The Royal Bastard

by Nicole Burnham

  Rocco turned to Justine, hating what he knew to be true, even as every fiber of his being rebelled against it, wanting to deny it. “I know my birth certificate is accurate, which means my mother was twenty-nine when she had me. Not nineteen.”

  Justine studied him for a moment, confusion etching her features. Then realization dawned. He saw the dread in her eyes just before she drew a sharp breath.

  “Oh, Rocco. Surely she couldn’t—”

  “Carlo can’t falsify his age. The entire world knows when he was born.” Horror and disgust squeezed his chest, making it difficult to speak. “That means…that means my mother was a sexual predator. I’m the result.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The set of Rocco’s jaw, the pain in his eyes…in the years she’d known him, Justine had never seen Rocco like this. Not when he’d arrived at the hospital in a panic following her accident. Not when Teresa admitted that she was terminally ill.

  Not even when Justine had watched from the shadow of the trees while Rocco stood by his mother’s grave and bravely delivered her eulogy, though doing so tore him apart inside.

  A wave of sadness engulfed Justine, one so powerful that she stepped backward until her legs hit the bed, causing her knees to buckle so she sat.

  “My mother was a predator.” He said it again, lifting his gaze to the ceiling while raking his hands over his head. “He was her student. Only a teenager. She was an adult. She was…I just…I don’t know what to think. She told us she was still in college when she took that tutoring job, but either that was a lie or the priest is lying now. And her birth certificate is wrong. What in the world do I do with this?”

  Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Her throat constricted. Instinct made her want to comfort him, to tell him it was a mistake. That Teresa never could’ve done what Rocco believed, what the evidence seemed to indicate. But she couldn’t. She had nothing, and the scientist in Rocco would want proof to refute the evidence in front of him.

  Biting her lip in an effort to hold back the tears, Justine slowly rose from the bed and went to Rocco, wrapping her arms around him.

  His body tensed. For an interminable moment, she feared he’d push her away. But then his arms came down, tight around her, and he buried his face in her hair. There were no tears, no sighs. He remained still, saying nothing. She held him like that for a long time, allowing his shock to dissipate. Finally, he took a deep breath and stepped back.

  “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I already know the answer,” she said. “Rocco, I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it better.”

  “You are, just by being here.”

  Justine said a silent prayer of thanks she and Rocco had spent such a meaningful night together, talking through their fears and ensuring that they were on the same wavelength. This morning would be even harder on him—and on her—if they hadn’t.

  He strode across the room to grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, angling a second bottle toward her. She nodded, and he brought it to her before taking a long swig from his. A frown cut across his brow as he swallowed.

  “What is it?”

  His dark eyes met hers. “I’m stunned you’re not angry with me. And very grateful.”

  What? “Why in the world would I be angry?”

  “I protected her. I protected her secret. You’re the one who paid the price.”

  “So did you,” Justine pointed out. “And that’s assuming that you’re analyzing all of this properly.”

  “I can’t imagine another explanation.”

  Justine couldn’t, either. She glanced at the pile of envelopes Teresa had left for Rocco, the envelopes he’d so carefully stowed in his safe, then protected on the journey to Baltimore. “Lina said she’d written letters to all of you. Maybe there’s something in there that’ll explain.”

  Exhaustion washed across Rocco’s features at the idea of digging back through the pile. However, he took another drink of his water, set the bottle on the table, and scanned the envelopes, bypassing the property and bank information to unseal the manila envelope on the bottom of the stack, one that was labeled private. As Lina had predicted, it contained three smaller, white envelopes, each bearing the name of one of Teresa’s children.

  Rocco set Lina and Enzo’s envelopes aside, then tapped his against the edge of the table several times before tossing it onto the bed. “I’m going to shower first. Give myself a few minutes before I dive in.”

  “Whatever you want.” She’d be here when he was ready.

  Justine fixed her hair and finished getting ready while his shower ran, taking it as a good sign when she heard him humming while he shaved, an habit he’d had as long as she’d known him. She doubted he even realized he did it. When he emerged, he seemed his usual self, his carriage relaxed, hair neatly combed, and jaw clean-shaven.

  After packing his toiletries, he retrieved the envelope from the bed and took a seat at the table. He read in silence, without raising his eyes from the page. At the end, he exhaled and extended the single white sheet, which was covered on both sides in tight, even script. “Here.”

  Justine took the chair opposite Rocco’s and flattened the page against the table, forcing herself not to visibly react as she read his mother’s final words to him.

  Dearest Rocco,

  First, thank you for handling my estate. I tried to liquidate what I could and hope the remainder is straightforward so you don’t have a financial mess. Unfortunately, I fear I’ve left you and the twins with an emotional mess, and for that I am truly sorry.

  If you’ve sorted through the rest of these papers, I’m sure your sharp eyes found the discrepancy. You will need to use the date on the birth certificate on all court filings if you want the estate to close without raising questions.

  The truth is that I am ten years older than I told you, the twins, or Jack.

  I am sure you are shocked, upset, or both, but yes, that date makes me twelve years older than Carlo Barrali.

  The story of how we met is as I told you. I was hired as Carlo’s tutor after being referred by my university’s placement office. Though I’d graduated several years before, I’d been tutoring ever since the office found a job for me during my freshman year. The affinity Carlo and I felt for each other was immediate and powerful.

  You were young and innocent and the twins were on the way when Carlo’s father died and he inherited the throne. When he made the decision to remain with Fabrizia, I knew there was no turning back for him. I was hurt, I was angry, but I knew he was doing what he must to protect his kingdom.

  I loved Carlo with all my heart and I am convinced to this day that he loved me. However, Sarcaccian law would’ve labeled me a criminal for that love, despite the fact it was mutual, so all I could do was protect what remained of it…you, Enzo, and Lina.

  I took an entry-level government job that enabled me to keep a low profile and told no one who’d fathered my children. Then I met Jack Cornaro. He loved me for me. Best of all, Jack loved you three children. I told him only that your biological father was out of the picture, and that was enough for him.

  When Jack was transferred to Italy, he asked me to come with him and proposed marriage. It was an enormous leap of faith on his part, knowing so little about my past. I knew then that I could trust him. I also knew that leaving Sarcaccia was the best way to protect you. Each day you looked more and more like Carlo, and I feared what could happen if we stayed.

  To protect you further, before we left for Italy I managed to change the birthdate on my passport. I was fortunate to find a job that enabled me to stay out of public life, raise you in a secure home, and send you to schools that both challenged you and fostered your creativity. Through it all, Jack treated you as if you were his own children. He encouraged you to study, to explore your interests, to travel. It was his idea to adopt you soon after we married, and he told me it was his great privilege.

  My marriage to Jack turned out better than I ever could have dreamed. I love
d him when I married him, but as the years passed, I fell in love with him. It transformed me. It made me a better person. Eventually, I told Jack about Carlo, though to my shame I couldn’t bring myself to tell Jack my real age and, therefore, reveal the full nature of that relationship. I feared what Jack would think of me. He was supportive, loving, and encouraged me to tell the three of you the identity of your biological father when you were old enough to handle it. I don’t know if you remember, but he was by my side that day. He set the tone. He made it clear that no matter how you were conceived, he considered himself your true father and couldn’t love you more. You, Enzo, and Lina always viewed him as such. He was the perfect male role model for you, Rocco, one who encouraged you to grow and flourish and become your own man. That, you did.

  You must know how proud I am of you and of all you’ve accomplished. As you found success in your career, I bragged about you to everyone…waiters, my hairdresser, even the man who installed the security system at the New York condo. He’s a regular at my favorite Manhattan coffee shop and has a child with Type I diabetes. He was fascinated by what you do. He told me that work like yours is what keeps his child alive.

  Rocco, I can think of no higher calling.

  I made grave mistakes in my life. However, I believe there was a higher purpose at work. You, Enzo, and Lina were meant to be. You were meant to accomplish all that you have and more. You were meant to make others’ lives better.

  Unfortunately, I could not protect you from my death and the lie I knew it would reveal. I thought about telling you after Jack died, then again when faced with my own terminal illness. In the end, I decided this way was best. You could consider the information in private.

  It will be up to you, Enzo, and Lina to decide how to handle it.

  I hope now you can understand why I tried so hard to encourage each of you to pursue your passions while discouraging you from a life that might attract a certain kind of public attention, the kind that invites sensationalism or international television coverage.

  As I write this, you and Justine are separated. You refused to discuss the nature of your conflict with me, but I suspect it was my fault. I hope you will reach out to her and find a way to reconcile now that I’m gone. When you are with her, you stand taller, smile more often, and radiate joy. You look the way I felt when I found Jack. It is what I want for you. It is what you deserve.

  For years, I know you’ve believed Carlo Barrali to be a villain. He is not. Nor is he a victim. Neither am I villain or victim. We are each only human and were blessed to have you, no matter the circumstance. It is because of you and the twins that I know I will reside in Heaven, where I can watch over the children I so adore. I could not ask for more, other than to wish you a life of happiness and hope that you can one day find it in your heart to forgive me.

  I love you, and shall forever love you.

  Slowly, Justine folded the letter and returned it to the envelope bearing Rocco’s name. She pushed it across the table to him. He said nothing, but he asked her what she thought with a lift of his brow.

  “Wow.”

  That drew a cold laugh from him. “A succinct summary. And an accurate one.”

  “Fabrizia must know. She told you none of this?”

  “No.” He took the envelope and shoved it back inside the larger manila one, adding Lina and Enzo’s letters before he closed the flap. “Her children don’t know about me or my siblings. Apparently Carlo and my mother wanted to keep it quiet in order to protect both sets of children. Guess now I know why.”

  “It would devastate them.”

  “Hell, it’s devastating me, and my mother’s the one who committed—”

  She covered Rocco’s hand with hers. “Your right to be upset is no less than theirs.”

  He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. When he looked at her again, he seemed less pained, more resigned. “I’m surprised she was able to keep the secret for so long. Jack was a smart man. At the very least, I’d think he’d suspect.”

  “Your mother looked incredible for her age. I wouldn’t have guessed her to be ten years older.”

  “It’s more than that.” Rocco withdrew his hand and rose to pace the room the way he often did when he thought of a new angle on one of his designs and needed to work out the logistics in his head. “It’s how she did it that amazes me.”

  “Changing a passport couldn’t have been easy.”

  “She would’ve had to make the change not only on the passport itself, but in the government’s computers. Otherwise, it would’ve come up on the system when she went through customs. I traveled with her often and she never had a problem. Her passport went right through the scanner.”

  A thought occurred to Justine. “You think King Carlo could’ve arranged it?”

  Rocco paused, then shook off the idea and continued pacing. “It’s more likely that my mother had access while working in her own government job. For a king to do that would’ve meant involving other people, and it sounds like he played his relationship with my mother so close to the vest only Queen Fabrizia knows of it. He didn’t even tell his parents. If he’d been caught attempting to manipulate government records, it would’ve made the situation far worse.”

  The explanation sounded plausible. “You don’t know what her government job was when you were little?”

  “She only told me it was for the government. I never asked for specifics.” His stretched his hands in front of him as he continued to wear a path in the hotel carpet. “Assuming she had access to change the date on the passport and in the computer system, she must’ve known changing the original paper certificate on file with the priests in the village where she was born was impossible. That was her Achilles heel. She knew it’d come out when she died.”

  “Thanks to Croatian probate law.” Justine gathered up the manila envelopes Rocco had left on the table, including the one containing the private letters, and secured them with the rubber band. “I bet she wasn’t even aware of it until she started dividing up her estate and realized that you’d have to produce the original birth certificate.”

  “Or when Jack passed away.” Rocco scrubbed a hand over his chin. “She closed his estate. She would’ve had to present his American birth certificate to do it.”

  “It’d explain why she considered telling you when Jack died.”

  He nodded. “It also explains her stress level the last few months. Yes, she was terminally ill, but I suspected there was something else bothering her, something she didn’t wish to discuss. Even Enzo noticed when he came to visit. He said she seemed troubled for reasons aside from her illness.”

  “Speaking of Enzo, I assume we’ll fly directly to Croatia instead of going to Rome. You need to talk to Enzo and Lina. Invite them to the villa so you can do it face to face. Tell them it’s about your mother’s estate and they’ll come.”

  He grimaced. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Honestly, I’d rather go to Rome.”

  “Rome’s not going anywhere and neither am I. The sooner this is addressed, the better. Otherwise, it’ll hang over your head the entire time we’re there, and what fun is that? Besides, I imagine you’ll be better able to process it all once you’ve talked to them. They’ll understand in ways I can’t.”

  He gathered her into his arms once more. She inhaled deeply of his warm skin, fresh from the shower, and wished she could erase his mother’s mistakes for him. Teresa had been right about one thing: Rocco deserved happiness.

  “Croatia, then.” He leaned back to meet her gaze. “When this is done, I promise you Rome.”

  She traced his jaw with her thumb. There’d be no Russian thugs and no secrets between them on the trip home, but in many ways, it’d be more difficult. Too difficult to expect Rocco to think beyond.

  “Just promise me you,” she said. “You’re all I need. The rest will follow.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rain pounded the windows of Rocco’s villa. Justine stood alongside the thick navy dra
peries, her back to Rocco’s desk, watching in silence as the red and yellow blooms adorning the edges of Rocco’s front walkway sagged under the relentless pummeling of the early evening storm.

  A week had passed since they’d returned to Croatia. She’d spent most of the time with Rocco at the villa as they waited for Enzo and Lina to arrive. The injuries he’d sustained in his fight with Karpovsky healed, and he’d made a couple trips to the office to complete work on his patent application while she’d gone to daily rehab appointments. Three days ago, she’d finally gone to see her doctor. To her shock and surprise, he’d declared her recovery one of the best he’d ever seen. Before she left, he’d told her he saw no problem if she wanted to get back on skis, but to take it slowly and cautiously, then to check in with him afterward.

  She’d returned to the villa with a bounce in her step. It’d been the one bit of good news they’d had since reading Teresa’s letter. Rocco had made dinner, grilling freshly caught fish he’d picked up in the marketplace on the way home to celebrate. He’d raised a glass to her hard work and said all the right things, but she sensed his mind was elsewhere. Even when he mentioned hearing from his partners at Johns Hopkins that they’d reviewed his design and could start work on the prototype immediately, he hadn’t displayed his usual fire.

  Until he dealt with his mother’s deception, Justine knew Rocco couldn’t move on and couldn’t truly be happy.

  “They’ve been in there for nearly two hours,” she said when Kos appeared at her side at the window. “You finish your book?”

  Kos nodded. While the Cornaro siblings met in the kitchen to discuss their late mother, Justine had alternately paced and flipped through the pages of one of Rocco’s science magazines. In contrast to her agitated state, Kos spent the time reclined on the sofa, deeply engrossed in a Dean Koontz novel. He and his wife planned to leave the next morning for a Mediterranean cruise, but she’d told Kos to make himself useful to Rocco—and get out of her way—while she packed. The only time Kos looked up from the book long enough to speak, he claimed his wife had given him an impossible task. He couldn’t be of use to Rocco while the man was holed up in another room.