‘No, but I don’t suppose that makes any difference. Do you do this every evening?’
‘Dine in state? No, thank goodness, only when we have guests, which is far too often for my liking, special occasions or when the family needs to meet, but we’re just as likely to dine informally in our rooms.’
‘Thank goodness. I’m not sure I can eat much in this dress, it’s so tight. I’d fade away if I had to dress up like this every night.’
‘My mother said formal meals here were the best dieting technique she’d ever found. If it was a busy week with too many dinners then she would usually order a supper in her rooms afterwards.’ As he finished speaking they reached the double doors heralding the entrance to the dining room. Footmen stood at attention on either side and, after a respectful nod, one stepped forward and opened the doors. ‘His Royal Highness Prince Nicolas and Miss Rosalind Marlowe.’
Posy’s grip tightened on his arm but that was the only outward sign of any concern as she moved in perfect time with him, her face relaxed, smiling politely. She had this, thanks to years of stage training. No matter how nervous she was she knew how to perform. Something his tempestuous mother had never understood.
The tension in his chest lightened. Posy might not have been the obvious choice for his consort but maybe his moment of madness might just work out after all.
The vast dining room was as intimidating as it could be, every chandelier lit and blazing, lighting up the green walls, which were hung with grim still lives mostly featuring dead poultry artfully arranged by a jug or bowls of rotting fruit. Nico and Alessandro had never understood why such off-putting pictures had been hung in a room where people ate—Alessandro had always sworn that when he was king every still life in the palace would be donated to a museum far, far away. The light picked up the gilt edging on the ceiling plasterwork, throwing the various rioting cherubs into hideous relief. Not that things got any better at floor level. The long table was fully made up, crystal candlesticks clashing with the gold cutlery and plates. His family sat like glowering statues at the far end. His uncle upright and unsmiling in the throne-like chair at the head of the table, his aunt at his left and his grandmother to his right.
Nico wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved that they were evidently dining en famille this evening. There would be no one outside the family witnessing Posy’s first encounter with the Del Castros—but at the same time all gloves would be off. He halted a few steps into the room and bowed stiffly, Posy, less than a second behind him, falling into a graceful curtsey. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘Sit down, Nico. Next to your aunt. Miss Marlowe, please.’ His uncle gestured to his right and a footman pulled out the chair next to his grandmother. Posy hesitated for one moment and then with a nod let go of his arm and walked over to the chair, seating herself smoothly with a polite nod and a quiet but clear and steady, ‘Good evening, Your Majesties. It’s nice to meet you.’ Impressive. His admiration for her courage shot up another notch.
The first few courses went surprisingly well. Posy had excellent table manners and, although she was hardly talkative, she answered any questions put to her with a quiet confidence Nico hadn’t expected and the conversation remained on general lines, probing a little into Posy’s family and evolving into a discussion about ballet, luckily one of his grandmother’s passions. It wasn’t until the fruit, cheese and biscuits were served and the footmen waved away that things took a more personal turn.
‘So, Nico. I see you behaved in your usual headlong fashion.’ His uncle peered at him disapprovingly. ‘Am I to understand that you plan to marry this girl?’
‘It seems the best option.’
‘Hardly the behaviour of the future Queen of L’Isola dei Fiori, is it? Romping naked on the beach with a perfect stranger. I am right in thinking you didn’t know each other before yesterday?’ His uncle had turned purple. He’d obviously been suppressing his feelings throughout the meal and now, typically, he was erupting with rage.
Posy flushed scarlet and his grandmother set down her cheese knife decisively. Beside him his aunt continued selecting grapes as if nothing was amiss. This was how it always was, the pair of them living parallel lives, never allowing the other to affect them in any way. Nico had never known what was worse—the passion between his parents, which had swung such a fine line between love and hate, or this icy politeness. He’d just known he’d wanted neither. Del Castros weren’t known for their happy marriages.
‘No. You’re not right. Posy and I have known each other for some weeks now.’ Nico ignored his grandmother’s raised eyebrows and Posy’s hastily muffled splutter and smiled pleasantly at his grandfather. ‘Her sister married Javier Russo earlier this year. You remember Javier, don’t you, Aunt Katerina?’
‘Of course. Such a nice boy. He was always such a good friend to Alessandro.’ Unlike Nico, she managed to imply without as much as a look in his direction.
His uncle glowered in a way that showed he was still to be convinced. ‘What? Where? Thought you were in Boston all spring and summer.’
‘I was but I headed to London for a few days.’ This was true and luckily Javier and Portia had been there at the same time. His old friend had phoned him a couple of hours ago and, once he’d got his quite considerable feelings about the situation Nico had put his sister-in-law in off his chest, he and Nico had concocted a story that would hopefully stand up to scrutiny. It was quite plausible he and Posy could have met earlier this year. ‘We were introduced then and...erm...fell in love. Didn’t we, Posy?’ He raised his glass to her. She narrowed her eyes at him while picking up her own glass and matching his toast.
‘It seemed impossible though. Not only does Nico have his duties here but we were both so busy, Nico in Boston...’
‘Finishing my MBA,’ he supplied and she thanked him with a swift smile.
‘And of course dancing is so all-consuming, we didn’t think we would be able to see each other again. But we kept in touch and Nico persuaded me to take a sabbatical and spend a few months on the island as I already own a house here. So we could see if what we had was strong enough. Especially with the, ah, personal connection, we knew any relationship between us would cause some upset.’ She shot an apologetic look at Nico’s grandmother Nico could swear was genuine. ‘Unfortunately we were outed before we could talk to our families. I’m sorry for any embarrassment my actions have brought on the family. This was exactly the kind of situation we were trying to avoid.’
‘Our feelings were just too strong,’ Nico said helpfully, enjoying how quickly Posy had taken his story and run with it. There was a flicker of that same smile again before she lowered her eyes, the picture of contriteness.
‘You’ll have to behave with perfect decorum from now on,’ his aunt said. ‘All eyes will be on you, waiting for you to slip up. Vincenzo and I have worked hard to stop the Del Castro name being a byword for scandal and profligacy. I would hate for all our work to have been in vain. This is exactly the kind of situation which could have been avoided. It’s your grandfather all over again. Or your father. If he’d shown some sense and decorum then he’d be here right now, but even in his death he brought shame on the family and on your poor mother.’
Nico sensed his grandmother tense and his grip tightened on his wine glass. His uncle got angry and said exactly what was on his mind no matter how offensive, but Nico would rather that than listen to his aunt’s colourless voice dripping poison. How she had managed to birth and raise a sweet-tempered, warm-hearted boy like Alessandro he had no idea. All he knew was that since her beloved son’s death she was worse than ever, especially where he was concerned.
He swallowed. ‘We have no intention of behaving in any other way,’ he said tightly.
‘The PR department are all over it,’ his uncle cut in. ‘The two of you have a full diary of engagements designed to show you in love and committed, s
ome personal, some formal, including the September ball in five weeks’ time. We will announce your engagement that evening.’
Posy’s surprised gaze flew to meet his at the pronouncement. Nico tried to smile reassuringly at her but it was hard to muster the enthusiasm. He could feel the bars closing in, smothering him. Duty, country, family. Everything he was, everything he wanted irrelevant—and he’d be dragging the elfin girl opposite down with him.
* * *
‘So we’re in love, are we?’ Posy kicked off the too tight heels with an inward sigh of relief and turned to glare at Nico, who was leaning against her wall, arms folded and navy eyes gleaming with sardonic humour.
‘Madly.’
‘It was a good save,’ she admitted. ‘It would have been nice to have had a heads-up though.’
‘You didn’t need it. That was a very impressive show you put on there.’
‘Good to know all those character, improvisation and mime classes came in handy. When did you speak to Javier?’
‘Just before I escorted you to dinner. He and Portia had planned it all. They were just checking dates to make sure we wouldn’t get caught out. He texted me while we were at dinner to let me know it was a go. I would have warned you it was a possibility only I didn’t want to raise your hopes. I didn’t expect my uncle to be quite so direct. No, that’s not quite true, I did expect it. I just hoped he might show some better manners.’
‘No, he was justified in what he said.’ Posy realised how very tired she was, the adrenaline that had kept her alert draining away and with it all her energy. She collapsed onto the sofa, the folds of her dress frothing up around her. ‘I did behave badly. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like that before.’
‘You didn’t act alone. And, Posy. Don’t let anyone make you feel that last night was wrong or sordid. The person who sold those photos is the one who should be ashamed.’
‘Right up until I saw those photos it was the most beautiful moment of my life. The one and only time I acted on instinct, without thinking.’ Had she just said that out loud? She cringed, more exposed than when she had seen him in the water and realised she wasn’t alone in the evening sea.
Nico didn’t respond immediately, his face carefully blank, and Posy searched for something to say to lighten her statement. Beautiful moment? What had she been thinking? He pushed off the wall and walked purposefully over to her, taking her hands in his.
‘We’re in this together. It’s not what either of us wanted but I won’t let you face it alone. And not just because your brother-in-law thinks he’s a Hollywood hard man.’
Posy inhaled, the pressure of his fingers entwined in hers a strange comfort. She looked at him, at the sharp lines of his face, the long-lashed eyes, and her stomach folded. He was the most glorious man she had ever seen, strong and solid with a mouth made for sin. And he was both hers and not hers. Possibly, if she agreed, her partner in a pas de deux for life and yet it would always be for show, every step a fake. ‘How can you face it? An arranged marriage? Don’t you want to fall in love?’
‘Do you?’ he countered.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it before my sisters married. My life was so full, so busy. Love was a distraction.’ But it was a whole other thing to take it completely off the table, to promise to be faithful to a man who didn’t want her love, who didn’t love her.
‘It’s all a gamble, Posy. My parents married for love, my aunt and uncle because she had the right name and the right fortune but they had no shared interests, nothing beyond a tepid liking. Neither couple managed anything close to happiness. It’s not easy, life here. Common goals, a common duty, these are the ways to survive a life in the spotlight. It’s hard enough without adding emotion into it. But I think we might have respect. Liking. Attraction.’ His eyes darkened on the last word and her chest tightened. ‘We have that, don’t we?’
It was too late for coyness, for denial. She felt him with every part of her whenever he was near her; she tingled with awareness of him. Her mouth remembered the taste of him, salt sweet on the tip of her tongue, her hands knew the feel of him, the play of muscles under her hand, the strength of him. Her breasts ached with the memory of his touch, his kiss. Her throat was thick with need, with wanting. He was the one constant, the one bridge between the Posy she was and the Posy she was going to have to be and she wanted to hold on, to lose herself in him.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I think we do.’
‘We have to play at being in love.’ His thumb was moving, caressing the sensitive spot at her wrist, and a jolt shot through her at the contact. ‘We might as well enjoy it. Put on a good show.’
‘I think we already did that.’ It was hard to formulate the words while his thumb made those lazy circles, while his eyes smiled at her with such intent.
‘You’ll have to hold my hand, kiss me, laugh at my jokes. Gaze at me adoringly.’
‘Luckily I’m a good actress so I might manage that.’ She gasped as his hand slipped lower, his thumb caressing her entire forearm now. How could one touch on one small area of skin set her whole body alight like this? Sparks were fizzing around her veins, fireworks going off with each swirl.
‘We might want to practise.’
‘The laughing?’ Posy had no idea how she was managing to speak when all her mouth wanted to do was find his.
‘The kissing.’
She couldn’t answer; all words were gone. She was incapable of thought, of anything but feeling as his hands slipped up her arms to her shoulders, one feather-light touch stroking her throat, and she arched like a satisfied cat before finally his mouth was on hers, as warm and demanding and sweet as she remembered, his body pressing on hers with a glorious heaviness. Posy’s hands buried themselves in the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer until she wasn’t sure where she began, where he ended, pulling impatiently at layers of clothes, wriggling out of that darn, tight-as-a-glove dress until finally there was nothing separating them. Finally she could surrender to his hands, his mouth, the demand of her body as she soared higher than she ever had before, all memories obliterated by the here and now.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS ONLY early September and already change was in the air. The sun was setting a little later, the evenings were that little cooler, the wind whipping their faces and ruffling Posy’s hair had an unexpected bite unthinkable even a few days earlier.
Nico steered his sports car around one of the island’s famous hairpin bends, the mountains rearing up on one side, the sea a dizzying drop below on the other. Posy leaned back in her seat, a relaxed smile on her face, her eyes hidden by huge sunglasses—and if her knuckles were a little white then that was only to be expected. The mountain drive could test the hardiest of nerves.
It was a good thing he was keeping his eyes on the road and not on the enticing dip in her sundress. His own test of nerves.
They were supposed to be in love and, Nico supposed, lust came close. He hadn’t expected this to happen, even after the circumstances of their first encounter. He’d told himself that Posy needed time to adjust to their situation, that it would be wrong to let her think he could or would give her more than affection and respect. He’d reminded himself how much less experienced she was than him and that he absolutely mustn’t take advantage of that—but she’d looked so lost, so alone, so vulnerable when she’d told him that their night together had been beautiful, that he’d ached to comfort her the only way he knew how. He might still have held back, done the right thing, if she hadn’t looked at him with need in those big eyes, if her skin hadn’t been so soft under his touch.
He didn’t know if the physical intimacy made things easier or harder. He did know that now they’d started it seemed silly to stop. Everyone in the palace expected him to spend the night in her roo
ms. It would cause unwanted gossip and speculation if he stayed away.
So he didn’t. And although he still didn’t know her favourite food or book or movie he did know the way she liked to be kissed, to be touched. He knew that she slept splayed out like a child, somehow managing to take up far more than her fair share of both bed and covers; he knew the way she eased into the day, a minute at a time. He knew how she looked in the middle of the night, eyes closed, lips parted, totally relaxed.
It was unnerving, knowing so much about a person. Even more unnerving to realise she must know the same things about him. That there must be times when she watched him sleep, saw him vulnerable and unaware.
Everything he was trying to avoid.
The days were a little easier. He had his work: meeting with consultants, tour companies and investors, as well as the more ceremonial side of his role and the other demands the palace loaded onto his increasingly heavy schedule. Posy was still a guest in the palace but, once the September Ball was held and their engagement announced, she would have a few carefully selected and managed public appearances. For now her stay in the palace was being treated as a ‘family affair’. Not that she was on any kind of holiday. The time she didn’t spend with him on an orchestrated ‘date’ she spent being educated in everything from the correct way to address a diplomat’s mother to Italian lessons to an intensive course in L’Isola dei Fiori history, geography and customs.
She bore the intense workload without grumbling—as she explained to him she was used to early mornings and to being in class at least eight hours a day. As long as she wasn’t expected to stay still for too long she could cope with hours of instruction and when it got too much she, like him, escaped to the gym. More than once he found her there, engrossed in her stretches and exercises, completely unaware of his presence as she moved her body through routines she obviously knew as instinctively as language. The first time Nico came across her he watched for a while as she stood, straight-backed, feet apart, one hand steadying itself on the rail, the other curved in front, balanced on one impossibly slim, impossibly strong leg, the other raised at an impossible angle.
A Proposal from the Crown Prince Page 9