‘My father saw the newspapers this morning. He was not pleased that he had to learn about us through a third party.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Okay...’ That was acceptable. They should apologise for that. King Alberto should have been told by them. They’d got that bit wrong. ‘Does he not like me?’
‘He does. But...’ He glanced at his glass and saw that it was empty. Scowling, he placed it down on the balcony edge. ‘He reminded me of a certain unpalatable truth.’
She blinked, not understanding. ‘What truth?’
Matteo turned away, as if unable to look her in the eyes. And that scared her.
‘The law of my country states that those first in line to the throne can only marry another of royal blood.’
What? No. That couldn’t be right!
But the more she thought about what that meant, the more she knew something like this had always been going to happen. It had all been going too well.
The tears escaped. Trickling down her cheeks. ‘Royal blood?’
He could only marry a princess? Or a duchess? Something like that? Well, she wasn’t either of those things! She was just a girl from Poland who’d once lived in a giant block of flats. A girl from a poor family whose father had hunted rabbit and pigeon to feed his family meat. A girl who had fled to this island seeking a better life than the one she’d had to leave behind.
They were worlds apart. The only way she’d have royal blood would be if she stole it from someone and kept it in a small vial!
‘This is ridiculous! It’s got to be wrong!’
‘It’s not wrong. It’s an archaic law of my land and has been for hundreds of years.’
Her eyes widened as her brain scrambled to find some way out of this. ‘But if we didn’t know, surely it isn’t our fault?’
He turned and walked over to the liquor cabinet. Without a word he refilled his glass and knocked back the whisky again, his gaze downcast to the floor.
And suddenly she knew. She tried to make him look at her. ‘You did know. You knew and yet you slept with me anyway. You made me think that we could be together! How could you? How could you treat me like this? Like a...a plaything. A toy! What did you think I was? Some kind of casual fling?’
‘Krystiana—’
But she didn’t want to hear it. She’d told him she’d been hurt before, and how much it would cost her to trust someone again, and what had he done? He’d lied. He’d kept secrets. He’d used her. For his own gratification!
He was worse than Adamo.
Overcome with tears and humiliation, she fled from his room.
Matteo winced as his door slammed behind her and felt sick to his stomach. The visit with his father had been a lost battle before he’d even entered the room—and now this. Surely there must have been another way he could have done this? Another way he could have gently explained how they could never be more than what they were now.
But his father had forced his hand. He had told him that he needed to tell her the truth or that he, Alberto himself, would have the royal chamberlain inform her of the rules by the end of the day. Tell her that she would have to give up her claim on the King’s son because he could never be hers.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he’d asked his father.
‘I’m trying to stop it before either of you get hurt.’
But it was already too late. His father didn’t know the depth of his feelings for Krystiana. Or hers for him. And he hated it that he had trampled all over her heart with his dirty shoes.
But, hell, she’d not wanted a relationship either—so what the hell was she doing, allowing them to get into such a situation? He’d thought they’d both be safe. Neither of them had wanted it and yet somehow, in some way, they had been unable to stay away from each other.
And now he was faced with another loss. Another heartbreak. Was he doomed to suffer? He should never have got involved, he told himself once again, as he slammed his hand against the wall in frustration and upset, and he would never allow himself to get into a situation like this ever again.
His heart would be off-limits.
Access granted only to his daughter.
* * *
Krystiana refused to pack the clothes that had been bought for her. Or the jewellery. Or any of the gifts she’d been given during her time in the palace. If she took any of it all it would do, when she got home, would be to remind her of what might have been, and her heart was instinctively telling her that if she wanted to get over this then she had to leave it all behind. Then she could almost pretend that it had never happened. Like she had when she’d left Krakow. All she’d taken with her then had been some clothes in a small suitcase and a solitary doll with only one arm.
She’d seen plenty of patients in her time who had used denial as an effective tool to pretend that bad stuff hadn’t happened. And right now she thought it was a damned good strategy! Though she’d suggested that they might do better by facing the bad stuff, so that they could heal, right now she wanted to wholeheartedly embrace the concept.
Angrily she went from drawer to drawer, grabbing her clothes roughly and shoving them into her suitcase, throwing in her shoes. She didn’t even bother to wrap her paints and spare canvases separately.
Who cares if I get paint over everything?
She didn’t. Her heart had been broken the instant she’d realised that Matteo had lied to her, and she knew she couldn’t stay a moment longer. She couldn’t believe the mess she had got herself into!
I fought against this attraction. I should have listened to myself.
If she had, then none of this would have happened and she’d already be out of here. She should never have stayed for that ball. She should have gone.
But it had been impossible. Her desire for him had been plain fact. There’d been no way to walk away from her love. Her soul mate. The man she’d seen herself with all the way into the future.
How gullible she must have seemed for him to use her like that, knowing how she’d been treated in the past. He’d known what it had taken for her to open to him like that, to put herself out there, and he’d—
She cried out loud as pain ripped through her chest and hiccupped her way through her final packing. Bruno sat in the corner, his head tilted as he watched her frantic movements, trying to work out what was going on.
His father must have delighted in forcing Matteo to tell her the truth. Or perhaps she should thank the King? She’d seen it in his face, that time Matteo had clutched Krystiana’s hand for support in the hospital. The way his eyes had narrowed... She should have questioned it then.
Behind her, the doors to her apartment opened.
‘You’re leaving?’
Mara stared at her, her face a mask of shock and concern.
Krystiana wiped at her eyes, determined to stop crying once and for all! ‘I have no choice!’
‘There must be something you can do...’
‘There isn’t, so...’ She turned to Mara and pulled her towards her for a hug. ‘Thank you for being my friend here. It could have been awkward between us, but you made it so easy. Thank you.’
Mara hugged her back. ‘Are you kidding me? It’s so obvious that what you and Matteo have is real. You look at each other the way Philippe and I do.’
Krystiana sniffed. ‘It was never real. Matteo knew I couldn’t be with him.’
Mara looked away.
Krystiana stared at her. ‘You did too?’ she asked with incredulity.
‘I’m sorry. But I couldn’t be the one to tell you. To break your heart.’
Krystiana slammed down the clips on her suitcase. ‘A heads-up might have been nice!’
‘I tried! I told you to talk to him!’
But she didn’t want to hear any more. Did everyone lie? ‘I’ve got to go. Say goodbye to Alex for me?’
> ‘Where are you going?’
She shrugged. ‘A hotel somewhere? A bed and breakfast?’ She looked at Bruno. ‘One that takes dogs...’
‘Will I ever see you again?’
‘Do you read the Lancet?’ Krystiana smiled, trying to crack a joke in the midst of her trauma.
‘No.’
‘Then I guess not.’
‘I’ll talk to Matteo.’
‘There’s no point. I wouldn’t have any more to do with him if he was the last man alive.’
‘Krystiana, please! Promise me you’ll wait here until I get back?’
She nodded, knowing she was going to break her promise. But what did she owe Mara, if anything? Mara had been complicit in this lie, too. Mara whom she’d thought was a friend.
After Matteo’s ex-wife had left Krystiana took one last look around the place and then left, trailing her little suitcase behind her.
‘Come on, Bruno. Let’s go.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE’D NOT BEEN lying when she’d told Mara she’d stay at a hotel or a bed and breakfast. She just hadn’t said it would be in Rome.
Isla Tamoura was not a place she could be right now. Everyone would know her—know her face. She wouldn’t be able to find refuge at work either. People would show up just to gawp at her and ask questions. To see the royal fool. She needed to go somewhere no one would find her.
She’d dropped Bruno off at her aunt’s place. Thankfully she’d been out, so she’d left her aunt a note on the counter. Bruno would be fine with her—she knew that.
At the airport, the first thing she spotted was her face on the front of a newspaper. She was standing next to Matteo outside the restaurant last night. Smiling. Looking nervous, but happy.
Feeling sick, she fumbled in her handbag for a pair of large sunglasses and let her long hair down loose. She didn’t want anyone spotting her. Didn’t want anyone recognising who she was.
She sneaked into the women’s toilet and splashed her face with cold water, staring at her reflection, trying to equate the drawn-looking woman in the mirror with the one who had just this very morning woken up in the arms of the man she loved. A woman who had believed that her worst problem at the time was whether she’d have time for a quick shower before breakfast.
How was she here? Why had he lied? When he knew that the truth was the most important thing he could have told her?
Sliding the sunglasses back onto her face, she headed out of the bathroom and went to the customer service desk.
‘Are there any flights to Rome soon?’ she asked the perfectly groomed woman behind the desk.
The woman, whose name tag read Leonora, tapped at her keyboard, reading the screen in front of her. ‘Yes, ma’am, there’s a flight at three this afternoon.’
‘Any seats available?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Window and aisle.’
‘Okay. Who do I need to see to book that?’
Leonora told her where to go, and before she knew it Krystiana had a plane ticket and had checked her luggage. Only an hour until her flight time. What to do to pass the time?
She saw a coffee shop and felt the need for a huge slug of caffeine, and maybe some restorative chocolate, despite the feeling in her stomach.
She sat down at a small table, trying not to be noticed. Opposite her, a man sat with a woman whom she supposed to be his wife. They were discussing her picture on the front page of the newspaper. Wondering whether they were serious? Whether they were in love?
She tried to sink down in her seat, hoping no one would notice her.
I should have bought a paper to hide behind.
She looked about her and saw a discarded one on the table next to her. She picked it up and shook it open, hiding her face from the crowds.
One hour to go and she could be out of here!
* * *
Matteo stared at the empty apartment. ‘She’s really gone.’ He felt guilty. Angry. It had all come crashing down around his ears so quickly. Such intense happiness, contentment and love, and now this.
He was feeling empty. Stunned.
Heartbroken.
The thought that he might never see her again almost crushed him into inertia. It was like being back in that cave, wondering if he’d ever see his loved ones again?
Mara laid a friendly hand upon his arm, her face filled with sympathy. ‘She told me she’d wait.’
‘She didn’t want to get involved with me. Told me she didn’t want a relationship. That she didn’t want to be that vulnerable.’
‘She loved you, though. You can’t help who you fall in love with.’
‘Like you and Philippe?’ It was a cheap shot, and it was out of his bitter mouth before he could reel it back in. He was hurting and wanted to lash out, but he should never have lashed out at his best friend. ‘I’m sorry. Forget that.’
‘No, you’re right. I gave up on you. I left you behind.’
‘You thought I was dead. It’s hardly the same.’
‘But I still must have hurt you.’
‘I thought I’d never love again. I was determined that no one, anywhere, would open me up to loss. Ever.’
‘Krystiana left because she couldn’t be with you in the way that she needed.’
‘She left because I lied. I hurt her. Whatever must she think of me?’
‘She’ll be okay. She’s strong.’
‘She shouldn’t have to be okay. Shouldn’t have to be strong. She deserved the truth, but I never told her any of it because I knew how deep I was already in!’ He’d never felt so frustrated in all his life. ‘I thought I could bury my head in the sand. I thought I could find a way around it.’
‘I’m sorry, Matteo.’
‘I need to speak with my father.’
‘He’s resting. He needs to take it easy. You can’t go in there, all guns blazing.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you should just accept the fact that you got this wrong?’
Matteo sank onto the end of the bed. ‘In the worst way possible...’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
He looked at her with resignation. ‘Yes, I do.’
* * *
On arrival in Rome, Krystiana headed straight to the nearest information desk and looked for hotel and bed and breakfast listings. She didn’t want anywhere in the main city, but something on the periphery. Somewhere a bit more remote.
She found a perfect place called the Catalina that belonged to an elderly couple. Their bed and breakfast was on the outskirts of Rome, in Lazio, and her bedroom windows looked out over the countryside that formed part of the Riserva Naturale di Decima-Malafede. A nature reserve that was meant to host a population of wild boar.
After the hustle and bustle of life in the palace and work in Ventura, it felt good to be looking out at trees and grassland. Anything that didn’t remind her of life at the palace was absolutely fine by her.
She checked in under a made-up name, wearing the floppy sunhat she’d bought in duty-free and the large sunglasses that covered half her face. And then she sat in her room, dwelling on all that had passed.
* * *
Krystiana was doing what she always did in times of trauma—she was painting. Her room was beginning to fill with some pretty dark canvases now that she’d been here a week. It stank of paint and turpentine. She hadn’t eaten much and seemed to be existing on coffee. Espresso.
She refused to do anything else. Hadn’t turned on the television or read the news. She didn’t want to hear anything about what might be happening on Isla Tamoura. Didn’t want to think about Matteo in his garden, or playing with Alex, or eating breakfast on his sun terrace. To wonder whether he was being groomed to meet up with women who were more suitable. With royal blood. As opposed to the normal red stuff that r
an in her veins.
He hadn’t tried to contact her—which she was pleased about. It was what they both needed. No contact. Otherwise it might be too painful.
I’ve been a fool!
She’d spent her entire life telling herself that she was worth something. That she wasn’t damaged goods and that she deserved the truth. And even though she’d thought she’d found it in Matteo, clearly she’d been wrong. He’d been forced to reveal his lies. The way Adamo had. Her mind reeled as to how she could have been so misled. She’d believed so much that he felt the same about her.
He was a good actor. Perhaps it was something they taught young royals on Isla Tamoura. Always to seem confident and believable. There were all those speeches they had to make—that had to be part of it, didn’t it? Because being a good, strong king was something he wanted to present himself as. He was practised.
I never stood a chance.
And now, just as she’d known she couldn’t dig her way out of that hole in the ground when she was six, she knew that the situation she was in was just as futile. It was almost a special skill she’d developed—acknowledging when something was a hopeless case—and there were only two things you could do when you had no power at all: accept it, or suffer trying to fight back.
She’d had enough suffering in her life. And though she knew it was going to hurt, walking away from the man she loved, she knew she had no choice. She was resigning herself to the fact that she’d been right. People were weak and they let you down. Love saved no one.
She hoped she would learn something from this experience. Learn that she could only ever depend upon herself, as she’d always suspected. That at the end of the day, no matter how many people you had around you, it was down to you and you alone to survive.
* * *
‘What about Katherine? She seemed very interested in you.’
Alberto sat across the breakfast table from Matteo, who was nonchalantly tearing pastries apart, but only nibbling tiny parts of them.
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