Do you want me to tell you that you’re beautiful? Do you want me to tell you the curves would drive any man to distraction? That every man in that ballroom is going to imagine himself holding you in his arms? Feeling those luscious breasts pressed against his chest? Kissing those lips. Driving himself inside you? Is that what you want to hear? I can give you those words, Sophia, but they are pointless. I could tell you that any man who doesn’t want you was a fool, but what is the point in saying those words? What could they possibly mean between the two of us?” He released his hold on her, and she stumbled backward. “Nothing. They mean nothing coming from me. It will always be nothing. It must be.”

“Luca...”

“Do not speak to me.” He straightened then, his expression going blank, his posture rigid. “It will do, Sophia. You will wear that dress the night of the ball. And you will find yourself a husband. I will see to that.”

It wasn’t until Luca turned and walked away, wasn’t until he was out of her sight, that she dropped to her knees, her entire body shaking, her brain unwilling to try and figure out what had just passed between them. What those words had meant.

He said it could be nothing. It was nothing. She curled her fingers into fists, her nails digging into her skin.

It was nothing. It always would be.

She repeated those words to herself over and over again, and forced herself not to cry.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE HAD ACTED a fool the day that Sophia had received her makeover. He had... He had allowed his facade to crack. He had allowed her to reach beneath that rock wall that he had erected between himself and anyone who might get too close.

He never acted a fool. And he resented the fact that Sophia possessed the power to make him do so.

His entire life was about the crown. The country.

His mother had driven the importance of those things home before she died. In an exacting and painful manner. One that had made it clear it was not Luca who mattered, but San Gennaro. The royal name over the royal himself.

He had shaped himself around that concept.

But Sophia had looked...

Thankfully, it was time. The guests had all arrived for the ball, with Sophia scheduled to arrive fashionably late so as to draw as much attention as possible.

His attention had been fixed on her far too much in the past few days. Sadly, everything his body had suspected about her beauty had been confirmed with this recent makeover. This stylist had managed to uncover and harness the feminine power that had always been there. And she had put it on brilliant display. Those curves, not covered anymore, but flaunted, served up as if they were a rare delicacy that he wanted very much to consume.

And of course, other men were going to look at her this way. Other men were going to dance with her.

Another man was going to marry her. Take her to his bed.

It was the plan. It was his salvation. Resenting it now... Well, he was worse than a dog in the manger, so to speak. Much worse.

He made a fox and a hen house look tame. Of course, if he were the fox he would devour her. He would have no one and nothing to answer to.

He was not a fox. He was a king.

And he could not touch her. He would not. He would honor that final request his father had made. To keep her safe. To see her married to a suitable man.

He was not that man, and he never could be.

Even if their relationship wasn’t as it was, he would not be for her. He might have been, once. But that possibility had been destroyed along with so many other things. He had very nearly been destroyed, too. But as he had set about to rebuild himself, he had made choices. Choices that would redeem the sins in the past. Not his sins to redeem. But that mattered little.

He was the one who had to live with the consequences. He was the one who had to rule a country with strength and unfailing wisdom.

And so, he had purposed he would.

But that did not make him the man for her.

Thank God the ball was happening now. Thank God this interminable nightmare was almost over.

She would choose one of the men in attendance tonight. He would be certain of that.

He stood at the back of the room, surveying the crowd of people. All of the women dressed in glorious ball gowns, none of whom would be able to hold a candle to Sophia, he knew. None of whom would be able to provide him with the distraction that he needed.

“This is quite lovely.” He turned to see his stepmother standing beside him. She had been traveling abroad with friends for months, clearly needing time away to process the loss of her husband. Though she was back now, living in a small house on palace grounds.

It suited her, she said, to live close, but no longer in the palace.

She had lost a significant amount of weight since the death of his father, and she had not had much to lose on that petite frame of hers to begin with. She was elegant as ever, but there was a sadness about her.

She had truly loved his father. It was something that Luca had never doubted. Never had he imagined she was a commoner simply looking to better her station by marrying royalty. No, there had been real, sincere love in their marriage.

Something that Luca himself would never be able to obtain.

“Thank you,” he said.

“And all of this is for Sophia?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is as my father wished. He wanted to see her in a good marriage. And I have arranged to see that it is so.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “But what does Sophia think?”

“She has agreed. In that, she has agreed to try to find someone tonight. And if she does not, she has six months following to choose the man that she wishes. But I have confidence that one of the men tonight will attract her.”

“I see,” she said.

“You do not approve?”

“I married your father because I loved him. And one of the wonderful things that came with that marriage was money. With money came the kind of freedom that I never could have hoped Sophia to have if we had remained impoverished. I hate to see it curtailed.”

“This is not curtailing her freedom. It is simply keeping with what is expected of those in our station. I have explained this to Sophia already.”

“Yes, Luca. I have no doubt you have. You are very like your father in that you are confident that your way is always correct.”

“My way is the best for a woman in her position. You must trust that I am the authority on this.”

“You forget,” his stepmother said, “I have been queen for a sizable amount of time. I did not just leave the village. So to speak.”

“Perhaps not. But I was born into this. And you must understand that it is difficult to marry so far above your station. That is not an insult. But I know that it took a great deal for yourself and Sophia to adjust to the change. I know that Sophia still finds it difficult. Can you imagine if she married someone for whom this was foreign?”

“You make a very good point.”

“This ball, this marriage, is not for my own amusement.” It was for his salvation. However, he would leave that part unspoken.

Suddenly, the double doors to the ballroom opened, and all eyes turned to the entryway. There she was, a brilliant flash of fuchsia, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Golden curves on brilliant display, her skin gleaming in the light.

“Oh, my,” her mother said.

“She got a new stylist,” he said stiffly.

“Apparently.”

Sophia descended the staircase slowly, and the moment one foot hit the bottom of the stair, her first suitor had already approached her. The Swede.

Sophia would probably be disappointed he didn’t have a sheep on a leash to entertain her. Or a sweater.

“You do not approve of him?” his stepmother asked.

“Of course I approve of him. I approve of every man that I asked to come and be considered as a potential husband for Sophia.”

“Then you might want to look less like you wish to dismember him.”

“I am protective of her,” he said, straightening and curling his hands into fists.

“If you say so.”

He gritted his teeth. He did not like the idea that his stepmother of all people would find him transparent. He prided himself on his control, but Sophia tested it at every turn.

And so he told himself that the feeling roaring through him now was relief when the man took hold of Sophia and swept her around the dance floor.

The other man’s hand rested perilously low on her waist, on the curve of her hip, and if he was to move his hand down and around her back he would be cupping that lovely ass of hers. And that, Luca found unacceptable.

He will not stop there if he marries her. He will touch her everywhere. Taste her everywhere. She will belong to him.

He gritted his teeth. That was the point. The point was that she needed to belong to another man, so that he could no longer harbor any fantasies of her.

As the song ended, another man approached Sophia, and she began to dance with him. Another of her selections.

Luca approached a woman wearing royal blue, and asked her to dance. Kept himself busy, tried to focus on the feel of her soft, feminine curves beneath his hands. Because what did it matter if it was this woman, or another. What did it matter. Sex was sex. A woman’s body was a woman’s body. He should be able to find enjoyment in it. He should not long for the woman in pink across the room. The woman who was tacitly forbidden to him. But he did.

The woman he held in his arms now might well have been a cardboard cutout for all that she affected him.

But still, he continued to dance with her, knowing that he should not. Knowing that dancing with any single woman this long would create gossip. He didn’t even know her name. He wouldn’t ask for it. And tomorrow he would not remember her face until he saw it printed in the paper. She didn’t matter.

Suddenly, Sophia extricated herself from her dance partner’s hold, excusing herself with a broad gesture as she scurried across the ballroom.

“Excuse me,” he said, releasing hold of his dance partner, following after his stepsister.

Sophia wove through the crowd and made her way outside. He followed. But by the time he got out to the balcony, she was gone. He looked over the edge and saw a dark shape moving across the grass below. He could only barely make her out, the glow from the ballroom lights casting just enough gold onto the ground to highlight her moving shape. He swung his leg over the edge of the balcony and lowered himself down to the grass below, following the path that Sophia had no doubt taken.

He said nothing, his movements silent as he went after her. To what end, he didn’t know. But then, he had no idea what she thought she was doing, either. It was foolish for her to leave the ball. And it was foolish for him to go after her. All of this was foolish. Everything with her. Always.

And yet, he couldn’t escape her. That was the essential problem. She was unsuitable because of their connection. She was inescapable because of their connection. And for that reason, he had never been able to master it.

He could not have her; neither could he banish her from his life.

And here he was, chasing after her in a suit.

He was the king of a nation, stumbling in the dark after a woman.

Finally, she stopped, her pale shoulders shaking, highlighted by the light of the moon. He reached out, placing his hand on her bare skin. She jumped, turning to face him, her eyes glistening in the light. “Luca.”

And suddenly, he knew exactly why he had gone after her. He knew exactly what the endgame was. Exactly why he was here.

“Sophia.”

And then he wrapped her in his arms and finally did the one thing he had expressly forbidden himself from doing. He claimed her lips with his own.

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