Cash was having trouble processing what Hawk told him earlier. Ella was a queen. Or would be, if Capriolo still had a monarchy. She hadn’t told him she was a princess—had she also hidden the fact she would be a queen, or did she truly not know? Not that it mattered really. She wasn’t a queen—and never would be unless Capriolo suddenly decided they wanted to invite her back.

But it might explain a lot about her aunt and uncle. The way they’d treated her, the way they’d sold her into marriage to Sheikh Fahd. It would explain a lot about Fahd as well. Why he wanted her, why he was willing to pay to marry her. A queen—even an exiled queen—would go a long way toward cementing his claim in Qu’rim.

“Who would the king be today, assuming you still had a king there?”

She frowned. “My uncle, I think. He is a Rossi.”

“But who was the eldest Rossi? Your uncle or your father?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never googled these things?”

“No. My aunt and uncle restricted what we could search for. If I wanted to keep my privileges—downloading music, reading books—then I knew not to violate the restrictions.”

Ella Rossi—hell, Ella McQuaid now—was a goddamned queen, and her relatives had hidden it from her. Hidden it from the world, apparently. Because like Hawk had said, it was buried deep. The line of succession went from her grandfather to her father to her. She’d effectively been the exiled queen since she was eight years old—and she apparently didn’t know it.

It was clear to him she didn’t. So did he tell her? Or did he keep it from her because it didn’t matter?

He wasn’t certain—but he was certain that now was not the time to discuss it.

“Why are you asking me this?” Her head was tilted as she stared at him. He couldn’t help but notice the pinkness of her mouth, the smokiness of her eyes. Her hair was a lush waterfall of silky darkness. Her eyes were pools of sepia ink. The urge to kiss her smashed through him like a nuclear detonation.

A little voice whispered that he had the right. He could kiss her. He could undress her, explore her, make her come. It was his right. She was his wife. His wife.

Cash shook himself and turned away, taking a gulp of the whiskey he’d poured. It scalded his throat. He needed to remember. Remember that she was a virgin and he shouldn’t touch her. Because this wasn’t real and it wasn’t going to last.

It was a job. She was his job. Protect her. Keep her safe. Let her go at the end of it so she could make her own life.

“Just wondering,” he said. “Figured I should know more about you.”

He tried not to let his gaze wander down her body. Damn that Gina. She knew how to dress a bride. It had taken everything he had not to let his tongue fall out earlier when he’d walked into the room and seen Ella in that white dress. It was strapless, and the white of it set off her creamy olive skin and made her glow. The bodice was fitted, and the skirt clung to her hips before flaring below the knee and dragging in a silky puddle behind her. There was no ornamentation, unlike the dress she’d been wearing when he rescued her yesterday.

But this dress suited her so much more. In that dress, she’d seemed untouchable, armored. Like a doll instead of a woman. In this dress? She was feminine and appealing. Touchable, though he couldn’t touch her. Not ever.

He wanted to. More than ever, he wanted to. He tossed back the whiskey and chalked it up to the perversity of the situation. He, Cash McQuaid, the avowed bachelor, was married. A thing he’d sworn he’d never do. It was as if fate were laughing at him. Fate had found Ella, put her in his path, and was currently laughing her ass off at him. Or was it asses? He seemed to remember that the Fates were plural in Greek mythology.

Whatever.

“And what about you?” Ella asked, her dark eyes liquid pools of curiosity. She held the wineglass in delicate fingers, taking periodic sips of the golden liquid. Was it his imagination, or did she sway a tiny bit on her feet?

“What about me?”

“You asked about my parents, my past. What about yours? I know nothing about you.”

“You know enough. I’m a Navy SEAL. I protect people. I’m protecting you.”

She took a delicate sip of wine. “I thank you for that. But who are you, Cash McQuaid?” She frowned and shook her head as if to clear it. “That is such an odd thing to say. Cash McQuaid—I am Mrs. McQuaid, am I not? My last name has been Rossi for so long.”

“I think you will always be a Rossi,” he said. “And this is America. You don’t have to take my last name.”

“But I did. It was on the forms.”

He shrugged. “That was done to protect you. When we divorce, you can change it back.”

She frowned and dropped her gaze to her drink. “Of course.”

“Don’t be offended, Ella,” he said. “I’m just telling you the truth. You won’t want to stay married to me.”

Her eyes flashed as she lifted her gaze. “I didn’t say I did.”

Jesus, did she have to be so pretty? “Didn’t Gina give you any other clothes?”

She frowned. “I selected an outfit on the plane. That was all. Besides, I don’t want her to give me clothes.”

Cash blew out a breath and went to pour another whiskey. Damn.

“I don’t think you want to go out on the town wearing a wedding dress. That’s all I’m saying.”

Her lower lip stuck out for a second before she sucked it back in. “I don’t want to go out on the town at all.”

“That makes two of us,” he grumbled before sipping his whiskey.

She went over and sank down on a plush Queen Anne chair. Her dark eyes studied him. “You have not answered my question. Who are you, Cash? Besides a Navy SEAL. Where do you come from? Who are your parents?”

He frowned. He didn’t like talking about this stuff. But she kept looking at him expectantly and he thought, What the fuck.

“My dad is an asshole. A misogynistic, womanizing bastard who thinks women are possessions. My mother left him years ago. I haven’t heard from her since. I have a stepmother though. She hates me. My half sister is a sweetheart who adores me. I don’t go home much other than to see friends.”

Ella’s lip trembled and then stopped. She sipped her drink and tried to look cool. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. I knew the score years ago. I couldn’t leave fast enough.”

“You sound like me in a way. I wanted to leave but could not. They wouldn’t let me.”

He did feel sympathy for her. “And now you have. How do you feel?”

“Strange. I ran away from a marriage and now I’m married. I wanted to make my own decisions, but so far they have all been made for me. I don’t see that changing soon.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t either. It’s the nature of the business. To protect you, we have to create and control the situation. Eventually you’ll be free.”

“Yes, I’m sure I will.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a few silent moments. “We can order something from room service. Hell, we can tell Gina we aren’t going anywhere if you wish. She has pictures of the ceremony. That should be enough.”

Ella looked relieved for a moment, but then her expression hardened as if she was summoning all her willpower. “No, I think we have to stick to the plan. I can wait for dinner.”

He glanced through the open bedroom door at the king-sized bed and cleared his throat. There was still that hurdle to cross, wasn’t there?

Ella glanced at him. Her gaze followed his, and he was certain a red flush crept up her throat. He hurried to reassure her.

“I’ll get the hotel to bring up a cot,” he said. “You can have the bed.”

“That’s kind of you,” she murmured.

Kind? He didn’t think it was kind at all. Instead, he thought it might be an act of self-preservation.

He took another slug of whiskey. It was starting to send warm fire snaking along his veins. The temptation to down it chipped away at him, but he refused to lose control. He had too much discipline to do so.

“No problem,” he said.

“But Cash,” she replied when he strode to the phone on the table and started to pick it up.

“Yes?”

“Will it get out to the press that we had a cot brought up? Should we perhaps think of something else? Gina says that what the press reports is very important to my future.”

Shit.

He laid the phone in the cradle and drew in a deep breath. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You could sleep in the bed,” she said. “With me. There is plenty of room.”

Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, because she rose and held out her hand in apology. “No, that is not what I mean. I simply mean the bed is large and there is room for us both.”

He wanted to growl and then he wanted to tug her into his arms and bite her. In the best possible way, of course.

“Ella,” he said tightly. “There may be room, but it’s not a good idea. Trust me on this.”

She seemed shocked. And then she seemed pleased. “Do I excite you, Cash McQuaid? Is that the problem?”

He was planning to deny it. But when he opened his mouth, he didn’t.

“Yes, Ella. That is exactly the problem.”