Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,35
not that I didn't enjoy myself, it's just...” She flailed a hand, at a loss for words. Or, more appropriately, hesitant to explain the guilt at spending that kind of money.
“Expensive?”
“How did you know?” Chey flushed and looked out the window.
“It's not difficult to guess. It's the least I can do for--”
“For me taking pictures of Viia.” This time, Chey interrupted him.
The silence in the limousine prompted Chey to glance across the seat. Mattias watched her with a pensive expression. He made an almost flippant gesture in the air with his hand.
“Sure, yes. For taking pictures of Viia.” His tone indicated he was less than pleased with that answer.
Chey wanted to ask him what he expected of her. What he wanted, if it wasn't her talent with photography. He had to know that she was unsure why a member of the Royal household had shown her this much attention.
He couldn't be interested in her other than for work purposes. She was unconnected politically, lacking an inheritance, a foreigner and of the working class, to boot. His mother, at least, seemed to think all those things mattered more than whether love was involved or not.
A light bulb went off over Chey's head when the real reason presented itself for his interest. It had been staring her in the face this whole time.
Mattias wanted to make her his temporary mistress.
The sparks between them hadn't been a fabrication or her imagination, and he probably saw a perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation. Now he'd spent money on her, too, and that she'd allowed it was likely some secret code between almost-lovers that she would come willingly to his bed.
Mattias pressed a button on the car door and spoke quickly in his own tongue. Maybe he'd changed his mind about their day and had ordered the driver to return them to the helicopter.
“Why the silence?” Mattias asked, proving he was not immune to her mood shift.
She ground her molars together and stared out the window.
“I have a sudden headache. Probably from the...from hitting my head.” She flickered her fingers up near her temple.
“My apologies. You should have said something sooner. Would you like to cut the day short and go home instead?”
Why did he have to sound so courteous? Now she was going to miss out on taking more pictures of the city, and who knew when she would get the opportunity to come here again.
Just because she thought he wanted to make her his mistress didn't require her to become that.
“No, I'll be fine. What else is on the agenda?” Chey glanced over.
He was still regarding her in his serious, sober way. “Lunch, first, and then a stop at the Royal park. Are you hungry?”
Chey discovered that she was. Looking out the window instead of at Mattias, she absorbed the details of the city. “Yes, actually.”
“Excellent. You will enjoy this restaurant, I believe.”
The restaurant turned out to be an old mission right on the shoreline. Much of the structure remained as it had been, preserved well enough to function as a skeleton for the upscale dining experience it offered. Inside, the owners had added paintings of the mission in its heyday, a few potted plants and plush chairs fitting a spartan, mission style theme.
On the third floor, a waiter led them to a private balcony overlooking the water. Hydrangea and bougainvillea clustered at each end, filling pots and trailing up wrought iron scroll work attached to the outside walls.
“This is stunning,” Chey said, setting her camera down in an empty chair. The owner had, of course, been gracious about her taking as many pictures as she wanted. Nothing would be denied a guest of the Prince.
Mattias settled into a chair and waved security back through the balcony doors, leaving them with a modicum of privacy. “And the food is as good as it seems it should be. Would you like wine?”
Getting comfortable in her chair, inhaling the scent of salt on the air, she glanced across at Mattias. He watched her rather than the scenery.
“Please. I'm going to request you order for me, too. You know the cuisine better than I do.”
“Oh, getting brave, I see. Very well.” Mattias didn't need to look at a menu. He gestured and a waiter appeared as if by magic. Rattling off an order in his native tongue, he dismissed the waiter and reclined in his seat.
“As long as you didn't just order snails or goat's feet, I should be all right.” She quirked a