Royal Baby. Trish Morey

didn’t wear, for that matter.

      She dropped her eyes, trying to focus on the invitation in her hands, and why she’d been so angry, instead of the thought of the skin under that suit, skin she’d be seeing a lot more of if this damned marriage took place as planned. And that thought didn’t help her burning face one bit.

      Sienna stood and waved the paper in her hand, hoping he would assume that it was the reason for the heightened colour in her cheeks. ‘You told me I had a month to decide what I was doing.’

      ‘Did I?’

      ‘You know you did. At that dinner the night of the scan. You said we had a month to get to know each other.’

      ‘And your problem is?’

      ‘Today I find this!’ She thrust the invitation under his face so he had no choice but to take it, giving it a brief glance.

      ‘You’re not happy with the invitations?’

      ‘I’m not happy with the date! Look at it. You said we had a month to get to know each other, a month to make up my mind before any date was set, but this says we are to be married in less than two weeks. You lied to me!’

      ‘No! I never said you had a month to make up anything of the sort. I asked you if a month was enough to get to know each other and you said it was. Which was fortunate, as the wedding date had already been set.’

      Blood pounded at her temples. ‘You knew the date had been set and you didn’t tell me? When you knew I thought I had a month to make up my mind?’

      ‘And haven’t we been doing that, Sienna?’ he said, coming closer until there was only a hands breadth between them, and fielding her question with one of his own. ‘Haven’t we been getting to know each other? I thought you’d enjoyed our evenings out together?’

      She could feel the heat emanating from him, but it was the scent of him that threatened to scramble her brain. A scent she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed these last three days. With a strength of will fuelled by her anger, she spun away, out of range.

      ‘That’s not the point. You led me to believe that I could make up my own mind, that it would be my decision. And it will be my decision. I will not be railroaded into marrying you. I want these invitations stopped.’

      ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Sebastiano informs me that they’ve already gone out.’

      ‘But I haven’t said I’ll marry you.’

      He shrugged. ‘And now you don’t have to.’

      ‘How dare you!’ She was sick of his arrogance. Sick of his attitude, sick of having all her reservations thrust aside as if they counted for nothing. ‘And what of my life? I’m a helicopter pilot, Rafe, not a princess!’

      ‘In less than two weeks, you will be both.’

      She scoffed. ‘And you would have me believe I can keep my job?’

      He slammed the invitation down on the table. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t have my wife running joy flights around the Mediterranean. You will have work here. As Montvelatte’s Princess. As mother of our children.’

      ‘I worked hard to become a pilot! I worked damned hard to get to where I am now and not by flying joy flights. How can you expect me to throw it all away to fall in with your plans?’

      Rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. ‘But don’t you see, you have no alternative. Your flying career crunched to a halt the minute you became pregnant with twins.’

      ‘And who damn well got me pregnant!’

      ‘Guilty,’ he acceded, making his way to a sideboard and pouring himself a healthy slug of Scotch that he held up in mock toast to her. ‘And for my sins I will marry you. Surely you can’t ask for more than that.’ He threw the glass back, draining half the contents. ‘Now, if that was all? I do have some work to attend to.’

      He was already turning to go when she stepped forward and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Don’t dismiss me like some minion with a petty grievance.’

      His eyes glittered with an icy cold ferocity as his eyes scanned upwards from the hand on his forearm to her face. ‘Clearly, that would be a mistake on my part. But let me make one thing patently clear. We are getting married on the date printed on that invitation, whether you like it or not.’

      ‘And if I refuse?’

      ‘Then I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the altar, if that’s what it takes.’

      ‘Why not just club me over the head and drag me there and prove to the world what a beast you really are?’

      A muscle popped in his jaw, the fires in his eyes growing even colder. ‘What a tempting prospect. I must keep that in mind. But rest assured, this wedding will happen. Whether or not you embrace the concept is entirely up to you.’

      What was her problem? Rafe pulled off his tie and tugged at the buttons at his neck as he strode into his bookshelf-lined study. Couldn’t Sienna see it was the only way? Merda, it solved everybody’s problems in one neat package.

      He threw himself into the high-back leather chair behind his desk, took one look at the untidy pile of reports and files sitting on his desk waiting for his attention and swung around to stare out the windows over the neat lines of the courtyard garden and to the azure sea beyond the cliff walls instead. He gazed out of the window, unseeing, knowing he should be tackling the paperwork. With the question of continuing the Lombardi line so neatly wrapped up, he should have been able to spend more time on the more pressing financial problems that threatened to undermine Montvelatte’s economy, and helping with unravelling the intricate web of companies, dummy companies and trusts that his half-brothers had established in an attempt to ensure that the ultimate beneficiaries of the stolen casino funds would never be discovered.

      They had been, but with the mess they had left behind, it would take time to get Montvelatte back on a sound financial footing.

      But instead of spending time on the problem, he’d had to pander to Sienna’s wishes, spending evenings with her, making her think he was going along with her wish to get to know him better. It hadn’t been that onerous, surprisingly enough, the woman he’d chosen because she was pregnant with his babies, and because of how she could pleasure him in bed, turning out to be an unexpected success with the crowds.

      So what was her problem? She’d enjoyed their time together, and he’d had no doubt that a month would be all it would take to convince her that marriage did not have to be the disaster she coloured it.

      It had been going so well until she had spotted that invitation. How the hell had she got hold of that?

      But what was worse, he’d told her that he’d carry her to the altar if she refused to marry him, and at the time he’d meant every word. Although with the cameras and the guests and the world watching, that was never on the cards. He needed her to walk down that aisle of her own free will.

      Christo, but he wanted her there. Over the last few days in Rome he’d missed her more than he’d expected, and the idea of returning to her had held more and more appeal. She might not come with the pedigree that Sebastiano was so hopeful of securing for Montvelatte’s Princess, but her fresh beauty could only give the monarchy a boost, and in terms of a partner, he was much happier to have someone he knew he was compatible with in bed than the pick of some highly strung finishing school graduates. Dio, but how he was looking forward to renewing that part of their relationship.

      He swore under his breath as his thoughts turned to rock-hard reality. He had work to do, and the last thing he needed was to feel that familiar tightening in his groin.

      He swivelled around in the chair and let his eyes slide over the piles of paperwork requiring his attention before this evening’s dinner meeting with Montvelatte’s Minister of Finance.

      And