The Prince's Cinderella Doc

by Louisa Heaton

  It felt good to get back to her normal routine, to see her patients’ faces and to slide back into the routine of consulting and issuing prescriptions. There was a rhythm to it, a logic. Medicine was often a puzzle, with the patients the clues, and there was nothing she loved more than to solve the puzzle and heal the patient. Helping people was what she did best, and it made her feel good about herself that she could do so.

  A therapist would no doubt say that it was down to her feeling so powerless and impotent when her father had kept her below ground. That the fact that she hadn’t been able to help her mother when she died fired her soul now.

  Maybe it was true. Who knew? Perhaps that was why she was so anxious to leave the palace? She’d done her thing. She’d helped out when Dr Bonetti hadn’t been able to make it and now her part was over. She wasn’t needed at the palace any more, but she had to stay there because she needed a place to sleep.

  Or did she? Maybe Anna, her next-door neighbour and best friend, could put her up until the work on her house was done?

  No. I can’t ask her to do that. She’s in her nineties! And besides, how would I pay for the repairs? I’m insured, but that would take ages, and Matteo is getting the work done quicker than I ever could.

  It felt wrong. He was being so generous and she wasn’t used to someone helping her like that. She was used to standing on her own two feet. Being independent.

  She was mulling this over when her next patient arrived. Sofia De Laurentis. Sixteen years old and the daughter of a duke. A lot of her patients came from among the upper echelons of society, but class and prestige were not enough to keep away disease.

  Sofia was Krystiana’s last patient of the day, and she entered her consulting room looking nervous, fidgeting with her backpack.

  ‘Hello, Sofia, what’s brought you here today?’

  Sofia couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘You can’t tell anyone, but... I think I might be pregnant.’

  Krystiana didn’t react. ‘All right. What makes you think that?’

  ‘My period is late. A few weeks. And I feel weird.’

  Krystiana took some details. The date of her last period and how long they usually lasted. ‘Have you taken a pregnancy test?’

  ‘I bought one. I had to go in disguise—can you believe that? There were two tests inside and I used them both.’

  ‘Positive?’

  Sofia nodded.

  ‘And do you know who the father is?’

  Another nod.

  And then she asked the most important question as her patient was only sixteen. ‘Did you consent?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She believed her. ‘Okay. Let’s get you up onto the bed.’

  Krystiana felt her tummy, but it was still too early to feel the fundus—the top of the womb—above her pelvic area. She smiled, and helped pull Sofia back up into a sitting position.

  ‘Take a seat.’

  She prepared to take her blood pressure, wrapping the cuff around her arm.

  ‘So, I can take a blood sample to confirm the pregnancy if you wish. Do you want to keep the baby?’

  Sofia shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘I don’t know. My father will be furious.’

  ‘You live with your father? What about your mother?’

  ‘She died when I was young.’

  Oh. Krystiana knew a little of that pain. She had been left with no parents at a young age, whereas this young girl still had her father.

  ‘You have time to make a decision. You have options. You could keep the baby, or have it adopted. And of course you can also have an abortion. But you must be the one to make the decision—no one else can make it for you and no one can force you to make it. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, again, that’s your decision.’

  Sofia nodded. ‘So what do I do now?’

  ‘You think. The first trimester can sometimes be difficult, and not all pregnancies make it through. Take some time to think what you would like to do, and in the meantime I’ll book you in with a midwife for a visit. If you’d like to tell your father in a safe environment then you can always do so here, with a member of staff or myself attending. Are you feeling sick at all?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Try nibbling on something as often as you can. Hunger can trigger nausea. Have a biscuit or two at the side of your bed for first thing in the morning, before you get up. Nothing chocolatey—something plain. A ginger biscuit, or something like that.’

  Sofia stood up. ‘Thank you. You’ve been very understanding.’

  ‘It’s my job.’

  When Sofia had left the room Krystiana sat for a moment and pondered her young patient. She had a difficult time ahead of her—a future that no one could predict just yet. And she felt in a similar situation, with her home in disarray. Her living area open to the stars.

  She realised that she had always struggled in every area of her life. It was a state of affairs that she had become used to. Perhaps that was why the richness and opulence of the palace made her so uncomfortable? It hid the real world. It wasn’t reality. It was a mirage.

  Krystiana liked her minimalism. Her stone. Wood. Brick. She wasn’t used to marble and crystal and silk. She wasn’t used to servants and having things done for her. She enjoyed the simplicity of making her own breakfast. Chopping up fruit and adding it to a bowl of oats gave her pleasure. She liked looking after her own home. Polishing it. Sweeping the floors, cleaning her bathroom.

  At the palace those sorts of chores were done by servants. And she didn’t like the idea that someone else was having to pick up after her. It didn’t feel right. It felt as if parts of her everyday life were being taken from her. And since moving to the island Krystiana had started relying on her gut feelings and instincts, because she’d realised rather swiftly that they were the only things she could trust.

  She reached for the phone, intending to dial the palace and tell them not to send her a car because she was going to make her own way. But then she realised she didn’t know the number, and that all her things—her clothes, her personal computer, everything she valued—were there. She had to go back. Maybe just for one more night? And then she would pack her things.

  She wasn’t Matteo’s doctor any more. He didn’t need her. She’d told him about their shared experience and she didn’t need to share any more. Because she knew that if she did stay his friendship, his easy nature, would cause her to share more. But she couldn’t do that. Because sharing with him would mean trusting him.

  And she couldn’t trust anyone ever again.

  * * *

  Visiting the building site that was Krystiana’s home, Matteo had felt incredibly disturbed. One half of the villa looked fine, the other a total wreck. They had picked their way through the rubble, being careful not to stumble, and then Krystiana had found her mother’s photograph.

  Watching Krystiana crumble like that had opened his own scars. They had both lost their mothers. They both knew that kind of loss. His heart had gone out to her and before he’d been able to stop himself he had pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

  He had wanted to make her feel better—wanted to let her know that she wasn’t alone. That was all. But listening to her cry, feeling the wetness of her tears seeping through his shirt, he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

  Realising that had disturbed him. What was he doing? Getting involved in her life like this? Inviting her to stay? Offering to rebuild her home? Sheltering her not only with his house but with his arms, his embrace? He didn’t need to be worrying about someone else like this. He did not need another emotional crisis in his life. He’d had more than enough to last a lifetime! Getting involved with others, caring for them, only caused him pain in the long run.

  And then she’d stepped away from his arms and he’d felt relief. Relief th
at she was trying to be strong all by herself. It was a clear sign that she did not want to depend upon him and that was fine by him. He didn’t need anyone depending upon him personally like that. He knew he could never give anyone what they’d want from him. He’d vowed never to love again, so if he couldn’t care for someone like that what was the point? He’d been humiliated once.

  He’d felt some of the pressure he’d been putting on himself dissipate. But of course then he’d felt guilty for acting so selfishly. Princes were not meant to be selfish. They were not meant to look out only for themselves, but to look out for their people. And wasn’t Krystiana one of his people?

  After the car had dropped her off at work he had returned to the palace to carry out his duties. He’d had a pile of reports that needed to be read and signed off, and he’d also needed to meet with his secretary to discuss his schedule for the next few months.

  He had a busy time coming up. His father, the King, was going to abdicate within the year—on his seventieth birthday. These next few months would be a whirlwind of appointments, visits, public walkabouts and royal duties. Everybody wanted to see the man who would soon be King.

  But as he’d sat at his desk he hadn’t been able to concentrate. All he’d been able to think about was Krystiana. How displaced she was. The disruption in her life and what he could do to make it better.

  He’d ended up pacing the floors and constantly checking his watch. She’d finish at six p.m. and then the car would bring her home.

  He knew he needed to sort his head. Clear it. He knew he needed to create more distance between them. He couldn’t let her in past his defences. The risk simply wasn’t worth it.

  He’d already lost his mother, his wife, and almost his child. That was too much loss for one person to deal with. Letting someone in, letting them get close, was dangerous. Matters of the heart were terrifying in how vulnerable they could make a man. They were a weakness. One that those guerrillas had used with impunity, making him think that his wife and child had been killed.

  He would let Sergio deal with Krystiana from now on. He didn’t think she would be upset by that. Hadn’t she been the one to push him away in the villa?

  He was only doing what they both wanted.

  So why did he feel disturbed by it?

  * * *

  Krystiana came back to the palace after work and hoped that she would be able to get to her quarters without being seen. If she did meet Matteo she would be politeness personified, but she would tell him that she was tired, that she needed to take a shower or a long bath and then she would be going to bed. It was best all round if she left him to get on with being the future King and she got on with being a doctor. She’d helped him out for one day—that was all. She had told him about her past and that was it. It didn’t need to go any further than that.

  He was a very nice man—kind, considerate and clearly compassionate. Plus, he had the warmest blue eyes she had ever seen. The type of eyes, framed in dark lashes, that invited confidences. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she spent any more time in his company, as his friend, she would grow attached to a man who couldn’t possibly remain in her life. They were on two separate paths.

  He was Crown Prince. She was a medic. And those two things did not have any future unity.

  Krystiana hurried to her quarters, closing the doors behind her and walking straight over to her bed. Sitting down on the mattress, she pulled her mother’s photograph from her bag, dusted it off with her fingers and placed it on the bedside cabinet, staring at it for a brief moment.

  If only you could see me now, she thought. Living in a palace in Italy.

  It was far removed from where they had lived in Kraków. What would her mother say?

  He’s handsome. Is he single?

  She smiled at her mother’s imagined voice and, raising her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed her fingertips to her mother’s photo. ‘Tęsknię za toba,’ she said. I miss you.

  A knock at the door had her wiping her eyes and sniffing before she called out ‘Come in!’

  Sergio walked into the room. ‘Good evening, Dr Szenac. His Majesty King Alberto has invited you to join him and his family for this evening’s meal.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very nice of him but I’m rather tired. It’s been a stressful day and I’d really like to just turn in—maybe have a tray brought to my room, if that’s okay?’

  Sergio nodded. ‘I understand.’ He turned and made to go, but then stopped, as if changing his mind. ‘It would not be wise to turn down the King’s invitation, Dr Szenac. I believe this very morning he approved the finance for the renovation of your villa and he wishes to meet with you. I fear he would not take kindly if you did not come.’

  Of course. It wasn’t just Matteo paying to fix her home. It was coming out of the royal family’s purse. To live in their home, to take their money and then not even show her face at dinner would be incredibly rude.

  She glanced down at Bruno, who had settled into his doggie bed and was chewing on his toy.

  ‘Right. I understand. Please tell the King that I will be happy to join him and his family at dinner. What time should I be ready?’

  ‘Dinner is at seven.’

  ‘Perfect. Thank you.’

  ‘The dress code is smart casual.’

  She wasn’t worried about the dress code. She was worried that they would sit her opposite Matteo and she would end up looking into those deep blue eyes of his all evening.

  * * *

  He didn’t always eat dinner with his father. They both led such busy lives, on such different schedules, it was rare for both of them to be home at the same time. But his father had just come back from a short break in Africa and wanted to catch up with his son before a tour around Europe took him away again.

  It was a good thing they both enjoyed travelling and meeting new people.

  ‘It was a great shame to be informed about Dr Bonetti’s wife. I hear that she has pulled through?’ his father asked.

  ‘Yes. My advisor tells me that earlier today she was moved off the critical care unit and on to a ward.’

  ‘That’s excellent. I must send them a token of my affection. Remind me to tell my secretary.’

  Matteo smiled. ‘I will.’

  And that was when the doors to the dining room were opened by Sergio.

  ‘Ah! This must be our new guest. Dr Szenac!’ The King got to his feet. ‘Welcome! I’m so pleased to meet you, though it is such a shame it has to be under such difficult circumstances. How is your home looking?’

  Matteo watched his father greet Krystiana, kissing both her cheeks and smiling broadly. Krystiana looked tired, but her eyes were sparkling still.

  She curtsied. ‘Your Majesty. Thank you. The work has begun, so hopefully I won’t have to impose upon you and your family for too long.’

  ‘Nonsense! Our home is your home. We wouldn’t have it any other way. Please—take a seat.’

  Sergio held out a chair for her and she settled into it—directly opposite Matteo.

  He smiled at her. ‘How was work today?’

  ‘Interesting. Though it always is. You never know who’s going to walk through the door.’

  ‘Keeps you on your toes!’ his father said.

  She nodded.

  Sergio filled her glass with water and laid a napkin over her lap. ‘Can I get you a drink, Dr Szenac?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Sergio.’

  ‘We must introduce you to everyone. You know who I am, and my son, but on your right is my sister Beatrice, and opposite her is her husband Edoardo. They’re here on a flying visit from Florence.’

  Krystiana smiled at them both. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  Matteo could see that she was nervous. Surrounded by royalty. Hemmed in by titles. A king, a prince, a duke and a duchess. She was
blushing, her face suffused with a rich pink colour in both cheeks, as she struggled to make eye contact with anyone. He hated seeing her looking so uncomfortable.

  Knowing how badly her day had started, he decided to rescue her. ‘How’s Bruno doing with the change in his home-life?’

  She looked up at him, grateful. ‘He’s adapting very well. Almost as if he always suspected he was meant for palace life. I think he likes having servants.’

  He laughed, enjoying her smile.

  ‘And how are you adapting to being back in palace life, Matteo?’ asked his Aunt Beatrice. ‘It must be such a relief for you to get back to normal?’

  He nodded. ‘It is, but I expected it to be different...getting home.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Beatrice looked extremely interested, but then again she would be. He hadn’t seen her since before his kidnapping, and he hadn’t had much chance to talk to his father’s side of the family about what had happened.

  ‘When you’re in that situation, held captive, what keeps you going is the thought of returning home. Of getting back. Of everything being all right again.’

  ‘But...?’

  ‘But it’s not that way at all. You feel like you’ve been held captive in time, and that although everyone else has moved on you’re still in the same place. You want to process what has happened, but it’s difficult.’

  ‘Your father tells me you had some therapy afterwards?’ She said it as if therapy was a bad word.

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at Krystiana and smiled. She would know what that meant. ‘I still am.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’ve found it to be helpful.’

  Beatrice raised a perfectly drawn-on eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more.

  He shared a look with Krystiana. ‘There are some...after-effects you don’t expect.’