Prince's Virgin In Venice

by Trish Morey

  Vittorio picked it up. Roberto was right. Rosa looked like a younger version of Maria. He touched a finger to her cheek and growled softly in the night. Soon she would be his. Soon there would be no more room for playing this game of look-but-don’t-touch. Soon they would share a bed and much, much more.

  And he thought of what Rosa’s father had said to him, ‘You will never be bored.’

  He believed him.

  But, Dio, meanwhile he burned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  VITTORIO DIDN’T HAVE time to visit Andachstein and deliver the news to his father personally, but he was selfish enough not to want to miss his reaction when he heard the details of his marriage. He had Enrico set his father up to expect a video call the evening they returned to Venice.

  At the appointed time Vittorio called, and a few moments later his father appeared on his screen, waving away his secretary. ‘Yes, yes, I can manage this now, Enrico.’

  Vittorio smiled. ‘I’ve got news, Father.’

  Guglielmo grunted as he turned his attention to the screen, and Vittorio could see his patience was already wearing thin.

  ‘There’s only one piece of news I’m interested in hearing, so this had better be good.’

  ‘Then you’re in luck. I’m getting married.’

  ‘Huh,’ he snorted. ‘About time. I was hoping I might finally hear something once I had Enrico draw up that list. Who is it, then? Or have you finally managed to sort out your differences with the Contessa.’

  ‘I’m not marrying Sirena.’ The words were more satisfying than he’d expected. Far more satisfying.

  ‘No?’ The old Prince rubbed his jaw. ‘I’m not sure how Sebastiano is going to take that.’

  His father’s surprise quickly turned to resignation, as Vittorio had suspected it would. Prince Guglielmo’s friend’s disappointment was not his most pressing concern. Getting his son married and producing heirs was. Just who provided those heirs was incidental.

  ‘Then who is the lucky woman?’

  ‘Her name is Rosa Ciavarro.’

  His father frowned. ‘I don’t recall seeing anyone on Enrico’s list by the name of Ciavarro.’

  ‘She wasn’t on Enrico’s list. Her family come from the village of Zecce in the south of Italy.’

  ‘A village, you say? Then who is her father?’

  ‘Roberto Ciavarro.’

  His father shook his head and looked even more perplexed. Vittorio smiled. He could enjoy letting his father fruitlessly search for connections, but then again there would also be a great deal of satisfaction in revealing the truth.

  ‘I believe he runs the local gas station and motor vehicle repair shop. I hear his speciality is servicing Piaggio Apes.’

  Colour flooded his father’s cheeks, but to his credit he didn’t blow. He was used to being baited by his son.

  Vittorio let the news sink in for a second, before he offered, ‘Apes are those three-wheel trucks that zip down the narrow laneways carrying produce to market.’

  ‘I know what they are!’ his father growled, and his son could almost feel the old man’s temperature escalate. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot.’

  The old man looked upwards to the ceiling, almost as if he was hoping for divine intervention. When that didn’t come, he sighed. ‘So tell me,’ he said, with the air of someone who couldn’t be shocked any more than he already had been, ‘what does this Rosa do?’

  ‘She works in a hotel in Venice.’

  His father swallowed, looking pained. ‘Dare I ask in what capacity?’

  ‘She’s a maid. A cleaner.’

  Closed eyes met that response, along with lips pressed together tightly before they parted enough to say, ‘A peasant. You want to marry a peasant. Is this some kind of joke?’

  Vittorio knew that he’d well and truly blown that part of his brief. His bride was supposed to be the right kind of woman—someone eligible, from their own social strata, and preferably from the list Enrico had drawn up.

  ‘Because I can tell you it’s not funny from where I’m sitting. Can’t you for once be serious about your responsibilities?’

  Vittorio bristled. ‘I’ve never been more serious about anything, Father. I’m going to marry Rosa.’

  His father threw up his hands. ‘What on earth for? I suppose you’re going to get stars in your eyes and tell me you love the girl.’

  ‘Of course I don’t love her. When did this family ever marry for love?’

  Guglielmo snorted. It was an agreement of sorts. An acknowledgement of the root cause of all that had been wrong with Vittorio’s family. The age-old resentment that lay festering in Vittorio’s gut sent up curling tendrils of bitterness. When had love ever come into anything this family did?

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because she’s pregnant.’

  His father shrugged, waving one hand in the air. ‘Is that all? It happens. One might say with someone of your ilk it’s an occupational hazard. You have the morals of a common alley cat, after all.’

  ‘Perhaps, given my title, not quite so common.’

  ‘Might as well be.’ The aging Prince sniffed. ‘Anyway, a mere pregnancy still doesn’t mean you have to marry the wench. An heir is no good to us if it turns out to be a g—’

  ‘She’s having a boy.’

  For the first time Vittorio saw his father pause and show just the slightest modicum of interest. The older man’s eyes narrowed as he wheeled back, his gimlet eyes focused hard on his screen as he stroked his beard again. ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘That’s what the blood test results said.’

  His father sighed and rested his head on his hand. ‘But still...a commoner. A peasant, no less.’

  ‘This is the twenty-first century, Father—think about it. The press will lap it up. It’s a fairy-tale romance: the Prince and the maid...the ordinary girl who becomes a princess. And a royal baby as the icing on the cake. It’s got newspapers and women’s magazines across the world written all over it. And when has Andachstein ever had such good press coverage? Think what it will do for our economy. Our hotels and casinos will be filled to overflowing.’

  ‘They’re already filled in summer.’

  ‘We’ll build more, and those will be full in winter too.’

  His father continued to trouble his neat white triangle of a beard, his expression conflicted, before his chin suddenly went up, jerking his beard out of his fingers. ‘Do you have a picture of this girl?’

  Vittorio pulled out his phone, finding the picture of Rosa he hadn’t been able to resist taking that day on the gondola—the one with her dark eyes lit up and her cupid’s-bow lips smiling, the wind scattering tendrils of her dark hair across her face. It was a picture that showed Rosa in all her unguarded beauty, raw and innocent—though he knew that she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared.

  He’d seen to that.

  He held it to the screen, saw his father’s eyes narrowing as he surveyed the photo, his fingers now more contemplative on his neat beard, and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she’d just passed one almighty test. Clearly his father agreed that Rosa would at least pass muster as a princess.

  ‘She’ll need instruction,’ his father decreed. ‘In grooming and, no doubt, in deportment. And she’ll need education on the history of the principality and her future role and duties within it.’

  Vittorio nodded as he pocketed the phone. ‘She’ll get it.’

  ‘She’s got a lot to catch up on before she can be let loose in public.’

  ‘I said, she’ll get it.’

  ‘See that she does. I mean...’ his father sighed before continuing ‘...a simple girl, plucked from a village...’

  ‘Did I say she was simple?’

  His father paused. ‘You’re right. She managed to get herself pregnant by a princ
e, didn’t she?’

  It was Vittorio’s turn to shake his head. ‘Father, for the record, she had no idea I was a prince. And she didn’t get herself pregnant. I got her pregnant.’

  Guglielmo waved his hand in the air dismissively. ‘Yes, yes, a technicality. But it happened, and it proves she’s a breeder. At least that takes care of who you’re going to marry.’

  Vittorio couldn’t prevent the smile that followed his dinosaur of a father’s words. ‘Was that congratulations, Father? Because I can almost believe you consented to this marriage.’

  The old Prince sniffed as he looked away from the screen and started shuffling his papers.

  ‘I agree to this marriage,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Given that it is the only option I am apparently going to be presented with. But that does not mean I have to celebrate it.’ He looked back at the screen, a look of confusion on his face, and then he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Enrico! How do I turn this cursed contraption off?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ROSA WAS ALMOST looking forward to the next few weeks of wedding planning. She’d called Chiara while Vittorio was speaking with his father and given her the news, asking her to be her bridesmaid. She imagined they’d spend evenings together in their apartment, poring over bridal designs. She even entertained tentative plans to sew her own gown. There was enough time, if she could settle on a design and find the right fabric. And if her mother couldn’t be there in person, Rosa felt, then at least her sewing machine could provide the magical means of sewing Rosa’s wedding gown together.

  But it seemed things didn’t operate that way when you were going to marry a prince.

  Vittorio returned from his call, looking smug and well satisfied, and announced that her time was up. He was moving her into the palazzo the very next day, in preparation for the wedding and her move to Andachstein.

  Rosa dug her heels in. ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘There’s every reason why. Because you’re now my fiancée, and I can’t guarantee your safety while you stay in that basement hovel you call a home.’

  ‘Safety?’ she said, really wishing her voice hadn’t squeaked.

  ‘You’re going to be a princess, Rosa. As soon as the official announcement is made you’re going to have people lining up wanting a piece of you. Reporters, the paparazzi, even conmen. All sorts of hangers-on.’

  Maybe he was laying it on thick, but he hadn’t been in a very good mood lately, and she had a lot to do with that.

  ‘I’ve tolerated your obstinacy long enough. I can’t protect you while you live in the basement of a hotel, where anyone and everyone can just walk in unchallenged. You’ll be safer here.’

  ‘I don’t call it obstinacy. I call it independence.’

  ‘Call it what you like. It’s coming to an end. You’re moving into the palazzo.’

  ‘What about Chiara?’ Rosa said, because there was no way she wanted to be in the sprawling palazzo alone with Vittorio but for a sprinkling of staff. It wasn’t as if she had super powers. There was no way she was going to be able to stick to her guns and resist him until the wedding without help.

  ‘If it means you’ll do what I ask,’ he conceded grumpily, ‘then Chiara can come too.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were asking.’ She sniffed. ‘It sounded more like an order to me.’

  He cursed under his breath. Dio, a man needed the patience of Job. But then, hadn’t her father and brothers warned him?

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘that’s the first thing.’

  ‘There’s more?’

  ‘I’ve organised sketches from some of the best designers to be delivered, so you can work out who you’d like to design and create your gown.’

  ‘What if I want to make it myself?’

  ‘Come on, Chiara—this isn’t some cheap knock-off you’ll be wearing when you walk down the aisle. This is going to be televised all over Europe and possibly the world. Do you want that kind of pressure?’

  ‘I don’t make cheap knock-offs.’

  He held up his hands. ‘Fine. Only I don’t think you’re going to have much free time in the next few weeks anyway.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, her arms crossed against her chest. ‘When you’ve already made me give up my job?’

  ‘Because Enrico—my father’s secretary—is preparing several volumes for you to study on the history, constitution and governance of Andachstein.’

  ‘That sounds like bags of fun.’

  ‘You’ll need to be familiar with it all by the time you’re required to attend and speak at official functions.’

  ‘What functions?’ She hadn’t spoken in public since she’d been at school, and even in front of her school friends she’d been a bundle of nerves.

  ‘Lots of them. The people have missed having a princess. My mother was patron of the children’s hospital and at least a dozen other charitable organisations besides. You’ll be expected to fill that role.’

  She kicked up her chin. ‘So I agree to marry you and I lose my life.’

  ‘It’s not all bad, Rosa,’ he said, gritting his teeth. ‘You gain me.’

  ‘Huh,’ she said, and turned away.

  It wasn’t an easy thing to do. She’d fallen a little bit in love with him that magical night of Carnevale and nothing had changed that. Not the fact that he’d disappeared for six weeks, because he’d been honest about that. And not the fact that he’d quietly neglected to inform her that he was a prince until it was too late and she’d already discovered she was pregnant.

  Because she hadn’t fallen a little bit in love with a prince. She’d fallen for the man. Vittorio. And lately he reminded her more and more of how he’d been that night. There was an edge to him, magnetic and powerful, bordering on dangerous, and the knowledge that she’d put it there by defying him was exciting. Intoxicating.

  She didn’t need an aphrodisiac. She still dreamed of him at night, still replayed their love scenes, every touch and every sound. She still longed to make love to him again and again.

  But she wanted all of him this time. She didn’t just want his lust. She wanted his affection. More than that, she yearned for his love.

  Come the wedding, she would be bound to him. They would be man and wife under the sight of God and she would take her place in the marital bed. And she would enjoy it.

  But for now the only thing she had control of, the only ace she had up her sleeve, was her resolve to keep Vittorio at arm’s length. So he might look beyond the sex and see the woman she was.

  * * *

  If Vittorio had thought having Rosa residing in the palazzo might weaken her resolve and make her more accessible and more amenable to his affections, and if he’d thought he might pay her a little nocturnal visit, he had another think coming.

  Rosa and Chiara were moving in amidst a whirl of excitement—mostly on Chiara’s part. She was running up and down the stairs, shrieking at just about everything. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d thought the move was taking longer than he’d expected, and he’d gone to see what was happening, and found his staff carrying beds around.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ he bellowed as he watched them grappling with an ancient four-poster bed.

  ‘Calm down,’ snapped Rosa. ‘There’s no need to shout.’

  ‘Just answer my question.’

  She shrugged on a grin. ‘We’re simply moving this bed into my room.’

  ‘You’ve already got a bed in your room.’

  ‘But there isn’t a bed for Chiara.’

  ‘She has an entire bedroom at her disposal.’

  ‘Oh, but Vittorio,’ she said, ‘we like sharing a room. How else are we going to talk late into the night?’

  ‘You could always phone each other,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘That would be silly when we’re in the same building.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’s only until the wedding.’

  And she leaned up to press the lightest of kisses to his lips. A touch. A tease. A peck. And nowhere near enough. He tried to catch her and pull her close, but she’d whirled away, quicksilver in motion, before he could get hold of her.

  He grumped back to his suite.

  Only until the wedding.

  He wanted her. He burned with wanting her. But what irked him more was that he could not help but admire her.

  ‘Not a doormat,’ Marcello had said.

  Not a chance.

  She was like a wily negotiator, the way she made her quiet demands. And there was no budging her. She would not be swayed. But she was definitely tempted. Otherwise why would she move Chiara into her room? She didn’t trust herself and Chiara was her wall.

  It was infuriating. She was defending the terms of their agreement like a tigress defending its cub.

  He smiled a little at that. Whatever kind of father he turned out to be, he knew Rosa would make a good mother. He’d seen her holding her tiny niece and nephews. He’d seen the way she doted on them. And maybe, just maybe, she would help him be the kind of father he wished he’d had.

  He sighed as he went to his room and rummaged through his closet for gym clothes. He could last. It seemed he had no choice but to burn off some energy in more conventional ways. But, hell, a man could burst with wanting her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ROSA RUBBED THE bridge of her nose and sighed as she studied the dusty tome in the library.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Chiara, who was lying on a chaise longue nearby and reading a bridal magazine.

  ‘The constitution of Andachstein. It’s the most boring thing I’ve ever read in my life. I’m never going to get through all these volumes. No wonder Vittorio said I wouldn’t have enough time to make my own gown.’