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‘Sebastiano’s right to do so. Without you, Montvelatte will cease to exist. Do you want to be responsible for that?’
‘I’m not the only one. There’s Marietta too—’
‘And the day you drop something like this on the shoulders of your little sister, is the day you lose me as a friend. Anyway, you know law dictates it must be a male heir. This is your call, Raphael, your duty.’
‘Even if I go, there’s no guarantee I can save it. The island is a financial basket case. You heard the reports—Carlo and Roberto and their cronies have drained the economy dry.’
There was a deep laugh at the end of the line. ‘And this isn’t what you and I do for a living every day? Bring the fiscally dead back to life?’
‘Then you go, if you’re so concerned. I like my life just the way it is.’ It was the truth. He’d worked hard to get where he was, taking on the hardest projects out there and proving to himself time and again he was up to the task. And he’d proven something else to himself—that he didn’t need to be royalty to be someone.
‘But it’s not up to me, Rafe. You’re the son, the next in line. There is nobody else who can do what you have to do.’ There was a pause. ‘Besides, don’t you think it’s what your mother would have wanted you to do?’
Rafe should have known Yannis would hit below the belt. They’d grown up so close he was better than any brother could ever be. The downside was he also knew how to hit hard and to hit where it hurt the most. He wasn’t about to admit that fact, though he couldn’t deny another truth. ‘I’m just glad she died before she found out his death had been organised by his own sons.’
‘Not all of his sons,’ Yannis corrected. ‘There’s still you.’
He laughed, short and hard. ‘That’s right. The bastard son. The son he exiled along with his bastard’s mother and baby sister. Why should I go back to bail out his island nation? It’s sickening what happened to him, sickening that his own sons conspired against him. But why should I be the one to pick up the pieces? I hate what happened to him, but I don’t owe him a thing.’
‘Why should you be the one? Because Montvelattian blood flows in your veins. This is your birthright, Rafe. Seize it. If not for your father’s sake, then for your mother’s.’
Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Yannis knew him too well, knew he felt no loyalty for a father who had never been more than a name to him, and who had discarded his own son and the woman who had borne him as easily as if he’d been brushing lint off his jacket. Even the knowledge that his death had not been an accident didn’t cause Rafe any pangs of loss. It was impossible to lose something you’d never had, and Prince Eduardo had never been part of his life.
But his mother was a different matter. Louisa had loved Montvelatte and had talked endlessly of scented orange groves, of colourful vines, of herb bushes tangy with the spray of sea, and of mountainsides covered with flowers amidst the olive trees that she would never see again.
She’d never forgotten the small island nation that had been her home for twenty-one years and that had spat her out, sending her into exile for the rest of her too short existence.
Yannis was right. It had always been her dream to return. It had never happened in her lifetime, but maybe this was his chance to make it happen for her in spirit.
Merda!
Sienna emerged from the bathroom ready for work and wearing a frown. They’d made love so quickly—too quickly for either of them to have given a thought about protection. The risks of pregnancy were low, it was late in her cycle, but there were still risks and she couldn’t help but regret her decision not to renew her prescription for the pill when her course had expired last month. At the time there hadn’t seemed much point and finding a new doctor with everything else going on had been the last thing on her mind. She now wished she’d thought about it.
And at the risk of making her even later for work, she couldn’t leave without at least broaching the subject.
‘We need to talk,’ she said, registering that he’d finished the call as she gathered up the last of her things and stashed them in her bag. She turned when he didn’t respond. He was still sitting on the bed with his back to her, his head in his hands, a picture of such utter desolation that she would never have recognised him if she hadn’t known it was him. His air of authority was gone. His power gone. Instead he wore a cloak of vulnerability so heavy that she felt the weight of it herself. ‘What is it?’ she asked, drawing closer but afraid to touch him, afraid she might feel the pain that was torturing him. ‘What’s wrong? Is this about that news report, about Montvelatte?’
For heavy seconds he didn’t move, didn’t speak—then finally let out his breath in a rush as he lifted his head, his fingers working hard at his temples.
‘What do you know of the island?’ Rafe asked, without looking around.
Sienna shrugged, thrown by the question. But at least he was talking to her and she knew that the pain would be lesser if he did. She rounded the bed and knelt alongside him on the dishevelled linen, finally game to put a hand to him, sliding her hands over his shoulders, feeling the tension tight and knotted under her fingers, trying to massage it away with the stroke of her thumbs. ‘What does anyone know? Other than it’s a small island in the Mediterranean, famous for both its stunning scenery and the string of casinos that have made it rich. A Mecca for tourists and gamblers alike.’
He snorted dismissively and twisted then, capturing one hand in his and pulling it to his mouth and pressing it to his lips. Hardly a kiss—his fingers were so tight around hers they hurt, his dark eyes almost black. ‘And for gangsters, it turns out. Apparently they’ve been laundering drug money through the casinos ever since Prince Carlo took the crown five years ago.’
Behind him the clock continued to advance and she cursed inwardly. She had to get to work. It had taken some doing to land the job with Sapphire Blue Charter, only her ability to speak French and three superb references winning her the contract and making up for her being a woman, and an Australian to boot, but she was still under probation. The way she was going this morning she’d be lucky if she still had a job by the time she got to the airport. But she couldn’t leave him, not like this. ‘It still doesn’t make sense. They’ve arrested the Prince and his brother in front of the entire world’s media over unproven money-laundering charges? Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty?’
Rafe swept from the bed then, grabbing his jeans, quickly dropping those in favour of a snow-white robe that he wrapped and lashed around himself and that showed his olive skin and dark features to perfection. Through the vast expanse of window behind him it seemed the entire city of Paris was laid out like a glorious offering, the Eiffel Tower the centre-point in a brand new morning, but it was the fiery glare from his eyes that demanded her full attention.
‘I didn’t say they’d been arrested over the money-laundering charges.’
‘Then why?’
‘Because now they’ve been linked to the death of the former Prince.’
For a moment she was shocked into silence, her mind busy recalling the history she knew of the tiny principality. ‘But Prince Eduardo drowned. He fell from his yacht.’
His hand dropped away, and his face looked even harsher then, if it were possible, his skin drawn so tight it made her jaw ache in sympathy. ‘The authorities have just uncovered fresh evidence. He didn’t fall.’
Shock punched into her more effectively than any fist. ‘They killed their own father?’ No wonder the news reports were full of it. It was more than a scandal. It was a monarchy in crisis, a diplomatic nightmare. A nightmare that somehow held Rafe in its thrall.
‘I still don’t understand, though. It’s horrible, but why does it matter so much to you?’
Sienna searched his eyes, dark eyes filled with grief and torment and pain that scarred their depths, and saw the shutters come down again even as he moved away from her. But the intention was clear. He’d said all that he was going to say.
A final look at the clock told her she couldn’t wait any longer. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe, but I really have to go.’
He didn’t even turn around. ‘Yes.’
She slipped on her shoes, picked up her jacket. ‘I don’t finish until six tonight. How about I call you once I’m home?’
This time he did look at her and she glimpsed something skate across his eyes, something warm and maybe a little sad. Then he blinked and whatever she’d seen was gone. ‘No,’ he clipped, ‘I can’t see you tonight.’
‘Oh.’ She swallowed, trying desperately not to show on her face how disappointed she felt. ‘I’ve got a late shift tomorrow, but how about Wednesday, then?’
But he just gave a toss of his head and opened a closet door, pulling out a travel bag. ‘No. Not then. I’ll be away.’
‘You’re leaving?’
His eyes, when they turned on her, were cold, unfathomable. ‘Like I said. It’s over.’
And mere disappointment curdled into despair, leaving her feeling wrong and suddenly shaky inside her gut. Hadn’t he been talking about Montvelatte when he’d said that? ‘Where are you going?’
‘Away.’
Crazy. She should have accepted his response for the dismissal it was intended to be—no doubt would have if she had been thinking rationally. But right now she felt crazy. He’d pursued her for a week for the sake of just one night? She’d known she would never be more than a short-term distraction for him and could live with that, but, damn it, she wasn’t prepared to let it end just yet, not when such a short time ago he hadn’t so much as asked her, but told her he would see her again.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I thought you were late for work!’ He tossed the words roughly over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at her as he dragged things from his closet.
Breath snagged in her chest. In another life she would have already left, his dismissal of her more than plain. But not now. Not after the night they’d shared, and when he’d been the one to promise more. ‘Is this something to do with that news report, because until that happened, you seemed quite happy to meet up with me again? Why is it that what happens on a tiny island in the Mediterranean is so important to you anyway?’
He stopped pulling things out of the wardrobe then and swivelled around, dumping underwear and shirts carelessly into his carry on as he fired her question right back at her. ‘Why is it so important to me?’
And for just a moment, when she saw the pain etched in lines upon his face, she wished she’d never asked. ‘You saw those two being carted away by the police.’
‘Prince Carlo and Prince Roberto? Yes, of course. What’s wrong? Do you know them?’
‘You could say that.’ A shadow moved across his features. ‘We shared the same father.’
Then the buzzer rang and he brushed past her shell-shocked form to answer it. ‘I’m sorry, but you really have to go.’
Rafe pulled the door open. ‘Come in, Sebastiano,’ he said, ushering in an officious-looking man in a double-breasted suit. In the same breath she was ushered out without so much as a goodbye. ‘It’s been a long time.’
The door closed behind her with a determined click but not before she’d heard the words the older gentleman had uttered in greeting, ‘Prince Raphael, you must come quickly …’
CHAPTER TWO
Six weeks later
THE chopper flew out of the sun, past the blade of rock that was Iseo’s Pyramid and low over the line where the cliff met the azure sea. For seconds it hovered effortlessly over the helipad before touching gently down. Rafe watched the descent and landing, knowing who was on board and resenting the intrusion even before the whump whump of the rotors had settled into a whine of engines.
‘Contessa D’Angelo and her daughter, Genevieve, have arrived, Your Highness,’ his aide-de-camp announced, appearing from nowhere with his usual brisk efficiency.
‘So I gathered,’ Rafe answered drily, without putting down the Treasury papers he’d been reading or making any other move to respond. ‘I think I’ll take that second cup of coffee now, Sebastiano.’ He noticed the telltale tic of disapproval in the older man’s cheek even as he complied by pouring a stream of rich black liquid from the silver coffee jug into his cup. So be it. If Sebastiano was so concerned with finding a suitable princess for Montvelatte, he could perform the meet and greets himself. After something like half a dozen potential brides in ten days, Rafe was over it. Besides, he had more important issues on his mind, like solving the principality’s immediate cash crisis. Montvelatte might need an heir to ensure the principality’s future, but there would be no future for any of them if the dire financial straits his half-brothers had landed them in weren’t sorted out and soon.
Sebastiano hovered impatiently while Rafe took a sip of the fragrant coffee.
‘And your guests, Your Highness? Your driver is waiting.’
Rafe took his time replacing the cup on its saucer before leaning back in his chair. ‘Isn’t it time we gave up this wife-hunting charade, Sebastiano? I don’t think I can bear to meet another pretty young thing and her ambitious stage mother.’
‘Genevieve D’Angelo,’ he began, sounding suitably put out on the young woman’s behalf, ‘can hardly be written off as some “pretty young thing”. She has an impeccable background and her family have been nobles for centuries. She is eminently qualified for the role as Montvelatte’s Princess.’
‘And what good is it to be “eminently qualified” if I don’t want her?’
‘How do you know you don’t want her before you’ve even met her?’
Rafe looked up at the older man, his eyes narrowing. Nobody else could get away with such impertinence. Nobody else would even try. But Sebastiano had been in charge of palace administration for something like forty years, and, while he’d been shunted to one side in his half-brothers’ desire to rule unopposed, Rafe credited him with almost certainly being the one thing that had held the principality together during those years of recklessness and financial ineptitude. Not that that meant he had to like what his aide said. ‘I haven’t wanted one of them yet.’
Sebastiano gave an exasperated sigh, his attention on the recently arrived aircraft. ‘We’ve been through this. Montvelatte needs an heir. How are you to achieve this without a wife? We are simply trying to expedite the process.’
‘By turning this island into some kind of ghastly reality game show?’
Sebastiano gave up the fight with a small bow. ‘I’ll inform the Contessa and her daughter you’ll meet them in the library after they’ve freshened up.’ Without waiting for a reply he withdrew as briskly as he’d arrived. Scant seconds later Rafe noticed the golf buggy used to transport travellers between the helipad and the palace heading out along the narrow path.
Rafe sighed. He knew Sebastiano was right, that Montvelatte’s future was insecure without another generation of Lombardis, and that nobody would invest the necessary funds in Montvelatte’s financial reconstruction without a guarantee of the longevity of the island’s status as a principality. But he still didn’t like the implications.
The buggy came to a halt alongside the helicopter where his aide emerged crisp and dapper, stooping under the still-circling blades as he approached before opening the door.
Rafe turned back to his papers and the problem at hand. He had no interest in its passengers: the hopeful mother, the ‘eminently qualified’ daughter. He’d seen the stills, he’d seen the tapes and the two-minute interview, all of which had been provided to give him the opportunity to assess how this particular marriage prospect looked, walked and talked and how she might satisfy at least half the requirements of a future Princess of Montvelatte—that of looking the part. The other half—doing her part—had been apparently already assured by a barrage of eminent medical specialists.
Rafe had no sympathy for these women, these carefully selected marriage prospects, who seemed so keen for the opportunity to parade in front of him like some choice cut of meat. All so they might secure marriage to a near perfect stranger and, through it, the title of princess.
It made no sense to him. What they had subjected themselves to to prove that their families and their past were beyond reproach and that there were no health impediments to both conceiving a child and carrying it to full term, beggared belief.
On the other hand, nobody had dared question his prowess to conceive a child, for despite the scandalous circumstances of his own bastard birth thirty-three years ago, he had the right bloodlines and that, it was deemed, was sufficient.
He would have laughed, if it weren’t the truth. A hitherto unknown prince had appeared on the scene in a blaze of publicity and suddenly everyone wanted a piece of the fairy tale.
Rafe glanced up, noticing Sebastiano’s lips move as he handed the second of the women into the buggy, the silky outfit she was wearing shifting on the breeze, rippling like the sea.
Even from here he could see she was beautiful. Tall, willow slim and every bit as elegant as the photographs and film footage suggested.
But then they were all beautiful.
And he was completely unmoved.
He sighed. Maybe that was one good thing about this search for a princess. At least nobody would labour under the misapprehension that this was a love match. At least he would be spared that.
The woman hesitated a fraction before entering the vehicle and turned her silver-blonde head up towards the palace, scanning from behind her designer sunglasses. Was she looking for him, wondering where he was and whether the snub of not being there to greet her was deliberate? Or was she merely sizing up the real estate?
Rafe drained the last of the thick, rich coffee and collected his papers together. He would have to meet her, he supposed.
He might as well get it over with. But he would talk to Sebastiano and make him see sense. This system of princess hunting that Sebastiano and his team of courtiers had devised was no basis for a marriage. Especially not his.
Over at the helipad the buggy’s cargo was safely loaded, and the buggy was pulling away when the door of the helicopter was thrown open and the pilot jumped out, running out after the vehicle with a small case in his hands.
And it hit Rafe with all the force of a body blow.
Not his hands.
Her hands!
He was on his feet and at the terrace balustrade in an instant, peering harder, squinting against the glare of the sun. It couldn’t be …
But the pilot was definitely a woman, a tight waist and the curve of her hip accentuated by the slim-fitting overalls, and, while sunglasses hid her eyes, her pale skin and the copper-red hair framing her face were both achingly familiar. Then she turned after delivering the bag and a long braid slapped back and forth across her back as though it were a living thing.
Christo!
He pounced on the nearest phone, barking out his first ever order to the Palace Guard, ‘Don’t let that helicopter go!’
Sienna had to get out of here. Her knees were jelly with relief that Rafe hadn’t been there to meet the helicopter, her stomach churned and if she didn’t get off this island in the next thirty seconds she was going to explode. Although, the way her insides felt after that panicked dash to deliver her passenger’s forgotten bag, she might just explode anyway.
Sienna sucked in a deep, and what she hoped was a calming, breath and with clammy hands pulled the door of the chopper shut, clipping on her headset. Thinking he might be there when she landed—dreading it—had put her in a cold sweat the entire flight.
And she was still sweating. It didn’t help that it was so hot today, especially out here on this rocky headland, where the effect of the hot Mediterranean sun was compounded by the way it bounced off the white painted walls that coiled along the narrow road up to the castle like a ribbon. And the castle up the top—the fairy-tale castle that rose out of the rock, ancient and weather-worn and beautiful, the fairy-tale castle now presided over by Prince Raphael, last of the long and illustrious line of Lombardi.
Prince Raphael. Oh, my God, she’d slept with a prince. Royalty. And she’d had no idea. But nobody had back then. It had only been in the days after he’d practically tossed her out of his room that the news of the discovery of a new-found prince for Montvelatte had broken. Sensational news that had rivalled the earlier news of the downfall of the then incumbent and his brother.
And it had seemed as if every newspaper, every magazine and every television programme had been full of the news, digging into the once buried past, and uncovering the story of the young nanny who’d become the Prince’s lover, only to be exiled with a young son and another baby on the way. The coronation that had followed had kept the story alive for weeks.
And his face had been everywhere she’d looked, so there was no hope of forgetting him during the day, no chance of escaping the face that haunted her in her dreams.
He was a prince!
No wonder he’d changed his mind about seeing her again. He would have known what that news report had meant—that he’d have even less reason to slum it with the likes of her.
