Mateo was growing a new variety of Tempranillo vine in his UC Davis greenhouse lab whose hardiness and impeccable flavor of the grapes it produced would save the fortunes of the Monte del Vino Real. His new-and-improved vine or “clone”—he’d called it the Tempranillo Vino Real for his people—just needed a couple more years of development. To buy that time, he’d cobbled together enough loans to keep credit flowing to his growers and business owners and his community teetering on the edge of financial ruin instead of free-falling over. He’d also instituted security measures in his lab so that the vine wouldn’t be stolen by competitors.
But Roxanne Medina was telling him that all of his efforts—the favors he’d called in to keep the Monte’s poverty a secret, the expensive security cameras, the pat downs of grad students he knew and trusted—were useless. This woman he’d never met had sniffed out his secrets and staked a claim.
“What does or doesn’t happen to my kingdom has nothing to do with you,” he said, angry at a computer screen.
She put down her glasses and clasped slender, delicate hands in front of her. “This doesn’t have to be difficult,” she insisted. “All I want is three nights a month from you.”
He scoffed. “And my hand in marriage.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “The king has produced more than enough royal bastards for the Monte, don’t you think?”
The king. His father. The man whose limitless desire to be seen as a wealthy international playboy emptied the kingdom’s coffers. The ruler who weekly dreamt up get-rich-quick schemes that—without Mateo’s constant monitoring and intervention—would have sacrificed the Monte’s land, people, and thousand-year legacy to his greed.
It was Mateo’s fault for being surprised that his father would sell his son and grandchild to the highest bidder.
“I’m just asking for three nights a month for a year,” Roxanne Medina continued. “At the end of that year, I’ll ‘divorce’ you—” her air quotes cast in stark relief what a mockery this “marriage” would be “—and provide you with the settlement I outlined with your father. Regardless of the success of your vine, your people will be taken care of and you will never have to consider turning your kingdom into an American amusement park.”
That was another highly secretive deal that Roxanne Medina wasn’t supposed to know about: An American resort company wanted to purchase half the Monte and develop it as a playland for rich Americans to live out their royal fantasies. But her source for that info was easy; his father daily threatened repercussions if Mateo didn’t sign the papers for the deal.
In the three months since Mateo had stormed out of that meeting, leaving his father and the American resort group furious, his IT guy had noticed a sharp rise in hacking attempts against his lab’s computers. And there’d been two attempted break-ins on his apartment, according to his security company.
Billionaire Roxanne Medina might be the preferable devil. At least she was upfront about her snooping and spying.
But have a kid with her? His heir? A child that, until an hour ago, had only been a distant, flat someday, like marriage and death? “So I’m supposed to make a kid with you and then—what—just hand him over?”
“Didn’t the king tell you...? Of course, you’ll get to see her. A child needs two parents.” The adamancy of her raspy voice had Mateo focusing on the screen. The billionaire clutched her fingers in front of the laptop, her blue eyes focused on him. “We’ll have joint custody. We won’t need to see each other again, but your daughter, you can have as much or as little access to her as you’d like.”
She pushed her long black hair behind her shoulders as she leaned closer to the screen, and Mateo once again saw that tiny, gold cross against her skin.
“Your IQ is 152, mine is 138, and neither of us have chronic illnesses in our families. We can create an exceptional child and give her safety, security, and a fairy-tale life free of hardship. I wouldn’t share this responsibility with just anyone; I’ve done my homework on you. I know you’ll make a good father.”
Mateo had been trained in manipulation his whole life. His mother cried and raged, and then hugged and petted him. His father bought him a Labrador puppy and then forced Mateo to lie about the man’s whereabouts for a weekend. Looking a person in the eye and speaking a compliment from the heart were simple tricks in a master manipulator’s bag.
And yet, there was something that beckoned about the child she described. He’d always wanted to be a better everything than his own father.
The nurse sat a contract and pen in front of Mateo. He stared at the rose gold Mont Blanc.
“I know this is unorthodox,” she continued. “But it benefits us both. You get breathing room for your work and financial security for your people. I get a legitimate child who knows her father without...well, without the hassles of everything else.” She paused. “You understand the emotional toll of an unhappy marriage better than most.”
Mateo wanted to bristle but he simply didn’t have the energy. His parents’ affairs and blowups had been filling the pages of the tabloids since before he was born. The billionaire hadn’t needed to use her elite gang of spies to gather that intel. But she did remind him of his own few-and-far-between thoughts on matrimony. Namely, that it was a state he didn’t want to enter.
If he never married, then when would he have an heir?
Mateo pulled back from his navel gazing to focus on her. She was watching him. Mateo saw her eyes travel slowly over the screen, taking him in, and he felt like a voyeur and exhibitionist at the same time.
She bit her full bottom lip and then gave him a smile of promise. “To put it frankly, Príncipe, your position and poverty aren’t the only reasons I
