Page 24 of Incognito (Royally Reckless #1)

24

D ante forced himself to walk out of the café and not look back, despite every instinct urging him to run back inside, sweep Natasha into his arms, and never let go.

He hadn’t expected to see her again.

He planned on leaving a terse note—along with a cheque for payment of her services as his PA, and extra because he couldn’t fulfil his promotional duties as he’d promised her in exchange for her help— at the hotel’s front desk before he left.

After stewing all night, he finally managed to get his frustration under control and knew the best thing would be to change hotels. He’d had six days of blessed anonymity, but couldn’t stay at Telford Towers for the next week while conducting official duties, seeing her, running into her, having to pretend that everything was fine between them when every time he closed his eyes, the image of her in the arms of her ex flashed before him like some awful clip of a natural disaster.

It had been a simple plan, one that would’ve been executed to perfection if he hadn’t had a hankering for one last exquisite cup of Lygon Street espresso, and hadn’t chosen the same café Natasha obviously frequented.

She must be a regular by the old man’s reaction when she walked in, but what he couldn’t fathom was his. He’d invited her to sit down when it was the last thing he wanted, yet the minute he’d seen her he’d wanted to talk to her, to give her a chance to explain.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t ask her.

Maybe he was a proud man, maybe he was stubborn like his mother always said, but when Natasha sat opposite him, looking cool and fresh in a strapless summer dress the colour of sunflowers in bloom, he hardened his heart.

He’d wanted to demand answers, to discover why she still loved her ex despite telling him otherwise, why she didn’t feel more for him, why she didn’t feel their connection.

He’d wanted to touch her, to taste her full lips, to run his fingers through her silky hair and savour her light floral fragrance.

He wanted her.

He wanted it all.

Instead, he channelled the callous king he would be one day, and allowed a cold, hard rage to consume him. He allowed his bitterness to fan the flames of his anger, a bitterness that centred on one salient fact: for a man who could have anything he wanted in this world, he couldn’t have her.

He’d done the only thing possible: shut down emotionally and maintained a frosty facade while rage at the futility of their wasted relationship bubbled hot and searing beneath the surface.

Natasha could have said anything, done anything, and he wouldn’t have reacted. He couldn’t. He’d learned a long time ago that the only way to deal with hardship, with disappointment, was to shut down.

This defence mechanism had served him well before and would now.

It had to be his way—the royal way—of accepting his birthright, putting his country first, and his needs last.

Always.

But for the first time ever, he wondered what it would be like to have a normal life, a life far removed from crowns and thrones and a country’s expectations, a life where he could be the man for Natasha.