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CHAPTER NINE


SHE was moving in a place that was completely dissociated from what she was doing. What she was actually doing was pouring out a cup of perfectly brewed Assam tea from a silver teapot, while Ben was industriously, if inexpertly, coiling spaghetti around his fork. The DIY fort had been cleared away for the moment, and the westering sun was bathing the terrace in rich, deep golden glow.


The same glow was inside her, suffused through her, so that it seemed she was part of the warm golden light all around her. It dazed her, bemused her—and she gave herself to it because she couldn’t do anything else.


As she sipped at her hot, fragrant tea her eyes slipped of their own accord to the man sitting opposite her. He lounged back, his pose so relaxed that he was like a young, lithe leopard taking its ease, taking indolent mouthfuls of espresso coffee every now and then, one arm spread out across his chair-back, one long leg casually crossed over a lean, bare thigh. He was chatting to Ben, answering the child’s questions with lazy good humour, but his eyes would flicker over her as he chatted, sending tiny little shots of electricity quivering through her.


Her glow deepened.


What was happening was beyond her—completely and absolutely beyond her—and she didn’t care. She didn’t want to question, or analyse, or examine or understand. She just wanted to give herself to this wonderful, dazed bemusement that had taken her over, filling her with this rich, warm glow that reached through every cell of her body.


After Ben had eaten his tea, they played cards. A noisy, fast game that involved a lot of slapping down of cards and crows of triumph from both Ben and Rico. Yet even in the midst of the game Rico could still find time to glance at her, still feel the echoes of that incredible shock wave that had slammed through him as she’d approached him along the terrace, her transformation so incredible he could not, even now, fully believe it.


And yet it was there in front of him, the evidence of his own eyes. A miracle.


Her hair by itself was a miracle. The frizz had simply vanished—he hadn’t known it was possible, and yet clearly it was. Her skin was clear and glowing, her make-up bringing to life features which he’d thought nondescript and unremarkable.


And now his eyes kept going back to her, time and time again.


He wanted her. He knew it, and he had no intention of denying it.


It was impossible to do so. His body had recognised it in the first moments of seeing her walk towards him, displaying that fantastic lush figure which had so incredibly been there all along—invisible under the shapeless, baggy clothes she’d worn.


How the hell had she kept it hidden?


He still couldn’t get his head round it. To have such a full, lush body as that, and yet to hide it.


Well, there was no hiding it now. None at all. Never, ever again would she ever hide herself.


Especially not from him.


He felt his body react again, and had to struggle to subdue it.


He must not rush this. Dared not. She was walking a knife-edge, still in a state of shock, of disbelief about herself.


I’ve got to take this slowly. Very slowly.


Let her get used to it. Let her come to believe it. Take her slowly, so slowly, every step of the way.


His eyes rested on her yet again, while Ben dealt out another round, his little voice counting the cards diligently as he set them down in three piles.


He could see her awareness of him even as she oversaw Ben’s dealing. Saw it in the swift, covert glance, the slight tremor of her hand as she picked up her cards.


Lizzy could see him looking at her, see it and feel it. It was tangible, like the lightest caress on her skin.


She felt her heart skip a beat, skitter inside her…


What’s happening—what’s happening to me?


It was a stupid, idiotic question to ask. She knew exactly what was happening to her. And she couldn’t stop it. Could no more stop it than she could have stopped a whirlpool sucking her down.


She was responding to the core-deep, devastating sexuality of the man she had married to keep Ben safe with her. And how could she help it?


Ever since she had first set eyes on him, that terrible traumatic night in Cornwall, she had responded to him. She had crushed it down, embarrassed by it, knowing that she must never show the slightest sign of her response because for someone like her to do so would be…grotesque.


It had been easy enough to do. To him, she had simply not existed as a female. Nor did she to any man, she knew. So, although her instinctive reaction to him had been embarrassing and pointless, she had also known that it really hadn’t mattered at all—it had been completely irrelevant.


All that had mattered had been Ben.


And these last few days, when he had visibly gone out of his way to try and make her feel more at ease with what had so traumatically happened to her, when he’d been kind, and nice, and nothing like the Playboy Prince of his reputation, it had still not mattered. More than not mattered.


It had allowed her to start to relax around him. Start to feel at ease around him. Start to see him not as a prince, nor as a man—but as a person.


They had talked—nothing special, nothing earth-shattering, just easy conversation. About Ben, yes, but about other things too, over meals, and on the beach, and while Ben was playing, absorbed, with his trains and all the other toys that had been delivered to the villa or which he’d discovered in the playroom.


She wasn’t sure what they’d talked about—nothing much came to mind—but she knew was that it hadn’t been a strain, an effort.


It had been…friendly.


Easygoing, casual, relaxed.


But now—now it felt as if tiny bubbles were fizzing through her veins. Effervescing inside her.


Every time he glanced at her.


What’s happening to me?


But she knew. She knew.





‘Goodnight, darling, sleep tight.’


Lizzy bent over to drop a kiss on Ben’s cheek. He was asleep already, she could see. On the other side of the bed, Rico reached out and ruffled his hair gently.


He had insisted on giving Ben his bath that night.


‘We don’t want Mummy’s new dress getting wet, do we?’ he’d said.


Instead, he had been the one to get wet. Lizzy could see where the damp T-shirt clung to his torso. She averted her eyes, but not before Rico had spotted her doing so.


There was a decided glint in his eye as he spoke.


‘I’ll go and get myself cleaned up, then join you for dinner, OK?’


He had given instructions to the chef for a proper dinner that night. Whatever the results of Lizzy’s makeover would prove, he intended to make the evening special for her.


And it would be special indeed. Another wave of disbelief went over him. They had been doing so regularly, every time he looked at her.


It was incredible, just incredible.


He frowned momentarily.


Had she actually looked at herself yet? Surely she must have? And yet that initial reaction, when she’d run from him, blurting that it had all been a disaster, argued that she surely could not have seen the transformation.


He came around the foot of the bed.


‘You may need some kind of wrap,’ he told her. ‘The nights can still be a little chilly. Let’s see what you’ve got.’


He opened the closet door and went in. All her new clothes hung in serried ranks, swathed in plastic protectors. He glanced at them with approval. There was a lot here, and that was good. He wanted her to have as many beautiful outfits as possible. This was just the start.


She had followed him in, just as he’d intended.


‘Where would you store a wrap?’ he asked.


But Lizzy didn’t answer him. Could not.


The whole rear wall of the closet was a mirror, and standing in the mirror, looking back at her, was someone she had never seen before in her life.


Rico straightened and looked first at the woman in the mirror, then at the woman staring at her.


He let her look. Let the look of dazed incomprehension fill her face.


Then he spoke.


‘It’s you. The you that you really are. The you that was hiding all this time.’


His voice was steady, level—merely stating a fact. A fact he would no longer let her deny. Conceal.


Her eyes were wide, huge.


‘It can’t be me. It can’t.’


Her voice was faint.


He came and stood behind her.


‘Oh, it’s you, all right.’


Lightly, oh so lightly, he rested his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was like satin. He felt her tremble at his touch, but she did not move. She went on staring.


‘How did they do it?’ she asked faintly.


He gave a smile. ‘They had good material to work with.’


She lifted her hand to her hair, then dropped it wonderingly.


‘But my hair—all that frizz—’


‘They fixed it. There must be chemicals they use that change the hair somehow. After that, all they had to do was…do you up.’ His voice softened. ‘It was always there, Lizzy. Always. And now it always will be.’


He dropped his hands away.


He didn’t want to. He wanted to glide them down her arms, turn her around, lower his mouth to hers and…


But he knew he must not. Not now, not here.


Not yet.


Instead, he stepped back.


‘Do you think they’d have put wraps in a drawer?’ he asked. ‘Let’s have a look.’





Rico reached out his arm and closed his hand around the neck of the champagne bottle, drawing it up out of its bucket of ice and refilling their glasses.


They were sitting at the table on the terrace, but it had been transformed from its daytime appearance, when it was usually covered with Ben’s toys and books. The parasol had disappeared, and a pristine white tablecloth had been draped crisply, laden down with silver and crystal. A beautiful floral arrangement graced the centre, and the flames of long candles in silver candlesticks flickered in the night air. Above, the stars glittered in the black velvet sky. Out to sea, the lights from fisher boats glimmered in the dark. All around, cicadas kept their soft chorus, and the scent of flowers wafted softly.


The meal had done justice to the setting. Exquisitely prepared and presented, each delicacy had been too tempting to resist. And Lizzy had not resisted—nor did she resist a second glass of the light, foaming liquid that glinted in the candlelight in its tall, elegant flute.


‘To you,’ said Rico, and raised his glass. ‘To the new you. The real you.’


The staff had gone, leaving them to coffee, tiny crispbiscotti , and the rest of the champagne. It was a rare vintage, and Rico savoured it.


It was not all that he was savouring.


He took a mouthful, appreciating the dry biscuit of the champagne, and leant back. His eyes rested on the woman opposite.


She had found a wrap, a soft swathe in a subtle mix of hues that blended and complemented the cinnamon of her dress. She had draped it around her shoulders, one end scooped across her throat. It did not quite conceal the rich swell of her breasts in the beautifully cut bodice.


No, he must not let his eyes drift there. He wanted to—he badly wanted to—but he knew he must not. She could not cope with that. Not yet. He must take it slowly.


Savour it.


He took another mouthful of champagne, savouring that too.


‘To you,’ he said again. ‘To the new, beautiful Elisabetta.’


His voice was liquid over the syllables. Then, abruptly, his brows drew together.


‘How did anyone think to call you Lizzy?’ He said the short form of her name disparagingly.


Lizzy’s eyes flickered uncertainly. ‘I’ve always been Lizzy,’ she said.


‘And yet you were also always Elizabeth—Elisabetta.’ There was a sudden edge in Rico’s voice, which softened as he repeated the Italian form of her name. Then his brows drew together again, questioningly, frowningly. ‘Was it your sister who did it to you?’


The edge was back in his voice.


‘Did what?’ Again her eyes flickered uncertainly.


‘Was it your sister who turned you into Lizzy?’


‘I don’t understand,’ she answered, puzzled and uncertain. ‘I’ve always been called Lizzy. Frizzy-Lizzy, because of my hair. Or Busy-Lizzy, usually.’


‘Did she keep you busy, waiting on her hand and foot?’ His voice was dry.


‘Maria?’ Lizzy’s brow furrowed, confused ‘Maria was the best sister anyone could ever have.’ She felt her throat tighten dangerously. ‘She was truly a golden girl. Everyone loved her. She was so beautiful. She was tall, and slender, and she had long, long legs, and her hair was like honey, and hung straight to her waist, and she had beautiful blue eyes, and even when she was at school the boys were all over her, and when she became a model she was even more beautiful, and no wonder a prince fell for her—’ She halted abruptly.


Rico picked his words carefully.


‘Maria was pretty—very pretty. But she was…’ He paused. Bimbo, Luca had called her. Cruel and callous. And yet Ben’s natural mother had, indeed, possessed the kind of eye-candy looks that gave rise to that harsh dismissal.


‘Hers is not the only kind of beauty,’ he said.


But if Maria’s sister had grown up being told that only candyfloss blondeness was acceptable, that the kind of ultra-slim figure that suited models was the only ticket in town, then no wonder she’d never tried to make anything of the looks she had. No wonder she’d settled for being Busy-Lizzy, living in the shadow of her sister.


‘So who called you Busy-Lizzy?’ The edge was back again.


‘That was Maria,’ she said with a half-laugh, making herself do so. ‘But she didn’t mean it in a bad way. She used to say it to me in exasperation. Because I never—’


She halted, reaching for her glass of champagne and taking a deliberate sip to cover her silence.


‘Never what?’ probed Rico.


What had happened to her? What had made her see herself as ugly? He had thought it might be her sister, and yet she denied it. So what, then?


He wanted to know. Wanted to find out what had been done to her, and by whom.


‘Because you never what?’ he prompted again.


He wanted answers. Wanted to understand. So that the poison in her would come out once and for all. Never to return.


‘I never stopped,’ she answered.


‘Stopped what?’


‘Being busy, I suppose. Being useful.’


‘Who to?’ he asked in a low voice.


He saw her fingers tighten around the stem of her flute.


‘Maria. My parents.’


‘Why did they need you to be useful?’


Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.


‘Because—’ she stopped.


‘Because?’ he prompted. Quietly, insistently.


Her fingers pressed on the glass. He could see her fingers whiten where they gripped.


‘Because it was all I was good for. I wasn’t beautiful, like Maria, and she had all the brains, not me. She was all they needed—my parents.’


Her eyes had slid past him completely now. Staring ahead of her. Something was going wrong in her face; he could see it. She jerked the champagne glass to her lips and took a gulp. Then set it down, just as jerkily.


Then deliberately, almost angrily, her eyes snapped back to his.


‘When Maria was born I ceased to have a function. Apart from that of handmaid. That was all I was good for. Looking after Maria. Helping Maria. Making way for Maria. Maria, Maria, Maria! Everything revolved around Maria. Me, I was just the spare wheel—surplus to requirements. Not wanted on voyage. Existing on sufferance—justified only if I looked after Maria, and even then barely. I wanted to hate her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate her. No one could hate her. Because there was nothing to hate. There really wasn’t. She really was a golden girl. Everyone loved her. No wonder my parents adored her. They adored her so much they forgave her everything. Even becoming a model. There was only one thing they didn’t forgive her for. Only one thing.’ She stilled, then spoke again.


‘Dying. That’s what they could not forgive her for.’


She bowed her head, as if bowing beneath a weight.


‘They couldn’t live without her. So they didn’t. They went into the garage, locked the doors, got into the car, and turned the engine on.’


For a moment there was silence. Complete silence. Rico felt cold ice through him.


‘Your parents killed themselves?’ His voice was hollow. This had not been in the dossier on Maria Mitchell.


‘Once they knew she would never recover. That she would be a vegetable—in a coma until….’


She halted. Her face was stark, even in the candlelight.


‘She was everything to them—their whole world. They had dedicated their lives to her. And she had gone. Left them. Left them to go modeling.’ She swallowed again. ‘Left them to go off with some man who had, so they thought, simply “got her into trouble”—and then she left them utterly. Left them all alone.’


Slowly, still with that cold draining through him, Rico spoke.


‘But they had her baby—and you.’


She looked at him. Her eyes had no expression in them.


‘The baby was a bastard—fatherless, an embarrassment, a disgrace. As for me, I was…an irrelevance. I didn’t count,’ she said. ‘I was—unnecessary—to them.’


His eyes darkened. He felt the anger rising in him like a cold tide.


Unnecessary. The word had a grim, familiar sound.


He was unnecessary too. Had been all his life. He was the spare—surplus to requirements. To be put on a f and left there, just in case of emergencies. But with no other purpose then simply to pass the time, fritter his life away until and in case he should ever be needed, cease to be unnecessary.


He felt the anger lash through him again. But this time it was at himself. For having accepted his parents’ verdict on him. Oh, he had resented the role he’d been born to, but he’d still accepted that that was all he was. The spare to Luca’s heir.


Well, that wasn’t true any longer.


Emotion swept through him. He looked at the woman sitting opposite him, who had been so horrificallyunnecessary to her parents—but who was so necessary to the one human being to whomhe , too, had proved necessary.


He reached across the table and took her hand. He spoke with a low intensity.


‘But you’re necessary now—necessary and…essential. You are Ben’s happiness, and I…I am his safety. And together—’ his hand tightened around hers, warm, and safe and protecting ‘—we’ll take care of him, and love him.’


Gently he drew her to her feet. Emotion filled him as he led her down the terrace to where the French windows to her room stood slightly ajar. Inside, they stood by the bed, looking down at Ben’s sleeping form.


Rico’s arm went around her shoulder as they stood, gazing down at the one human being on the earth to whom they were absolutely and totally necessary.


United in that.


And more, Rico knew.





‘Hang on to your hats,’ Rico yelled


‘I’m not wearing one,’ Ben yelled back, against the revving of the engine.


‘Just as well,’ riposted Rico, and let the throttle out.


The boat roared off, sleek and powerful, carving a foaming wake through the still blue water.


Lizzy’s arm tightened around Ben automatically, but Ben was oblivious of anything except the thrill of being in a speedboat. Wind whipped at her hair, half blinding her, and she had to grip with all her might to the boat rail. The hull slapped and slammed against the water, bumping like a rollercoaster ride.


‘Wheee!’ yelled Ben, ecstatically.


Rico turned from the wheel and grinned.


His hair was blown off his face and he looked younger, carefree.


‘Faster?’ he asked.


‘Yes, yes,’ Ben cried.


‘Here we go, then.’


He accelerated, and the boat picked up yet more speed. Exhilaration filled him. This might not be anything like the speed of a powerboat in a race, but it was still fast and furious.


When finally he slewed around in a great curve, and started heading back to land, he slackened the throttle and turned to his passengers.


‘Was that fun?’ he asked with a grin, his eyes dancing.


‘Yes!’ yelled Ben.


‘You’re a complete maniac,’ said Lizzy.


His grin widened. ‘No, just Italian.’ He eased back on the throttle even more as they headed for land at a sedate pace. He patted the wheel. ‘She’s not bad, but she’s no powerboat. They can get to speeds of over a hundred knots. Now, that’s really moving. Still, we’ll have some fun in this one, won’t we?’


Annoyance flared in him. The boat he’d hired from the marina was ideal for cruising around, exploring the coastline. But that wasn’t something they could do yet. He would be recognised, it was inevitable, and then the press would start buzzing with rumours and speculation about who he was with, and why. He didn’t want that. He wanted his marriage officially announced from the palace. Not out of consideration for his father, who deserved none after his callous treatment of Ben and his mother, but for Lizzy’s sake.


She’d had enough stress already. All her life, in fact. Thanks to her parents—and everything that had happened since to her.


But so far there had been nothing but silence from the palace. Well, he’d given his father time enough to climb down, to accept what he’d done—perhaps he should send him a reminder.


He’d get on to it today. Jean-Paul would oblige, he knew.


Smoothly, he brought the boat into shore, cut and trimmed the engine, and dropped anchor in the shallow water. Ben jumped out without prompting, landing with a splash to wade ashore. Lithely, Rico climbed over the side himself, then held out his arms to Lizzy. She got rather unsteadily to her feet.


‘I’m sure I can manage,’ she said.


He scooped her up, and she gave a gasp. He grinned down at her. She was soft in his arms. Soft and voluptuous. And in the couture beach shorts and short-sleeved matching azure top she looked fantastic. Her hair was windblown, but that only gave her a tousled, wanton look.


‘I’m too heavy for you,’ she gasped.


He laughed scornfully, wading ashore with her. To think he had thought that her baggy, shapeless clothes had meant she was overweight. There wasn’t a kilo of flesh on her that wasn’t in the right place.


‘I can bench twice your weight,’ he said confidently. He lowered her gently to the sand, steadying her with his hands. She looked amazing. Her bare arms were smooth and already beginning to tan, now that they were finally being exposed to the sun.


She was beginning to get used to the transformation, he could see. The look of bewildered disbelief was rarer now; she was accepting what had happened. She was out of the box her parents had locked her into—a coffin for her womanhood.


Well, that was a box she would never go back into. And soon her womanhood would blaze into the glory it deserved.


His expression changed. Patience, he was discovering, was a hard virtue.


‘Tio Rico, I need a new sandcastle. Come and help—’ Ben’s piping treble pierced the air.


Rico was glad of the diversion.


He phoned Jean-Paul after lunch. ‘How would you feel about an exclusive photo-shoot?’ he asked him. ‘Ready for the glossies…’


He would send the photos to the palace first. Remind his father that time was running out for him, that if he kept on stonewalling Rico would simply make the announcement of his marriage himself—and let the press go to town on why the palace had let that happen.


‘Don’t wait too long, Rico. Security at Capo d’Angeli might be tight, but even so—’ His friend’s voice held a warning. ‘This is a story to kill for.’


‘I hear you—so can you do the shoot tomorrow?’


‘I’ll be there. Would I miss the second scoop of a lifetime on you?’ Jean-Paul laughed, and signed off.


Slowly, Rico slid his phone away. His eyes travelled down the terrace to the French windows, behind which Lizzy was attempting to make Ben yield to an afternoon siesta. His thoughts went to them.


Jean-Paul was coming tomorrow. To take photos of the happy couple—the happy family. A fairytale marriage that would set a glow over them all. A perfect ending to the tale—the Playboy Prince marrying the adoptive mother of his brother’s child.


Who had turned out to be Cinderella indeed—not the ugly sister she had always cast herself as. A Cinderella whose transformation had taken him by storm…inflamed his senses.


Whom he longed to embrace…possess…


A troubled look entered his eyes.


Did he have the right to do it? He wanted her, badly. He wanted her because she was a beautiful, alluring woman and he was bowled over by her—because his body was telling him, every time he saw her, that she was a woman to desire. And he wanted her, too, he knew, forher sake—because she had made him feel free and because he had seen her turn into a swan. Yes, she had emerged from the box she’d been locked into, and he wanted to lead her out of it—lead her to where every woman should go.


But did he have the right to take her there?


She’s my wife. What other woman in the world should I desire?


His expression shadowed. Became sombre.


Yes, she was his wife—but their marriage was not about them, it was about Ben. Everything about their marriage, including those fairytale photos tomorrow, would be about Ben. His safety—his future. Not theirs.


Why not about our future? Why not about us?


The words formed in his head, coming from the same place deep within him that told him that the woman he wanted so much now was his wife—a wife to desire…to possess…


He sat very still as he realised what he was thinking.


Feeling.


Wanting.


He had married her, promising her a marriage of convenience purely to protect Ben, to protect her. When that had been achieved, when it would not cause any scandal, then he would end the marriage. Set her free. Set himself free.


I don’t want that—


The realisation seared through him. Burning its way through his brain.


And in its wake came another emotion. He did not know what it was. He knew only that he was yielding to it, that it was far, far too strong for him to do anything else but yield to it.


And tonight—tonight he would do just that.


Tonight he would make his marriage real.


Those photos tomorrow would be no fairytale.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ darla  
ÞÏíã 12-08-07, 11:30 PM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 17
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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí Chapter10

 

CHAPTER TEN


QUIETLY, Lizzy slipped from her room out on to the terrace, carefully lifting the long rustling skirts of her gown.


Ben was asleep. Reluctantly, but finally succumbing. It was later than his usual bedtime, but then he’d been judging a fashion parade. He and Rico had sat on the bed while she’d tried on one after another of her outfits, to choose which ones to wear the following day.


Nerves clipped at her as she thought about it. A photo-shoot, Rico had said. His friend Jean-Paul, to whom he had entrusted the story of their marriage, would undertake it.


She was glad Rico had suggested trying the outfits first, even though it seemed odd to have finished with her in evening dress.


‘I want a full-length portrait photo of you,’ Rico had said.


Then, when he’d finally chosen which gown he thought would be best for such a photo, he’d told her to leave it on.


‘It will get you used to the feel and fit,’ he’d told her, before heading off to get changed himself, for dinner.


She’d complied, though the close-fitting strapless duskyrose silk gown with its flowing skirts, gorgeous though it was, seemed to make her somewhat over-dressed for a seaside villa.


‘Ah, there you are—’


Rico’s voice made her head turn.


And then her breath caught, and stilled in her lungs.


He was strolling towards her in the soft light spilling out on to the terrace, and he was wearing evening dress himself.


He looked—


She swallowed.


Oh, dear God, he looks incredible.


The tailored hand-made tuxedo moulded his long, lithe form, and made her legs feel weak. His freshly washed hair feathered over his forehead, and as he approached she caught the faintest tang of aftershave from his newly-shaved jawline.


She gazed at him helplessly, incapable of tearing her eyes away from him.


He came up to her. His eyes were on her, but all she could see was him.


A half-smile played about his lips.


‘Buona sera, Principessa,’he said softly, and lifted her hand with his, to raise it to his lips.


His mouth grazed at her knuckles, and she felt a thousand butterflies release inside her.


He tucked her hand over his arm, and she found herself clinging to it. Numbly, she let herself be glided along the terrace.


‘We’re dining indoors tonight. Some light rain is forecast.’


She glanced absently at the sky, which was clouding over from the west. Then he was leading her into the large, formal dining room where they’d never eaten before.


She could see, as she looked round, why he had decided for them to wear evening dress. Her eyes widened. She’d never been in here, and she was astonished at its opulence. The huge glass table was edged with a gold llic border, and an ornate chandelier festooned with crystals shone above. There seemed to be mirrors everywhere, and more glass and gold all around.


‘It’s a little overdone,’ said Rico wryly.


He led her to her place and saw her seated. Then he took his own place opposite her. Almost immediately came the soft pop of a champagne cork, and then one of the staff was filling her flute before performing a similar office for Rico.


He lifted the glass.


‘To us,’ he said softly, his long lashes sweeping down over his dark eyes, and yet again Lizzy felt the fluttering wings inside her taking flight.


The meal passed as if in a dream. The silent, swift staff placed dishes in front of her, then whisked them away unnoticed. One by one the array of glasses at her place were filled, and then removed. She must have eaten and drunk, she knew, and it must have been delicious. And yet food and drink were the last things on her mind.


Her eyes were held, entirely and only, by the man sitting opposite her.


She felt weak. Incapable of doing anything except drink him in. She must have talked, she must have said things, but her mind was a daze. Inside her veins, the wine creamed in her blood, infusing her with a strange wonder.


I just want to look at him.


Gaze and gaze.


She had never allowed herself to do so before. Had always dragged her eyes away from him. Never indulged herself. But tonight—tonight was different. She didn’t know why, didn’t question. Merely let herself do what she had wanted to do since the very first time she had ever set eyes on him, and felt the shock of her reaction go through her.


Then, it had been forbidden to her. Then, she had been someone who would never have been allowed to do what she was doing now.


But she wasn’t that person any more. She had been transformed, enchanted, into someone quite, quite different.


Someone who could gaze at him to her heart’s desire.


Because he was doing the same to her.


The butterflies swooped and soared. His eyes were holding hers, and she was breathless, completely breathless.


He was getting to his feet, standing up. Holding out his hand to her.


‘Come.’


It was all he said.


All he had to say.


She stood up. She could feel the silk rustling around her. She gathered the skirts into her fingers, making her way around the table to him. The strapless bodice clung to her, her hair brushed over her bare shoulders, her naked back.


He led her out into the hallway to the interior of the house. Opened another door and ushered her inside.


It was a bedroom.


And it was not hers.


He caught her shoulders, and turned her to him.





For one long, endless moment Rico gazed down at her, into those wide eyes, gazing up at him as they had gazed all evening.


How he had waited this long he did not know.


She hadn’t realised, he knew, that her looking at him like that had been a torment to him. That it had taken all his self-control not to push back his chair, stride around the table to her, lift her up and crush her to him.


But he had not done so. Not just because the staff had still been about their business, not just because the chef had produced atour de force that evening and to abandon it halfway through would have been unthinkably inconsiderate. Not just because he had known that with the night to come both of them would require sustenance.


But because he had known that she needed time.


Time to give herself to what was happening to them.


Did she know how much he desired her? He suspected not. The ways of men were an unknown country to her.


A realisation came to him, plunging through him.


Will I be her first?


Emotion scythed through him, flaring in his eyes..


‘Elisabetta.’ He spoke softly, so softly, letting his voice pour through the liquid syllables.


His hands curved around her bare shoulders. Her skin was warm to his touch. He rested his thumbs along the delicate bones that arched to her throat and let them smooth her minutely. He felt her tremble beneath his touch.


She was still gazing up at him, her eyes huge, and in them was a longing that was unconscious in its intensity. It jolted through him, tipping him over the edge.


He could resist her no longer.


Slowly, infinitely slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.


She gave a soft, helpless sigh, her eyes fluttering shut.


He kissed her slowly, very slowly. It was a soft kiss, a caress of her lips with his, and he could feel them shape themselves to him uncertainly, exploringly.


His mouth glided over hers like silk on water.


He took his time, an infinity of time.


This must be perfect for her—perfect.


He mustn’t rush this, must take it at her pace, take her with him slowly, exquisitely, on the journey.


His mouth left hers, left her lips parted as his moved on, across the line of her jaw, to the hollow beneath her ear, gliding like silk, like gossamer, to where with the lightest of touches he caressed the outline of her earlobe.


One hand had slid around the nape of her neck, fingers teasing at the fine tendrils of her hair, while his other hand spanned the arch of her throat.


He felt the low, soft gasp vibrating through his fingers, and then his mouth was on hers again, teasing and caressing, until, with a sigh, she opened to him.


His body surged at the sheer sensuality of it as his tongue glided within. He felt her still, as if with shock, and then, as he intensified his kiss, he felt that moment come again as she yielded to his desire.


His hand swept down from the nape of her neck, along the naked length of her back. His fingers sought the fastening of her dress and, with a skill honed with practice over many years, he released the hook, and slowly, very slowly, slid down the zip.


He felt the bodice loosening against his torso and his hand at her throat moved downwards.


He wanted…He wanted…


Dio, but she was exquisite. Full, and soft—and yet as he cupped the silken mound he felt it ripen at his touch. Against his palm, her nipple flowered.


He felt his body surge again, insistent and demanding. Slowly, sensuously, he palmed her fullness.


She seemed to gasp in her throat, and arched her back, pressing herself against him.


It was all he needed. Desire drove through him, and he swept her up into his arms.





The world tilted on its axis, and her eyes flew open.


Rico’s eyes were blazing down at her, vivid even in the low light. Her heart was soaring like a bird in flight, which was strange, because she felt boneless, weak, helpless in his arms as he carried her the few strides to his bed.


He lowered her gently, tenderly, as if she were a delicate, precious flower.


‘Elisabetta—’


For one long, endless moment he gazed down at her as she lay in a ruffle of silk, one breast exposed, as she looked up at him, wonder and enchantment in her eyes.


Then, with a rapid urgency that was its own message, he’d disposed of his own clothes and was lowering his long, lithe frame upon her. She felt his body crush her down into the softness of the bedding. Felt the strength, the honed, masculine beauty of his planed torso, the narrow circle of his hips, the tautness of his thighs, and the long, full shaft pressing against her.


She gasped, awareness shooting through her.


He saw her recognition.


‘I have wanted you,’ he breathed, ‘from the first moment I saw you. Walking towards me—revealed to me—only to me—in all your beauty.’


Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her. Slowly, very slowly.


‘Be mine,’ he said to her. ‘Be mine, my own Elisabetta’.


His eyes were dilated; she was drowning in their dark depths.


There was only one answer to give him. Only one answer possible.


‘Rico…’ She breathed his name.


Her arms came around him, closed him to her, her fingers grazing with a fierce, sweet ardour along the contours of his back.


Heat flooded through her. Her hips arched to his. A gesture old as time. The instinctive pleading of her sex. She could not speak, could not talk. She could only know that now,now she wanted what was the sweetest glory.


His body answered her. Sliding the silken folds of her dress from her, his hand returned, gliding along the smooth column of her leg, and then, with a touch that drew from her a breathless gasp of pleasure, he parted her.


She was lost—lost in a vortex that was taking her into another world, a world that she had never known existed, to a pleasure, a physical sensation so incredible, that her entire being was reduced to one single exquisite point. She gave herself to it, helpless to do anything but let the ravishing sensation of his skilful touch take her to the place that called to her, nearer and yet nearer, so that when the moment came it was a consummation of discovery, of such wondrous ecstasy that she cried out with it. It swept through her, overwhelming her, flooding through her to her very fingertips, wave after wave. His hand was smoothing her hair, his voice murmuring, and then, even as at last the flood began to ebb, even as she felt the pulsing of her core, he was there, seeking entrance, strong and insistent, and yet with absolute control, easing inside her.


She took him in. The pulsing of her body drew him into her, and she felt his fullness pressing against her aroused, sensitised tissues. She gasped again, eyes flying open to see him looking down at her, his expression one of absolute focus, one of intensity.


The intensity of desire. Absolute desire.


For her.


Now.Now.


He moved within her, and as he did the ebbing fire in her started to lick again. Her lips parted in wonder, and he saw that wonder, and with a brief, flickering smile he moved again. And then, once more, the intensity took him over.


‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes.’ And lifted her hips to him, instinctively tilting to let him move more deeply within her, parting her straining flesh around him, moulding herself around him. He moved again, and yet again, and with each stroke she felt the bliss not just of possession, but of renewed desire.


She heard him speak again, a staccato fragment, and then an urgency took him over. Stroke after stroke, his body surging within her, he took her with him, closer and closer still, to that place where she had been.


And then she was there. Like a white heat sensation flashed through her, sweeping through her limbs. She cried out, and heard his voice too, and she was clutching him, her hands working into the smooth, heated planes of his back, her breath crying through her, her throat arching as the fire took her, took him with her.


It went on and on, until, as the final echo began to ebb, she was left with the sweet, honeyed exhaustion of fulfilment in every fibre of her being. She felt the tautness go from him, felt the full heaviness of his body on hers, and emotion flooded through her. Her arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressing against his. She wanted to hold him close, so close.


Wonder filled her, and a sweetness that was beyond comprehension. She held his warm, strong body in her arms, feeling the hectic beat of his heart gradually slow. His head was sunk against her shoulder. She felt his cheek, his soft, silky hair, the warmth of his breath. His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxing, letting go.


Languor stole through her—a peace so deep that it was like a balm, a blessing. At her hips, still conjoined, she felt his heaviness, felt the low throb within her as her body remembered the imprint of his possession, her own ecstasy. Her languor deepened as her own heart rate slowed, and sleep began to steal over her in her warm, sated drowsiness.


Her hands slackened around his back and she felt his skin begin to cool beneath her fingers. He had slipped over into sleep, she realised, and with the last of her conscious mind she pulled the dishevelled coverlet over him. Then, with a low, soft sigh, she let sleep take her.





‘Principessa—je suis enchanté.’


Her hand was being taken, and kissed with courtly gallantry. Lizzy smiled uncertainly. Jean-Paul straightened and bestowed a highly appreciative look at her. He said something in French to Rico, which Lizzy did not understand.


Rico grinned.


‘I am indeed,’ he replied. ‘Incredibly fortunate. And now, if you’ve finished making up to my bride, let’s get on with it. Better start with Ben—before he gets bored with the proceedings.’


But Ben was on his best behaviour, and clearly determined to look angelic, which he did effortlessly, in his smart new clothes.


As for his mother.


Rico’s breath caught for the hundredth time.


She sat there, on a sofa in the formal salon of the villa—a room as ornate as the dining room, but ideal for the purpose now—and looked simply—


Radiant.


It was the only word for her, and Rico could not tear his eyes from her.


As Jean-Paul took shot after shot, wonder suffused Rico. And when it was his turn to be included—first on his own with her, then with Ben, and then with all three of them—although his pose was formal, the look in his eyes was quite different.


At the end of the session, Jean-Paul set his camera aside.


‘Bon chance, mon vieux,’he said. ‘And I wish you every happiness.’


He clasped Rico’s hand, then let it go.


There remained only the business of downloading the digital file from the camera, and offering Jean-Paul the hospitality a friend deserved before he took his leave. And then, while Lizzy took Ben off to change them both into less formal clothes, Rico was left to e-mail Luca.


There was no . Just a carefully selected attachment.


That would be sufficient.


For a moment after he had hitsend he just stared at the blank screen.


Then he logged out, and went to find his wife.





She was living in the middle of a dream. A dream so wonderful she knew it could only be a dream. An enchantment. A time out of time.


The whole world seemed suffused with a glow of bliss. Every moment, every instant of every day—and, oh, every night—was filled with a happiness she had never believed possible.


How can I be so happy?


But she did not need to ask. She knew.


Rico—


She had only to breathe his name, only to look at him, hear his voice, take his hand, feel his touch upon her, to know why happiness—deep, profound, immeasurable and infinite—was in every pulse of her blood, every beat of her heart.


She did not want to think, to ask, to question. She wanted only tobe —to be this wonderful, enchanted person, caught in her blissful, beautiful dream.


It was so strange, she mused. Outwardly, the days passed in just the same way—easy, undemanding days, a perpetual holiday. Taking Ben down to the beach, swimming in the pool, lounging in the sun, doing everything and nothing, talking about everything and nothing.


And yet everything had changed—changed so utterly she could not believe it, could only float in her haze of wonder and bliss.


By day, the signs were subtle and unconscious—a passing caress, a physical closeness, the casual body that was the daytime manifestation of intimacy. The hug for Ben that included a hug for her, the little touches of hands as they played with him, the warm, acknowledging glances as they talked and ate and did all the things they had already been doing since they had come to the villa.


But by night—ah, by night her heart lifted in still-incredulous wonder. By night the enchantment that suffused her with a subtle golden haze by day blazed into glory. Glory that burned like stars in its brilliance—glory that melted her body, caress by sweetest caress, touch by sensual touch, stroke by exquisite stroke, until her whole being caught flame and burned like a torch in the ecstasy of her consummation.


His consummation. Because she knew, with every cell of her being, that the strong, virile body she held in her arms, held deep within her own body, was burning too, in the same consummation. She felt his body burn with the same flame, setting him on fire as her arms wrapped him close, and closer still, their bodies fusing as one, until at last the incandescence burned away, leaving them twined about each other in sweet exhaustion.


‘How…how can it be so wonderful?’ she breathed at him one night, her eyes wide and bemused.


He did not answer, only smoothed her hair, lacing it with his fingers, and cradled her body against his as his hand smoothed along her back, drifting with slow, exhausted sensuousness until it slowed, and slackened, cupping the ripeness of her hip.


He murmured in Italian—words she did not understand but which flowed like honey through her. Like a balm, a blessing.


Then night folded over them and they slept, entwined, embracing. And she dreamt of heaven, because that was where she was already.





Lizzy was creaming his back. Rico lay face down on a lounger. Ben, having surfaced from his siesta, his energy levels renewed, was vigorously batting his way along the length of the pool astride a huge inflatable dolphin.


‘Race me,’ he called to Rico. ‘You can ride the crocodile.’ He pointed to a huge, inflatable crocodile with grinning jaws that was floating disconsolately in the shallows.


‘Soon,’ said Rico, not lifting his head. ‘Very soon.’


But not that soon. It was far too good just lying here, with the sun beating down on him, the lightest of breezes playing over his skin, the drowsy sound of the cicadas, the silence of the world around him and Ben splashing happily in the pool, while warm hands glided caressingly, sensuously across his bared back, massaging sun cream deep into the muscled contours, sculpting the bones of his spine, his ribs and shoulders, with smooth, strong strokes.


Well-being, *******ment—peace—filled him. He could lie here for ever.


He could be here for ever.


Life was good—so very good.


Everything—everything he wanted was here. Now. An endless now.


Time had stopped. Only day and night existed. Nothing more. There was no world beyond this.


He’d heard nothing yet from his father and Luca—and he didn’t care. They belonged in a world he was not interested in right now.


Right now, all he wanted he had. He wanted nothing more.


Footsteps sounded on the shallow flight that led to the upper terrace. A shadow fell over his body. The hands at his back stopped.


He lifted his head and looked up.


Captain Falieri stood there.





Slowly, Rico levered himself up, and stood. Behind him, he could hear Lizzy doing the same. Automatically he felt for her hand and closed his fingers around hers.


‘Captain Fally-eery!’ Ben’s piping voice called with enthusiasm. He splashed his way busily to the steps and clambered out, running up to them. ‘Have you come to tea?’ he asked convivially.


The Captain shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve come—’ his eyes flicked to Rico’s ‘—to see your uncle.’


As Falieri looked back at him, Rico could see his gaze moving past him automatically. Even so good a diplomat as he was, he could not, Rico could see, hide the flash of shock in his eyes. He knew why. The woman whose hand he was holding was all but unrecognisable. He felt her slip her hand from his and saw that she was reaching for a sarong to wind about her. Then she was holding out her hand to Ben.


‘Let’s go and get changed,’ she said. ‘Captain Falieri,’ she acknowledged.


He bowed his head in return, but did not speak. He looked disbelievingly after her as she set off, hand in hand with a protesting Ben.


But Rico was not concerned that his father’s chief of police was stunned by the transformation in the appearance of the woman he’d last seen looking so very different in England. He stretched out a hand and picked up his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders.


‘Well?’ he asked.


Falieri’s eyes snapped back to him.


‘His Highness, your father, wishes to see you.’


Rico’s mouth pressed together. Then, with a nod of acquiescence, he headed off after Lizzy and Ben.


‘Ten minutes,’ he called back to Falieri.


It was hard, punishingly hard, to take leave of Lizzy and Ben. But it had to be done. For these past days he had shut out the outside world, ignoring its existence, but that did not stop it existing. Now, he just wanted it sorted.


He took Lizzy’s hands. She’d showered and changed, like him, but whereas he had put on a formal suit, knowing his father’s preferences, she was wearing a simple sundress. Ben had been peeled out of his trunks and put into shorts and a T-shirt.


‘What’s going to happen?’ He could hear the fear in her voice.


‘My father has a very clear choice—he can accept our marriage with outward good grace, and keep everyone happy. Or he can have an open breach with me. I don’t care which. Whichever he’s chosen, it makes no difference—we’re married, you’re my wife, Ben is our joint legal charge, and my fathercannot get his hands on him.’ He took a breath. ‘I don’t want to leave you, but it’s the best thing in the circumstances. I don’t want you and Ben setting foot in San Lucenzo till all this is settled. I’ve asked Falieri to stay with you, and he’s consented. I trust him. He’s not my father’s stoolie and he will donothing illegal. He was not involved with the deception my father and brother practised on us at the palace.’ His expression darkened. ‘It was clever of Luca to send him to England with me—he knows I trust him, and he also knows that Falieri would have refused to be party to their despicable scheme had he been back at the palace.’


‘When will you be back?’ She was trying to keep her voice steady, he could tell.


‘Tonight. There’s a helicopter waiting for me at the marina, and the flight won’t take long. Nor will whatever my father has to say to me. I’ll be heading right back here.’


He gave a sudden smile, dispelling the grimness of his expression.


‘Put the champagne on ice, get Ben to bed early, and…’ his long lashes swept down over his eyes ‘…slip into something comfortable.’


For one last moment he held her gaze. Then, letting go her hands, he ruffled Ben’s hair and walked out.





Lizzy watched him go. Her chest felt tight.


Ben tugged at her skirt. ‘Where’s Tio Rico going?’ he asked.


‘He’ll be back later,’ said Lizzy absently. She took a breath, trying to focus. ‘Let’s go and see if Captain Falieri would like a cup of coffee. I’m sure he would.’


‘Can he stay to tea, then?’ Ben asked, pleased.


‘I think he can now. Yes.’


She took Ben out along the terrace. On the far side of the villa she could hear a car moving off, taking Rico down to the heliport.


Captain Falieri walked out of the house. For a moment he seemed a familiar, reassuring figure. Then he turned to look at them as they approached.


There was something in his face that made the blood freeze in her veins.


She stopped in front of him.


‘What is it?’ Her voice was high, and faint. The tightness in her chest was squeezing hard, so hard.


For a moment he just looked at her. His face was sombre. And in his eyes, most frightening of all, was pity.


‘I have,’ he said gravely, ‘unwelcome news.’

 
 

 

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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí chapter11

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN


THE helicopter churned through the air, descending to the palace. Rico must have made this landing a thousand times or more—it was one of the most convenient ways of arriving and departing. He gazed down at the white towers astride the rocky promontory on which the original castle had been built. It was one of the most familiar sights in the world to him.


And yet now it seemed very alien.


He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want this confrontation. But it had to be done. And the sooner it was over and done with the better.


Which way had his father chosen? Either Falieri did not know, or he was under strict instructions to give no clue. Well, the waiting would be over very soon, and then Rico would know either the best or the worst.


But it wouldn’t be the worst. His father would not risk the scandal of an open breach with his son—he would accept what Rico had done. He wouldn’t like it, but he would accept it. For the sake of convention, propriety. For the sake of appearances.


He felt a hardening in his guts. Appearances were all they would be. There could be no real reconciliation with his father. Not after what he had tried to do.


No one,no one took a child from its mother. Parted a mother from her child.


No one.


The landing pad soared up to meet them, and there was the familiar jar of impact. The noise of the rotors lessened. Rico released his seat belt, nodded his thanks to the pilot, and slid back the door. Lithely he jumped down and ducked out from under the slowing rotors, then straightened.


As he did, he saw a quartet of figures emerging from the palace. Palace guards in their duty uniforms. He paused, frowning, waiting for them to approach.


‘What is it?’ he demanded sharply.


The senior officer among them stared straight ahead, not looking at him. His face was expressionless.


‘I regret to inform Your Highness,’ he said, ‘that you are under arrest.’





He was taken to his own apartments. His phone was removed from him, and he realised that all other communication devices, from PC to laptop, had been removed or disabled, including both the house phone and the phones with outside lines.


Disbelief sent shock waves through him.


What thehell was going on? Fury, disbelief, shock—all warred within him.


He paced, rigid with rage, across his sitting room.


The double doors opened and he snapped round. The doors had been opened by two of the guards standing outside. Through them was walking his father.


‘What thehell is this?’ Rico demanded.


His father walked in, The guards closed the doors again.


‘I have placed you,’ said Prince Eduardo, ‘under arrest.’


‘On what charge?’


Rico’s voice was hollow, disbelieving.


There was a silence for a moment. His father’s eyes rested on him. They were cold. Rico had never seen them look so cold.


‘You have committed a crime against the principality of San Lucenzo.’


His voice was as cold as his eyes.


Rico stared.


‘What?’


‘It is a crime dating back to medieval times. It has little modern enforcement, with one salient exception.’ His father paused again. ‘Royal marriages,’ he said.


‘I don’t understand,’ Rico answered slowly. He was holding still, very still.


His father’s cold eyes rested on him.


‘Any member of the royal family requires the consent of the Prince before they may marry. You failed to obtain it. Therefore your marriage is void.’


Rico let the words sink in. Then he spoke.


‘You can recognise it after the fact.’


‘I shall not do so. The marriage is void. You have married without my consent.’


Rico looked at him.


‘Why are you doing this? Does it mean nothing to you that the boy is Paolo’s son?’ His voice was strange, remote.


‘Paolo is dead—because of this boy. Had that greedy, overambitious girl not sought to entrap him he would never have lost his life.’


Rico shook his head in denial.


‘We know nothing of the nature of their relationship The girl might just as easily have been in love with him, and he with her.’


Something flashed in his father’s eyes, and then it was gone. Before he could speak Rico continued.


‘And whether or not it was love—or entrapment—Paolo did the honourable thing. He married her for the sake of his unborn child.’


His father’s face was like marble. Cold and hard.


‘He had no business doing so. His first duty was to his name. He was impetuous and self-indulgent.’ His voice grew more heavy. ‘I blame myself for that. He was indulged as a child—spoilt—and that was the consequence.’


A chill went down Rico’s spine, like ice crystallising in his nerve fibres. His father was speaking again. Rico forced himself to listen.


‘Nevertheless, when the existence of the boy was discovered—although I would have preferred to have ignored the matter, whatever repellent drivel the gutter press produced—I was prepared, however reluctantly, to acknowledge Paolo’s brief marriage, and thereby accept his son as legitimate. Given the circumstances, it seemed the most…advisable…course of action. With the mother dead there would be no…unwelcome entanglements. The boy would be raised in an appropriate manner, without the indulgence that ruined his father, and accepted as a member of the royal family. Unfortunately the obduracy and ambition of the aunt proved a serious impediment.’


Rico’s eyes hardened.


‘She is more than his aunt, she is his mother—his legal guardian. I made it crystal-clear that she would not be parted from her son—and your attempt to do so was despicable.’


His father’s eyes flashed coldly again.


‘You will not address me in such a fashion,’ he said freezingly. ‘However, you will be glad to learn that the boy is no longer a requirement. I have rescinded my decision to recognise Paolo’s marriage.’ The cold eyes rested impassively on Rico. ‘The boy is therefore illegitimate within the state of San Lucenzo. His future is of no concern to me.’


It was said with an indifference that chilled him to the core.


‘He’s your grandson,’ said Rico. ‘Does that meannothing to you?’


His father’s face did not change. ‘Royal bastards are not acknowledged. He has no entitlements and can have no claim on Paolo’s estate. Nevertheless, arrangements will be made for suitable maintenance, and an appropriate capital sum will be settled on him for his majority. The issue is now closed, and I will discuss it no further. Luca will handle the matter with the lawyers, and you will not be involved. As for yourself,’ the cold voice continued, ‘you will undertake to have no further contact or communication with the woman or the boy. When you have given this undertaking, the charge will be lifted.’ He gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘That is all I have to say to you.’


Rico looked at him. Looked at this man who was his father.


He was standing only a few metres away from him—but the distance between them was much more than that.


Then, without another word, Prince Eduardo walked from the room.


The doors shut behind him, and Rico was alone once more.


How long he stood there he did not know. He could feel his lungs breathing in, and out, he could feel the steady beat of his heart—but he could not feel anything else.


There were voices outside the doors. A sharp voice, and then a deferential one. A door swung open—only one this time.


It was Luca.


Rico looked at him. For a long moment the brothers’ eyes met and held.


‘Why did you do it?’ There was almost resignation in his brother’s voice as he put the question, Rico thought. ‘Are you completely insane—or just extraordinarily stupid? Not just to do what you have, but then to think you could pressurise our father into accepting it. Good God, do you not know him well enough by now to know he wouldnever back down before you?’


‘I thought he would consider the scandal of an open breach with me more repugnant than forcing himself to do the decent thing by Paolo’s son.’


‘The decent thing?’A dam seemed to break inside Luca. ‘God Almighty, Rico. You’ve lost us Paolo’s son. Hisson . Do you know, do you haveany idea , how hard I had to work to get our father to recognise Paolo’s marriage? When I told him that there was a story brewing in the press, and what it was, his first and immediate reaction was to ignore it. He was so furious with Paolo that he couldn’t think straight. But he finally agreed—after endless persuasion on my part—that the best thing to do would be to recognise the boy as legitimate. That meant he could come here. That meant hehad to come here. On his own,’ he spelt out. ‘That went without saying. Do you seriously imagine for a moment that our father would have anything to do with the family of the boy’s mother?’


Luca’s mouth set grimly. ‘But how the hell could I have known that the girl would kick up such a fuss, and that you—youof all people—would let her get away with it?Dio , Rico—youwere the one who was supposed to have her eating out of your hand, not the other damn way round. I never had you down for an idiot—let alone an insane one—but I do now. And now, thanks to your insane stupidity, you’ve gone and lost us Paolo’s son. Thanks to you he’s been declared a bastard. A bastard—Paolo’s son.That’s what you’ve achieved. And it’s not something I’m going to forgive you for lightly.’


Bitter fury stung in his accusation. Then his slate eyes flashed again.


‘It’s time to grow up, Rico. To take some responsibility. Not to play infantile games and be led around by your damn overactive sex-drive! Because that’s what’s happened, obviously. That much is clear from the photos you sent. You had her done up and moved in on her. Well, I hope you’ve had your fill of her—because it’s over now. You won’t be allowed to go within a hundred miles of her. From now on she doesn’t exist any more. And maybe finally you’lllearn some responsibility, Rico. You’d better, because this really is your last chance. He’s made that very clear, our father—very clear indeed. You camethis close to stepping over the edge. This close. From now on, no more stepping out of line by you—not one morebreath of scandal. From now on you learn to conduct yourself with some responsibility.’


He fell silent, his eyes heavy on his brother.


‘Responsibility?’ said Rico slowly. His eyes rested on Luca. Nothing showed in them. ‘I’ve always had a problem with responsibility. Because I never had any. My sole responsibility was to stay alive, that was all. In case you dropped dead. Turned out gay. Refused to marry. Proved infertile. And in the meantime, until and unless any of that happened, I passed the time. Any way I could. Because that was all Icould do. All I was allowed to do. Pass the time. However pointlessly. Until—’ his voice changed ‘—until I found out there was something I could do, after all. Something, in fact, that only I could do—no one else could. I could save Paolo’s son.’


His eyes never left Luca’s, not for an instant, boring into him, burning into him. ‘I could save Paolo’s son from the hellish childhood that was being d up for him. The one you told me about when I delivered Ben and his mother into your tender hands like a fool—the fool you’d played me for. You wanted to throw his mother away like garbage and condemn Ben to a childhood that was going to be even worse than the one we had, Luca. Do you remember our childhood? Do you? Or has that just conveniently been blanked out of your memory? Because it hasn’t from mine, and there was no way—no way on this earth—that I was going to let that happen to Paolo’s son. There was no way that I was going to let him be taken from the woman he regards as his mother,loves as his mother, or let her lose her child. I could stop it happening—and I did. And I don’t regret it for one second. Not one instant.’ His voice was a low snarl now. ‘Even though I’ve discovered just what kind of callousscum you all are.’


He took a harsh intake of breath. ‘And now, if you don’t want me to knock you out cold again, I suggest you get the hell out of my quarters.’


He saw his brother’s lip twist.


‘Thinking to use yourBoy’s Own secret passage and head for the hills again, Rico? It won’t do you any good this time. It won’t get you out of the hole you’re in now. You’ve run out of options. Your marriage has been declared void, and you’re under arrest.’


Rico’s mouth whitened.


‘I don’t give a—’


‘Allow me,’ bit out Luca, cutting through the expletive, ‘to explain to you exactly what San Lucenzan law in respect of royal marriages allows the Prince Regnant to do.’


In precise, exact and comprehensive terms, he did so.


Rico listened. And as he listened, his face slowly froze.





Lizzy was sitting very still. Very still indeed. She had sent Ben to the playroom, telling him to watch a DVD until she came for him.


‘I am so very sorry,’ Captain Falieri was saying, ‘to be the bearer of such…unsettling…news, Miss Mitchell.’


Lizzy said nothing. What could she say? Yet she had to say something.


She swallowed. There seemed to be a stone in her throat.


‘So…so what happens now? To Ben and me?’


Her voice was thin, and she was trying to stop it shaking.


Captain Falieri was being kind—so very kind. Somehow that just made it worse.


‘I am to escort you both back to Cornwall. Perhaps you would instruct the staff to pack what you intend to take? Needless to say, all…’ he hesitated minutely ‘…all personal effects purchased for your stay here will be considered yours.’


She said nothing. She would allow Ben to choose his favourites from amongst the toys that he had acquired here. As for herself…


She felt her heart crushed, as if heavy weights were squeezing it.


She would need nothing. Nothing but what she had arrived with.


She got to her feet. The motion was jerky.


‘If you will excuse me—?’


‘Of course. However…’ The minute hesitation came again. ‘Before you go, I am instructed to require you to sign a particular


He drew a thick, long envelope from his inside breast pocket and took out the folded within. He placed it in front of her.


‘Although you may wish to read it first—there is a translation attached to the original, as you can see—its ******* is very straightforward. His Highness, Prince Eduardo, requires you to agree to certain…restrictions. You are to make no claim either on your behalf, or that of your nephew, on the estate of his late natural father, or upon His Highness’s estate. You are to have no contact with the press in any way. All approaches by any member of the press to you, you are to direct to His Highness’s press secretary to deal with. You are to undertake never to agree to or participate in the publication of any book, or the broadcast of any programme, in any medium, pertaining to your nephew. When these undertakings have been agreed by yourself, a regular sum will be paid to you, for the maintenance of yourself and your nephew. When your nephew achieves his majority, a capital sum will be settled on him by His Highness, in due recognition of the financial obligation that would have devolved upon your nephew’s natural father.’


He fell silent and extracted a fountain pen from his inside jacket, placing it beside the formally opening it to the final page, where her signature was to be appended.


‘I will sign the papers,’ said Lizzy. ‘But I will not accept any money. Please make that very clear to His Highness.’


She put her signature to the and waited while Captain Falieri added his own, as witness.


Then she turned away. ‘I must talk to my son,’ she said.


Gravely, Captain Falieri inclined his head, and watched her walk out.





Rain was falling. Heavy, relentless sheets of rain that swept in off the North Atlantic, rattling against the windowpanes, spitting down the chimney.


The cottage felt cold, so cold.


Damp and unused.


Captain Falieri’s expression darkened as he brought her cases indoors.


‘You cannot stay here,’ he said bluntly. ‘I will take you to a hotel.’


Lizzy shook her head.


‘No. I would rather be here. I’ll be all right.’


She turned to him and held out her hand.


‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For doing what you could to make this as…simple…as possible.’


He took her hand, but he did not shake it. Instead, he bowed over it.


‘I wish…’ he said, and he straightened and looked into her eyes. ‘I wish that matters had been…otherwise.’


Her throat tightened. She could not cope with kindness.


Nor with pity.


‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘You had better go now. I’m sure the pilot will wish to start his return flight.’


A private plane had flown her to a military airfield further south, and then Captain Falieri had driven her and Ben to her cottage.


‘If you are sure?’


She nodded. ‘It would be best for Ben.’ She swallowed. ‘A complete break will be the easiest for him. As it was when—’


She could not continue. Memories pressed upon her, heavy and unbearable. Could it really have only been a few weeks ago that she had stood here in the hallway admitting entrance to two strangers?


She felt the vice close around her heart again.


She turned and went into the kitchen. Ben was sitting at the table, slumped over it, dejection in every line.


‘Captain Falieri has to go now, Ben. Come and say goodbye.’


Ben lifted his face to her.


‘Can’t we go back with him, Mummy? Can’t we? I don’t like it here. It’s cold.’ There were tears in his voice. The vice inside her crushed even more tightly.


‘No, my darling, we’ve come home now. Our holiday is over.’


Tears quivered in Ben’s eyes.


‘I don’t want it to be over,’ he said.


There was nothing she could say. Nothing at all. She wanted to sit at the table and howl with him, pour out all her grief and heartbreak. But she could not. She had to be strong for Ben.


She forced a smile to her lips.


‘All holidays end, Ben. Now, come and say goodbye to Captain Falieri. He’s been kind to us. Very kind.’ She felt her voice crack dangerously.


She took Ben’s hand and led him dejectedly out into the hallway.


‘Goodbye, Ben,’ said Captain Falieri gravely. He held out a hand to him.


Ben did not take it.


‘Am I really not a prince any more, Captain Fally-eery?’ His eyes were wide and pleading.


The Captain shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Ben.’


‘And Mummy isn’t a princess?’


‘No.’


‘It was only for the holiday, Ben. Us being a prince and princess,’ said Lizzy. It was the only way she had been able to explain it to Ben.


‘What about Tio Rico? Isn’t he a prince any more?’


Lizzy’s hand rested on his shoulder. It tightened involuntarily.


‘He will always be a prince, my darling. Nothing can change that.’


For one long, terrible moment she met Captain Falieri’s eyes. Then looked away.


She waited as he took his leave, walking out into the rain. She heard the car door open, then slam shut, and the engine rev. The car drove off down the lane to the coast road, heading back to the airfield, to the waiting plane that would take him away.


She shut the door as a spatter of rain came in on the wind.


She shivered.


‘Let’s light a fire, Ben. That will warm things up.’


But she would never be warm again, she knew. A terrible, deathly chill embraced her.


How am I going to bear this? How?


The question rang out in her anguish, but she had no answer. There could be no answer.


She went into the kitchen. Captain Falieri had very kindly stopped at a supermarket on the way from the airfield and bought some provisions for her. They would do until she could get to the shops. Mechanically she started to unpack them, and then put some milk to heat on the electric r. Warm milk would be good for Ben. They had eaten on the plane; it had helped to make the journey pass. It wasn’t really very late, though the rain made it seem darker. Only a few hours since they had left the villa. Only a few hours…


She stilled, unable to move. It was like a physical pain convulsing through her.


With all her strength she forced herself to continue, to make up the fire in the range, set it to draw, check the heat of the milk.


Ben sat at the table, head sunk upon his arms, a picture of misery.


I’ve got to keep going. It’s all I can do. Just keep going. Keep going.


It became her mantra. The only thing that got her through the evening, got her through the following day. And the one after that. And it would get her through the one after that. All the days that stretched ahead of her.


For the rest of her life.


It was unbearable—yet she had to bear it.


There’s nothing else. Nothing else I can do. Just keep going.


It will pass. Eventually it will pass.


It had to.


Eventually it will get better. Eventually I will accept it. Accept what happened.


That for a brief golden time I was there, with him.


And that time was over. Never to return.


She looked around her, at the worn, shabby interior of the cottage. So short a time ago all she had wanted in the world was to be back here, without her life turned upside down, with Ben just an ordinary child, living a normal life with her.


She would have given anything for that.


Be careful what you pray for…


The old adage came back to haunt her.





The nights were the worst. The nights were agony. Hour after hour she stared into the dark. Remembering.


It’s all I have. Memories.


Memories that were vivid, agonising. But memories that she knew, with even greater anguish, would start to fade. Like old photos, the colour seeping from them year by year. They would become blurred and lost. Gone for ever.


Just as he was gone for ever from her life.


Her thoughts reached for him, reached through the silence and the dark, reached across the sea and the land.


But where he was she did not know.


And what would it matter if you did? What would it matter if you could see him where he is? His world has taken him back—to the life he had, the life he has again. You were an…intermission…for him. He did what he did to keep Ben safe—and now Ben is safe again. Ben does not need him. He can have his own life back, as Ben has his.


As you have yours.


Without him.


Only memories. Memories to last a lifetime. Nothing more than memories.





A damp sun struggled through the clouds. After days of rain, the overcast skies were clearing. Raindrops dazzled drippingly on the branches of the trees, and a milder wind creamed up the coombe, bringing the scent of the sea.


‘Come on, Ben, let’s go down to the beach.’


With forced jollity she rallied him, filling her voice with an enthusiasm she did not feel. Nor did she meet with any in return.


‘I don’t want to,’ said Ben. ‘I want to go back to Tio Rico’s beach.’


‘Other people are having their holiday there now,’ she said. ‘It’s like here in Cornwall. People come for a holiday, and then they go home. That’s quite sad for them, isn’t it? We live here all the time—so that’s good.’


Ben looked at her mutinously.


‘We could live in the house by Tio Rico’s beach all the time,’ he said.


‘That house was only for a holiday for us. This is the house we live in. And we’re very lucky to be here, Ben. Lots of people have to live in cities, where there isn’t any beach at all.’


‘I don’t like the beach here. It hasn’t got a swimming pool. And it hasn’t got Tio Rico.’ Ben’s lower lip wobbled.


‘The beach here has got waves,’ said Lizzy, with determined cheerfulness.


‘But it hasn’t got Tio Rico,’ Ben protested. He swallowed, and lifted his eyes to her. ‘Mummy, doesn’t Tio Rico want us any more?


She tried to find the words. Words that a four-year-old child could make sense of. But they were cruel words, harsh words for all that. Yet what else could she do except say them? To give Ben false hope would be the cruellest thing of all.


‘Your uncle can’t be with us any more, Ben,’ she began carefully. ‘He has duties to attend to. He has to be a prince now, not an uncle. It was just a holiday we spent with him. Just a holiday. That’s all.’


Her words fell with excruciating mockery into her own ears.


A holiday. That was all it had been. A holiday of enchantment, magic, wonder, and such bliss that it made the realisation that such a time could never come again so agonising that she could hardly bear it.


But above all, above everything else, she must not say the words that ached to be said. For what was the use of saying them? What was the use, even in the dark—all alone in the bed she had once been ******* to lie in, solitary, celibate, untouched by the magic that he had strewn over her—what was the use, sleepless and despairing, of letting those words whisper in her mind, each one an agony of loss?


The only way she could face the rest of her life now was never, ever, to say those words. Never even to think them. Or they would destroy her.


Resolutely, she went on getting the beach things together.


Pain and memory clawing within her.





She took Ben, protesting, down to the beach. She had forgotten how chill the wind could be even at this time of year, in early summer. She made a camp in the lee of a line of rocks, sedimentary shales turned on their side by vast geological forces over vast reaches of time. So much time.


She looked out to sea.


Where was he now? she wondered. Was he in some fashionable high-society resort—Monte Carlo, the Caribbean, somewhere exotic? Mingling with fashionable high-society people? Fashionable high-society women, every one a beauty, the kind that he took his pick of—the Playboy Prince, leading the life he was born to lead?


Stop it. It doesn’t matter.


It doesn’t matter where he is, or who he’s with, or what he’s doing.


It doesn’t matter.


It will never matter again, for the rest of your life.


She shook out the rug and weighted down the corners with a book, shoes and a bag.


‘Who’s for a paddle?’ she said, forcing her voice to be cheerful.


‘It’s too cold,’ said Ben, and sat on the rug and wrapped a towel around him.


She whisked it off.


‘Then we’ll make a railway track. Which engines did you bring down with you?’


‘I don’t want trains—I want my fort. The fort Tio Rico made with me.’


Lizzy’s heart sank. Gently she said, ‘We couldn’t bring it back, Ben. It was too big—don’t you remember? But we brought the knights, so that’s good, isn’t it?’ she finished encouragingly.


‘But it’s thefort I want. Tio Rico and me made it. We made it together, and it had a bridge and a porcully and towers.’


She felt her heart catch with pain. Like a knife slicing into her memory stabbed her and she was there again, in the warmth and the sunshine—the ugly sister who had so miraculously been turned into Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty ready to be kissed awake by the most handsome Prince in the world.


No.Anguish crushed her. She mustn’t let herself think, remember. It was gone, all gone. Like a dream. An enchantment.


A fairytale that was over now.


She took a breath.


She must not think of fairytales. They were just that. Unreal.


This was real—here, now. With Ben. She chivvied him along, refusing to let him mope. What was the point of him moping? What was the point of her moping? They had to get on with things. They had to.


They had to keep going.


‘Well, we haven’t got the fort any more, but we have got trains. So let’s start building this track,’ she said, with forced resolution.


She started digging into the sand, carving out the railway tracks that Ben liked to make so that he could drive his engines along. The sand was cold beneath the surface, and wet. The sand at the villa had been warm, dry.


And Rico had helped Ben make the tracks.


‘Come on, Ben, give me a hand,’ she said.


Morosely he started to help, his expression unhappy. Lizzy ignored it. She had to. She had to jolly him along, get him cheerful again, enthusiastic again. What alternative was there? She knelt down on the sand, facing out to sea, letting the wind whip her hair into unflattering frizzled wisps.


Her looks were going already, she knew. Without all the expensive attentions of stylists and beauticians she was beginning to revert. She didn’t care.


What did Ben care what she looked like?


And there was no one else to care.


Never again.


‘Where shall we make the train station?’ she asked, kneeling back a moment, feeling the wind-blown sand stinging on her cheeks.


‘Don’t care,’ said Ben. He sat back as well, beside her. ‘It’s a stupid, stupid track, and I don’t care where the stupid, stupid station is. Stupid, stupid,stupid .’ He bashed the sand with his spade, spattering it in all directions.


‘Well, I’d put it just before the branch line goes off, Ben. That’s the place for a station.’


The voice that spoke was deep and accented, and it came from behind them.

 
 

 

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ÇÝÊÑÇÖí chapter 12

 

CHAPTER TWELVE


THE world seemed to stop. Stop completely. Except that it didn’t stop. It whirled around her. Whirled with a dizzying speed that made her feel faint.


It wasn’t possible. It was an illusion—an auditory illusion. They happened sometimes—you could hear people speaking who weren’t there.


Who were somewhere quite different. Who were at some aristocratic house party somewhere, or on a multimillion-pound yacht, or flying in a private jet to a tropical island with a beautiful film star for company.


Who weren’t on a Cornish beach, with the wind blowing off the North Atlantic. Making the wind feel as if it was being wafted there from paradise…


Her vision dimmed. She felt clouds rushing in from all around. The blood was thick in her head, bowing her down with its weight.


‘Tio Rico!’


Ben’s voice was alight. She could hear it, piercing through the clouds and the thickening blood.


‘Tio Rico. Tio Rico!’


She bowed her head. It was impossible. Impossible.


‘Hello, Ben? Have you been good without me?’


‘No,’ shouted Ben. Excitement overwhelmed him. ‘You weren’t here. Why weren’t you here, Tio Rico?’


‘I got delayed. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.’ She felt him lower himself down on to the rug. And still she could not move. Not a muscle.


‘Are you going to stay?’ Ben demanded. But there was fear in his voice.


‘As long as you want me to stay.’ He paused. ‘If your mother agrees, that is. Do you?’


His hand was on her shoulder. Warm and strong. Sending heat through her, a living warmth that she could not bear.


‘Lizzy?’


She looked up. He was only a foot or two away from her, hunkered down on the rug. She saw him immediately, completely. She saw everything about him in one absolute moment. As if he had always been there.


‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said. Her voice was thick, as thick as the blood suffocating her veins. ‘Captain Falieri explained to me. He said you would not be allowed to see Ben again.’


The expression in his eyes altered.


‘Well, that depends,’ he said. He was looking at her very deeply, very strangely, right into her eyes.


‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t depend at all. He said it very clearly. He explained it very clearly. You’re not allowed to see Ben any more.’


From the corner of her eye she could see Ben’s face pucker.


‘Why can’t Tio Rico see me any more?’ he said.


She saw Rico reach out and ruffle Ben’s hair.


‘Your mother’s got it wrong. I’m here, aren’t I?’


It was her turn for her face to pucker.


‘But youshouldn’t be,’ she said fiercely. ‘Youcan’t be.’


His expression changed again. Something entered his eyes. Something she didn’t want to see.


‘Where else should I be,’ he asked quietly, but with deadliness in his voice, ‘but with my wife and my boy?’


‘No,’ she said. She rocked forward slightly. Denying it. Denying it completely. ‘No,’ she said again.


He looked at her. Looked at her with eyes that chilled her to the bone.


‘Did you really think,’ he asked, in that same quiet, deadly tone, ‘that I would stay away?’


She snapped upright.


‘You’ve got to go!’ she shouted at him. ‘You’ve got to go—right away. Right now. Falieri told me. Hetold me. So go—go.’


There was a steely glint in his eye. He reached for her hands and hauled her down again. Her eyes were wild, desperate.


‘He told me,’ she said, and there was despair in her voice. ‘He told me everything. He told me about that law—the one that says you can’t marry without the Ruling Prince’s permission. He told me that it meant our marriage was null and void.’


‘Our marriage is real, Lizzy. We made our vows in front of a priest. No one can overturn that.’ Steel was in his voice now.


‘Yes, they can. They can. Your father can overturn it—and that’s what he’s done.’


‘All my father can do is refuse to recognise our marriage within San Lucenzo. He cannot overturn it. He has no power over our marriage, Lizzy. None.’ He spoke steadily, remorselessly.


Her face contorted. ‘Yes, he has. Hehas . Captain Falieri told me—he told me quite clearly. He’s got absolute power over you. You’ve broken the law, and if you don’t obey him he’ll use that power. And he’ll do it. Captain Falieri said he would do it.’ She swallowed. The stone in her throat was agony. But she spoke, saying the words that had been burnt into her like an agonising brand.


‘He’ll do it, Rico—he’ll strip you of your royalty. He’ll disinherit you. He’ll disbar you from the succession. Take you off the Civil List, freeze all your assets in San Lucenzo. He’ll take everything from you—everything. He’ll leave you with nothing.’


She heard Captain Falieri’s voice tolling in her head. Saying the words that had taken everything fromher . All hope. Gone for ever. They had crushed her, crushed her heart, cracking it in pieces.


There was a strange look on Rico’s face. It frightened her. His expression was calm. Very calm. Far too calm.


‘Falieri was wrong. There was something my father could not take from me.’ He paused. Then he spoke. ‘You. He could not take you from me. My wife.’


Her face contorted again.


‘No.No .’


‘You are my wife, and Ben is my adopted son, and no one—no power on earth—will take you from me.’


She twisted her hands in his grip.


‘No,’ she cried again. Her eyes were anguished. ‘You mustn’t say that. I won’t let you. I won’t. You’ve got to go now. Right now.’


He gave a sudden laugh, gripping her hands more tightly yet.


‘What a venal woman you are,’ he said. ‘You only want me for my title, don’t you?’ His fingers slid into hers. ‘Well, I’ve bad news for you, Signora Ceraldi—’


‘Don’t say that. Just go. It’s not too late.’


He hauled her against him, crushing her against the hard wall of his chest.


‘It’s far too late. Far, far too late.’


He kissed her.


The kiss went on and on. And she drowned in it. Drowned in his arms. Drowned in the tears pouring from her.


‘Mummy—Mummy?’


A little hand was tugging at her arm. Ben’s voice was confused, bewildered. Rico half let her go. He swept Ben to him.


‘Now, tell me—tell me true.’ He stood him up in the crook of his arm, hugging his little body close to him. His other arm was wrapped tight around Lizzy. ‘Which would you rather? Me not at all—or me not as a prince but still you and me and Mummy?’


‘Would you go away again?’ Ben asked.


Rico shook his head. ‘Never. Unless you came with me. I might go sometimes—just to work, that sort of thing—maybe for the day or a few days. But you would live with me, and so would Mummy. Would that be any good?’


‘Where would we all live?’


‘Anywhere you liked. Well, except in a palace.’


‘I want to live here and at the holiday house with the swimming pool,’ Ben stipulated. ‘With you and Mummy. For ever and ever.’


‘Done,’ said Rico. ‘High five says yes.’


Ben gave him a high five. ‘Yes,’ he shouted. ‘Yes, yes,yes .’


His little face was alight—alight with joy.


Lizzy’s face was wet with tears.


‘You can’t do this. You justcan’t ,’ she sobbed.


Rico’s arm tightened around her shaking shoulders.


‘Too late,’ he told her. ‘Done deal.’ He kissed her forehead softly. ‘Done deal, Signora Ceraldi.’ His eyes gazed into hers. Deep, deep eyes. ‘Now, don’t go and tell me it was just the royal bit you fell for?’ His voice was admonishing. ‘My ego won’t take it, you know. It really won’t.’


She swallowed, hard. ‘Ben—’ her voice was shaky ‘—why not start on that station now? Tio Rico and I need to talk. Boring grown-up stuff.’


‘OK,’ said Ben.


His world was restored. Happily, he scrambled back onto the sand and started scooping it up to shape into a railway station. Carefully, very carefully, Lizzy undraped herself and pulled away, to the far edge of the rug.


‘You can’t do this,’ she said again. She made her voice steady. Very steady. Calm and rational. ‘I won’t let you. I won’t let you give everything up for Ben. He’s young. He’ll soon forget you. It will be hard at first, but in a year he’ll have forgotten you. You’ll just be a memory, and even that will fade.’


He was looking at her strangely. Then he spoke.


‘But, you see, my memories of Ben won’t fade.I won’t forgethim . And I won’t give him up. He’s my brother’s son—and as clearly as if Paolo were here now I can hear him telling me to be the father to Ben that he was not allowed to be. Just as you—’ he made each word telling ‘—are the mother to Ben that your sister was not allowed to be. And though the cruelty of their deaths can never be assuaged, we know that we can be the loving family to their son that he needs. Because we both love him—and we love each other, don’t we, Lizzy?’


She opened her mouth, but no words came. He supplied them for her.


‘You can’t kiss a man like you just did unless you love him. You can’t cry all over a man like you just did unless you love him. And you certainly can’t tell a prince he’s not to give up his title for the woman he loves unless you love him. I’ve got you on all three counts, Signora Ceraldi. And I’ve got you on more counts than that. An infinite number—not just every night we were together, but every moment we were together. Every look, every touch, everything we said to each other, every meal we shared—every smile we shared, everything.’


He shook his head ruminatively. ‘It started right from the beginning—even though I didn’t know it. Seeing you with Ben, seeing you love him and care for him. And when…’He paused, then went on, ‘When you used that horrible, cruel word about yourself, describing our marriage, I wanted to do anything,everything I could to banish it.’ His eyes softened. ‘And I had my reward—oh, I did indeed. Ever since you walked towards me along that terrace, looking such a knockout, taking my breath away, I’ve been lost. And I know that makes me sound superficial and trivial, thinking with my Y chromosome, but you bowled me over. Blew me away. Knocked me for six. Whatever you want to call it—I went for it.’ His voice changed again. ‘But it isn’t just because of that. It can’t be—because even now, when you haven’t got a scrap of make-up on, and your hair is going frizzy again, and God alone knows what rubbish dump you got that T-shirt out of, I just want to hold you and never,never let you go again. Why do you suppose that is?’


She fingered a corner of the rug and wouldn’t look at him.


‘It was just novelty. Kindness. Something like that.’


Rico said a word in Italian. She didn’t know what it meant, but she could tell it wasn’t one she wanted Ben to copy.


‘It was love. Do you know how I know? Because when I heard my father telling me my marriage was void I wanted to hit him. Pulverise him.’


‘He was trying to manipulate you. No wonder you were angry.’


‘He was trying to take me away from you. And I wasn’t going to let him.’


‘He was trying to take you away from Ben.’


‘Ben, yes—andyou . Stop trying to tell me I don’t love you, Signora Ceraldi.’ He shook his head again, and only the glint in his eyes told her his jibe was not cruel. ‘What a low opinion you have of me. The Playboy Prince—that’s all you think of me, isn’t it? Admit it.’


She could find no humour in it. ‘You can’t give up your birthright.’ Her voice was low, and vehement. ‘You can’t.’


‘I can and I have. Like I said, it’s a done deal. It was a done deal the moment my self-righteous brother informed me what the penalty for my crime was. It took a while,’ he said grimly, ‘to convince Luca and my father that I was serious in the answer I gave them. That there was no way on God’s earth that I would repudiate you and agree to void our marriage—and to hell with their damn laws. But finally they washed their hands of me. I’ve signed God knows how many s my father had drawn up, and now, finally, I’ve been able to come to you.’


She shook her head urgently, violently.


‘No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you do this, Rico.Please go back. Go back before it’s too late. You can get your title restored, be reinstated, go back on the Civil List, unfreeze your San Lucenzan assets—’


But he only laughed, lounging back on the rug, propped up on one elbow. ‘Yes, definitely a venal woman, Signora Ceraldi.’ He gave an extravagant sigh. ‘I’m only good enough for you when I’m a royal, and I’m only good enough for you when I’ve got my fingers in the San Lucenzan royal coffers.’


He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘My sweet little golddigger—don’t you realise that since I turned eighteen it has been my life-long ambition never to be strung up by the family financial umbilical cord? I know you think I’m just a mindless Playboy Prince, but I haven’t spent my youth simply philandering and racing powerboats and the like. I’ve made investments, taken financial interests in various ventures, played the stock markets. I may not be worth quite what I was before I quit San Lucenzo, but we can jog along quite comfortably, I promise you. We may even—’ his eyes glinted again, making weakness wash through her ‘—run to buying that villa in Capo d’Angeli. Would you like that? But let’s keep your cottage here. We’ll do it up properly. Put central heating in. I’d like to spend time here. The surf looks good.’


Her hands twisted in her lap.


‘The water’s far too cold for you here.’


He took her hands and untwisted them. ‘Then I look forward to you warming me up afterwards. Will you do that, hmm?’ The glint turned into a gleam. The weakness washed through her again.


Then he was smoothing the fingers of her hands—softly, sensuously.


‘Too many days without you,’ he was murmuring. ‘Too many nights. What a lot we have to make up for.’


She took a deep breath. Looked him right in the eyes. Those dark, beautiful, long-lashed eyes.


‘Rico, don’t do this. Please don’t do this. I can’t bear it.’


The long sooty lashes swept down over his eyes, then back up again.


‘And I can’t bear not to. It’s as simple as that.’


For one long, endless moment he just looked into her eyes, her face, searching for her—finding her.


A little hand was tugging at him. With a lithe, fluid movement Rico jackknifed up to a sitting position.


‘What’s up, Ben?’ he said smilingly.


‘Tio Rico,’ asked Ben speculatively, ‘did you remember to bring the fort we made?’





It took Ben a long time to settle for bed that night. He bounced around in a state of over-excitement, until finally he could fight sleep no more. Carefully, Rico made his way down the narrow, creaking stairs, ducking his head under the low lintel. The door to the kitchen was open, and she was sitting there, a mug of tea in her cupped hands, staring sightlessly.


How long would it take her to believe? he wondered. Believe that he knew exactly what he was doing, regretted nothing. And would never regret.


He walked in, and her eyes flew to him instantly, unswervingly. And he saw in them such a blaze that it took his breath away.


Where had it come from, this love he felt for her? He didn’t know. It had just arrived, that was all. Some time when he wasn’t paying attention. When he was just being with her. With Ben.


My family, he thought. That’s who they are. My wife and my boy. My son. I’ll be the father he couldn’t have. I’ll take care of him. So simple. So easy. It had been no choice at all.


‘Asleep,’ he announced. ‘Finally.’


‘He’s excited,’ she said. While he’d been settling Ben she’d tried to do something with her appearance, he could tell. She’d put some make-up on, styled her hair. She looked good. Not as glossy, not as stunning as she had when she’d gone for the full works, but good. Definitely good.


The strange thing was, he didn’t care.


I love her stunning, I love her plain.


Because I just love—her.


He sat himself down on the table, just by her.


‘There’s still time to change your mind. You could still go back.’


He smiled. It was a strange smile. Filled with humour, with resignation, with understanding.


‘I’m here for good, Lizzy. You’ve just got to accept it.’


‘I can’t. That’s what I can’t do. Rico, it was just a dream—an enchantment. I was Cinderella at the ball, dancing with the Prince. Sleeping Beauty being woken by the Prince’s kiss. Fairytales. That’s all.’


He looked down at her. ‘Has it never occurred to you that the Prince in the fairytale might like a fairytale of his own? One where he gets to quit being a prince all the time? Do you know—’ his voice changed, his expression changed ‘—that you are the only person in my entire life to look at me and see me? Not a prince. Me.’


A look of confusion passed over her face. He gave a rueful smile. ‘You don’t remember, do you? But I do. I stood in this very cottage and told you we had to run from the paparazzi. And you kept saying why? Why did we have to run? Because you hadn’t the faintest idea who I was. Not a clue. You just saw some man bossing you about for no good reason. Not a prince. Not the Playboy Prince. Not the spare Prince to understudy the Crown Prince. Just some man who was trying to boss you about. And even when you knew I was a prince you never really knew how to behave with me, did you? You never called me Highness, or Sir, or anything. The whole royalty thing just…passed you by.’


She still looked troubled, her hands tightening around her mug. ‘It doesn’t matter what I thought. Rico, you’ve been royal all your life—’


‘And much good it’s done me,’ he interrupted her. ‘Listen, Lizzy—I’m a lot like you.’ His eyes were serious, holding hers intently. ‘Like you, all my life I’ve been—unnecessary. Just as you were. To your parents, only your sister was important. To mine, only the heir was important. The spare was just that—spare. Only with Paolo did they ever seem to realise they had a son—not a ruling prince-in-waiting. They lavished on Paolo the love they weren’t able to lavish on Luca and me. I don’t know what screwed your parents up—because theywere screwed up, Lizzy, badly, and they’d done an ace job of screwing you up too, until I got you out of that box they’d nailed you into—but I know what screwed mine up: being royal. I did a lot of thinking when I was put under house arrest by my own father, and it always came back to that. Maybe it’s different for Luca—he has, after all, something to do, something to look forward to doing. But me—well, I never had anything useful to do. I represented my father or Luca from time to time, attended a few Great Council meetings, signed a few state papers when my father was ill and Luca abroad. But I was never really needed.’


He touched the side of her cheek with a finger.


‘You and Ben are the first people that ever needed me,’ he said. ‘Just like Ben was the first person ever to needyou , Lizzy. He gave your life meaning and purpose. And that’s what you and he do for me. Give my life meaning and purpose. That’s why,’ he said very softly, his eyes darkening, ‘we belong together.’


She was silent. She couldn’t say anything. But her eyes slipped away from him. In her chest a hard, heavy lump was forming.


‘What is it?’ he asked, in that same quiet voice.


The lump hardened, and speaking over it was painful, impossible. But she made herself do it.


‘You’re offering me a life I can’t accept.’


He frowned. ‘Why can’t you accept it?’ he asked, his voice still low.


She swallowed. The lump did not go away.


‘Because I shouldn’t have it,’ she said. ‘Because it should be Maria’s life. She was the one a prince fell in love with. She was the one who should have been a princess. She was the one Ben should have belonged to. Not me.Not me. I took Ben from her. I told the doctors to turn off her life support after Ben had been delivered, after he had grown to term inside a mother whose brain had died weeks earlier. I told them to kill my sister so I could have her baby for myself.’


Huge, anguished eyes looked at him. Her fingers were pressed so tight around the mug they showed white all the way through.


‘I told them to do it.’


Carefully he got to his feet. Carefully he hunkered down beside her, placing a hand, warm and strong, on her thigh.


‘There was no one else to tell them,’ he said. ‘Your parents had made their decision. They had gone, taken their way out, leavingyou with that decision. Makingyou the scapegoat for that decision. They didn’t even have the courage, thelove to stay alive for their grandson’s sake. Let alone for yours. And tell me something, Lizzy—tell me from your heart. Do you think your sister would have wanted to live on, in body only, while Paolo was already dead? Their deaths were a tragedy—each and every death that night a tragedy. Butwe arenot responsible. All we can do is go on with our own lives—and remember theirs. So let’s take Ben, you and me, and bring him up in a happy family. We can’t change the past—but we can make the future. Together, Lizzy.Together .’


He reached and wrapped his arms around her, very close. Slowly she let go of the mug. Slowly she slid her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.


‘Be happy, Lizzy. Let yourself be happy. With me. For now, and for all our lives together. Life isn’t certain—we both know that. So more than anything we must live while we can—for Ben and for each other. And perhaps…’ His hand slid across her stomach, warm and seeking. ‘Perhaps for one or two more. Ben needs a family—brothers and sisters. Happy and loving, all together.’


He drew her to her feet. Kissed her softly. Then not so softly.


As he drew back she saw the glint deep in his dark, lambent eyes. She felt her heart turn over. The glint turned to a gleam. The gleam to a look that melted her bones.


‘Come, Signora Ceraldi, time for bed. I want to find out whether it was just my title you fell for.’


Her arms went around him. Holding him tight, so very tight. Close against her.


‘Prince of my heart,’ she whispered. ‘Love of my life. My adored, beloved husband.’


‘Sounds good,’ he said. ‘Sounds very good.’


He kissed her once more, and then again.


And then he led her upstairs, to the bliss that awaited them.


EPILOGUE


THEphotos that Jean-Paul had taken at the villa went round the world. So did the story ofThe Playboy Prince Who Gave Up His Title For Love .


And so, too, did the next set of photos that Jean-Paul came to take.


The ones of Signor and Signora Enrico Ceraldi, with Master Benedetto Ceraldi, posing in the gardens of their two favourite residences—the newly christened Villa Elisabetta on the exclusive Capo d’Angeli estate in Italy, and the newly restored slate-roofed Cornish cottage, against whose porch leant two surfboards. One fast and mean for Signor Ceraldi, and a junior-sized one for Master Benedetto. Signora Ceraldi’s surfboard was in storage, awaiting such time as Master Benedetto’s new brother or sister made his expected appearance—which, as could clearly be seen from the especially voluptuous figure of Signora Ceraldi, around which Signor Ceraldi was curving a lovingly protective hand, would not be long.


As for Master Benedetto, he was sitting cross-legged on the grass and attacking a heavily defended cardboard fort with an army of brightly coloured knights in armour. His smile was almost bigger than his face.


The smile of a happy child with a happy family.


The greatest gift of all.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ darla  
ÞÏíã 12-08-07, 11:47 PM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 20
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That was the last chapter..
Hope that you'll like the novel

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