The Princes' Brides: The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

But there was no going back. In the dark hours of the night, agreeing to this marriage had seemed the only thing she could do. For her grandfather and, yes, for her baby. Her unborn child was entitled to be free of the stain of illegitimacy.

The arrangement could work, she’d told herself as she sat by the window, staring blindly out at the neighboring brick tenement that was her entire view. Her child would get his father’s name. Nicolo would get the bank. She would get the satisfaction of giving her grandfather the one thing not even his vast fortune could buy.

It would all be very civilized…and how could she have been stupid enough to believe that? If only she’d kept her mouth shut. Telling Nicolo she’d marry him but she wouldn’t sleep with him had been like waving a bone at a caged and hungry wolf.

It only made him want what he couldn’t have.

She shouldn’t have said anything. After all, he couldn’t force her to sleep with him. Nicolo Barbieri was a tyrant, but he wasn’t a savage.

Was he?

God oh God, what was she doing?

What had she been thinking?

Aimee swung toward Nicolo, oblivious to the judge, the witnesses, the ceremony.

“Nicolo,” she said urgently, “wait…”

“…husband and wife,” the judge said, and offered an election-year smile. “Congratulations, Prince Barbieri. Oh, and Princess Barbieri, of course. Sir, you may kiss your bride.”

Nicolo looked at her. His eyes told her he knew exactly what she’d been about to say; the proof came when he bent his head and put his mouth to her ear.

To the onlookers, it probably looked as if he was whispering something tender but it was hardly that.

“Too late, cara,” he murmured, the words a steel fist in a velvet glove.

Then he shook the judge’s hand, thanked the witnesses and drew Aimee’s arm through his.

“Time for the newlyweds to be alone,” he said, with a little smile.

The judge and the witnesses laughed politely.

Aimee trembled.

He’d told the taxi driver to wait by circling the block; the cab appeared just as they came down the courthouse steps.

Nicolo opened the door, motioned Aimee inside and climbed in next to her.

“Kennedy,” he said. “The General Aviation facility.”

Aimee stared at him as the cab pulled into midmorning traffic. “What?”

“The airport. The area where corporate jets are—”

“I know what Kennedy is,” she said impatiently. “But why are we going there?”

Nicolo raised a dark eyebrow. “Where did you think we would go, cara?” His smile was silken. “Are you in such a rush to be alone with me that you hoped we’d go to my hotel?”

No way was she going to let him draw her into that kind of conversation! Aimee folded her hands in her lap.

“I asked you a question. Do you think you could give me a straight answer?”

His smile faded. “We’re going home.”

Home? She stared at him blankly. They hadn’t discussed where they’d live but then, they hadn’t discussed much of anything.

“Did you think we would live in New York?”

That was precisely what she’d thought.

“My home is in Italy,” he said brusquely. “In Rome. My house is there, my corporate headquarters…Don’t look so stricken, cara. New York isn’t the center of the world.”

It was the center of her world. Didn’t he see that?

“But—but—”

“If you’re concerned about not packing enough clothes, you can shop tomorrow.”

Did he think this was about clothes? She would have laughed, except laughter was too close to tears.

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“If it’s because we haven’t told your grandfather, don’t be. I’ll call him from the plane.”

“Nicolo.” Aimee swallowed dryly. She had to find the right way to say this without sounding as if she was begging. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“And I,” he said coolly, “have lived in Rome.”

“Yes, I know that, but—”

“You are my wife.”

His voice had turned hard; even the cabbie, sensing something, reached back and closed the privacy partition.

“But surely—”

“If you wish, I will consider the purchase of a flat in New York.” Why tell her he’d decided on that when he first became interested in buying SCB? “But my primary residence—our primary residence—will be Roma.”

“But—but—”

“Stop sounding like a motorboat,” Nicolo said impatiently. “You are my wife. You will behave as such, and you cannot do that from a distance of thirty-five hundred miles.”

Aimee felt the blood drain from her head. “Nicolo. Please—”

“This discussion is at an end.”

Nicolo folded his arms and turned his face to the window.