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

She jerked away from him. “I regret everything that’s happened already. Why should I fear what happens next?”

Nicolo glared at her. He wanted to slap her. To kiss her. To throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the small bedroom in the rear of the cabin…

Was this what having a wife reduced a man to?

He looked at the seat next to hers. “I already do,” he said coldly, and walked to the last seat on the starboard side and buckled himself in.

Moments later, they were skyborne.

Once they’d reached cruising altitude, Nicolo used the plane’s satellite phone to call James Black.

At first, the old man didn’t believe him.

“Married? Impossible,” he scoffed. “There are laws. No one can get married so quickly.”

“Aimee and I are married,” Nicolo said coldly. And then, because he couldn’t contain the words, “I expected you to be delighted by the information, signore. After all, it was part of your plan.”

“An excellent plan, Your Highness, as I’m sure you now agree.”

“There is more.”

“Of course. The papers, transferring ownership of the bank to you. I’ll start the procedure tomorrow.”

Nicolo ran a hand through his hair. Amazing. He’d just told Black his granddaughter was married and all the old man could think about was his damnable bank.

“As I said, Signore Black, there is more.”

“More?”

Suddenly Nicolo didn’t want Black to know about Aimee’s pregnancy. The baby was a private matter, not another thing over which the old man could gloat. Let him think the acquisition of the bank was the reason for the marriage.

“Mi dispiace, signore. A, um, a detail I just thought of but we can let the lawyers handle it.”

“Then, I’ll get my people to work immediately. Where shall they send the documents? To your attorney? Your office? It shouldn’t take more than a week. Two, at the most. Are you at the hotel you were at before?”

“I have left the city, Signore Black. I—that is, we—are en route to my home in Rome.”

“Excellent. I’ll give instructions to forward the documents to you there. Goodbye, Your Highness.”

Click. End of conversation. Nicolo was holding a dead phone.

Black hadn’t inquired after Aimee. He hadn’t asked to speak to her.

Nicolo put the phone aside. As far as her grandfather was concerned, Aimee was a gambit in an intricate business maneuver.

At least the old man would not be able to use her anymore.

He looked at the front of the plane. At Aimee, at his wife, who sat so rigidly in her seat. What was she thinking? In less than two days, her world had turned upside down.

Her grandfather had all but told her that her only value was as a lure. She’d learned she was pregnant. She had been coerced into marriage.

And yet, she remained proud. Strong. Defiant.

Nicolo imagined going to her. Taking her in his arms. Telling her that everything would be all right, that she could trust him to take care of her, that he—that he—

That he what?

He had used her, too. He’d wanted the bank and now he had it.

Nicolo put back his seat, shut his eyes and did his damnedest not to think.

An hour out of New York, the attendant, a pleasant young woman who’d been with him for several years, appeared with a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a pair of flutes.

“I hope you don’t mind, sir,” she began, “but we all thought…” She fell silent, her eyebrows reaching for the sky as she took in the seating arrangements.

“Thank you,” Nicolo said quickly, “but my wife is exhausted and I didn’t want to disturb her. Perhaps we’ll have the champagne later.”

“Of course, sir.”

He smiled. Or hoped the way he curved his lips at least resembled a smile. Had he actually just explained himself to an employee? He didn’t explain himself to anyone, ever.

“If we change our minds,” he said, still straining to sound polite, “I’ll ring.”

The attendant knew a dismissal when she heard one. “Yes, sir,” she said, and started back toward the cockpit.

Aimee stopped her.

“Wait,” he heard her say.

The attendant leaned over the seat, listened, then smiled.

“That’s very kind of you, Principessa. Grazie.”

Nicolo waited a few minutes after the attendant left. Then he walked up the aisle and took the seat next to Aimee’s. Her face was turned to the window.

“Are you awake?”

The truth was he didn’t give a damn one way or the other. He was tired of her silence, her coldness, of the way she’d made him look foolish during the ceremony and again now.

It was time he made things clear.

She was his wife. She would treat him with respect at all times.

“Did you really think I could sleep?”

“Your behavior continues to be unacceptable.”

She looked at him then and the despair he saw in her eyes was like a knife to the heart.