‘Like what?’ asked Edoardo, sitting back as the first course arrived and the servants laid steaming bowls of soup in front of them all.
‘Bad dreams. And being enclosed in any small space is a little unnerving now. Being afraid of the dark.’
Krystiana looked up at him. He knew. Knew that she was the same. That she had the same fear as him. And suddenly he didn’t want to be at this dinner any more, surrounded by the others. He wanted to be somewhere talking to her. Asking her about how she dealt with the same things. Whether she’d beat the fears or still struggled with them.
‘And, of course, there was all that business with Mara,’ said Beatrice, with a snide tone to her voice. ‘I always said she wasn’t the one for you.’
Yes, well... ‘She was my best friend, Aunt Bee.’
‘So she should have waited for you.’
‘She was alone and afraid.’
He tried to stand up for his ex-wife, despite his feelings. He knew what she’d gone through. They’d talked about it many times, and as far as he could see she’d done what any person would. The humiliation he’d felt, expecting to come home to a wife when in fact she was actually his ex-wife, had been his to work through.
His aunt sniffed and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. ‘Well, so were you, I’d imagine.’
‘She had no idea if I was alive or dead. She was trying to raise a baby, all alone, and she was grief-stricken and needed comfort.’
‘So she turned to Philippe? An old boyfriend?’
‘He was there for her when I couldn’t be. Come on, Aunt Bee. You know Mara and I weren’t a true love-match. We had an arranged marriage. I would never have stood in the way of her finding her true love.’
‘She’d just had your child!’ Beatrice was clearly appalled by Mara’s behaviour.
‘That’s enough, Bee,’ said his father, bringing order to the table. ‘I do apologise, Dr Szenac. We are a passionate family and often our get-togethers can be a little...heated.’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s all right. Please don’t apologise. I’m sure it’s the same in any family.’
‘I’m grateful for your understanding. Is your family like this?’
Matteo saw her take a sip of soup, her hand trembling, and knew it would be difficult for her to answer. Her mother was dead. Her father was in prison.
‘I have only my Aunt Carolina, and though we love each other very much we do have our moments.’
His father guffawed. ‘So we are normal, then?’
Krystiana laughed, too. ‘Yes, you are.’
Edoardo leaned over. ‘You’re a doctor, I believe?’
‘Yes. I have a practice in Ventura, which I share with the royal physician, Dr Bonetti.’
‘Ah, yes. I think someone told me that earlier...before you came. Are you married, Doctor?’
She blushed. ‘No.’
‘Planning on it?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Why ever not?’ interrupted Beatrice.
Krystiana looked uncomfortable. Again. Matteo understood that his family could be a bit much. They were inherently nosy and thought they were the authority on most subjects.
He interjected for her. ‘Marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all of life, Aunt Bee. Plenty of people remain happily single.’
‘But what’s the point of being here, then?’
Krystiana looked at him in a panic. ‘How did you and Mara meet?’ she asked, clearly wanting to divert the topic of conversation away from herself.
‘We were distant cousins and we had known each other since we were children.’
‘You grew up together?’
He nodded. ‘Her father is an earl. We were best friends. Went to school together. I loved hanging out with Mara—it seemed the most obvious thing that we should marry, and of course it strengthened the relationship between our families.’
‘You had a happy marriage?’
Matteo shrugged. ‘It seemed to be. We had our ups and downs, but all couples do. Our friendship was something that neither of us wanted to lose. And we haven’t—despite what happened.’ He flicked a look at his aunt, who clearly still disapproved.
‘You weren’t worried that marriage to one another would change your friendship?’ Krystiana persisted.
‘No. We knew we loved one another and had done for years. We didn’t expect marriage to change that.’
She nodded. ‘That’s good. I’m glad you were happy together.’
He smiled, feeling they were in some kind of a conspiracy together. ‘Me too.’
‘And then you had a child together,’ added Beatrice, raising her eyebrows as if she doubted the wisdom of that decision.
‘Alexandra. She’s beautiful, by the way, and I can’t wait for you to meet her.’ He directed his answer to Krystiana.
‘I look forward to it.’
His face was stretching into a broad grin as he looked at her, and he was almost forgetting there were other people around the table. When he did remember, he looked at them to see they were looking at him rather strangely. He looked away and sipped at his wine.
He could remember the look on Mara’s face when she’d told him that she was pregnant. She’d looked so happy! And he’d been thrilled too that he was about to be a father. But he’d known Mara wasn’t the soul mate he’d always hoped for. Mara had always talked about having children, and about how she hoped to be a good mother to her baby. How she hoped to care for it herself as much as she could, and not let royal nannies get in the way and take over. They’d both had such dreams for their child, and it was disappointing that it hadn’t worked out.
But he was pleased for Mara and the happiness that she had found with Philippe. He was pleased that, despite the kidnapping trauma, she had managed to move on with her life and find true joy with a man she loved. A proper love. Romantic love. Something he’d once yearned for but had now vowed to stay away from.
He’d been hurt by what had happened between him and Mara. But he couldn’t imagine being in love with someone and losing them, the way his father had lost his mother, the love of his life.
If anything, he was a little envious of Mara. But he knew he wouldn’t find anything like that for himself.
Couldn’t find that for himself.
Because what if he lost it all again? It had hurt to let Mara go. To let another man help raise his child. And he’d seen the devastation romantic loss could cause.
He didn’t ever want to go through that pain.
He’d had enough pain already.
* * *
Krystiana asked to be excused at the end of the meal, as she had a long day at the practice tomorrow, and Matteo offered to walk her back to her quarters. She was a little anxious about that, but figured it was only a short distance and she could hardly refuse him in front of his family.
And as they walked Matteo began to tell her more about his kidnapping.
‘...and then they just came out of nowhere.’
‘The people who took you?’
He nodded, those blue eyes of his now stormy and dark.
‘Yes. They emerged from the side of the road, holding machine guns and wearing masks. I had to stop the car. Mara was in the back, pregnant, breathing heavily from her contractions.’
‘I remember she was in labour. It was on the news.’
‘They approached, threatened my men with guns to their heads and pulled me from the vehicle, binding my hands with rope and pulling a dark bag over my face.’
‘You must have been terrified!’
‘I was. I thought they might do something to Mara, too. That we might lose the baby. I remember struggling, trying to free myself, trying to do what I could to distract them from my wife and unborn child.’
‘But they left Mara behind?’
‘Ye
s. They were just after me. I was hit over the head with something. A rifle butt—maybe something else. I think I passed out and they dragged me to another vehicle.’
She shook her head in amazement. ‘I don’t know how I would have coped with that.’
‘We drove for a long time. I tried to remember which way the vehicle turned—right or left—whether I could hear anything outside that might help—like trains or traffic, the sea...anything!’
‘And did you?’
‘No. We headed deep into the country and I was dragged into somewhere dark and cold.’
‘The cave?’
‘Yes. I was chained like an animal to a metal post and kept there, underground, for two years.’
Krystiana swallowed hard as they arrived at the door to her quarters. She was imagining it all too clearly. How it must have felt. The panic inside him. The loss of control. The helplessness. Being at someone else’s mercy. She knew how that felt exactly.
‘Two years... I thought six weeks was a long time.’
‘You were just a child.’
‘I know, but...’
He looked down at the floor. ‘It makes you realise the resilience of the human spirit, doesn’t it?’
She nodded, biting her lip. His story reminded her so much of her own, and she’d never had anyone who had been through something similar to talk to about this. The need to share with him was intense.
And that was exactly why she had to go into her room. She’d thought she’d said goodbye to all these memories. Had put all the pain in a box and stored it right at the back of her brain, where it couldn’t hurt her any more. But being with him, listening to him talk about his own experiences, made her want to bring it back out again and pick over it. Analyse it. Try to make sense of it.
‘Well, I have a long day of work tomorrow. I need to be up, bright and early.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded, then looked at her. ‘How do you sleep?’
She looked into his eyes then, and knew she couldn’t lie to him. ‘With a night-light. You?’
He smiled, but it was filled with sadness and empathy. ‘The same.’
Krystiana nodded. She should have known. She’d always been embarrassed about having one, and she’d never dreamt she would ever tell anyone about it—because why would she need to? No one would ever get that close. But telling him had been easy. Easy.
‘Well, goodnight, Matteo. I hope you have pleasant dreams.’
‘You too, Krystiana. You too.’
* * *
She woke early, disturbed by a dream in which she’d found herself back in that bunker, back in that hole in the ground, screaming for someone to find her, to save her, when suddenly the roof had opened. She’d shielded her eyes from the light as she saw someone kneel down and offer her a hand. When she took it, and when she was pulled from the earth, it was into Matteo’s arms, and suddenly she’d found herself against his chest.
She’d woken with a start, her heart pounding.
Needing some fresh air before work, Krystiana stepped out into the morning sun and stopped in the gardens for a moment, just to breathe in the warm summer air, her eyes closed.
She’d expected to be alone. No one else awake but the servants, busily working away behind the scenes, but she suddenly felt a presence by her side.
She opened her eyes and saw Matteo. ‘Morning.’
‘Good morning. Couldn’t sleep?’
She couldn’t tell him about her dream. ‘I just needed some fresh air. I’ve never enjoyed being cooped up inside.’
He looked out over the gardens. ‘No. Nor me. Come on—let me show you everything.’
He walked her down a path that lay before her like something in an exquisite painting. Green hues of olive and emerald, fern and lime, pine and sage, were layered and interspersed with shots of fuchsia, gold, white and rose. Someone talented had landscaped these gardens, and as they walked past lily ponds and bubbling water features, fountains and grottos, she marvelled at all that she could see.
‘This is a beautiful place. Are these gardens open to the public?’
‘No. They’re my own private project.’
She looked at him, amazed. ‘You designed them?’
He smiled. ‘Designed them, helped build them, planted almost every seed.’
‘But this is years of work!’
‘I started young. I always had—what do they call it?—green fingers!’
She laughed. ‘Yes! Wow. I had no idea. You must have missed it incredibly when you weren’t here.’
‘I knew they were in good hands. And the thought of them kept me going when I was captive.’
‘The memory?’
‘I kept imagining myself walking along the paths, lifting a flower to smell its scent. I tried to remember how I’d built it. Created it. In my head I lost myself here many times. But by losing myself here, I kept myself. If that makes any sense?’
She nodded. ‘It does. It anchored you.’
‘Si.’
He led her down a curving stepped path, bordered with bushes she couldn’t name that were higher than her head, flowering with tiny blue and white flowers, until they emerged in a sun garden that had a sundial at its centre. The floor had been laid with coloured stones—a mosaic depicting a knight fending off a giant green dragon.
‘You did this, too?’
‘It came from a book I read as a child. The tale of St George and the Dragon. A story that fascinated me. This mosaic was a birthday gift from my mother when I was ten years old.’
‘A whole mosaic? My mother used to buy me socks for my birthday.’
He smiled. ‘Socks are useful. Was it cold in Poland?’
‘Only in winter.’
‘Was your birthday in the winter months?’
She laughed. ‘No. July.’
She went over to look more closely at the sundial. It was made of a dark stone, slate in colour. But marbled with white. She had no idea what it actually was, but the dial itself was exquisite, with a hand casting a shadow to one side.
She checked her watch. ‘It tells the correct time.’
‘Of course.’
She looked around them, saw that the palace was hidden by trees and bushes. ‘You could almost imagine the palace isn’t there,’ she said.
Matteo smiled.
‘If I lived here permanently I’d want a reminder of this at all times of the year, so that even in winter I’d know that spring was coming,’ she said.
‘Don’t you know that anyway?’
‘Yes, but...sometimes it takes a long time to get what you want. I’d want to capture this. This beauty.’
‘You could take a photograph.’
She looked at him then. ‘You know what? I can think of something better!’
He frowned. ‘What is it?’
She smiled. ‘Just you wait!’
* * *
‘You want me to paint?’ Matteo looked at Krystiana, doubtful.
He could plant a flowerbed, landscape a garden, and would eventually rule a kingdom, but to paint a picture? With his fingers? He wasn’t a child...
But something about Krystiana’s smile made him willing to give it a go. There was something about her. Something compelling. But for the life of him he couldn’t work out what it was.
She was lit up from the inside at the thought of painting, and she’d had a servant at the palace fetch her painting equipment from her room. There were easels and palettes, and paints in acrylic and watercolour in all the colours of the rainbow.
‘Remind me again why we’re not using brushes?’
‘Because this is much more fun. Touch the canvas as you create. Be at one with your picture. I want you to paint the garden. Not just what you see, but what it makes you feel as you look at it. I want you to try and use colour to feed
your emotions into the work.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘Don’t think about it too much. Go by instinct—it’s what I do.’
He looked at the blank white canvas. ‘I feel ridiculous.’
‘Forget I’m here.’
‘Are you going to be watching me?’
‘No, I’ve got to go to work. But I would love to see your painting when I get back.’
He looked at her doubtfully, but then he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft breeze over his face, the warmth of the sun upon his skin, and tried to think about how this garden made him feel.
Before he knew it the soft, warm, fragrant breeze of the garden had awakened his senses. And he began.
Krystiana watched him for a moment, mesmerised by the tentative smile appearing on Matteo’s handsome face, and when she realised that she was watching him more than she was watching the painting, she quietly slipped away.
CHAPTER FOUR
PRINCESS ALEXANDRA ROMANO was a dainty little thing and cute as a button. With her father’s features, she had the cutest large blue eyes, framed by thick, long, dark eyelashes and the sweetest smile.
Her father carried her on his hip. ‘Alex—meet Krystiana.’
Krystiana gave her a little wave. ‘Hello, Alex. You didn’t have to meet me from work, Matteo. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to be doing.’
‘We were out for a walk. I saw the car pull up and thought I’d introduce you two.’
Behind her, Bruno jumped out of the car and Alex squealed with delight. ‘Doggy!’
Matteo put her down so that she could give Bruno a cuddle. He happily rolled over onto his back, tongue lolling.
‘I can’t compete with a dog!’
‘Can any of us?’ She smiled at him, then reached into the back seat to grab her bag.
‘How was work today?’
‘Good. You?’
‘Good. I finished my painting, by the way. I’m not sure you’ll think it’s Picasso, but...it’s done.’
‘Maybe you could show me later?’
The Prince's Cinderella Doc Page 5