ScandalWithaPrince

by Nicole Burnham

  Or was he merely chafing at the restrictions imposed on him now that his fortune of birth meant he couldn’t have Megan?

  “Your mother is concerned,” the king continued. “As am I. You should extend us the courtesy of letting us know when you’re traveling, even if you keep the details to yourself.”

  “Any further travel will be logged with my administrative assistant.”

  “Stefano.” His mother’s voice was soft, edging toward a plea.

  He faced her, leaning to rest his hips on the wide windowsill. They were butting in where they didn’t belong, but he appreciated that their curiosity about his personal life seemed mixed with genuine worry. They weren’t perfect parents—far from it—but then again, who was?

  Megan. A vision of her cradling Anna’s head in her lap at the Magic Fountain flashed in his mind before he squelched it.

  “I apologize if I’ve been rude. I’ve had a rough week. That’s all.”

  Behind him, the fly resumed its pounding against the glass. His parents looked past him to track the insect’s movements.

  “That is huge,” his mother breathed. “When we’re done here, I’ll call one of the staff to remove it.”

  “No need.” Stefano spun and flipped the heavy metal locks at the base of the window. Time for the fly to get the sunshine it craved.

  “Stefano, that must weigh fifty or sixty pounds. It hasn’t been opened in years! Decades, more likely,” his mother argued. “I’ll call someone.”

  “It’s only a fly, Fabrizia,” the king said. “It’ll die in a day or two and we can sweep it away.”

  Stefano ignored his father and pushed against the sides of the frame, driven by a sudden need to conquer the ancient mechanism. With a groan, the window gave bit by bit, chips of paint falling to the sill as it loosened in its chamber. He bent his knees, grabbed the handles mounted to the window’s lowest edge, and lifted. It took nearly all his back and leg strength, but he managed to raise it to the height of his forehead. Outside, the gardener stopped pushing the wheelbarrow and scanned the building to search out the source of the sound. Within seconds, the fly looped down and out into the fresh air, heading past the gardener to freedom.

  Stefano let the window slide back into place, then twisted the stiff metal locks to their usual position.

  “If you were so desperate to be rid of it you could’ve swatted it. Would’ve been easier,” his father said as Stefano faced them again. The twin vertical creases above the bridge of King Carlo’s nose deepened. “I wish you’d tell us what’s wrong. You’re not yourself. Is it the transportation minister? Has he been—”

  “It’s not the transportation minister.” He held up his hand to stop his father from making another guess. The gesture only irritated his father more, as King Carlo was unaccustomed to having his statements cut off.

  Stefano strode from the windows to the room’s center, taking the seat opposite his parents. They wanted to know? Fine.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. But” —he held up his index finger, daring to threaten the King and Queen of Sarcaccia— “what I’m about to say does not leave this room. Under any circumstances. If it does, suffice it to say it will have a negative impact on our Sunday dinner tradition.”

  His mother eased forward on the sofa but said nothing, her eyes fixed on his face, while the king crossed his arms over his chest in barely-contained annoyance and clamped his lips together. His eyes flashed fire.

  “I’ve been taking the jet to Barcelona,” he said. “Other than this week and last, I’ve gone every weekend since attending the reopening of the Grandspire with Mahmoud Said.”

  His mother’s green eyes, so much like Anna’s, widened. For the first time, he realized how much Anna resembled his mother. They had the same cheekbones, the same eyes, the same smile. He wondered if, in her youth, his mother had the same zest for life. He rather imagined she had…in some ways, she still did. His mother would fall apart when she met Anna. If she met Anna.

  “Is the report true, then? The one about the woman who has a child?” his mother asked. “I saw it in the paper a few weeks ago, but there’s been nothing since. Your father and I didn’t want to pry. We’d hoped you would come to us if there was anything to the story.”

  That was a point in their favor, at least.

  “Yes and no,” he told her. “Yes, the report was true. But no, I’m no longer seeing her.”

  “Ah.” His father’s shoulders dropped and the furrows in his brow eased. He folded his hands in his lap and exhaled. “You do not sound happy, and I am sorry for that. I’m sure you had a great fondness for this woman if you were willing to see her despite the fact she’s already a parent. But in the long run, I think you’ll see that it’s for the best. Such a relationship would be extremely difficult for someone in your position.”

  Rage simmered in Stefano’s gut, but it wasn’t the ignorance of his father’s words that incensed him. It was the man’s obvious relief. “You’re right about the difficulties, Father, but it is not for the best. Not at all.”

  “You just need some time, son.” His father’s tone was dismissive. “There are plenty of women who are capable of making you happy. It is only a matter of time.”

  “No. There’s only one woman.” He knew his next sentence would change his life, and possibly Megan and Anna’s, but it had to be said. “And that woman’s child is my child, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Oh, Stefano.” Crinkles appeared at the corners of his mother’s eyes. She leaned toward him, placing her elbows on her knees and steepling her fingertips in front of her as she regarded him. He could feel her instinct to reach across the space between them and touch him, to offer comfort, but she resisted. “You’re such a good man. From the time you were young, you’ve always felt such compassion for others, especially for children. I adore that about you. But feeling that this woman’s child is somehow your responsibility—”

  “It’s not a feeling, Mother. She is mine.”

  His mother stared at him in silence, processing his words. She seemed not to breathe. She swallowed hard and straightened. When she glanced at her husband to gauge his reaction, her lower jaw trembled. Despite the gentle demeanor for which she was beloved, Queen Fabrizia was given to displays of emotion on only the rarest of occasions. His mother must be experiencing the same sense of shock he had upon hearing about Anna from Megan.

  King Carlo merely raised one thick, well-groomed eyebrow. “Have you had a DNA test?”

  “Ever practical, aren’t you?” Stefano couldn’t prevent the snarl that escaped him. “And no, I have done no such thing. There’s no need.”

  King Carlo closed his eyes. Stefano suspected the man was counting backward from ten before speaking. When he did, his words were well-tempered. “Why do you believe this child is yours?”

  “I know. If you saw her, you’d know, too.” No DNA test would be necessary, even for his father, who was as cynical as they came.

  “Truly?” The barely whispered question came from his mother.

  “Truly.”

  “But…I can’t believe this. A child?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you’d told us as soon as you found out. How old is she?” A tentative smile tugged at the corner of his mother’s lips as she asked the question, even as her eyes brimmed with unshed tears at the realization that she was, at long last, a grandmother. “You did say it’s a girl?”

  “Her name is Anna. She just turned ten and she’s wonderful.” He shot his father a quick look. “And before you ask, yes, I had an intimate relationship with the girl’s mother then.”

  His mother angled her head, thinking back. The hint of joy he’d seen in her expression at learning she had a granddaughter faltered. “But that’s when you and Ariana—”

  She stopped abruptly when King Carlo patted her knee and stood. He moved to the rear of the sofa, then bracketed his wife’s slender shoulders with his hands, giving her a light squeeze.
Though the king’s lips remained pressed in a tight line, Stefano would swear that if he could see into his father’s skull, there would be wheels spinning so fast as to blur.

  “May we ask the woman’s name?” his father asked. “It wasn’t in the newspaper piece your mother and I read.”

  Stefano flexed his fingers against the fabric of the chair. It pained him to tell his parents, knowing they’d want to speak with Megan. No doubt their minds would leap ahead to how they’d react in public if a reporter went digging and the story broke open. They’d want to craft a press release and coach Megan on how to handle herself.

  But would they act in Megan and Anna’s best interests? Or their own? He wanted to believe they’d consider those interests one and the same, but wasn’t certain enough to take the chance.

  “Again, between us” —he looked for each of his parents’ nods of agreement— “her name is Megan Hallberg. She’s an American I met in Venezuela. She now works at the Grandspire, which is how I ran in to her again. That’s when I found out about Anna.”

  “You must have been caught completely off-guard,” his father replied. His hands remained at the queen’s shoulders, but the color had slowly leached from Queen Fabrizia’s face. “Wait, if this was during the grand reopening….what did Mahmoud say? Does he know?”

  “He doesn’t know. No one knows.” He fixed his father with a pointed look. “That’s why I asked you about Dagmar and whether she’d ever been told to hold my calls or cull the list of messages. Megan was trying to reach me to let me know about the pregnancy.”

  “I see.” His father absorbed that. “But she did not persist? Or send a message some other way?”

  “She did, actually. She went on the Internet to try to find a way to contact me other than through Dagmar, since she suspected I wasn’t getting her messages. That’s when she learned of my engagement. At that point, she assumed I was intentionally disregarding the calls and thought it best to keep the news to herself.”

  His mother hissed in a breath. Stefano stared at her until she raised her eyes to his. What he saw there left him sick inside. “What is it, Mother? You look as though you’re ready to pass out.”

  “Oh. Nothing. I’m simply…simply trying to imagine how you must’ve felt.”

  He didn’t buy it. “You know the name Megan Hallberg” —his mother shook her head even as the words left his mouth— “…you knew…didn’t you? And you kept it from me?”

  “No! I had no idea!” His mother’s jaw shook harder now.

  “Then what did you know?” He hated the edge in his voice, but he’d never seen his mother like this. Even when she’d heard of her own mother’s death in a car accident via the news, rather than from the police working the scene, she hadn’t shown such raw emotion.

  She reached to up to thread her fingers through King Carlo’s. He looked as disturbed as Stefano. Whatever the queen knew, she hadn’t shared any details with her husband.

  “There was a Megan—back then, you have to understand that you had so many phone calls—and she was one of the callers I asked Dagmar to defer when we were trying to deal with wedding plans. I hadn’t thought about it since, but once you said Hallberg…now I remember. But I didn’t realize, Stefano. I would never do that—”

  “Then why? You didn’t even know her. You couldn’t possibly know what she wanted.”

  “Everything was going so well for you. You and Ariana were engaged, which was my dream—and yes, I eventually realized that it was my dream, not yours—and you were about to start your military training.” A single, flat tear slipped from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t notice. Her entire being seemed devoted to telling her side of the story. “Then, the night before the press conference to announce the engagement, you had dinner with your father and me in our private apartment. Do you remember?”

  “Of course.” He’d finally apologized to his father for the argument they’d had the morning he’d stormed across the street to Ariana’s hotel. He’d hoped never again to have such a stressful discussion with his parents.

  “After we talked through the press conference, I asked about your time in Venezuela. What types of work you did, where you traveled, what kind of people you met. If you thought the experience was a valuable one. You mentioned a woman named Megan. You never said she was a girlfriend or that there was anything between you, but your expression told me she was special, and she was the only person you mentioned by name. When I saw that same name on Dagmar’s list of calls soon afterward, I…well, that’s when I suspected you might have had an affair with her. I didn’t want you second-guessing your relationship with Ariana. We had such a tight window while you were home to start the wedding planning. I didn’t want you distracted by phone calls from someone I believed was inconsequential. And I didn’t want anyone else to discover you’d had a fling so close to becoming engaged.”

  Stefano grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Fling. The word Megan herself had used when turning down his proposal.

  As angry as he wanted to be with his mother, if Megan herself had argued that what they’d had was nothing more than a fling, how could he have expected his mother to believe otherwise?

  “I am so sorry, Stefano. I had no idea.” Remorse filled her voice. “I truly believed that deflecting the phone calls was harmless. That I was protecting both you and Ariana.”

  She shouldn’t have interfered. She shouldn’t have put Dagmar in such a terrible position. And, judging from King Carlo’s guarded expression, she shouldn’t be taking the fall for an action with which he agreed. That was assuming he hadn’t taken the same action himself. Stefano wouldn’t put it beyond his father to have approached Dagmar separately with a similar directive, asking that no calls from young women be put through unless they were strictly for business purposes.

  It did no good to let his anger fester over something that happened a decade ago. He let out a long, purging breath, then reached across the space between them and gave his mother’s hand a quick squeeze. “I forgive you.”

  It occurred to him then that, had he been more open with his parents, they’d have known he didn’t need “protecting” from Megan. Not that he’d ever have told them about his romantic life, but the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.

  Finally, his father spoke. “I know it was a long time ago and it changes nothing, but did your…your encounter in Venezuela contribute to the end of your engagement?”

  “No. Ariana had no idea. Frankly, she wouldn’t have cared if she did.”

  His father tilted his head slightly, as if to ask, then why did it end?

  Stefano forgot that they had no clue. He’d been so angry at himself for being manipulated and for—as Megan put it—taking rash actions in order to control the situation, that when he and Ariana made the decision to call off the wedding, he’d refused to tell his parents anything more than what was in the press release.

  To this day, he could recite it word for word: Prince Stefano and Ariana Bassi have mutually agreed to end their engagement. They have the deepest respect and admiration for each other and remain close friends. Therefore, they humbly request that the media honor their privacy and that of their families. No further statements will be forthcoming.

  He looked at his father and shrugged. “We didn’t love each other. As much as I wanted to give you grandchildren and ensure the throne for the family, I couldn’t marry a woman I didn’t love. I wanted better for myself. I wanted better for Ariana. I was truly happy for her when she married.”

  “And what about you?” Though there was hope in his mother’s voice, doubt lingered in her eyes as she asked the question. “What is going to make you happy?”

  He stood, clarity coming to the jumbled, restless thoughts he’d had since leaving Megan. He could be happy—well, perhaps not happy so much as satisfied—if he could ensure Anna was happy. It’s what Megan would want.

  “Doing what’s best for my child.” And doing what he should’ve done for himself a l
ong time ago.

  “Will you bring her here?” King Carlo asked. “We would need to make arrangements for her security first, but it would allow her to receive the best education possible and access to all the—”

  “No.” He smiled to himself, resolved at last, while at the same time finding it humorous that his father suggested exactly the same course of action he’d initially proposed to Megan. How ludicrous it must have sounded to her then. “No, she already has the best of everything. In fact, I’ll no longer be here, either.”

  His mother pushed off the sofa and approached him. “I know you’re angry, even if you say we’re forgiven. But you can’t leave Sarcaccia.”

  “Oh, I’m not. But I am leaving the palace.”

  “No.” The single word came from his father.

  “Is that your desire? Or a command?” He met his father’s iron gaze. Neither of them budged or spoke. Since the palace was constructed, royals lived within its walls until they married and had children. Often, they stayed until the eldest ascended the throne and their own offspring needed the space. But to his knowledge, the tradition wasn’t law.

  Finally, Stefano looked to his mother. “I’ll let you know where to contact me as soon as I’m settled.”

  He crossed the library to his desk and neatly stacked his documents for later. A thought occurred to him, and he glanced up to take in his parents’ horrified looks. “Have you considered taking a family vacation like the ones we took to Sicily when I was a child? We had so much freedom. There was time to relax, to enjoy each other’s company, to be away from our round-the-clock public lives and have real family conversations. Not like our Sunday dinners, where we’re surrounded by dignitaries.”