Page 15 of Claimed By the Crown Prince

Laia went cold. Was she so transparent? She felt exposed under Dax’s gaze.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He shrugged. ‘If you gave Ari a chance you might find that your relationship provides all that you need.’

‘I did try to talk to him—after my father’s funeral. He wasn’t interested. He said the marriage would be happening and there was nothing further to discuss. He had his chance to convince me and now it’s gone.’

Suddenly Dax looked serious. ‘It’s a fool’s errand, looking for love in our world. It simply doesn’t exist—and nor would you want it to. It only leads to self-destruction.’

Laia frowned. ‘What does that mean? Who are you talking about?’

But Dax had stood up abruptly. He said, ‘I’m going to clean up. Can I ask you to pass a message to one of my assistants for me? I’m sure you don’t want worldwide headlines shouting about the missing Playboy Prince.’

Laia took the abrupt hint. Clearly he didn’t like her question and wasn’t going to answer.

She considered his request and knew she owed him this much. ‘Okay.’ She stood up and went to a drawer, pulling out a notepad and a pen. She handed it to Dax. ‘Give me the details.’

But he said, ‘I’ll call them out to you, if you don’t mind. I’m dyslexic, so it’ll take me longer to write it all down.’

Laia stopped and looked at him. She hadn’t expected him to say that. And so easily.

‘I...’ For once in her life she felt at a loss. Not sure what to say. Eventually she said, ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to hear you say that. I didn’t know you were dyslexic.’

Dax looked unperturbed. ‘Both me and my brother have it—him to a lesser degree. I’ve learnt to navigate my way around it.’

Laia felt as if the ground was shifting under her feet. This threw a new perspective on Dax. An intriguing one.

‘Okay, call out the details.’

He did, and she wrote them down. When she looked up again Dax was too close. That chest was all she could see. And she could smell his scent. Woodsy and musky. She had the most bizarre urge to put her hand on his chest and feel his heart beating against her palm.

She backed away so fast she almost fell over.

She said, ‘I’ll do this now,’ and fled.

Dax could still smell Laia’s scent lingering in the air. Soft and flowery. But not too sweet. There was something sharp. Like her.

She’d looked at him sharply just now, when he’d told her he had dyslexia. As if reassessing him. He was used to people looking at him differently when they found out—and not necessarily kindly. Sometimes with pity. Sometimes as if his diagnosis explained something to them. As if it explained why he was nothing but a feckless royal playboy—because how could anyone with dyslexia be successful?

A total misconception, as Dax knew well. Some of the most successful people in the world had dyslexia and similar neurodivergences.

But he had been a feckless royal playboy in his younger years. So he couldn’t really blame people for their lazy judgement. And if they continued to judge him based on that earlier version of himself then more fool them. And he’d proved lots of people to be fools by now.

He realised that he’d mentioned his dyslexia just now because he’d wanted to see how Laia would respond. He’d almost wanted to see that glint ofahain her eyes, as if she could square him away into a little box. Dismiss him.

But she hadn’t looked at him like that. She’d been surprised, but not judgemental. Intrigued. She was endlessly surprising. Not least for pulling this stunt in getting him onto a private island with no escape.

And also because sometimes she looked at him the way she had in Monte Carlo, with big eyes. As if she’d never seen a man before.

As if she wanted to devour him.

But in the next second the shutters would come down and she’d disappear back behind an expressionless mask, like she had that night.

She reminded him of a fawn. Curious, but drawing back.

She wanted him. He knew that now.

Her little glances when she thought he wasn’t looking.