by Dani Collins
Once had not been enough, even when it turned into an afternoon and evening.
Yesterday was all they would have, though. One golden memory. She worked for Luca. She had an assignment to complete, one she had neglected because they’d been so wrapped up in each other. She’d stolen from his room near midnight like Cinderella, shoes in hand, jacket held in front of her to hide her broken fly. A footman had escorted her, but she trusted he wouldn’t say a word.
She was starving and desperate for coffee, so she rose to find the French press in the kitchen. There was cheese, fresh berries and yogurt in the refrigerator, too. Perfect.
She set them out and started the kettle, then went in search of her phone. It was still in her jacket pocket from last night, still set on Do Not Disturb from when she’d joined Luca for lunch. They’d skipped dinner, which was why she was ready to gnaw her own arm.
Still yawning, she touched her thumb to unlock her phone and it flashed to life with notifications. She had several alerts set for her own name since she was often attached to press releases for clients, but this wasn’t a press release.
It was about her client. And her.
The photos showed her and Luca with the sunset behind them, and each headline slanted them into a different, damning light.
Like Father, Like Son! one headline blared.
The king of Vallia continues a tradition of depravity by seducing his new hire, socialite Amy Miller of London Connection, who caused a stir in the late queen’s foundation with her publicity campaign for an upcoming gala...
Victim or Villain? the next asked while the photo’s angle revealed her seductive profile and Luca’s riveted expression.
The Golden Prince is dragged into the gutter by a gold digger...
Crown Jewels on Display! screamed the most tawdry headline.
They’d blurred the photo, but she knew he’d been naked and fully aroused.
“Oh, Luca,” she whispered.
How had something so perfect and unsullied become...this?
As her unblinking eyes grew hot, Amy sank onto the sofa, crushed by the magnitude of this development. Her stomach churned while her brain exploded with the infinite agonies that were about to befall her—the sticks and stones and betrayals and blame.
Her life would disintegrate. Again.
And, just like last time, she had no one to blame but herself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“PHOTOS WERE PUBLISHED overnight, signor. They are...unfortunate.”
“Of who?” It was a testament to how thoroughly Amy had numbed his brain that he didn’t compute immediately that it was, of course, about the two of them.
Guillermo thrust a tablet under his nose.
Luca’s head nearly exploded. The foulest language he’d ever uttered came out of his throat. “Where the hell was security?”
“They went up to the castle as soon as they realized they had a stray hiker, but he had already departed.”
The guards wouldn’t have sensed any urgency. Despite the regulations against visiting the ruins without a guide, the odd tourist still made their way up there, usually photographing the silhouette of the palace against the sunset. Since the lighting was so poor at that time of day, and all the private rooms faced the sea, the chance of compromising a royal family member was low. The paparazzi who’d made the trek had never struck pay dirt because even Luca’s father hadn’t been stupid enough to stand naked on the one visible corner of the terrace.
“We presume it was taken by an amateur,” Guillermo continued stiffly. “Given the photo’s quality and the fact it was initially posted to a private account. The images have since been reposted by the tabloids with... As you can see.”
Unspeakable headlines.
Golden Prince: Feet of Clay, Rod of Steel?
At least they’d blurred his erection, but they’d set his image beside a grainy one of his father in a miniscule swimsuit.
King of Vallia Inherits the Horny Crown
When he saw Another Molesting Monarch, he thought he might throw up.
“The PR team is discussing damage control. I’ve made arrangements for Ms. Miller to return to London.”
Luca barely heard him. For his entire life, he had kept to the straight and narrow and the one time he had stepped out of line, he was caught and being compared to his father in the most abhorrent way—
Wait. His heart clunked its gears, shifting from reflexive shame and fury to a glimmer of possibility. This was bad. But was it bad enough?
This wasn’t the scandal he’d wanted. Amy was being derided as badly as he was, but his heart lurched into a gallop as he suddenly spotted the finish line after a marathon that had gone on for two decades.
“She’ll be mobbed in London,” Luca said, his mind racing. “She doesn’t go anywhere until I’ve spoken to her. PR doesn’t take steps without my input.”
Guillermo’s mouth tightened, but he moved to the door to relay that instruction.
Luca drummed his fingers on his desk. This was far messier and more degrading than he’d wanted it to be, but he would owe London Connection an efficiency bonus if it worked.
It had to work. He would make it work.
“Has my sister been informed?”
“A secure line has been established.” Guillermo nodded at the landline on Luca’s desk. “The Privy Council is divided on how to react.” He looked like he’d swallowed a fish hook. “Some are alarmed and suggesting a review of the line of succession. I did try to warn you, signor. I strongly suggest Ms. Miller be returned to London—”
“I’ll speak to my sister.” With a jerk of his head, Luca dismissed him.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Sofia said. There was no ring of outrage or remnants of the secondhand embarrassment they’d both suffered after their father’s various exploits. No, there was a far deeper note of stunned comprehension in her tone.
Luca bit back trying to explain it wasn’t how he’d meant for this to happen. It was worse and he was genuinely embarrassed, but this was their chance. They had to run with it.
Also, focusing on his goal allowed him to sidestep dealing with the fact he was now the poster boy of depravity.
“You have no choice but to take this to the nanny panel,” he said gravely, using their childhood reference to the ring of advisers, now the Privy Council, which kept such a tight leash on both of them. The same ones who had insisted Luca take the throne despite Sofia being entitled to it by birth.
“My travel is already being arranged. I’ll meet with them the minute I’m home. I’ve drafted a statement that I’ll release the minute we hang up.” She paused, then asked with soft urgency, “Are you sure, Luca? Because I’m taking a very assertive stance on this. I don’t want to undermine you.”
“Sofia. Be the ruler you are. It’s what is best for Vallia. Don’t worry about me.”
“Impossible. You’re my one and only brother.” She took a steadying breath. He thought she might be choking up with emotion, but she was well practiced in keeping a cool head. She cleared her throat. Her voice was level as she continued. “I have questions that can wait, but I plan to make the case for you to stay on as my heir provided you’re willing to express your sincere regret and assurance that nothing like this will ever happen again?”
Which part? Being caught naked with a woman? Trysting with an employee? Or making love to Amy in particular?
Some nascent emotion, a grasping sense of opportunity, rose in him, but he firmly quashed it before it could become a clear desire. An intention.
Their “just once” might have turned into three times, but their connection was exposed to the entire world, and it was completely inappropriate. He didn’t want to be labeled the sort of man who took advantage of women in his employ.
“You have my word,” he said, feeling a tear inside him as h
e made the vow.
“Grazie. I’ll see you soon. Ti amo,” Sofia said.
“I love you, too.” Luca hung up and a cool chill washed over him, like damp air exhaled from a dark cave. It was done.
* * *
Amy hadn’t stopped shaking, even after a hot shower and too many cups of scalding coffee. The fact that she couldn’t seem to leave this room, let alone this palace or this country, didn’t help at all.
“I’ll pay for the taxi myself,” she beseeched the maid, Fabiana.
“It’s not my place to call one, signorina.” Fabiana set out ravioli tossed with gleaming cherry tomatoes and pesto. It looked as scrumptious as the fluffy omelet Amy had ignored midmorning, the focaccia she’d snubbed at lunch and the afternoon tea of crustless sandwiches and pastries she’d disregarded a few hours ago.
There was only room in her stomach for nausea. Her whole world was imploding, and she couldn’t even reach out to the best friends who had got her through a similar crisis in the past. Her Wi-Fi connection had been cut off while she’d still been reeling in shock.
Then an ultra-calm middle-aged woman had appeared and identified herself as the senior Human Resources manager for the palace. She was genuinely concerned and had urged Amy to “be honest” if her night with Luca had been coerced in any way.
Amy had insisted it was consensual, but she now wondered if she’d strengthened Luca’s position and hindered her own.
She was cold all over, sickened that she’d let this happen and angry with herself because she knew better. She had been fully aware of the potential dangers in sleeping with him, and she had gone ahead and put herself in this awful position anyway.
“My instructions are to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible,” Fabiana was saying. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“Hiking boots,” Amy muttered peevishly. She had already asked a million times to speak to Luca. She’d been assured he would see her as soon as he was available.
Fabiana dropped her gaze to the bedroom slippers Amy was wearing with yellow pajama pants and a silk T-shirt. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to leave on foot. Paparazzi are stalking the perimeter. Security is very tight at the moment.”
Amy hugged the raw silk shawl she’d found in the closet and wrapped around her shoulders. “Restore my Wi-Fi.” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked for that, either.
“I’ve passed along your request. I’ll mention it again.” Fabiana gave her yet another pained smile and hurried out.
Amy was so frustrated, she stomped out the doors of her lounge to the garden patio.
A security guard materialized from the shrubbery. He’d been there all day and once again held up a staying hand. “I’m sorry—”
She whirled back inside.
She needed to get back to London. She needed to know exactly how bad this was. How could she control the damage to London Connection if she was cut off like this?
She ached to talk to Bea and Clare. What must they be thinking of her? She’d told them she was dropping everything for a big fish client with a substantial budget and an “unusual request.” Would they question her tactics in getting Luca’s business? They had stood by her last time, but they would be fully entitled to skepticism of her motives, especially since her actions were jeopardizing their livelihood along with her own.
Amy’s mother was likely having fits, too. Even without a call or text, Amy knew what Deborah Miller was thinking. Again, Amy? Again?
She felt so helpless! Crisis management was her bread and butter. She ought to be able to do something. As she paced off her tension, she took some comfort in methodically thinking through her response.
In any emergency, there were three potential threats to consider. The first was physical safety. This wasn’t a chemical spill. Innocent bystanders weren’t being harmed. She forced herself to release a cleansing breath and absorb that tiny blessing.
The second threat was financial loss. She sobered as she accepted that she would take a hard hit from this. There was no way she was taking Luca’s money now. That meant all of the expenses for this trip along with the travel home were hers. She had reassigned several of her contracts to other agents at London Connection so she had lost a substantial amount of income. There would be costs to salvaging London Connection’s reputation and, since this was her mistake, she would bear that, as well.
How would she pay for it all?
Here was where panic edged in each time she went through this exercise. She was standing hip deep in the third type of threat. Her credibility was in tatters.
She looked like a woman who slept her way into contracts and had no means to spin that impression. In fact, somewhere in this palace, a team of professionals exactly like her was deciding how to rescue Luca from this crisis, and Amy knew exactly the approaches they were taking—deflect the attacks on him. Blame her. Claim she had seduced him. Say she had set him up for that photo to raise the profile of London Connection.
Heck, the headlines she’d glimpsed before losing her connection had already been suggesting she’d had something to gain. They only had to build on what was already there.
What if they found out she had a history of inappropriate relationships?
Her stomach wrenched so violently, she folded her arms across it, moaning and nearly doubling over.
Luca wouldn’t hang her out to dry like that. Would he?
Of course, he would. The teacher, Avery Mason, had. The headmistress and her own parents had.
In a fit of near hysteria, she barged out of her suite to the hall.
She surprised the guard so badly, he took on a posture of attack, making her stumble back into her doorway, heart pounding.
She was so light-headed, she had to cling to the doorjamb. She sounded like a harridan when she blurted, “Tell the king I’ll set my room on fire if he doesn’t speak to me in the next ten minutes. Punch me unconscious or call the fire brigade because I will do it.”
The guard caught the door before she could slam it in his face. He spoke Italian into his wrist. After the briefest of pauses, he nodded. “Come with me.”
Now she’d done it. He was taking her to a padded cell. Or the dungeon.
Yes, that kind of dungeon.
She sniffed back a semihysterical laugh-sob.
He escorted her through halls that were familiar. She was being taken to Luca’s office. The scene of their first criminal kiss. And their second.
People filed out as she arrived, but she didn’t make eye contact. She stared at the floor until she was told to go in. She went only as far as she had to for the door to close behind her.
“Will you introduce us, Luca?” a woman asked.
Amy snapped her head up to see only Luca and his sister were in the room.
Luca was as crisp and urbane as ever in a smart suit and tie, freshly shaved with only a hint of fatigue around his eyes to suggest he’d had a long day. His gaze sharpened on her, but Amy was distracted by his twin.
Sofia Albizzi was a feminine version of Luca, almost as tall, also athletically lean, but with willowy curves and a softer expression. Where the energy that radiated off Luca was dynamic and energizing, Sofia’s was equally commanding but with a settle-down-children quality. She wore a pantsuit in a similar dark blue as Luca’s suit. Her hair was in a chignon, and she offered a calm, welcoming smile.
Amy must look like a petitioning peasant, slouched in her shawl and slippers, hair falling out of its clip and no makeup to hide her distress. She felt awful coming up against this double barrel of effortless perfection. She wanted to turn and walk back out again, but Luca straightened off the edge of his desk.
“Your Highness, this is Amy Miller. Amy, my sister Sofia, the queen of Vallia.”
“Queen?” Amy distantly wondered if she was supposed to curtsy.
Sofia flicked a
glance at Luca that could only be described as sibling telepathy.
“My new title is confidential,” Sofia said. “Only finalized within the last hour. There will be a press release in the morning. I hope I can trust you to keep this information to yourself until then?”
Amy choked on disbelief. “Who could I tell? You’ve cut off my online access.”
“We did do that,” Sofia acknowledged. “The prince said you understand the importance of limiting communication during a crisis, so we can project a clear and unified message.”
Prince. He’d been dethroned. By her. She was definitely going to faint. Amy blinked rapidly, trying to keep her vision from fading as she looked between the two.
Sofia came toward her, regal and ridiculously attractive while exuding that consoling energy. “I appreciate how distressed you must be, Amy. It’s been a trying day for all of us, but I hope you’ll allow us to show you the best of our hospitality for a little longer? And not frighten staff with threats of setting the palace on fire?”
Emotion gathered in Amy’s eyes, beleaguered humor and frustration and something that closed her throat because she suddenly had the horrid feeling she had disappointed Sofia. Not the way she consistently disappointed her mother. She wasn’t being held to impossible, superficial standards. No, Sofia simply projected a confidence that Amy was better than someone who made wild threats. Let’s all do better, she seemed to say.
Luca was right. She was an ideal ruler.
But there was no comfort in being the instrument that had installed her on the throne, not when it had cost her the life she’d worked so hard to build.
“I want to go h-home.” She was at the end of her thin, frayed rope.
“Our people will arrange that soon,” Sofia began, but Luca came forward with purpose.
“I’ll walk you to your room.”
* * *
Sofia shot him a look, but Luca avoided her questioning gaze and held the door for Amy.