He turned from the window with a smile that was too practiced, too calculated. Everything about him screamedwealth and privilege, from his perfectly tailored suit to the way he moved with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no in his life.
"Your Highness," he said, taking my hand and pressing it to his lips in a gesture that lingered a fraction too long. His dark eyes traveled over me with an assessment that made my skin crawl. "The photographs don't do you justice. You're even more beautiful than I expected."
The comment was inappropriate for a first meeting, delivered with the casual arrogance of a man who considered women interchangeable ornaments. I retrieved my hand with practiced ease, fighting the urge to wipe it on my skirt.
"Prince Dmitri," I replied coolly. "Welcome to Bellavista."
His smile widened, apparently taking my restraint as a challenge. "Please call me Dmitri. We're going to be great friends, I can tell."
"Dmitri has been visiting from Montenegro," Mother said, her tone carefully casual. "His family and ours have been discussing some fascinating opportunities for cooperation between our nations."
I took my seat in the chair across from them, arranging my skirts with automatic precision. "How interesting. What sort of cooperation?"
"Oh, the usual boring political nonsense," Dmitri said with a dismissive wave, settling back into his chair and spreading his legs wide in a display of territorial dominance. "Trade agreements, cultural exchanges. Nothing nearly as fascinating as the woman sitting across from me."
The blatant flirting made my stomach turn. This wasn't charm—this was predatory behavior wrapped in designer clothing and a royal title.
"I'm sure the respective governments find these negotiations quite important," I said sternly.
"Of course they do," he agreed, his tone suggesting he found governmental concerns beneath his notice. "But I'm much more interested in personal negotiations. Between us." His gaze lingered on my chest in a way that made me want to reach for a shawl.
Something cold and calculating flickered in his eyes as he studied my reaction. This wasn't accidental rudeness—he was testing me, seeing how much he could get away with. Seeing how broken I was, how little fight I had left. Okay, I could play this game. I may have been heartbroken, but I still had a juggernaut of an attitude just waiting to be given a reprieve.
"Dmitri has quite the reputation in European social circles," Mother said, either oblivious to the undercurrents or choosing to ignore them.
“Several magazines have featured him as one of Europe's most eligible bachelors.”
"How wonderful! However, have they personally spoken to you prior to publication?" I said dryly.
He laughed, a sound with too much satisfaction in it. "Your reputation precedes you, Princess. Though I must say, the stories in circulation are well … I had expected you to be more spirited…. than you appear today."
There was something in his tone — a cruel amusement that suggested he knew exactly why I seemed subdued. As if my heartbreak was entertaining to him.
"Perhaps you've been reading the wrong publications," I said with a snarling undertone to my voice.
"Oh, I doubt that. I make it my business to know everything about beautiful women who interest me." His smile turned predatory.
"Including their... romantic histories."
The words hit like a slap. He knew about James. Of course he knew—everyone in royal circles knew. I was the princess stupidenough to fall for the help, the cautionary tale whispered about at embassy parties.
"I see you were expecting my reaction to be one of someone flattered by your attention. However stalking is illegal, Mr Volkov". Deliberately dropping his title. I watched as he tensed his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and then quickly resumed his arrogant composure once again.
"I prefer to think of it as practical. After all, a man likes to know what he's getting into." His eyes glittered with malicious amusement.
"Especially when dealing with women who have a taste for rough trade."
The casual cruelty of it took my breath away. Mother made a sharp sound of disapproval, but Dmitri just shrugged, unrepentant.
"Forgive me, I speak too freely. It's one of my many charming flaws." But he didn't look sorry. He looked pleased with himself, like a cat that had cornered a mouse.
I stood abruptly, my composure finally cracking. "If you'll excuse me, I have other commitments this afternoon."
"Of course you do," Dmitri said, rising as well.
"But perhaps tomorrow you could show me the famous palace gardens? I do so enjoy... exploring new and unfamiliar territory."
The innuendo was unmistakable, delivered with a smirk that made my skin crawl. This man wasn't just arrogant—he was dangerous. A predator who saw my emotional devastation as an opportunity.
