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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí chapter 6

 

CHAPTER SIX


THE jet was starting its descent. Rico could feel the alteration in pitch.


‘We’re starting to go down, Ben,’ he announced.


Ben, captivated, stared out of the porthole, at the tiny patchwork of fields and valleys and rivers spread below. He had taken the journey in his stride so far—and so, to Rico’s relief, had his mother.


‘Will you at least agree to a visit?’ he had asked her the next day. ‘Nothing more than that. To allow my parents and brother to meet Ben.’ His voice had changed. ‘I do not have to tell you how much they long to meet him at last. Please do not deny them that,’ he’d finished quietly. ‘It will be a very emotional moment for them.’


She had nodded. Something seemed to have changed between them. He didn’t know what, but somehow it was easier to talk to her. She, too, and he was sure it was not just his imagination, seemed less tense, less awkward in his presence.


Maybe, he thought sombrely, the scene that night had brought everything to a head.


Whatever it was, he was grateful. Grateful that she had agreed to move forward, even in this circumspect way, that she finally seemed to have moved beyond the stonewalling denial that had made her so difficult to deal with.


He had spoken to Luca that morning, telling him they were going to fly out the following day. What he hadn’t told him was that it was only for a visit, not permanently. He would tell Luca privately that there could be no question of a marriage of convenience. That the situation would have to be resolved differently, in a way that Ben’s adopted mother was comfortable with.


Luca had not been communicative, had merely wanted to know that Ben was finally on his way and when they would be landing. He’d seemed tense, preoccupied.


Well, it had been a stressful time, Rico acknowledged. Their father was not an easy man, and Rico had sympathy for Luca being the one to bear the brunt of it. However much of a miracle Ben’s existence was, it had come with a price tag—one that his father hated to pay. The focus of the world’s tabloid press on his family’s private affairs.


The stewardess came forward into the cabin to request they put their seat belts on. Rico smiled reassuringly across at Ben’s mother. She seemed outwardly calm, but he wondered how real it was.


Ben simply seemed excited.


Ironically, thought Rico, Ben seemed a lot more excited about flying in a plane than he did about the news, broken to him tactfully and carefully the previous afternoon by his uncle and his aunt, that he was, in fact, a royal prince.


‘Will I have a crown?’ had been his only question, and, when a negative answer had been returned to him, had lost interest in the matter.


His interest in royalty was revived momentarily when they transferred to the car waiting for them at the airfield. The car was flying a colourful standard from its bonnet, and Ben wanted to know why.


‘It’s your grandfather’s flag,’ Rico answered. ‘Because he’s the Ruler of San Lucenzo. We are going to meet him. And your grandmother and your other uncle. The one I told you about yesterday.’


The car glided off. Ben chattered away to Rico, asking him question after question. Beside him, Lizzy sat, willing herself to stay calm.


But it was hard.


In England, cocooned in the safe house, it had been hard to appreciate the reality of Ben’s patrimony. Now that they were here, in San Lucenzo itself, it was suddenly all too real. Fear and apprehension gouged at her, and she could feel her muscles tensing.


She was so completely out of place here. It had been bad enough in England, in that country house, but boarding a private San Lucenzan-registered jet, flying in luxury, with the stewardess saying ‘Highness’ to Ben’s uncle every time she opened her mouth, and a uniformed airfield commander greeting them as they deplaned, and now a bodyguard, Gianni, sitting next to a peak-capped chauffeur driving them in the sleek, officiallooking limo with the royal standard on it…It was all telling her that this was a world to which she did not belong.


A world as alien to her as if she’d landed on another planet.


Anxiety and nerves bit through her with merciless pincers.


‘It will be all right. Trust me.’


Prince Rico had spoken in a low voice, but there was a note of consideration…kindness, even…that she was not used to. Perhaps it was simply because she was finally doing what the Ceraldis wanted her to do—bringing Ben out to San Lucenzo to meet his royal relatives.


But it seemed more than that.


And Lizzy knew why.


He’s sorry for me. He’s sorry for me because he knows that I know that the insane idea of a marriage of convenience was just grotesque.


His kindness should have made her feel more embarrassed than ever. And yet, strangely, it seemed to achieve the opposite.


She looked across at him, to where he was patiently answering Ben’s questions. Ben was completely at ease with him now—and Rico with Ben, Lizzy could see. He was warm and affectionate, open and demonstrative with his nephew.


It brought a reassurance to her that she badly needed.


If he’s like that with Ben, it means his parents and his brother will be too. OK, so they happen to be royalty—but what does that matter in the end? They want Ben to love, because they loved his father, and that’s all that matters.


It would be all right—she had to believe that. It would be all right.


And if it wasn’t—well. She took a heavy inhalation of breath as she reminded herself she had committed to nothing in coming out here. Ben, like her, was a British citizen, and she was his legal guardian. Nothing happened to him without her consent.


Her eyes went to Ben’s uncle again.


Besides, he had given her his word.


He, a royal prince, wouldn’t give that lightly or trivially. When he gave it, he would mean it.


Her reassurance deepened.





The windows of the car were tinted, so that although the occupants could see out, no one could see in.


‘They are used to the cars of the royal family on the roads,’ Rico remarked, as the car wound its slow way through the narrow streets of the city towards the royal palace.


‘Does anyone else know we are coming here?’ asked Lizzy.


Rico shook his head.


‘The pavements would be mobbed with paparazzi if they knew,’ he said. ‘So far as the press is concerned, you and Ben are still in England. Eventually there will be an official statement from the palace, confirming both Ben’s existence and yours, and also officially recognising him as Prince Paolo’s son and a member of the royal family. But my father will not be hustled into making any announcements in reaction to the recent stories.’


‘So no one knows we’re here?’ said Lizzy.


‘No, you are quite safe. It will be a completely private visit.’


Her tension eased a fraction.


But not by much. The car was already approaching the wide gates of a palace, driving across its wide-paved concourse. The sugar-white,faux -castellated royal palace looked as if it was made out of children’s candy, Lizzy thought. And the flanking guards were in picturesque antique costume and helmets as they swept past them and into the inner courtyard.


The car drew to a halt in front of a huge double door at the rear of the cobbled courtyard. As it stopped the doors were thrown open and two footmen emerged. One came to open the car door.


Prince Rico got out first, then turned to help lift Ben out and offer his hand to Lizzy. She managed to get out of the car without taking it.


As she straightened, she felt the warmth of the Mediterranean air in her lungs after the air-conditioned car.


Then they were heading indoors, and the cool of marble floors enveloped her as she walked beside Ben, his uncle on his other side, across the wide expanse of an entrance hall.


I’m in a palace,thought Lizzy, and the thought seemed bizarre and unreal.


One of the footmen was processing in front of them, the other bringing up the rear. Ben was still asking Rico questions. Lizzy glanced covertly either side of her, at the ornate walls, with alcoves inset with statuary.


Ahead was a huge flight of stairs, carpeted in royal blue. Prince Rico ascended lithely.


This is his home—he must do this every day of his life.


Her sense of unreality deepened.


So did the sense of oppression that had started to weigh her down.


How could she ever move in this world, even if only on the edges, as the legal mother of the Ruling Prince’s grandson? It was impossible.


Grotesque…


The cruel word pincered at her.


They gained the top of the stairs, and a wide landing that seemed to stretch endlessly in either direction. Off its length sets of double doors marched away.


Everywhere was marble and gilt, and there was the kind of hush that went with a deserted museum.


A man stepped forward, out of a doorway she hadn’t even noticed.


The procession halted, and the man bowed briefly to Prince Rico, dismissing the footmen. The man was wearing a suit, and was clearly not a servant but one of the royal staff.


What were they called? Lizzy found herself wondering. Equerries? Was that it?


The man, who was quite young, and wearing pale spectacles which obscured his eyes, was addressing Prince Rico. His glance had gone briefly to Ben, but not to herself.


What am I? Invisible?


The caustic thought merely made her unease deepen.


Prince Rico was frowning, saying something in a sharp voice in Italian to the man. The man’s expression did not change, remaining impassive. Unreadable.


Prince Rico turned towards Lizzy, shutting out the other man.


‘My father and mother would like to meet Ben on his own for the first time,’ he said to her. ‘Please do not take offence at this. Were you to be there, they would be constrained to be formal, to behave as the protocols dictate. I hope you will understand?’


Fear flared in her eyes. Then, to her astonishment, her hand was taken.


‘It will be all right. You have my word.’


His hands were warm across hers. His eyes, as he looked into hers, were rich with sympathy.


‘Trust me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do not be afraid.’


Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. There seemed to be a lump in her throat.


He let go of her hand.


‘You will be shown to your apartments, where you can yourself. I will bring Ben to you. In the meantime, rest and relax. Then, when I’ve brought Ben back, I will show you around.’


He glanced down at Ben.


‘We’re going to meet your grandparents now, Ben, and your other uncle. Your mother is going to have a little rest, and then we’ll go exploring. There’s a lot to see in this palace.’ He bent forward conspiratorially. ‘Even a secret passage.’


Ben’s eyes widened. He slipped his hand into his uncle’s, and Prince Rico started to walk off with him, still talking to him.


Lizzy watched them go.


‘Signorina?’


It was the equerry, or whoever he was.


‘I will show you to your new quarters,’ said the man.


Numbly, Lizzy followed after him.


Tension netted her like a web.





Rico looked about him and frowned. His parents’ private sitting room, which he’d just been ushered into with Ben, was deserted. Yet he’d been told to present Ben immediately. So where was everyone?


‘Rico—finally.’


He turned abruptly. Luca had walked in from one of the antechambers. His brother’s eyes went swiftly from himself to the small figure holding Rico’s hand. For a moment he said nothing, just looked. Then he spoke.


‘Yes—difficult to deny his paternity. Far too much Paolo in him.’ His eyes flicked back to Rico. ‘We were beginning to think you’d never get him here,’ he said. ‘You must be slipping.’ A jibing note entered his voice. ‘For a man who can charm any woman he wants into bed in the blink of an eye, it should have been a piece of cake for you to get the boy’s aunt eating out of your hand.’


‘Cut the sniping, Luca,’ said Rico. His voice was sharper than usual. ‘Where are the parents?’


His brother’s eyebrows rose with a sardonic curve.


‘It’s Grand Council today—you know our father’s never late for those sessions. And as for our fond mama, she always goes back to Andovaria for her fortnight’s spa this time of year—had you forgotten?’


Rico stared. ‘What?Di Finori told me Ben had been summoned immediately.’


‘Well, of course,’ Luca responded impatiently. ‘We’ve had to wait long enough to get him. But—’ his mouth pressed ‘—at least we’ve got him now.’ His voice changed again. ‘So we can all relax finally. Especially you.’ The jibing note was back in his voice. ‘Poor Rico—actually reduced to offering to make the ultimate sacrifice—marriage. And tosuch a bride. I’ve just checked her out on the security cameras.Dio , if I’d known she was that bad evenI might have thought twice before I did that number on you. Still, it did the business—as I knew it would. She must have snapped your hand off the minute you trotted out the marriage-of-convenience fairytale.’


‘You never intended me to go through with it?’ Rico’s voice was edged like a knife.


Luca gave a laugh, abruptly cut off. ‘Thump me one if you want, Rico, but you gave us no choice. I had to be convincing. I had to make sure you believed you were going to have to go through with it.’ His mouth thinned. ‘Why the hell you gave this Lizzy Mitchell your word that you wouldn’t try and take the boy from her is beyond me. That’s not something to lie about. That’s why I didn’t want to put you in a position where you knew you were lying about a marriage of convenience.’


The expression in Rico’s eyes flickered minutely. ‘I gave her my word to get her to trust me,’ he said.


‘Bad move.’ Luca shook his head. ‘You’ll be glad to know I didn’t mention it to our father—it wouldn’t have gone down well. Still, like I said, everything’s worked out finally. And now we can finally get this damn mess sorted.’


His eyes went to Ben, who had a blank, confused look on his face at all the incomprehensible Italian being spoken over his head, then to his brother again. For a moment Rico thought he saw something in Luca’s eyes. Then it was gone. His voice, when he spoke next, was brisk and businesslike.


‘The boy’s personal household has been selected, and they’re waiting to take him now. He’ll have apartments here in the palace to begin with, where security is tighter. Later he’ll be moved out to somewhere more remote—up in the hills, probably, to keep him out of circulation. Boarding school’s a possibility when he’s older, but that’s a few years ahead yet. For the moment it’s just a question of nannies and tutors. And keeping his profile as low as possible, of course. Everything necessary will be done to mitigate the situation and minimise his presence.’ His expression changed again, and he gave a short, angry rasp. ‘Dio, what an ungodly mess! It’s been hell dealing with it here, I can tell you!’


‘I had the feeling,’ Rico said, his eyes narrowing, ‘that the idea of a grandson was welcome.’


Luca laughed shortly without humour.


‘You’ve been reading too much of that trash in the press. Yes, of course that’s the line the hacks took—they would, wouldn’t they? All cloying sentimentality. You don’t seriously imagine that our parents wouldever welcome the news that Paolo had disgraced himself—and us all—by going and impregnating some two-cent bimbo and thenmarrying her?’


Rico gave a shrug. ‘Could be worse—the bimbo could still be alive. As it is, it’s just the frump of an aunt. What happens toher now, by the way?’ His voice was offhand.


‘Secure apartment here, in the south tower—she’s being taken there now—then she’ll be deported aspersona non grata to the principality. Once outside the borders she can do what she wants. She won’t get the boy back. Even if the press bankroll any counter-custody claim by her for the publicity, it will take years. While she had the boy and they were still in the UK we were hamstrung—the law was weighted in her favour. But now it’s a different story. We have possession, and that’s what counts. She’s finished. And you, my dear brother—’ Luca clapped him on the back, his slate eyes sparking with his familiar sardonic expression ‘—are finally off-duty. You’re free to celebrate a job well done. Mission accomplished.’


‘Not quite,’ said Rico.


His right hand slipped from Ben’s, fisted, and landed on his brother’s left temple with the full weight of his body behind the blow. Luca crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.


Ben had given a gasp, but Rico just took his hand again and started to hurry towards the door.


‘Change of plan, Ben,’ said Rico.


His voice was tight with fury.





The corridors seemed endless. Like a twisting maze. Numbly, Lizzy followed behind the bespectacled equerry. He said nothing to her, and walked at a pace that was slightly too fast for her. They went up stairs, and along more corridors, and then more stairs, leading upwards.


The décor was getting less palatial with every corridor. Finally he took her through a set of doors and into one more corridor. Lizzy looked about her. This wasn’t just less palatial—this was…unused. It was the only word for it. A faint sheen of dust was on the floor, the skirting boards, and the air had a musty smell to it.


‘Signorina?’


The equerry, or whoever he was, had opened a door and was waiting for her to go in. She hesitated a moment, then, not knowing what else to do, went in. It was more like a room in a budget hotel than a palace, with a plain bed and furniture, and a small and not very clean window that, Lizzy could see, overlooked some kind of delivery area.


Her suitcase was standing on a slightly frayed rug beside the bed.


It was a single bed, she noticed, frowning slightly, and she glanced around towards the door into what she presumed must be Ben’s bedroom. But when she opened it it was only a small, windowless shower room, with no further door leading out of it. She turned.


‘Where is my son’s bedroom?’ she asked. There was sharpness in her voice.


But it was wasted.


The door to the corridor was closing, and as it did she heard a distinct click.


A spurt of alarm went through her, and she hurried to the door, twisting the handle urgently.


It was locked.





The corridor was dingy, clearly disused. Emotion stabbed at Rico, and he suppressed it. There was no time for emotion now. None at all. Methodically he walked along the length of the corridor, testing each handle. Each one yielded to an empty room. They must have been servants’ quarters at some point.


The fifth door refused to yield. He paused a moment, listening. There was no sound. Had she tried to scream? Or would she have realised it was bound to be pointless? No one would hear her here.


Emotion stabbed again, like a hornet stinging him. He suppressed it once more. He felt the strength of the lock with his hand, twisting the handle, then stepped back.


It hurt. In films it never looked as if it did. But the jarring pain in his shoulder as the door cracked was irrelevant.


What was not was the huddled figure on the bed. She had just launched up into a sitting position, he could tell.


Even from the shattered doorway he could see the look of terror on her face.


And the streaks of tears.


Her face contorted. Contorted into rage. Fury. Incandescent despair.


‘I’ve got Ben—let’s go.’ He spoke urgently. ‘We have no time—come now.Now .’ His eyes bored at her.‘Trust me.’


He could see the emotion in her face. An emotion that he never, ever wanted to see again on a woman’s face. Then, abruptly, she hurled herself forward.


‘Where is he?’


‘At the end of the corridor, keeping watch. He thinks it’s a game. He’s not upset—he didn’t realise what was happening. Don’t ask questions—we’ve gotone chance to get out of here, and that’s all.’


How long would Luca stay out cold? He had no idea. He only knew that precious minutes were ticking by. He seemed to be divided into two people. One of them was raging with fury—the other was deadly calm. It was the latter he kept uppermost.


‘Ben—’ Her cry was almost a scream, but stifled in her throat.


Rico saw the child turn from his position at the end of the corridor.


‘Mummy—come on.’ He beckoned her furiously, his little face alight with excitement.


The palace was labyrinthine, but Rico knew it like the back of his hand. Knew exactly which levels were most likely to be deserted. He walked rapidly, blood pounding, her suitcase in one hand and Ben’s hand in the other. Ben trotted beside him, his mother behind him, both instructed not to talk, not to ask questions. He mustn’t think, mustn’t feel. Just keep moving. Fast, urgent. Undetected. Every corner was a risk—someone, anyone, could be there.


But there was no one. No one right up to the service door to his own apartments. Ungently, he shoved Ben and his mother inside even as he yanked out his mobile phone and punched a number.


Thank God Gianni was there, in position. He’d phoned him the moment he’d left his brother out cold on the floor, to give him instructions. He snapped the phone shut and turned to Ben.


‘Time for the secret passage,’ he said.


Ben’s mouth opened wide in wonder.


‘Here it is,’ said Rico. He’d crossed to the wall into which a fireplace had been set, and felt for the concealed button that operated the door mechanism. He hadn’t used it in a while, but it still worked, if creakingly, revealing a narrow entrance to an even narrower staircase.


He gave a sudden grin, his mood lightening for a nanosecond.


‘It’s the reason I chose these apartments as a teenager. It was a great way to evade curfew. Come on.’


Ben needed no second invitation. He surged forward, his expression blissful, and Rico had to hold him while he flicked on the interior light, got them all inside, and then shut the door.


The concealed staircase opened into a side street in the palace precincts. The car was waiting, its tinted windows closed. Even so, he made his nephew and his mother lie on the floor of the back seat.


‘Drive,’ he instructed Gianni.


Only as he sat back in his seat, Ben excitedly clutching at his leg and asking him if it were another adventure, did the emotions start to come through.


The violence of them shook him to the core.





They made it to the border in under twenty minutes. He’d debated between speed via the coastalautostrada versus heading for the hills, and had gone for the former. He had to take a gamble, and it was absolutely vital they get on to Italian soil.


As they passed through the unmanned border he spoke.


‘We’re out,’ he said. He leant down to haul up Ben, followed by his mother. She busied herself with seat-belts.


‘What now?’ she asked. Her voice was expressionless, but Rico heard the tremor in it. Heard the tightness of her throat. Heard the fear. The terror.


He looked at her. The chalky complexion, the bones stark in her face. Emotion surged in him, and he clamped it down yet again.


‘We get to a priest,’ he said.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ darla  
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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí chapter 7

 

CHAPTER SEVEN


THE savage irony of it was that she still balked at marrying him. In the end he had to be brutal.


‘It is the only way I can protect you. Protect Ben.’


She stared at him, her face a web of fear.


‘It’s another trick. A trap.’ Her voice was hollow.


‘No, I swear it. I swear I did not know what they were planning—I swear. If I could, I would get you back to England—but I can’t. I’ve got you into Italy, and now you are safer, because my father will have to work through the Italian authorities and that will slow him down. But if you try and return to England you’ll be taken into custody. I can’t even get you into Switzerland. All the Italian borders will be watched. And don’t think my father won’t be able to do it—he’ll have some charge against you trumped up. It doesn’t matter what—it matters only to prevent you taking Ben back to the UK. You’ll be separated, and there’ll be some kind of court order taking him into care—something. Anything. Whatever it takes to separate you. And he’ll find a way to keep you separated.’


He took a searing breath. ‘The only way I can keep you safe is by doing what I’ve just said. Once we’re married they can’t touch you, and they can’t touch Ben. Neither legally nor because of the publicity. They will have to accept afait accompli . I know my father—he won’t risk an open break with me. He won’t cause that kind of scandal.’


He looked at her as she sat, her arm tight around Ben, who had lolled off to sleep with the motion of the car, steadily being driven further north towards the alpine foothills. ‘I’m the only person who can protect you—keep you and Ben together.’


She stared at him.


‘Why?’ The question was a breath, almost inaudible. ‘Why do you want to do that?’


It echoed through him, reverberating through his being.


Why? She had asked why.


‘I gave you my word,’ he said. ‘Not to let Ben be parted from you. That’s why.’


In his head he heard again Luca’s voice, describing the nightmare childhood that had been planned for Ben.


Anger blinded him.


Anger at his father, his mother, his brother…the whole damn, twisted, duplicitous, hard-hearted,callous lot of them.


How could they do it? How could they even think it?


But he knew how. To them, the only important thing was duty and reputation, avoiding scandal, awkwardness, embarrassment.


And to achieve that they were prepared to take a four-year-old child and wrench it from its mother—trick the mother into coming here in good faith and then throw her out like a piece of rubbish.


His eyes went to her, went to her arm so tight around Ben, and to Ben, his head resting on her side, his hand lying in her lap. Mother and child.


Genetically she might only be his aunt, but to Ben she was everything—the whole world. So what if she were some ordinary member of the masses, utterly unfit to be a royal princess, the mother of a royal prince?


His lips pressed together. And so what that she was utterly unlike any woman he would have chosen for his wife? A woman who knew that brutal, cruel truth…


Grotesque.


That was what she thought a marriage between them would be.


Grotesque. The word tolled through him again.


Shaming him.


Shaming him with its pitiless honesty.


Well, now it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter what either of them thought about such a marriage. Because neither of them was important now—only Ben.


And this was the only way to keep him safe.


Savage humour filled him. So Luca had set him up like a patsy, had he? Despatching him to mount a charm offensive on Ben’s aunt that would steal her child from her, duping him into offering to marry her simply to lull her into a false sense of security. His mouth tightened.


Thanks for the idea, Luca—it’s a really good one.


And it would beat his family on all points.


And keep Ben safe with his mother.


His eyes went to the boy. He was still asleep, lolling against his mother.


He met her eyes. They were huge, strained.


‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and tight.





She felt as if she was falling. Falling very far, into a deep, bottomless pit. All she had to cling to was Ben. And it was imperative she did. Imperative she keep hold of him, never, ever to loosen her hold on him—because otherwise he would fall away from her and be lost for ever.


Fear shot through her like a grid of hot wires in her veins. Over and over again the horror of what had happened in the palace, when she had realised she had been locked in that room, when she had realised that it could mean only one thing, still drenched through her.


Her eyes went to the man standing beside her in the chill, stone-built church, his expression drawn and shuttered.


Trust me,he had said.


I give you my word,he had said.


Could she trust him? Was he really rescuing her? Or simply tricking her again?


But how could he be tricking her? He was prepared to do something that would change his life for ever. Something so drastic that it made her feel faint with the enormity of it. He had disobeyed his father, knocked his own brother out cold so he could rescue her, so he could get Ben and her away to freedom…safety.


Safety with him.


He’s doing it for Ben. Because he knows it would be unspeakably cruel for him to lose me. And that was why she’d do it too. For Ben.


Nothing else mattered.


The priest was starting to speak. The dimly lit, tiny whitewashed church, scarcely more than a chapel, was in a small village somewhere in the hills. She had no idea where. There had been a low-voiced, urgent conversation in the car between the Prince and his bodyguard, who was, so it seemed, not merely loyal enough to his employer to have stood by him, but also possessed of a great-uncle who was a priest.


A frail, elderly man, he stood before them now, clasping their hands together with his and intoning words she did not understand, but which, she knew, were binding her in holy matrimony to the man at her side.


She went on falling.





It was done. Ben and his mother were safe. Relief sluiced through Rico. As he thanked the priest, mentally vowing that he would take every measure to avoid the man getting into the slightest trouble over what he had done, and thanked the housekeeper who had been the witness to the ceremony along with Gianni, Rico knew that there was one more thing to be done.


He ushered Ben and his mother back into the car. Gianni slid into the driver’s seat. He knew where to go, what to do.


‘I’m hungry,’ announced Ben. He had woken up, stood beside Gianni during the brief, hurried ceremony, passively accepting, as children did, without comprehension, what was happening to the grown-ups around him.


‘We’ll have some food soon—very soon, I promise,’ Rico said, ruffling his hair. It was still not quite dark, but they had a way to drive. He would have preferred to fly, but that was out. There was no way he could take a helicopter up without air traffic control knowing about it. But they would head cross country, by obscure routes if they could.


This car was different anyway—a lot less conspicuous. Gianni had fixed the swap—the guy was heading for an all-time bonus. Now he came up trumps yet again.


‘You like pizza?’ he asked, and passed back a large, double wrapped plastic bag. ‘Cold, but good. From my great-uncle’s housekeeper, for thebambino .’


Ben’s face lit.


‘Yes, please,’ he said.


Rico watched as his mother unwrapped the food and handed it with some paper towels to his nephew, who tucked in hungrily. As they ate, he slid his hand into his pocket and took out his phone. It took a while to be answered, but when it was, he wasted no time.


‘Jean-Paul, I’ve got a story for you…’


The conversation was lengthy, in rapid French, and when he disconnected Rico felt another wave of relief go through him. He also felt anxious eyes on him. He turned his head.


‘That was a friend of mine. The one who alerted me that there was a story building about Paolo’s long-lost son. He’s a good friend, and I trust him absolutely. I’ve told him we’ve just got married. That we’re making a family for Ben. He’ll sit on the story until I give him the word to run with it. That’s the weapon I can hold over my father. I’ll give him some time to come round, to accept what’s happened, but if he stonewalls then Jean-Paul can run the story the way I’ve given it to him—without any co-operation from the palace. That’s the only choice my father gets.’


His voice was grim as he finished.


He slid the phone into his jacket pocket again.


‘I still cannot believe that my father did what he did. I knew he was not sentimental about Luca and myself, but Paolo—Paolo was different.’ His eyes slid away into the past as he spoke, his voice low. ‘Paolo was the one son my parents could treat not as a prince, but as…as a child. As someone in his own right. Someone without a royal function. Who could just be himself. That’s why—’ His voice halted a moment, then he went on. ‘That’s why I thought they really wanted Ben. Because he’s Paolo’s son. I thought they would…’ He swallowed. ‘I thought they would love him. Love him enough to know that what was important for Ben was what should be done. Love him enough to know thatyou were important to him.’


His eyes looked troubled. ‘I am ashamed of them. Ashamed of what they did to you.’


Suddenly, out of nowhere, he touched her arm. Lightly. Just for a moment.


‘And I am ashamed of myself as well.’


Lizzy’s expression was troubled.


‘You’re taking the fall for this,’ she said, and her voice was low and strained. ‘I’m sorry—I’m really, really sorry that you had to…had to do what you’ve just done. I’ll try…I’ll try not to be—’ She swallowed, then fell silent.


What could she say?I’ll try not to be too grotesque a wife to you? She felt her throat tightening.


He was silent a moment. Then he spoke.


‘It will work out. For all the reasons I told you in England, when I believed that this marriage was what my father wanted. All those reasons are still true.’


She could not reply. What could she say?


That the reason for her refusing him in England was still the same as well?


Well, it was too late for that.


The car drove on into the night. At her side, Ben finished his pizza. She cleared away the remains, then let him cuddle against her and fall asleep. His little body was warm and sturdy, and her love for him flooded through her.


I’ve done the right thing. I’ve done the only thing. The only thing possible to keep him safe.


Her eyes met his uncle’s, on the other side of Ben.


A strange emotion pricked through him.


He had done what he had had to do. No other course of action had been possible—anything else had been unthinkable.


I did what I had to do. That is all.


It was my duty.


Duty. But of a different type.


Carrying, strangely, no burden of resentment. Only relief.


Relief that he had done, if nothing else, the right thing. By Paolo, by his son, and by the girl whom he now protected. Who had no one but him to do so. The strange emotion quickened. Quite different from all the emotions that had stormed through him since Jean-Paul’s first phone call to him, which seemed now to have been a long, long time ago. He tried to think what the emotion was, to identify it. Then it came to him.


It was a sense of purpose. Doing something that mattered.


A new emotion for him.





‘Where are we?’ Lizzy’s voice sounded bleary, even to her own ears. She had been roused from heavy, uneasy sleep as the car had come to a stop. She straightened up, feeling stiff. Ben was still slouched heavily against her, fast asleep.


‘Capo d’Angeli. Jean-Paul has hired a villa here for us. We can stay here as long as we want. No one will disturb us.’


She let him undo the safety catch and she scooped the sleeping Ben into her arms, while Gianni helped her out of the car. A cool breeze came in the night, and all she could make out was a house with a gravelled drive immediately beneath her feet, and a front door opening. She heard Italian spoken, and then she and Ben were being ushered inside. There were people, more Italian, but she was too tired to do anything other than carry Ben upstairs, following the tall, besuited figure ascending in front of her, blocking out of her head everything except the overriding need to get to bed. Get back to sleep.


Like a zombie, she followed him into a room—a large bedroom with a larger bed. A maid was turning it down on either side. She hurried forward to help Lizzy, and within a few minutes—blessedly so—Lizzy was laying her head down on the pillow beside her sleeping son, her eyelids closing.


She wanted to sleep for ever and never wake up. Never face up to what she had just done.


Married Prince Enrico of San Lucenzo.





Downstairs, Rico took out his mobile once more, and pressed the number he knew he had to call.


Luca answered immediately. His voice was taut with fury. Incomprehension. Rico cut him off in mid-denunciation. He called his brother a word he had never used to him before. It silenced Luca long enough for Rico to tell him the new situation. Then, slowly, in a different voice, his older brother spoke again.


‘Rico—it’s not too late. We’ll send a helicopter, and you and the boy can be back here by morning. We’ll fix an instant annulment. The girl can be taken care of—we can get her deported from Italy. We can—’


‘Wrong again.’ Rico’s voice was a tight, vicious drawl. ‘All you and our father can do is—’ He gave instructions that were crude—and anatomically impossible. ‘And now, if you please, you can inform my revered father that I am going to start my honeymoon, with my bride and my new son. And there isnothing you can do about it. Do you understand me? Nothing. They are in my care now. Mine. And if you had a shred of honour in you, you would never speak to our father again.’


He hung up.





Lizzy was dreaming. She was back in that hospital, with her sister. But her sister was not in a coma. Instead she was sitting up, cradling a baby, her golden hair like a veil. There was someone else sitting on the bed—a young man with blond hair. They were both fixated on the baby in Maria’s arms. They didn’t see Lizzy. Didn’t even look up.


Then her parents were coming into the ward. They walked past Lizzy, their arms full of presents wrapped up in baby blue. She tried to walk forward, but she couldn’t. She had a present for the baby, but there was only room to put the present on the end of the bed. It slid onto the floor. Her mother looked round sharply.


‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘Maria doesn’t need you. No one needs you. And no one wants you either.’


She reached for the curtain and drew it around Maria’s bed. Shutting Lizzy out.


Lizzy woke up.


Guilt drenched through her.


She had taken something that was not hers to take. Something she’d had no right to. She turned her head. Ben was asleep on the far side of the huge double bed, his little figure swathed in the light coverlet. Ben—her sister’s son. Not hers. Not hers at all.


Anguish filled her. Her hand reached to him, touching his hair. Soft and golden. Like his mother’s. His father’s.


Not like hers at all.


Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.


The litany rang through her head.


And now she had taken something else she’d had no right to take. Something else she didn’t deserve.


And yet she knew bitterly that the theft had come with its own punishment. Heat flushed through her—the heat of mortification.Grotesque , she had called the very idea of a marriage between them, the two most opposite people in the world. And yet she had gone ahead with it. She had inflicted herself on him because there was no other way to keep safe the child she had taken from her sister. The child she had no right to. No right to love the way she did.


She felt Ben stir and wake. His eyes opened. Trusting. Instantly ******* to see her. Knowing that if she was there, then all was well.


Cold iced along her veins. It had so very nearly been different.


I could have been on my way back to England—deported. Ben imprisoned in that palace, never to see me again.


The horror of what had so nearly been consumed her.


Prince Rico had saved them.


Guilt stabbed at her again. He had saved them—and she had repaid him by chaining him to her.


‘Mummy?’


Ben was sitting up.


‘Is it getting-up time?’ he asked brightly. ‘Is Tio Rico here?’ He looked around expectantly, then, in a puzzled voice, ‘Where are we, Mummy? Have we gone back to the palace again?’


She shook her head. A steely hardness filled her.


‘No, darling. We’re not going back there.’ She threw back the bedclothes. ‘Come on, let’s find out where breakfast is. I’m starving.’


She looked around her. The room was large and airy, and filled with sunlight diffused through bleached wood Venetian blinds. The furniture was simple, but elegant, the walls white, the floor tiled. She found her spirits lifting.


Capo d’Angeli. She had heard of it vaguely, but nothing more. A place where rich people went, but not flash or sophisticated. Discreet and classy. An exclusive, luxury resort on the Italian coast where there were no hotels, only villas, with large private grounds, each nestled into its own place on the rocky promontory overlooking the sea.


Someone had brought up her suitcase. There was not a great deal in it—even less than she’d taken from Cornwall—but there was enough to serve. Ben fell with a cry of pleasure upon his teddy bear, as well as a clutch of his favourite engines.


It did not take long to dress, and when they were both ready Lizzy drew up the Venetian blinds. French windows were behind them, and a wide terrace, and beyond the terrace—


‘Mummy—the sea! It’s bluer than my paintbox. Much bluer than home.’


Lizzy opened the French windows and warm air flooded in like an embrace. Ben rushed out, clutching the stone balustrade and staring eagerly out over the tops of the pine trees set below, out to the cerulean sea beyond, sparkling in the morning light.


‘Do you think there’s a beach?’ he asked, his voice pitched with excitement.


‘Definitely a beach, Ben.’


The voice that answered him was not hers. It came from further down the terrace, where an ironwork table was set out under a large blue-striped parasol. The table was set with breakfast things, but Lizzy had no eyes for them. All she had eyes for was the man sitting in the pool of shade.


She felt her stomach clench. Oh, God, he just looked so fantastic. He was wearing a bathrobe, and its whiteness contrasted dramatically with the warm tan of his skin tones, the deep vee of the crossover revealing a smooth, hard surface that she flicked her eyes away from jerkily. Not that it did any good to look at any other part of him. His forearms were bare, too, the sleeves of the robe rolled up, and his damp hair was feathering in the warmth. As for his face—


She felt her stomach clench again. He was a ludicrously attractive male, and up to now she’d only seen him in formal attire. Seeing him like this, fresh from his shower, was…


Different.


Completely, utterly different.


And he seemed different too. The tension that had been in him throughout their time together at the safe house, culminating in the extreme emotion of their flight from the palace had gone. Disappeared.


Now he seemed…relaxed.


Carefree.


Ben was running forward. ‘Tio Rico, can we go down to the beach?’ he asked eagerly.


His uncle laughed. Lizzy’s stomach churned yet again. The laughter lit his face, indenting lines around his mouth, lifting his eyes, showing the white of his teeth. Making him look a hundred times more gorgeous. A hundred times sexier—


Oh, God, how am I going to cope with this?


Misery filled her, and with horrible self-conscious awkwardness she walked forward. As she approached, he got to his feet.


‘Buon giorno,’he said. There was still a smile in his eyes. Left over from Ben, obviously.


Lizzy swallowed, and gave a sort of half nod. She couldn’t look at him—not look him in the eye and know that last night, in some unreal, disorientating, panicked ceremony, she had become this man’s wife.


She pulled out a chair and sat down.


‘Did you sleep well?’ There seemed to be genuine enquiry in his voice.


She swallowed, and nodded again. Jerkily she reached for a jug of orange juice and began to pour herself a glass. Ben was chattering away to his uncle.


His stepfather? A stepfather who could take him away from her—


The breath tightened in Lizzy’s throat as the realisation hit her. It was followed by panic. Blind, gut-wrenching panic. Was this another trick? A trap like the one that had brought her to San Lucenzo, with one object only, to take Ben from her?


‘Don’t look like that.’ His voice was low, but it penetrated her panic. Her eyes snapped up. Locked with his. ‘It will be all right.It will be all right. There is no need for you to fear anything now.’


She felt her throat tighten unbearably.


‘Trust me,’ he said.


His dark eyes were looking into hers. ‘I promised you,’ he said slowly, clearly, as if to a frightened child, ‘that I will keep you and Ben safe, together, for as long as is necessary. I willnever allow you to be separated from him. You have my word.’


And slowly, very slowly, Lizzy felt the panic still, the fear drain from her. He held her eyes for one moment longer, and then, with a slight, humorously resigned twist to his lips, he turned to Ben, who was tugging at his sleeve to get his attention back and find out whether he could get down to the beach right away.


‘Breakfast first, young man,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll go exploring. When I’ve got some clothes.’ He looked across at Lizzy, who was sipping her orange juice. ‘I am having some new clothes sent up to the villa. They should be here soon. The palace may send my own on; they may not. In the meantime, the on-site boutiques by the marina here can supply whatever we want.’ His eyes flicked to her and Ben. ‘They’ll get you two sorted out as well.’


‘Oh, no—please. I’m sure I can cope with what I’ve brought,’ Lizzy said hurriedly.


‘That will not be necessary.’ His expression stilled a moment. ‘I know this is hard for you, but everything is different. However…’ his voice changed again ‘…today we shall spend very quietly, giving us time to get used to what has happened. I think we deserve some calm after the storm, no? So, tell me, what do you think of the villa?’


‘It’s unbelievably beautiful,’ Lizzy said.


Rico nodded. ‘I agree. Jean-Paul chose well. It’s also one of the most remote villas on the Capo D’Angeli estate. Not that we need to worry. Security on the whole estate is draconian. Everyone who stays here wants privacy above all—even from each other. And by the same token,’ he said reassuringly, ‘you do not need to worry about the staff. They are used to all guests wanting absolute discretion. We can relax completely here—I have even sent Gianni off to take a well-deserved holiday.’


He smiled encouragingly.


On cue a manservant appeared, bearing a tray of fresh coffee and breakfast rolls. Ben needed no encouragement, and was swiftly tucking in.


‘He seems to have taken it all in his stride,’ said Rico contemplatively. ‘I think he will like it here.’ He glanced across at Lizzy. ‘I think we will like it here.’


She met his eyes. It was getting easier. Not easy, but easier.


‘Thank you,’ she said, in a low, intense voice. ‘Thank you for what you have done.’


‘We did what we had to do. There was no other way. No other choice. And now—’ his expression changed ‘—I want to hear no more on it. We have been through a great deal—we deserve a holiday. And this is a good place for one.’


He grinned suddenly, and yet again Lizzy felt that hopelessly inappropriate reaction. She crushed it as much as she could, but dread went through her. How was she going to cope? It was impossible—just impossible.


She steeled herself. Prince Rico was going to have to cope, and so was she. If he could use his upbringing to handle any situation, then she would too. She would force herself.


‘What…what will happen today?’ she ventured.


‘Today? Today we take things easy. Ben must go down to the beach—we’ll have a revolution on our hands if we don’t take him. The cove at the base of the villa gardens is private to us, so we will not be disturbed. There is a swimming pool here too, of course, on the level below this one. As for toys—well, the villa comes with a fully stocked children’s playroom, and for anything else the internet is a great provider. So, you see, we shall have everything we need for the perfect holiday.’


He smiled at her again, then turned his attention to Ben.


‘How are you at building sandcastles?’ he asked him.


‘Really good,’ said Ben enthusiastically. ‘At home we build them when the tide comes in, and then we make big walls to stop the waves. But the waves always win in the end.’


Rico made a face. ‘Alas, there is no tide here—the Mediterranean sea is too small for tides. And the waves are very small too. But the water is lovely and warm. You won’t get cold. We can go on a boat, too.’


‘Today?’ demanded Ben.


‘Not today. Perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see.’


Ben’s expression darkened. ‘“We’ll see” means no,’ he said gloomily.


‘It means I don’t know yet. This is a holiday, Ben. We’re going to take it one day at a time. Isn’t that right?’


Rico’s eyes suddenly flicked to hers.


‘One day at a time,’ he repeated. ‘For us too.’


For a long moment he held her eyes, then Ben reclaimed his attention with yet another question.


She needed time, Rico knew. So much had happened to her since he’d showed up at her ramshackle cottage in Cornwall. And for her, he had to appreciate, it had all been bad. The life she’d known had been ripped away from her. For her, there was no going back.


A surge of determination went through him.


I’ll make that life better now. All the fear and trauma is over now.


His eyes flickered over her fleetingly, without her knowledge, as she poured herself more coffee.


I don’t believe she has to look this bad. I just don’t.


Covertly he studied her. It was hard to see much of her figure, as even in this warmth she was wearing a long-sleeved baggy top that seemed to flow shapelessly into long baggy cotton trousers. Both garments were cheap and worn. She dressed for comfort, not style, that much had always been apparent, but the perpetual bagginess of her clothing made it hard to judge just what her figure really was. She was no stickthin model, that was for sure, but how overweight was shereally ? And even so, well-cut clothes could conceal a multitude of evils, surely…?


He moved on to try and evaluate her features. That was hard to do too. The unsightly frizz of her hair which, even when tied back as it was now, still seemed to straggle round her face, drew all the attention. He tried to imagine her face without it. It was difficult, he realised, to judge it accurately. The heavy eyebrows didn’t help, of course, and nor did the pallid skin. But there wasn’t anything actively disastrous—her nose was straight, her jaw defined, her eyes grey, her teeth not protruding or uneven. It was just that her features seemed so completely—nondescript.


Would she look better with make-up? Surely she must? Women always did, didn’t they? Not that he was used to seeing women without make-up—make-up and hundreds of euros’ worth of grooming, and thousands of euros’ worth of clothes and accessories.


Well, now she could have that kind of money spent onher . Money was not going to be a problem for her from now on. He would lavish it on her.


His mouth tightened abruptly. In his head he heard Luca’s sneering at the sight of her. Anger bit him. Who the hell was Luca to sneer at a woman who had taken her dead sister’s child and dedicated her life to raising him? Being a single mother on little money was no ride in the park—certainly not a limo-ride. And so what if she weren’t beautiful? What did Ben care?


And I don’t care either. I’ll get her looking the best she can—because she deserves it. She needs all the reassurance she can get. She’ll feel a lot more confident, a lot more comfortable about what we’ve just gone and done, if she can wipe that vile word out of her mental vocabulary.


He heard it again, cruel and ugly.


Grotesque.


Well, that word was going in the trash can. And staying there. He would never let her say it again.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ darla  
ÞÏíã 10-08-07, 01:44 AM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 14
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thanks my dear , hope you like it

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ darla  
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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí Chapter 8

 

CHAPTER EIGHT


‘WINE for you?’ Rico held the bottle of chilled white wine over Lizzy’s glass.


‘Um—er—thank you,’ she replied awkwardly, and he proceeded to fill it up.


They were back at the table on the terrace again, but over the sea the sun was sinking in a glory of red and gold.


‘Mummy, I’m really hungry,’ Ben said plaintively.


‘Food is coming very soon,’ said Rico, pouring himself a glass of wine as well.


‘What are we having for tea, Mummy?’


Rico smiled. ‘Pasta, Ben. All good children in Italy eat pasta. Do you like pasta?’


‘Ilove pasta,’ Ben exclaimed.


‘In Italy you can eat pasta every day,’ said Rico.


He lifted his wine glass.


‘To our first day here,’ he said, looking at Ben and his mother. Ben lifted his glass of orange juice. ‘Have we had a good day, everyone?’ he asked around.


‘Yes,’ said Ben.


‘Yes,’ said his mother. ‘It’s been lovely.’


It had too, and Lizzy was grateful. It was strange. She hadn’t expected it to be easy. And yet it had been. They’d done nothing except spend most of the day on the beach, coming back up to the terrace for lunch, and then, after much protesting from Ben, having a brief siesta. When Ben had surfaced they’d gone down to the beach again, returning only in late afternoon for Ben to have a quick swim in the pool, before showering and getting ready for supper.


The only awkward moment had been when Ben, splashing around in the warm shallow sea with his uncle, had called out ‘Mummy, aren’t you going to swim?’


Lizzy had shaken her head, the thought of stripping off to a bathing costume making her cringe. It was bad enough being on a beach with a man whose honed, lean-muscled body, clad only in swimming trunks, made it impossible to let her eyes go anywhere near him.


‘I’ll swim another time,’ she’d evaded, and gone doggedly back to her book.


Other than that it had been an extraordinarily easy day. Now, sitting watching the sun set while they shared in a nursery tea, she realised she was feeling far more relaxed than she’d thought possible. She took a sip of her chilled wine.


‘Is the wine to your liking?’ Ben’s uncle asked.


‘Um—yes, it’s lovely. I—er—I don’t really know anything about wine,’ she answered.


‘You will learn with practice.’ He smiled at her. ‘And another thing you will learn with practice,’ he went on, taking his own mouthful of wine, ‘is to call me by name.’


Lizzy stared. She couldn’t do that. The whole thing about addressing him had been so awkward that she simply hadn’t done it. She couldn’t address him as ‘Highness’, and she couldn’t address him as ‘Prince Enrico’, or even ‘Prince Rico’. And she certainly couldn’t address him as simply Rico.


‘And I must do the same,’ he continued. ‘So—’ He took a breath. ‘Lizzy. There, I’ve said it. Now it’s your turn.’


‘I can’t,’ said Lizzy. Embarrassment flushed through her.


‘Have some more wine—then try,’ he advised.


She took another mouthful, and swallowed hard.


‘Rico,’ she mumbled. She couldn’t quite look at him.


‘Bene,’he said softly. ‘You see—all things are possible.’ For a moment he held her eyes approvingly, then, with a change of tone, he spoke again. ‘Ah, supper arrives.’


‘Hurrah,’ said Ben.





The following days were spent very largely as the first one had been. Rico made it so quite deliberately. He was giving her the time she needed—a breathing space.


He needed one too, he knew. They all did. He’d said as much to her the next day.


‘We’ll take this a day at a time, like I said,’ he’d told her. ‘We won’t think about the outside world, we won’t think about anything. We’ll just accept the present and relax. Get used to things—get to know each other.’


It was ironic, he realised—all his life there had been a distance between himself and the world. There had had to be. And that meant, he acknowledged, that there were very few people that he ever truly let down his guard with. Jean-Paul was one, and there were a few others. Sportsmen, mostly, to whom his birth was a complete irrelevance, and all that counted was skill and dedication.


But never women—even in the superficial intimacies of the bed.


He’d bedded a lot in his time. Taken his pick, enjoying them physically. Making sure they enjoyed him, too.


But nothing more. Safety in numbers, he’d told Luca, and it had been true.


His mouth twisted. Had he proposed marriage, any of the women he’d bedded would have, in his brother’s cruel words, bitten his hand off to accept. The prospect of becoming the glittering Principessa Enrico Ceraldi would have been irresistible to them.


Yet the woman he’d actually married had been horrified at the prospect.


He knew it was because of the outward disparities between them, which she was so hung up about. Yet her attitude towards him had, he realised slowly, had another effect on him as well.


It had made him feel safe with her.


Because it made her like no other woman he knew.


It was a strange realisation, seeping through him.


All she wants from me is protection for Ben—that’s all. She wants nothing else—nothing from me.


A thought came to him—another strange, new realisation.


I don’t have to be on my guard with her. I don’t have to keep her at a distance. Because she doesn’t want anything from me—


A sense of release came over him, as if for the first time in his life, he felt—free.





Lizzy sat in the shade of the blue and white striped awning and watched Ben and his uncle play waterpolo in the pool. Ben was shrieking with pleasure. Her heart warmed. He was just so happy—every day had been a delight for him.


And for her?


It was so strange. How could it be that, despite the huge emotional upheaval she’d gone through since that fateful evening when her world had been turned upside down and she had discovered the truth about Ben’s parentage, she could now be feeling so…carefree?


So relaxed.


And yet she was.


It had seemed impossible at the outset of their panicked arrival here. The enormity of what had happened, what she had done, had been overwhelming, and yet here, in this tranquil, beautiful place—so far from the rest of the world, it seemed—she had found a peace of mind she had never thought to find.


Her eyes went to the man playing with her son, and she felt gratitude welling through her—and wonder.


He was being so kind to her. And not just because of Ben. He had gone out of his way to be endlessly kind and patient to her, for her own sake.


It was a world away from his image as the Playboy Prince.


There’s more to him than that. Much more, she thought fiercely.


She had misjudged him, she knew, seeing only the image, not the man beneath. He was a man who had defied his father, his sovereign, to defend and protect her and Ben. A man who had unhesitatingly married himself to the very last woman in the world he’d ever have chosen for a wife for the sake of a small child.


A child he really seemed to love.


She felt her heart warm as she watched Rico haul himself out of the pool. His lean body glittered with diamonds in the sun as he leant down, let Ben clutch his arm with his hands, and with effortless strength lifted him clear out of the water.


‘Again!’ shouted Ben, and jumped back in the water.


Rico repeated the process, swinging him high into the air with a laughing grin before lowering him gently to the paving beside the pool.


Ben rushed up to Lizzy.


‘I scoredfive goals,’ he exclaimed.


‘Did you? How fantastic.’ She smiled.


‘Why don’t you come in the water, Mummy?’


‘Because she needs a nice new swimming costume, Ben. And lots of new clothes, like you’ve already had. Clothes for a princess.’


Rico had come up behind him.


Ben tilted his head to one side. ‘Is Mummy a princess, then?’


‘Yes,’ said Rico casually, padding himself dry with a towel. ‘When I married her she became a princess.’


‘Has she got a crown?’ Ben asked interestedly. He had a strong mental association between royalty and crowns.


‘She can have a tiara. For when she goes to a ball.’


Ben’s eyes lit up.


‘Like Cinderella?’


‘Exactly like Cinderella,’ said Rico.


His eyes went to Lizzy’s face, and then shadowed. There was a look in her eyes he did not want there, but he knew why it was.


Lizzy looked away. If there was any role in Cinderella she was ideally cast for, it was not the heroine. It was as an ugly sister.


It was Maria—Maria who had been Cinderella—swept off her feet by Prince Charming. But the coach had crashed.


Rico saw her look away. Read her thought. His mouth pressed tight. It was time to get this sorted. Time to put that cruel word in the trash once and for all.


She was comfortable with him now, he knew—and he with her. But that harsh word still remained between them like a poison. A poison that needed to be drawn.


And there was no point delaying it any longer. It was time, more than time, to do something about it.





It proved very easy to arrange. The shopping complex by the marina was designed to cater to the needs of those who stayed at Capo D’Angeli. And those needs included the overwhelming demand to attend to their appearance—clothes, hair, beauty treatments, manicures; whatever was required was available.


He would book the lot, and let them loose on her.


The following day, at breakfast, he made his announcement.


‘I will look after Ben today. You will be too busy.’


Lizzy stared. ‘Busy?’ she asked. Apprehension filled her.


Rico only smiled cryptically. ‘Very busy,’ he said.


Within the hour, she found out just how busy.





Lizzy had her eyes shut. Over her head, it sounded as if the army of people who had invaded her bedroom were having a heated argument. They weren’t, she knew—they were just discussing her. But in a very Italianate manner they were doing so vehemently, with many loud exclamations. She could understand why. They had been given an impossible brief—to spin straw into gold.


Make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.


Mortification filled her.


She’d known this moment must come. Known that, however desperate the circumstances of her sudden marriage to Rico had been, they could not hide here at the villa for ever. At some point they would have to emerge. Face the world.


The prospect appalled her.


She could wear all the designer clothes in the world, but it would still be her underneath. Nothing could change that. Maria had looked a knock-out even in rags, because she’d had a face, a body, that was a knock-out.


Guilt knifed through her. Guilt and grief. Oh, God, it should be Maria here, in this beautiful Italian villa, having her honeymoon with her golden prince. Looking forward blissfully to their happy-ever-after. Their own personal fairytale.


Her hands twisted in her lap. Grief and guilt twisted together.


And not just guilt for her sister.


I’ve got to go through with this. I’ve got to bear it. It doesn’t matter how humiliating it is, how mortifying. I have to let them do what they can. Do the best they can.


But it wasn’t for her. It was for the man who had married her to keep Ben safe, the man whose reward was to be saddled with a wife in a marriage that all the world would call by the only word that suited it—grotesque.


A man like Prince Rico, the Playboy Prince, accustomed to the most beautiful women in the world falling for him—now married to a woman like her.


She opened her eyes. The arguing stopped instantly. She looked around at the sea of faces, all watching her expectantly.


She took a deep breath.


‘Please,’ she said, ‘just do the best you can.’


Then she shut her eyes again—and kept them shut.





‘We need another tower,’ Ben instructed.


Rico considered the masterwork on the terrace table. Then nodded.


‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll fit one inside this corner. How’s the painting coming along?’


‘Good,’ said Ben. He was industriously washing stonegrey paint across the expanse of large cardboard box that had been transformed into a fort to house an army of brightly coloured plastic knights in armour which had, to Ben’s ecstasy, been ordered off the internet to be delivered by courier the following morning. Ben’s impatience for their arrival had been such that on their return to the terrace from the beach and the pool Rico had been driven to suggest they make a fort for the knights to live in when they arrived. Its construction also helped to divert Ben from the fact he had not seen his mother all day.


Anxiety nagged at Rico.


Was she going to be all right? It was late afternoon already, but he knew that beauty treatments took for ever, and the fact that she had been incarcerated all day did not surprise him. But how was she coping with it all?


Well, it couldn’t be much longer, surely?


He reached for the scissors and began the tricky business of cutting cardboard for the requisite tower. He needed diverting as well.


‘Is Mummystill trying on new clothes?’ Ben demanded


‘It takes ladies a long time,’ said Rico. ‘And to do their hair and things.’


‘It doesn’t take Mummy long,’ Ben countered. ‘She’s always very quick.’


‘Now that she’s got to be a princess it will need to take longer,’ Rico answered.


Ben stared down the long terrace towards where the bedrooms opened on to it. Then, suddenly, his expression changed.


‘Mummy.’


He dropped the paintbrush and pushed his chair back.


Rico looked up.


And froze.





Ben was hurtling along the terrace towards her as Lizzy stepped gingerly out through the French windows from her bedroom.


‘Mummy—Mummy, you’ve been ages! We’re making a fort, Uncle Rico and me. For the soldiers—they are knights in armour. They’re coming tomorrow, in a special van, and they are a present for being good. And we’re making a fort for them. Come and see—come and see.’


He seized her hand and started to pull her along. She tottered momentarily, uncertain of her balance on the sandals that, although low-heeled, seemed to consist of nothing but two minute strips of leather.


‘Come on, Mummy,’ Ben said, impatient at her slowness.


But the last thing on earth she wanted was to go where he was leading her.


Towards the terrace table, towards the man who sat there, quite, quite motionless.


There was no expression on his face.


Her heart started to slump heavily in her chest cavity, hollowing out a space around it. She felt sick.


Sick with dismay.


Oh, God—all that work, all that time, and it’s a disaster—I can see it in his face. It’s awful, awful.


It had taken solong —hours and hours. And so much had been done to her. All over. There had been so much chattering, and agitation, and volatility, that she had just let them get on with it. The treatments had gone on and on, one after another. Spreading stuff on her body, then wiping it off again, and on her face several more times. Then she’d had her hair washed, and more stuff had been put on it, and left in, then rinsed out, and different stuff put on. And in the meantime the tweezers had come out, and nail files and buffers and varnish and hot wax, and yet more body wraps and creams. She had had to eat lunch, served in her room, with her face and hair covered in gunk and her body swathed in some kind of thin gown. And while she’d eaten yet another one of the army of people in her room had held up one garment after another, off a trio of racks that had been wheeled in—so many garments that she’d simply lost count.


‘Please,’ she had murmured faintly, ‘whatever you think best.’


And finally the last of the wraps had come off, and the rollers had come out of her hair, and it had been blow-dried—though heaven knew what rollers and blow-drying would do for her hopelessly frizzy hair. Then yet another beautician had gone to work on her, with a vast amount of make-up, before, at the very last, she had been lifted to her feet and one outfit after another had been whisked on to her, commented on by all in the room, then replaced with another one and the process repeated.


Until one had been left on her, her hair and make-up had been retouched one last time, and she had been gently but insistently guided towards the French windows.


She had no idea what she looked like. She could see she had nail varnish on—a soft coral-apricot colour—and her hands felt smooth and soft. Her hair felt different—lighter somehow. As if it were lifting as she walked instead of hanging in a heavy clump as it normally did. As for her clothes—she could see she was wearing a cinnamoncoloured dress, with a close-fitting bodice and cap sleeves, a narrow belt around the waist and a skirt that floated like silk around her legs.


But she hadn’t seen a reflection of herself. No one had asked her whether she wanted to see in a mirror, and she had been too cowardly to want to anyway. Deferring the evil moment.


But now it had arrived, and she wanted to die.


Oh, God—what had been the point of it all?


She must look ridiculous, absurd—dressed up like this, done up to the nines. All such fine feathers could do was show just how awful she was underneath.


Hot, hopeless embarrassment flooded through her. Why had she let them do this to her? She should have just stayed as she was—accepted what she was.


The ugly sister. Who, even when she was dressed up for the ball in gorgeous clothes, was still the ugly sister.


At her side, Ben was chattering away as she walked slowly, mortifyingly forward—towards the figure seated, motionless, under the parasol at the terrace table.


Her eyes went to him, full of dread, and as she looked at him she felt her stomach give its familiar hopeless clench.


He was wearing shorts, and a white T-shirt that strained across his torso, and he was watching her approach with absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever.


She tore her gaze away from him as she felt the hot, horrible heat of exposure rise in her. She wanted to turn and run, to bolt back to the safety of her bedroom, hide there for ever and never come out again…


She reached the table.


Say something. Anything.


She swallowed hard.


‘Oh, Ben—that’s a wonderful fort.’ Her voice sounded high-pitched and false. And coming from a hundred miles away.


‘Me and Tio Rico made it. It’s got two towers, and a bridge that lifts right up, and look, Mummy, it’s got a porcully that goes up and down. Tio Rico made it work. Look, I’ll show you, Mummy—’


She forced herself to look as Ben tugged on the string that operated the portcullis.


‘That’s really good,’ she said in a strangulated voice.


I’ve got to look at him. I must.


It was the hardest thing in the world to do, but she did it. She turned her head so that she was looking straight at him. Looking straight at that totally expressionless face.


‘It’s a brilliant fort,’ she said to him weakly.


He answered in Italian.


‘Non credo—’


She swallowed, her stomach hollowing. What didn’t he believe? That so much time and effort expended on her should be so wasted?


The sickness in her stomach churned hideously.


Ben was still talking, and she tried to listen, but it was impossible. Something about where all his new knights would go—which ones would be inside the castle, and which would be attacking it. His little voice went in and out.


And opposite her, still motionless, Prince Rico of San Lucenzo just looked at her, without a shred of expression on his face.





He was in shock, he realised. Shock so profound that he was still fighting to get his brain around what his eyes were telling him.


It wasn’t possible, what he was seeing. It just wasn’t.


It could not be the same woman. It just couldn’t.


It was impossible. Physically impossible.


She absolutely, totally, completely wasnot the woman he had last seen.


Dio—where had shecome from? That body. That fantastic, gorgeous,lush body. An absolutely perfectbella figura . With a cinched-in waist that curved out to a pair of perfectly rounded hips, and up…he swallowed…up to a pair of breasts so ripe, so luscious, so beautifully moulded by the material swelling over them that he just wanted to…he just wanted to…


He felt his body react. He couldn’t stop it. It was there—urgent, irrepressible, unstoppable. A complete, total insistence on letting him know justexactly what it felt about what his eyes were seeing.


With an effort he did not know he was capable of, he forced his eyes upward. But it did him no good.


The reaction was exactly the same.


The rest of her went with the figure.


It was the hair—what thehell had happened to her hair? The frizz had simply gone. As if it had never existed. In its place, tinted to a rich chestnut, was a smooth, glossy mane that waved back from her face, pouring down over her shoulders in a luxuriant swathe.


As for her face—


How had he not seen it? Shock punched through him again. Delicately arched eyebrows over endlessly deep, long-lashed, luminous eyes, cheekbones that arced to a perfect nose, that descended to a mouth…


He swallowed silently.


A mouth that was rich, and lush, and…Dio, so inviting…


Someone was talking. Tugging at his arm.


‘Tio Rico. You’re not listening. Is it time for tea now? Mummy’s come out at last and I’mhungry ,’ he finished plaintively.


Where he found the strength of mind he didn’t know. But somehow he dragged his eyes to Ben.


‘Yeah—sure, right. You want to eat? OK. That’s fine.’ He said some more in Italian, just as incoherent.


What the hell was going on? Had the universe just stopped and restarted in a different dimension? A dimension where impossible things were totally normal?


She was saying something. Her voice was more high-pitched than usual, and she was trying to sound relaxed and casual, and failing completely.


‘Has Ben been OK today? I’m sorry I…er…I took so long. I…er…’


Her voice trailed off.


He was staring at her again. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. It was impossible.


For a moment Lizzy just went on standing there, while the expressionless face in front of her just looked blankly at her.


Then suddenly, totally, she couldn’t cope. Just couldn’t. She felt as if a stone had been punched into her solar plexus. It was almost a physical pain. She turned on her spindly heels and plunged off. She didn’t know where. Just anywhere. Anywhere.


She didn’t know where she was going. The terrace ended in steps, down to the swimming pool level, and she just clattered down them, almost tripping in her desperation, past the glittering azure pool, to plunge on to the narrow stepped path that wound its way down to the sea between the vegetation and the pines. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel a sick, horrible flush in her cheeks.


She wanted to die.


Why had she let them do it? She should have known it was hopeless, useless, pointless. Hot, horrible mortification scorched through her.


I shouldn’t have tried—I shouldn’t have tried to make myself look better. Normal. Trying and failing is even worse than just accepting what I am—ugly, ugly, ugly…


She could hear footsteps hurrying behind her, heavy and pounding, and her name being called. She hurried faster, her heel catching in her haste, so that she had to lurch and clutch at the railing beside the pathway before trying to go on.


But her arm was being caught, held.


‘Stop. What is it? What’s wrong?’


She tensed in every muscle, trying to tear her arm away. His fingers pressed like steel into her bare flesh.


‘Go away.’


The words burst from her. She couldn’t stop them. Her head whipped round.


‘Go away. Leave me alone.Leave me alone !’


There was shock and bewilderment in his face.


‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’


‘What do you mean, what’s wrong? Everything’s wrong.Everything ,’ she gasped.


She just stood there, frozen and immobile, tugging hopelessly away from him, while he held her, feet planted on the step above, towering over her.


He was so close. Far too close. She tried to tug back again, but it was hopeless, useless. Just as everything was hopeless, useless.


For a moment he said nothing—just looked at her. A look of complete incomprehension filled his face. Then, as he looked, the expression of shock and bewilderment began to change. She saw it happening, saw it and did not believe it.


It was something in his eyes. Something that seemed slowly to be dissolving. Dissolving not just in his eyes, but dissolvingher . Turning her liquid, like wax left on a surface that was very slowly heating up.


The way her skin was heating. Flushing with a low, soft heat that seemed to be carried by the low, soft pulse of her blood that was creaming, like liquid sugar, like honey, through her veins.


She felt his grip on her change. Not so much halting her as…holding her. Holding her in position. Holding her just where he wanted her to be. Wanted her to be because…because…


The world had stopped moving. Everything had stopped moving. She was just there, immobile, held. And he was looking down into her face—and the expression in his eyes simply stayed the breath in her throat.


She gazed back up at him. What had happened, she didn’t know. Reality wasn’t there any more.


And yet it had never seemed more vivid.


‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said, in that low, soft voice that was curling the toes of her feet, sending liquid waves down her spine in long, honeyed undulations. ‘Don’t look at me like that here, now. Because if you go on looking at me like that, I’ll—’


‘Mum-my!Mum-my .’


They pulled apart, jerking away from each other. It was like surfacing from a deep, drowning sea.


‘He’s all right. I told him not to move.’ Rico’s voice sounded staccato, abstracted. He took a rapid, restoring breath.


‘Mummy. Tio Rico.’


Ben’s insistent call came again. Lizzy could hear alarm in it.


‘I’m coming, Ben,’ she called up. Her voice was shaky.


‘Me too,’ echoed Rico. His voice was not steady either.


He cast another look at her, then pulled his gaze away. It wasn’t safe to look at her. Not here, not now.


Later…later he would look.


More than look—


Suddenly, out of nowhere, a sense of exultation crashed through him.


With light, lithe steps, he led the way up to the terrace.


Emotion was surging through Rico. Strong, overwhelming and consuming. The universe might have turned itself upside down, but right now he didn’t care. How it had happened was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant. It had happened, and that was all that he was registering.


Adrenaline pumped through him. More than adrenaline. Exhilaration. Something quite incredibly amazing had happened, and he didn’t want explanations—he just wanted to…to go with it.


‘Here we are, Ben,’ he announced as he gained the pool terrace, and he waved his hand at the little figure perched obediently on the upper level, straining his eyes downwards.


‘Where is Mummy?’ Ben demanded.


‘Here—’ said Lizzy, hurrying up the steps as fast as she could in her flimsy sandals. Her heart was racing.


It had nothing to do with her rapid ascent.


As she gained the terrace Ben stared at her, paying attention to her for the first time, instead of to his new fort.


‘Is that your new dress?’ he asked.


She swallowed, nodded.


He tilted his head sideways, inspecting her. Then he frowned.


‘You look all pretty. Like in a magazine. But you don’t look like Mummy.’ He frowned, confused and bewildered.


Rico put an arm around his nephew’s shoulder. He knew just how Ben was feeling.


‘She’s the new-look Mummy. And you’re right Ben.’ His voice changed. ‘She does look pretty. In fact she looks…’ He paused, and held her eyes. ‘Breathtaking,’ he finished softly. ‘Quite, quite breathtaking.’


For a long, endless moment, he held her eyes.


He saw her eyes flare—uncertain briefly—and then, suddenly, it had gone again.


‘It’s true,’ he said quietly to her. ‘Quite true. I can’t believe…I can’t believe that all this was there, all along. Just…hidden.’ He paused, and then, in a low, clear voice, said, ‘And you are never—do you understand me?—nevergoing to hide it again.’


For one last, lingering moment he looked at her. Sending his message loud and clear.


Then, abruptly, he turned his head.


‘Right, then, Ben. Time for tea.’

 
 

 

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