“The same mother you spoke with in the car today? The one who spoiled you because you were an only child?”
“Yes. But then she stopped.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not talk about my parents. It’s a complicated relationship.”
“That’s fine,” he said mildly. “But you can talk about them if you decide you’d like to. This is a safe space,” he added in a sardonic tone that threw her own words back at her.
She choked back saying it didn’t feel like it and said, “Good to know.” She gulped wine to wet her dry throat. “Do you have any?”
“Tattoos?” He snorted. “No.” He sipped his own wine, then walked his glass to an end table and set it down. “I was also forbidden to get one, but that didn’t bother me. I’ve never had much appetite for rebellion. My father thought being king gave him license to do whatever the hell he wanted despite the responsibilities that come with the title. I was taught differently.”
“By your mother and her team.”
“Yes. And his behavior impacted her. She had mental health struggles. That’s why the foundation exists. She started it because she understood the hurdles people face when seeking treatment. She passed away from an unrelated condition, but I often think her depression affected her...” Agony tightened his expression. “Her will to fight. She loved us, but she was very disillusioned. Humiliated by my father’s conduct. Or lack thereof,” he said with a twist of his lips. “He was completely indifferent to the effect he had on her. Not oblivious. He simply didn’t care. If anything, he was spiteful about it. He didn’t want to be a good husband or father or ruler. He set out to prove he didn’t have to conform or put anyone’s needs above his own. As a result, I find rebellion a selfish and unattractive behavior.”
“Ouch,” she said blithely as she set aside her own wine, fighting not to let him see how deeply that knife had plunged.
“I didn’t mean to suggest you’re selfish. I was speaking of the characteristic in general.”
“Oh, but I was,” she assured him. “I was a self-involved brat until such time as that luxury was denied me.” She’d been hurt and feeling abandoned by her parents after they’d divorced and shuffled her off to boarding school. She’d made demands for things she didn’t even want in a clichéd cry for the love and attention she really craved.
Her behavior had spiraled from there and yes, Amy carried some of the blame for what had happened with the field hockey coach. She had known what she was doing was wrong, but so had he. And he’d been a man of twenty-nine while she’d been an eighteen-year-old student in his class.
“I didn’t always direct my independent streak in the best way,” she admitted. “But it annoys me that pushing back on how girls and women are ‘supposed to’ behave is considered rebellion. That’s what I was really fighting. My mother was always saying, ‘Don’t speak up. You have to fit in.’ She buys into this silent agreement with society that women aren’t supposed to draw attention to ourselves because it pulls the spotlight from the really important people. Men,” she stated with a scathing eye roll.
“Ouch,” he said ironically.
She bit her lip, quelling her smile.
He was shaking his head, but taking her remark with good-natured amusement.
She liked him, damn it.
Best to focus on why she was here. “Can I show you the women I’ve identified who might be willing to ruin you?”
“I thought I was already looking at her,” he drawled.
Amy faltered in retrieving her phone.
He sobered. “That was a joke.”
“I know. I didn’t realize you knew how to make one.” She shakily breezed past her tiny betrayal of a guilty conscience and brought her phone to him. “These are celebrities I know well enough to approach. I am neither confirming nor denying they are clients.”
“Noted.”
They stood so closely, she could feel the heat off his body and detected the mellow scent of his aftershave. He picked up his wine and she heard him swallow as she began to thumb through images, providing a brief biography for each.
“German car heiress trying to start her own fashion line. Country music star, American, won an award for a song about her messy divorce. This is a cousin of a British ambassador. She has a popular online cooking series.”
Luca rejected them all just as quickly. “Too young. No one will believe I listen to American country music. Where would I have met an online chef?”
Six more went by and Amy clicked off her phone. “You’re being too picky. No one will be perfect. That’s the point.”
“If I don’t believe I’m attracted to her, no one else will.” He set aside his glass again.
“What kind of woman do you want, then?” she asked with exasperation.
His gaze raked down her face and snagged on her mouth, then swept back to her eyes. The heat in the depths of his blue irises nearly set her on fire before he looked to a corner.
Amy caught her breath, swaying on the skinny heels of her shoes. She had really hoped this attraction was only on her side. It would have made this a silly infatuation where she was reaching out of her league and had no chance.
It was a lot harder to ignore when she knew he felt the same. The space between them seemed to shrink, drawing them in. Her gaze fixated on the tension around his mouth.
“I...” She had no words. She should have moved away. “I thought you were...” She thought back to that dismissive rebuff he’d given her in London. “Indifferent to me.”
His lips parted as he exhaled roughly. “You do speak your mind,
