The Billionaire's Secret Princess. CAITLIN CREWS

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       CHAPTER THREE

      ACHILLES DIDN’T SAY another word, and that was worse. It left Valentina to sit there with her own thoughts in a whirl and nothing to temper them. It left no barrier between that compelling, intent look in his curiously dark eyes and her.

      Valentina had no experience with men. Her father had insisted that she grow up as sheltered as possible from public life, so that she could enjoy what little privacy was afforded to a European princess before she turned eighteen. She’d attended carefully selected boarding schools run strictly and deliberately, but that hadn’t prevented her classmates from involving themselves in all kinds of dramatic situations. Even then, Valentina had kept herself apart.

      Your mother’s defection was a stain on the throne, her father always told her. It is upon us to render it clean and whole again.

      Valentina had been far too terrified of staining Murin any further to risk a scandal. She’d concentrated on her studies and her friends and left the teenage rebellions to others. And once out of school, she’d been thrust unceremoniously into the spotlight. She’d been an ambassador for her kingdom wherever she went, and more than that, she’d always known that she was promised to the Crown Prince of Tissely. Any scandals she embroiled herself in would haunt two kingdoms.

      She’d never seen the point.

      And along the way she’d started to take a certain pride in the fact that she was saving herself for her predetermined marriage. It was the one thing that was hers to give on her wedding night that had nothing to do with her father or her kingdom.

      Is it pride that’s kept you chaste—or is it control? a little voice inside her asked then, and the way it kicked in her, Valentina suspected she wouldn’t care for the answer. She ignored it.

      But the point was, she had no idea how to handle men. Not on any kind of intimate level. These past few hours, in fact, were the longest she’d ever spent alone in the company of a man. It simply didn’t happen when she was herself. There were always attendants and aides swarming around Princess Valentina. Always.

      She told herself that was why she was having such trouble catching her breath. It was the novelty—that was all. It certainly wasn’t him.

      Still, it was almost a relief when the car pulled up in front of a quietly elegant building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, perched there with a commanding view of Central Park, and came to a stop.

      The late-afternoon breeze washed over her when she stepped from the car, smelling improbably of flowers in the urban sprawl of New York City. But Valentina decided to take it as a blessing.

      Achilles remained silent as he escorted her into the building. He only raised his chin in the barest of responses to the greeting that came his way from the doormen in the shiny, obviously upscale lobby, and then he led her into a private elevator located toward the back and behind another set of security guards. It was a gleaming, shining thing that he operated with a key. And it was blessedly without any mirrors.

      Valentina wasn’t entirely sure whom she’d see if she looked at her own reflection just then.

      There were too many things she didn’t understand churning inside her, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was doing here. What on earth she hoped to gain from this odd little lark across the planet, literally in another woman’s shoes.

      A break, she reminded herself sternly. A vacation. A little holiday away from all the duties and responsibilities of Princess Valentina, which was more important now than ever. She would give herself over to her single-greatest responsibility in a matter of weeks. She would marry Prince Rodolfo and make both of their fathers and all of their subjects very, very happy.

      And a brief escape had sounded like bliss for that split second back there in London—and it still did, when she thought about what waited for her. The terribly appropriate royal marriage. The endlessly public yet circumspect life of a modern queen. The glare of all that attention that she and any children she bore could expect no matter where they went or what they did, yet she could never comment upon lest she seem ungrateful or entitled.

      Hers was to wave and smile—that was all. She was marrying a man she hardly knew who would expect the marital version of the same. This was a little breather before the reality of all that. This was a tiny bit of space between her circumscribed life at her father’s side and more of the same at her husband’s.

      She couldn’t allow the brooding, unreadable man beside her to ruin it, no matter how unnerving his dark gold gaze was. No matter what fires it kicked up inside her that she hardly dared name.

      The elevator doors slid open, delivering them straight into the sumptuous front hall of an exquisitely decorated penthouse. Valentina followed Achilles as he strode deep inside, not bothering to spare her a glance as he moved. She was glad that he walked ahead of her, which allowed her to look around so she could get her bearings without seeming to do so. Because, of course, Natalie would already know her way around this place.

      She took in the high ceilings and abundant windows all around. The sweeping stairs that led up toward at least two more floors. The mix of art deco and a deep coziness that suggested this penthouse was more than just a showcase; Achilles actually lived here.

      Valentina told herself—sternly—that there was no earthly reason that notion should make her shiver.

      She was absurdly grateful when a housekeeper appeared, clucking at Achilles in what it took Valentina longer than it should have to realize was Greek. A language СКАЧАТЬ