A Proposal from the Crown Prince

by Jessica Gilmore

  It felt even more intimate than watching her sleep. He’d moved soundlessly away to pound out his energy on the running machine and made sure to avoid the gym when she was there.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Posy’s soft voice interrupted his reverie and Nico roused himself, glad to shelve his thoughts for the time being.

  ‘Plan? We’re having a spontaneous day out on one of the island’s most famous beauty spots where we may just get photographed having fun, and the photos sold to both demonstrate how respectably in love we are and, conveniently, what a romantic destination the island is.’

  ‘Two-in-one day trip.’

  ‘The best kind.’

  Over the last couple of weeks he and Posy had visited several picturesque spots, the palace PR ensuring that friendly photographers were tipped off as to their whereabouts. He’d taken Posy out to visit some of the enchanting rocky islands that lay less than a mile off L’Isola dei Fiori’s coast, the two of them all too visible on the small sailing boat as they sunbathed, picnicked and kissed. They’d spent a day in San Rocco’s enchanting medieval old town, where they’d wandered hand in hand through the col ourful market. Nico had bought a peach from a delighted stallholder to present to his lady before enjoying the rides at the small carnival, which might keep knuckles unwhitened but held such olde worlde charm. A photo of them embracing by the famous waterfall, said to have been formed from Venus’s tears, went viral almost instantly. The PR team were constantly monitoring all references to the pair and in just over a fortnight the mood had turned from prurient to curiosity and romance. The public were buying it.

  Not only that, but enquiries for accommodation on the island for the next season were already up significantly on this year. The plan was working.

  And in less than a month their engagement would be announced.

  Posy’s whole family had been invited to the September Ball; not only were her parents taking time out of their busy schedule to attend, but all three of her sisters complete with their husbands and fiancés would also be there. ‘We’ll have to fake it like never before,’ she told him when the news was relayed to them. ‘Portia’s the only one who knows the truth and I want to keep it that way. One hint that we’re not in this for real and they’ll whisk me away before you can say royal wedding.’

  ‘You’re an adult,’ he’d protested. ‘They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.’

  ‘I just don’t want them to be disappointed in me.’ But it wasn’t her words that rocked him back on his heels. It was the wistful look in her eyes. She’d agreed to give him three months and he sensed she would keep her word but she was still unconvinced about the marriage, even if she was enjoying some of the benefits of royal life, including a knockout wardrobe. Every time she was photographed looking immaculate it triggered another delivery of clothes. On his aunt’s advice she accepted a few; the rest were sold off to benefit the Del Castros’ chosen charities. But not even the most exquisite dress had made her happier than a box that had arrived from London this morning, a box filled with pale satin shoes with blocked edges. ‘My own shoes,’ she’d gasped, her eyes suspiciously wet. ‘Look, Nico. Pointe shoes.’

  He had managed not to point out that she would have little use for them now. ‘Surely you have hundreds of pairs,’ he’d said instead as she’d picked one of the slender slippers out of the box and cradled it.

  ‘These were made just for me. This is the make I prefer and they’re the perfect fit. We always get several pairs at a time so we can break them in, sew ribbons on, darn them.’ She’d turned the pale satin shoes over in her hands, her fingers caressing them.

  ‘You have to darn them?’ He wasn’t entirely sure what darning even was. ‘Don’t you have people to do that for you?’

  She’d swatted him away, appalled. ‘Every dancer sews and darns her own shoes, no matter who she is.’

  Unnecessary work, antiquated customs, a rigid hierarchy? No wonder she fitted in so well at the palace. Even his grandmother had conceded that Posy had pretty manners, although she was still wary of Posy’s close connection to her great rival.

  Posy shifted in her seat, a sure sign she was about to say something she was unsure would be well received. ‘Nico, I’m arranging for my parents to stay at the Villa Rosa, my sisters too.’

  He kept his eyes on the perilous road. ‘We have plenty of space at the palace.’

  ‘An entire wing’s worth of space, I know. But the Villa Rosa is really special to all my family, all of my sisters stayed there this year, we all love it and, no matter what happens with us, you and me, the villa won’t be part of that. If we...’ She paused. She did that a lot, he’d noticed, happy enough with the present-day deception but unable to talk about their possible future together. ‘If things go the way you’re planning,’ she said instead, ‘then I won’t need the villa. And if we don’t.... If after the three months we decide it’s not working then it would be a little awkward for me to come here to the island for a while, let alone live here. So you can have the villa for your hotel. It needs more spending on it than I could manage and it’s too beautiful for just one person to own. If it’s a hotel then many people will get the opportunity to fall in love with it. But I want one last time there with my family around me.’

  ‘You’re planning to stay there too? Is that wise?’ The island still teemed with journalists and photographers, all eagerly covering this most scandalous of royal relationships, and although that was exactly what Nico had hoped would happen it did mean Posy had no privacy and was followed everywhere she went.

  ‘I think I’ll be okay. It was built to keep out prying eyes, after all, and with my family, my sisters’ partners, Javier’s bodyguards and my own bodyguards I think I might be able to sleep soundly at night. The only thing is...’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘If we were to go ahead and marry then the villa can be my engagement gift to you,’ she said in a rush. ‘I have nothing else suitable. I mean, what do you buy a man who has everything he needs?’ The words shot through him piercing and cold. Everything he needed? Materially yes. Physically Nico knew he was blessed with good genes, a strong body, better than average brains. But everything? He’d put his research aside the day Alessandro died. And, he realised, there was no one who cared if he lived or died save what it meant to the island’s succession. After all, his own mother hadn’t seen him in two years.

  ‘But if we don’t you want compensating? That seems fair.’

  ‘Thank you. I wouldn’t ask but the villa is all I have.’

  ‘You could sell your story. You’d make your fortune.’

  She turned to face him then, eyes wide with indignation. ‘I could what? I can’t believe you would even think that I would do that to you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first.’ Nico could hear the bitterness coating his voice and forced himself to lighten up. ‘Or even the second.’

  He started as she laid a cool hand on his arm. ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s probably easier to tell you who didn’t,’ he said, keeping his voice light. ‘There’s quite a list, starting with the first girl I slept with, my first girlfriend at MIT, several of the girls I dated since. More than several.’ The latter didn’t matter. Once Nico had worked out that it was his name, his title that attracted the girls the later betrayal was inevitable. It was the first two that really had got him. He’d thought that they were real, that they saw beyond the image, beyond the Prince.

  ‘Oh, don’t look so horrified,’ he said, glancing over with a grin. ‘It goes with the territory. A family with my reputation is always in the headlines. Might as well make sure it’s for the fun we had rather than the fun we didn’t have. Why do you think we investigated you so thoroughly? Made sure there was nothing in your past to hurt you? The last thing you needed was the I deflowered Princess Posy up against the ballet barre headlines. L
uckily your relationships were not only brief but you chose well. None of the gentlemen concerned are at all interested in speaking to the press.’

  ‘It wasn’t against the barre, thank you very much,’ Posy protested and, as he’d intended, she stopped looking at him with soulful, sad eyes.

  His relief was short-lived.

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The first?’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, hoping she’d take the hint, but although he steadfastly refused to look at her and she didn’t speak he could feel her gaze, compassionate and curious. He sighed. ‘She was French, a friend of my cousin’s on my mother’s side. She was a couple of years older than me, a model, had acted in a couple of films in a semi-unclad love-interest way. I was sixteen. Obviously I was besotted. She went back to France, released a single and made sure she got all the publicity she needed.’

  ‘What did your family say?’

  ‘My grandfather called me a true Del Castro, my father mentioned he’d have liked to have known her better himself, my uncle told me I was a disgrace and a reprobate. All the women pretended it had never happened. A standard Del Castro scandal.’

  ‘What did Alessandro say?’

  Nico’s chest tightened as the heaviness of grief descended once more. Even after two years it was never far away. ‘That he was sorry this had happened to me.’

  ‘Me too, although she sounds like a right cow and you were definitely better off without her.’

  He couldn’t help smiling at the indignation in Posy’s voice. ‘I know that now, I knew that when I was seventeen, but at sixteen? Then I thought my heart was broken.’

  Not broken, just cracked a little. Then cracked again and once again until he’d simply hardened it so no betrayal could ever hurt him again.

  ‘What about Alessandro?’

  ‘What about him?’ he asked warily.

  ‘He was a Del Castro too. Did no one he ever dated or slept with sell their story? I mean, he was what? Thirty-one, thirty-two when he died and single? There must have been something scandalous.’

  ‘No, not really.’ He paused, inhaled and then said the words he had never said to another living soul. ‘Alessandro fell in love when he was seventeen and as far as I know was completely faithful until the day he died.’

  ‘He...he was? But why on earth wasn’t he married? I mean, if a complete commoner like me is an acceptable wife then surely...’ She stopped and when he risked a quick look she was staring at him, comprehension on her face. ‘It wasn’t a she, was it?’

  ‘Guido,’ he confirmed. ‘He’s a Captain in the Guard. I’ll introduce you. You’ll like him.’

  ‘Who knew?’

  ‘Me. No one else as far as I know. Guido knew that if it got out he’d lose his job, Alessandro that the scandal might be too much even for L’Isola dei Fiori.’

  ‘Scandal? I can see it might have caused a stir...’

  ‘This isn’t London, Posy. This is a small, religious, deeply conservative island. It’s improving, becoming more tolerant but we don’t yet have equal marriage—that’s something I hope to change one day. So the chances of them accepting a gay king? Right now that’s inconceivable.’

  ‘What was he planning to do?’

  ‘He was hoping to abdicate.’

  ‘What was stopping him? I can see your uncle would have been upset but surely that was better than living a lie?’

  ‘Me,’ he said bleakly. ‘I was stopping him. He knew how much I hated the duties and responsibilities that come with being a Del Castro, knew that the last thing I wanted was to be King. He kept steeling himself to break up with Guido, to marry and get an heir to let me off the succession hook but he always found a reason to put it off for another year. I knew how miserable he was at the thought of marriage but I never told him it was okay, never accepted my role as his heir.’ His smile was tight. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Here I am anyway and yet he never had that peace of mind. I never gave him that peace of mind. Now Guido mourns, unacknowledged and alone, and I’m Crown Prince anyway. Alessandro’s sacrifice was for nothing.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  POSY SEARCHED FOR words of comfort and came up blank. This was beyond her world, beyond her knowledge. She’d been a guest at several gay weddings, attended christenings for the offspring of same-sex parents; it was easy to forget that not every couple, every person had that acceptance, that in some families, in some places, who you loved could still be considered a sin, was still thought wrong.

  ‘I’d love to meet Guido.’ It was all she could think of to say and it was nowhere near enough. Poor Alessandro, caught between duty and the man he loved—and poor Nico, knowing that a word from him might free his cousin and yet unable to utter it, to take on that burden willingly.

  ‘I’ll organise dinner in a few nights’ time.’

  ‘Good.’ She stared out at the scenery, heart aching. In a few minutes they would pull up somewhere beautiful and hold hands, laugh, gaze soulfully at each other, kiss...usually she quite enjoyed it. Nico was fun to be with, attentive—and lovely to kiss. It wasn’t exactly a chore, more a perfectly choreographed performance. But right now the thought of the pretence sickened her. ‘Can we do something else?’ She turned to him, not even knowing what she was going to say until the words came out. ‘Something you love? Something for us, not for the cameras?’

  Something for us. She cringed inside as the words echoed through her brain in all their neediness but Nico didn’t comment, just gave her a quick hard look then nodded.

  Posy sat back and stared out at the scenery but, even though the sun reflected off the impossibly blue sea and a company of gannets rose high in the distance before plummeting deep into the watery depths, she barely noticed the wild beauty.

  Nico had just shared something of himself with her.

  Her stomach twisted and she turned to stare fixedly out of the window, hoping her face didn’t betray her thoughts. She’d known him for just over a fortnight, plunged straight into this unnatural intimacy, all their spare time spent together, their nights.

  Heat pooled deep down and her hands tightened their grip on her bag. Oh, dear God, the nights. Nothing in her admittedly limited experience had prepared her for those...

  She’d only had a few brief relationships, unwilling to spend frivolously time that could be used to improve her dancing, and had met them all through work. She’d liked them well enough but once the first ‘butterflies and speeded heart rate’ stage had passed she’d had little incentive to keep the relationships going; and nice as the physical side had been it hadn’t compared with the adrenaline rush of being on stage. Nice. Such a telling word. And nothing about this situation was nice.

  It wasn’t that Nico was ever anything but polite and attentive, because he was both of those things. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel attracted to him because—oh, my goodness—she really was. But polite and attraction weren’t enough to stake her life on. Her future.

  She’d agreed to the three months. Agreed to keep an open mind as to their future and she’d meant it. She had no other pressing options so why not see how a permanent role on L’Isola dei Fiori worked out? But open-minded or not she hadn’t really—didn’t really—expect that at the end of the three months she was going to say yes. Because that would be insane.

  And that was an easy decision to make and keep to while Nico stayed being perfectly polite—even if just the thought of the sex made her toes curl and her throat close up. But when he opened up, revealed something personal, confided in her? Well, that shed a new light on everything, on him, on the darkness inside him, a light Posy desperately didn’t want or need. Because she could survive this, she could walk away head high, as long as her heart was intact. But she was a mere novice at this game and too many conversations like the one the
y’d just had, too much intimacy? That would make things very difficult for her indeed.

  ‘We’re nearly there.’

  ‘Great.’ She grimaced as her voice came out more like a squeak than the casual, relaxed tone she’d been aiming for. She straightened and looked around. Nico had taken her inland, back into the national park although it wasn’t a part she recognised, wooded and far nearer the mountains than the Villa Rosa. He pulled off the road and drove down the kind of unmade track that would be uncomfortable in a four-by-four but was teeth-rattling in a low sports car. Posy hung onto the door and gritted her teeth, blowing out a heartfelt sigh of relief when he finally pulled to a stop under some trees. They were in a car park of sorts, grassy and unmarked, but several other cars were parked there in an orderly fashion and a definite path led off from one side.

  Posy opened her door cautiously, searching for a clue as to where they were or what they were there to do. Nico’s whole demeanour seemed lighter, freer, as he swung himself out of the car, eyes lit up with excitement, more like the teasing, carefree man she’d met in the sea rather than the dutiful, honourable Prince. Her heart stuttered. ‘Careful, Posy,’ she muttered. That teasing, carefree man had led her into trouble once before...

  The four-by-four that held her two bodyguards and Nico’s own detail pulled into the car park behind them. It was funny how quickly she forgot to notice them, not even aware of their constant presence on their tail. Nico held up a hand to tell them to stay where they were and to her surprise they obeyed with no more remonstration than a sharp look. Obviously this was somewhere Nico came often. Somewhere considered safe.

  ‘This way.’ He paused only to lock the car before setting off at a pace down the grassy track. Posy had dressed with care for the day’s visible date wandering through one of L’Isola dei Fiori’s picturesque villages, purchasing some souvenirs from the wood carver and lunch in the village square, and so was wearing an orange silk skirt that flared out to her knees and a white, sleeveless, broderie anglaise blouse, block-heeled sandals on her feet. Hardly an outfit for a woodland walk. She paused for a moment and then followed him. A ruined pair of shoes was a small price to pay for a day away from the cameras.