The Prince's Stolen Virgin. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
was a pause. A silence that seemed to stretch all the way through her.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Now that he has you... It would be catastrophic to your birth parents...if any of this were to get out. The money that was borrowed by Verloren. Because any business done with King Domenico would be considered a blight on your mother and father. They would never recover from it. And the consequences to the country would be severe if Santa Milagro decided that the terms of the deal had been violated. The national treasury would be drained. People would have nothing. No food, no housing. No healthcare.”
As he spoke those words, she felt weight settling on her shoulders. A new one added with each thing he listed would be denied to the citizens of her home country—a home country she couldn’t even find on a map—if she chose not to comply.
“So I have to... I have to marry him?”
“Unless you can convince them there is some other alternative,” her father said. “I’m not sure what else can be done. You are beyond our reach. This is something we never wanted for you.”
Fury filled her anew. “But you knew it could happen. You knew all along, and I didn’t.”
“We never wanted you to be afraid of your own shadow,” her mother said.
“Well, I don’t want to be afraid of my own shadow. But I should have been warned to be afraid of charming Spanish men who tried to talk me up on the street.” She hung up, and as soon as she did the door swung open. And there was Felipe.
Immediately, she was filled with regret.
He crossed the room, taking the phone from her hand. Why had she hung up? Who knew how long it would be before she was able to speak to her parents again.
“I assume everything that I said would be confirmed was?” he asked.
“I assume you were listening in, based on your perfect timing.”
He smiled. “You know me so well already. We’re going to be the perfect married couple.”
“I don’t understand. Marry somebody else. Why does it have to be me?”
He reached out then, grabbing hold of her hand and tugging her up out of bed. She was still wearing nothing more than the hospital gown, and she felt a breeze at her backside. She gasped, realizing that there was nothing but a thin pair of white cotton panties separating her from being bare back there.
His golden eyes were blazing then, blazing with that kind of fire and intensity she had sensed was inside him. And more than that. Fire, and brimstone. She had the sudden sense that there was hell contained inside this man. And whether it was just the shock wearing off, or a sudden connection with the reality she found herself in, for the first time she was afraid of him. Really afraid.
She found herself being dragged over to a window. Heavy drapes obscured the view, and he flung them back, roughly maneuvering her so that she was facing the vista before them. A large, sprawling city, nothing overly modern. Villas with red clay roofs, churches with tall steeples and iron bells hanging in the towers. And beyond that, the mountains.
“Do you see this?” he asked. “This is my country. For decades it has been ruled by a madman. A madman more concerned by power—by shoring up all of the money, all of the means through which he could blackmail—than caring for the people that live down there. And in that time I have spent decades doing what I can do in order to change things once I assume the throne. Working toward having the military on my side. Toward earning as much money as I could personally to make a difference the minute I had control. I have been making contacts and arrangements behind the scenes so that the moment my father’s body is put into the dirt a new dawn will rise on this country. I never wanted to take it by civil war. No, not when the cost would be so dear in terms of life. At least, I didn’t want to take it in an open civil war. But that is exactly what I have been fighting for years. Playing the part of debauched playboy while I maneuvered in the background. You are part of that plan. And I will be damned if I allow you to do anything to mess it up. There is no amount of compassion that could move me at this point, Princess. Nothing that will stir me to change my path. I will be the King of Santa Milagro. And you... You can be the queen. You can help fix all the evil that has befallen my people, and you can improve the lives of yours, as well. Or you can go back to life as a bored sorority girl in the city. I’m sure that’s an existence, as well. And all of these people... Well, they can slide into the sea.”
She had to smooth her fingers over her eyebrows to make sure they hadn’t been singed off during that fiery tirade. “Am I really so important to your plans?”
“Everybody knew that you were supposed to marry my father. And the things he would have done to you... But if you marry me, and you do so willingly...it will mend the fences between Santa Milagro and Verloren. It will do much to fix the image of my country—and me—in the media. I need everything in my power. Absolutely everything. All the pieces that I have set out to collect. I will let nothing fall by the wayside. Including you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I didn’t think I could possibly make that more clear. If you don’t there will be destruction. For everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you will love.”
She blinked. “Are you going to have people killed?”
“No. I’ll only make them wish they were dead.”
“And how will that help your improve your image attempt?” she asked with a boldness she didn’t feel.
“I’m not so stupid that I would go about it in the public view. But your New York parents...they are vulnerable. And suitably low visibility. Nonetheless, I can ruin them financially. He works with American politicians. And believe me, if I offer the right incentives, I can decimate his patient base, his reputation. Because far better to have an alliance with a prince than continue to support a specific physician.”
Ice settled in her stomach. She believed him. Believed he would do that. Harm her parents. And if she allowed that...what sort of daughter would she be? They had protected her all her life. The least she could do was protect them in kind.
He smiled, and something in that smile made it impossible for her to doubt him. And then his expression shifted, and he returned to being that charming-looking man she had seen on the street in New York. “Now, you can’t possibly meet my people in that hospital gown. Rest for tonight. Tomorrow... Tomorrow we shall set about fashioning you into a queen.”
* * *
Felipe walked into his father’s room. It was dark, the curtains drawn, none of the lights on.
“Good evening, Father,” he said, sweeping toward the bed.
“Your jacket is crooked,” his father said by way of greeting.
Felipe lifted his arm, tugging his sleeves down, hating the reflex. “It is not,” he returned. “And you’re very nearly blind, so even if it was, there would be no way for you to tell.”
It was a strange thing, seeing this man in this state. He had always been fearful to Felipe when he’d been a child. And now, here he was, drained, shrunken. And still, something twisted with something sour whenever he looked at him.
This man, who had abused and tortured him and his mother for years. A slap across her face when Felipe was “in disarray.”
He could remember well his mother being hit so hard it left an instant bruise beneath her eye. And then her makeup artist had been charged with making it invisible before they went to present themselves in the ballroom as the perfect royal family.
A facade of perfection. Something his father excelled at. He had convinced his country of the perfection of his family and the perfection of his rule. The citizens of Santa Milagro slowly and effectively stripped of their freedom. Of art, education and hope.
All things Felipe would see restored. Though he would never be able to fix what had become of his mother, at least he could restore