‘So not only did he rule in your name, he was your legal guardian?’
‘Only once Rodrigo was exiled,’ Octavio said darkly. ‘My parents had no control over who could rule the country in my name, but they did have a say over my guardianship. Rodrigo was appointed shortly after my birth.’
‘And so that bastard sent him away.’ She shook her head.
‘With Rodrigo gone, every parental decision fell to Mauricio. He must have hated me,querida.For who I was, what I was destined to become, and most of all because I am so like my father.’
She blanched. ‘He should havelovedyou for all those reasons.’
‘Hatred is all he is capable of feeling.’
‘That’s his loss,’ she said angrily. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to be in the same room as this beast of a man again without giving him a piece of my mind.’
Octavio’s laugh surprised her. Deep and throaty, it set fires in her pulse when she least expected it. ‘While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t need you to protect me. I am more than capable of looking after myself.’
She stared at him and acknowledged that he was right. Octavio could look after himself, easily,now. He was smart and strong and powerful, and commanded as most men breathed. But what about the boy he’d been? What about the dear little nine-year-old who’d been shockingly orphaned and was cast adrift from the parents he’d loved, and then the uncle he was closest to, to be raised by a man who saw the throne as his stolen birthright?
‘Yes, well, nonetheless, perhaps you might wish to keep Mauricio and me apart for a while. At least until the maelstrom of my pregnancy hormones has settled.’
He hadn’t intended to confide any of that to Phoebe. Much of it was intensely private, thoughts he’d never shared with another soul. But as they’d spoken, and her big, intelligent eyes had stared back at him, her lovely face so expressive, he’d found the words drawn out of him, almost as if they were being magnetically tugged. And he didn’t mind.
More than that, he realised she had a right—and a need—to know what he did.
Octavio had immediately installed his security chiefs to manage his own operations—men and women he knew he could trust implicitly. He knew because he’d been recruiting them for two years, silently, stealthily searching for the best of the best. Ex-military with the kind of code of honour that meant they would always turn to Octavio for leadership and would give their lives to protect the throne. He was not immediately worried about his personal safety, nor Phoebe’s, so long as she was with him. But he worried about the palace and the deep tendrils Mauricio had been able to plant there, during his long reign. As much as possible, he’d ensured the staff waiting on Phoebe were newly hired by himself, but that wasn’t always doable.
Mauricio had been a terrible legal guardian, except in one way. He had demonstrated to Octavio time and time again how futile it was to let feelings take control.
Mauricio had been cold when compassion had been required. Mauricio had been brutal in how he’d delighted in robbing Octavio of comfort and familiarity, in unsettling his life just as soon as he’d got comfortable. Mauricio held the puppet strings and he’d wanted Octavio to know it.
Octavio would never be like him, except for the fact he had learned to view things through a dispassionate lens. He could zoom out from almost any situation and see the facts calmly, make decisions with ice-cold certainty.
So he had laid out his plans for the marriage to Phoebe, knowing that was how it had to be. And if she wouldn’t marry him, he would have kept their babies with him just to protect the children, because without that, the babies would always have been at risk.
And he’d told her the truth for the same reason now: to protect her. Knowing what she was up against and why trusting him was a necessity was the best thing for her and their baby.
He’d told her things he’d never told another soul—but not because he’d wanted to share with Phoebe, per se.This wasn’t about them. It was about dispassionately acting in her best interests; it meant nothing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEINGDRIVENBACKto the palace was strange. They’d come here after the wedding and Phoebe had felt so estranged from Octavio. But after two nights in close confines, sharing a bed, making love, expressing their deepest thoughts and feelings, Phoebe felt a closeness to Octavio that the palace could very well threaten. Though they sat on opposite sides of the sumptuous back seat of the car, separated by the middle section, his presence seemed to wrap around her, making her skin flush and her heart race.
‘You’re quiet,’ he murmured, as the car cut through the beautiful countryside, the city in the distance reminding her of the real world awaiting them.
‘Am I?’
He bumped her knee with his. ‘You know you are. Is everything okay?’
His concern warmed her further. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. But she glanced at him and his sceptical expression made her smile. ‘Okay, I’m not.’
‘What is the matter?’
‘I’m wondering about what happens next?’
‘In what context?’
‘When we go back to the palace.’ She pulled at a piece of invisible lint on her trousers. It was an elegant suit, delivered with the rest of the clothes Marie had arranged for Phoebe.She wasn’t sure who had packed the bag for her honeymoon, but they’d chosen a selection Phoebe had found beautiful and flattering all at once.
‘I’m still not understanding…’
