Lights danced on the edge of her field of vision. ‘What do you mean, an arrangement?’
‘Obviously, this works.’ He ran his hand over the bed beside him. ‘I like being with you, Phoebe. In fact, in all sincerity, I have been able to think of very little but you for the last five weeks.’ She smothered a small gasp—but barely. ‘Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, is not particularly convenient, given my responsibilities.’
She ignored the flush of pleasure his confession wrought. But it meant a lot to know that he’d been as afflicted by desires and memories as she had been. Careful to keep her expression neutral, she fidgeted one hand behind her back. ‘So? Where are you going with this?’
‘A long time ago, my parents entered into a sort of contract with King Stanos and Queen Margerite. It’s more an agreementof intent, rather than legally binding. However, my plan has always been to honour it.’
‘What kind of contract?’ She wasn’t following—perhaps because the sheer force of her pleasure not two minutes ago had robbed her brain of most of its blood.
‘A marriage contract. They have a daughter—Sasha. She’s three years younger than I am. It was always their intention that we would marry.’
Phoebe stood very, very still but inside, her heart was turning to ice faster than she could handle. He kept talking, evidently oblivious to the pain he was inflicting.
‘They felt—as I feel now—that a royal marriage would be best. To secure our family’s position on the throne.’
Octavio wasn’t Christopher, but echoes of the moment she’d met Christopher’s wife and had needed to act as though everything was perfectly fine made her whole world spin wildly out of control. The hand that had been fidgeting behind her back flattened so she could press it to the wall for much-needed support.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because if you’re going to agree to my proposal, I need to be perfectly clear about the boundaries of what I’m offering.’
She blinked quickly. ‘What proposal?’
But there was a sinking feeling in her stomach that showed she already understood. Still, she waited, with breath held, needing to hear him say the words and confirm her worst fears.
‘I want you to be my lover,querida.I want to see you for as long as we feel like this, for as long as it works, and for as long as I am able.’
She flinched. ‘You mean until you’re married?’
‘Until the engagement is formalised,’ he corrected. ‘Anything beyond that would not be right.’
She made a scoffing sound, half laughter, half deranged disbelief. ‘No, of course. Whereas this is all perfectly above board.’
He studied her, as if trying to read her every thought. She hated that. She hated him. She hated what he was making her feel—worthless and cheap, all over again. She ground her teeth, glaring back. ‘And what would be in it for me?’ she demanded. ‘You get sex whenever you want it. What do I get?’
‘The same thing. No one could know about it—this would be between you and me.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s for the best.’
‘Because I’m a cleaner?’
‘You would be hounded by the press, and to what end? This could only last another six months or so, at the most.’
‘So you’re telling me the fact I work as a cleaner at a hospital has no bearing on how you’d feel being seen with me?’
‘I don’t care what you do for a living, Phoebe.’
‘Sure you don’t,’ she scoffed.
‘But other people would,’ he conceded after a beat. ‘That is not why I would need this kept secret. I don’t care what people say, but my uncle—who until recently was on the throne—has worked hard to undermine me, even before I was crowned. I would prefer to avoid scandal.’
‘And I’m a scandal.’
‘Potentially. So we could go between the house of mine we used the other night and your apartment. I also have homes around the world—we could travel together, when our schedules allowed.’
Just like a real high-class mistress, she thought with a wave of nausea.
