Page 28 of Incognito (Royally Reckless #1)

28

T aking a deep breath, Natasha knocked on the door of room 1718 before she lost her nerve.

Pin-drop silence echoed in the plush corridor with its soft lighting and thick carpet, her sharp rapping at the door shattering the peace.

Maybe Dante hadn’t returned from his official business, when she’d seen him departing in the limo earlier? She’d been so fired up to confront him and get this ordeal over with that she hadn’t considered that scenario.

Besides, she’d been too busy devising a way to discover his room number, when her luck had changed. Running into Fay, the Sofitel’s day manager and her one-time roomy at an hotelier’s conference, had been a godsend.

Though she’d subdued her guilt at having to tell a little white lie to get the info she needed out of Fay; the ‘a client left something rather delicate behind at the Towers and I thought I’d bring it over and deliver it personally’ story had been the most plausible thing she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

Thankfully, it had worked and Fay had given her Dante’s room number—after ear-bashing her for ten minutes on how utterly dreamy the prince was. As if she hadn’t noticed.

Glaring at the wooden door and wishing it would open, Natasha almost stumbled back when it did.

“Natasha? What… why… ” Dante’s momentary open-mouthed shock gave way to a deep frown.

Not the most pleasant of greetings. Too bad. She hadn’t come all this way to turn tail and run now.

“Can I come in?”

Calm, collected, straight to the point. If only she could keep up the blasé facade if he ever let her in the door.

“Fine, but I have a lot of work to do so make it quick.”

He stepped aside and, ignoring his rudeness, she entered the room, her keen eye doing a quick scan of the competition. Larger than the Tower’s average room, though the muted bronze lamps, comfy armchairs, antiques, and fresh flowers faded into oblivion when her gaze landed on the bed, a huge king-size monstrosity covered in the richest cream damask fabric. It appeared larger than life and beckoned with its plump cushions and thick quilt.

When Dante shut the door behind her, she quickly averted her gaze from the bed and swung around to face him, desperately trying to erase the vivid image she’d just had of the two of them entwined on that inviting bed.

“Would you like something to drink?” He asked, out of politeness rather than wanting her to linger, his folded arms and formidable glower screaming ‘hands off’.

“No thanks.”

“Why are you here, Natasha?”

So much for pleasantries. Though she should be glad he didn’t waste time. She hadn’t come here to rehash old news, she wanted answers, closure, anything to ease the tension winding her tighter than a spring.

“You said you were leaving, then I discover you’re still in Melbourne.”

A wary expression flickered in his eyes, the clear aquamarine highlighted by his pale blue shirt, the faintest gold pin stripes catching the light. On anyone else, the shirt would’ve looked a tad feminine. On him, it accentuated his status and screamed royalty.

By the rest of his outfit, he’d stepped back into prince mode well and truly: designer pants with a perfect crease, the fancy shirt, and a royal blue tie embossed with a small crest. Probably the Andretti coat of arms.

He appeared all business and then some, and she didn’t like it. She preferred her prince ruffled and laidback, in black denim and unshaven. Her prince. She wished. Dante in his fancy outfit looked every inch the untouchable prince and served to reinforce the huge gap between them. What hope did she have?

Fay had clued her in that Dante intended on moving into the penthouse suite when it became available tomorrow, which meant he hadn’t planned on staying here, it had been a last minute decision. Had he been so desperate to get away from Telford Towers—and her—that he’d left without making a booking?

“Please tell me what you are doing here, Natasha.”

She hated when people didn’t give her direct answers, or worse, answered a question with a question. Her parents had raised her to be upfront and honest at all costs.

Trying not to shuffle under his steady stare, she thrust her hands in her pockets and squared her shoulders. “Gina is looking for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, obviously not expecting that response. “I’ll get in touch with her. Now, if there’s nothing else—”

“Actually, I wanted to clear the air between us,” she rushed on, hating his stilted formality, wanting to recapture the closeness they’d had.

His frown deepened. “We have nothing to discuss that I’m aware of.”

“I beg to differ. The way I see it, we were getting along just fine, and then yesterday, out of the blue, you leave. Only you didn’t leave Melbourne as you led me to believe, you changed hotels, which begs the question why?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” he said, staring over her shoulder at the stunning view of the Melbourne skyline she’d glimpsed when she first entered the room.

“You’re right, you don’t owe me anything. But you’re a decent guy and I thought we had a connection.” Her heart pounded and her palms grew clammy, but she had to do this. “The time we spent together seemed special and perhaps there was something more than just friendship between us. Maybe I was wrong?”

There, she’d said it. The words had tumbled out in a confused jumble and she’d spoiled the ending by her voice rising, but she’d made the first overture and told the semi-truth—connection could be a euphemism for love, right?—and now she waited, breath held, for some kind of response from the man who set her pulse racing just by being in the same room.

Dante didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for an endless, embarrassing moment Natasha thought she’d have to walk out the door with her pride as well as her heart in tatters.

Finally, something shifted in his eyes, cold wariness replaced by a flicker of warmth, and he gestured to the armchairs. “Please be seated.”

Not exactly the answer she’d been hoping for but a start nonetheless. At least he hadn’t kicked her out, and by his softening posture, she might get the answers she hoped for yet.

After sitting in the chair opposite, he regarded her with a suspicious stare.

“I didn’t say I was leaving Melbourne. You chose to interpret it that way.”

“But why leave Telford Towers? I thought you liked it there from what you said, and after the time we spent together…” she trailed off, surprised by the sudden flash of fire in his eyes.

“That was a business arrangement.”

The fire she glimpsed quickly dimmed to glacial coldness, matching his icy, clipped tone.

“Which you reneged on,” she muttered, with a scowl.

He froze, his glare so chilling she had to resist the urge to rub the goosebumps from her arms.

“Was the cheque not suitable compensation?”

She rolled her eyes. “The cheque was fine. In fact, it was very generous, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I have other business to attend to this week and taking part in your hotel’s publicity would not have fit in.” His stoic expression didn’t change. “I made a business decision, nothing personal.”

Natasha sagged against the plump cushions. Nothing personal…

Dante had just articulated the problem between them perfectly. She’d built a ludicrous fairytale in her head about mutual attraction and friendship and camaraderie, when in fact, from Dante’s point of view there had been nothing personal in any of it.

More fool her.

She’d come here for answers and got what she wanted. Unfortunately, her heart refused to comprehend what her head had computed a long time ago: she sucked at relationships or whatever she thought she’d shared with Dante.

She didn’t like pain, particularly the dull ache squeezing her heart that would take a lifetime to shift. Not an entirely new sensation. She’d felt something similar when she learned of Clay’s betrayal and later, when her mother died, but that pain had been different. More acute, less pervasive. Nothing like the building pressure centred in her chest now and spreading outwards, squeezing the very breath out of her.

She had to escape. Now.

“I’m sorry to take up your time.” She rose, aiming for a dignified exit.

Crossing the room took an eternity as she concentrated on forcing her feet to move and she sighed in relief as her hand hit the cold door handle.

“You lied too.”

Natasha stopped, her hand poised mid-turn, not sure if she’d heard correctly.

“There couldn’t have been any connection between us because you’re still involved with your ex.”

Without thinking, she whirled to face him, her desperate escape plan thwarted by the urge to throw something at him.

“You’re crazy. I loathe Clay. You saw how he was when you pulled your little stunt out the front of the Towers. Why would you think I’d still be involved with him?”

Dante stood, his arms folded and eyes narrowed, the epitome of a guy not used to being crossed.

“I saw you in the Lobby bar.” He snorted. “You were all over him.”

She shook her head, wishing she could take hold of his and knock it against the wall to bang some sense into him.

“That wasn’t how it looked.”

Dante strode across the room and reached for her before she could move. “You want to know how it looked? It looked like you were a cosy couple, that you were enjoying it, that you were the type of woman to flirt with one man and wrap him around your little finger for a week while still involved with another.”

He spat the words out, his voice laced with contempt, his arms rigid, and as she stared into the furious face of the man she loved, Natasha knew she finally had her closure.

“You saw what you wanted to see,” she murmured, breaking his hold and opening the door in record speed, hating the sobs that she couldn’t subdue, dashing the tears from her eyes with her other hand.

She may have fallen in love with a prince, but Dante had just proved himself a lesser man than she’d thought.

“Tasha, I’m sorry—”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest as the door slammed shut and she ran down the long corridor.

She’d heard enough.