The Royal Bastard

by Nicole Burnham

  As Rocco accepted the king’s card, he marveled at the depth of emotion and sincerity in the king’s voice.

  “I should say good night to your wife. I’ll walk to my car from there.” He held out a hand. “Thank you, Rocco. Coming here and seeing you again after all these years…it’s my privilege.”

  Rocco accepted the king’s outstretched hand. The simple exchange tightened Rocco’s throat, but he managed to keep his tone even as he responded, “I’m glad we met, as well.”

  Carlo nodded, then pulled in Rocco for an embrace. A cacophony of emotions erupted within Rocco. He’d hated this man for so long, yet the quick, affectionate hug felt very much like the ones he’d received over the years from Jack Cornaro.

  The king gestured to the back hall. “This way?”

  At Rocco’s nod, he said, “Good night, Rocco. I hope we can see each other again,” then turned on his heel and disappeared, but not before Rocco saw the tears clinging to the rims of King Carlo’s eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rocco said nothing as he took a seat on the stone bench beside Justine. Sensing his need to simply think, she flipped part of the blanket over him, then scooted closer to rest her hand on his forearm.

  The fire had burned down to its last embers, with only two well-blackened logs remaining, when the king had crossed the patio to wish her a good night and thank her for giving him the space to speak to Rocco. It’d been surreal, having the world-famous king grasp both her hands in his, then offer a warm, genuine smile before he departed. She’d met dozens of famous people in her career, but he had to be one of the most recognizable. She’d managed a few words of semi-coherent small talk before he took his leave.

  The sound of the car engine starting out front occurred at the same moment she’d heard Rocco open the back door to join her.

  Once the last of the red-hot cinders disappeared, Justine eased away from Rocco to poke at the ashes. Wood smoke lingered in the air, reminding her of peaceful evenings spent at ski lodges surrounded by sky and forest and stars. “Still want to head back to the villa tonight? If not, I’ll add more kindling and we can sit awhile. Otherwise, I should douse this.”

  “Douse it.” He levered himself off the bench. “I’ll go ahead and lock up, unless you’d like to use the restroom first.”

  She shook her head, then asked him to grab her bag from the living room. They met at the car, then buckled in for the trip back to Dubrovnik. By day, it was a gorgeous drive, with the road snaking through rural villages as it afforded glimpses of the jagged Adriatic coast. Tonight, however, even with the moonlight, Justine found it difficult to appreciate. Tension rolled off Rocco in waves.

  “I liked him.”

  They were only twenty minutes from the villa when Rocco finally spoke, his voice like sandpaper.

  “I’m glad.” She reached across the gearshift to touch his thigh. “I know it was difficult, but the risk was worth it for Enzo and Lina. Perhaps for you, too.”

  “Everything I suspected about my mother was true. I knew it in my heart before he confirmed it.” Before Justine could say she was sorry, he continued, “To his credit, the king was gracious about it. He said he couldn’t fault the way she raised us, and he answered my questions about the necklace. He had it made for my mother after he ended their relationship.”

  “After?”

  Rocco glanced in the rear view mirror, then moved over to allow a car to pass. “That surprised me, too. He explained it as a misguided attempt at a combination goodbye and thank-you-for-the-children gift from a man who was still maturing and had more money than he knew what to do with. He said he’d hoped she’d take it as a peace offering and let him visit us. She sent it back.” Rocco released a long breath. “Apparently, after their relationship ended, my mother wouldn’t allow him to see us.”

  Justine wasn’t sure how to take that bit of information. Rocco seemed deep in thought, though not necessarily troubled…at least not by what he’d learned about his mother from Carlo. A deeper matter gnawed at him.

  “Do you think you’ll see him again?”

  “I suspect it’s inevitable.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet her look of curiosity. “He told his children about us. In fact, he says he told them everything right before he flew here.”

  “Whoa.” That likely explained Rocco’s distracted mood.

  “That sums up my thinking on the subject.” He guided the car around a series of turns that put them onto the main road into Dubrovnik. “I’m sure they were as stunned by the information as I was. More, given that they didn’t even know I existed, let alone about his relationship with my mother.”

  “It’ll be a lot for them to absorb.”

  “And there are a lot of them.”

  A note of resignation in his voice left her cold inside. “You’re afraid it’s going to come out.”

  “I can’t imagine it not coming out, and sooner rather than later. Too much has happened since my mother died. Too many people know.”

  “It was hidden for over forty years, Rocco. It may stay that way forty more.” At his skeptical look, she asked, “If it does come out, what’s the worst that can happen? You’ve done nothing wrong. Neither have Enzo or Lina. The story will be shocking to those who live in Sarcaccia, but will anyone else really care?”

  “Only everyone who reads about the royals while standing in line at the supermarket. Or watches the evening news.”

  “It all depends on the coverage, though, doesn’t it? The Barralis strike me as masters of their own press. They’ll find a way to spin it so it doesn’t sound so bad.” She gave his thigh a soft squeeze before resting her hands in her lap. “No matter what happens, I’m confident you, Enzo, and Lina will be able to manage it for as long as it’s a story. After that, people will forget. Their focus will be on the next Barrali scandal, whatever it may be. Not on you.”

  Rocco didn’t respond. His mouth remained in a thin line and he gripped the steering wheel so tight Justine suspected he’d break it between his hands if he were able. Much as she wanted him to talk, she understood he still needed time. The wounds were too raw.

  When they reached the outskirts of Dubrovnik, he said, “You received a phone call this morning. From what I heard it sounded ski-related.”

  “It was. My old coach.”

  “You told him you got the all-clear?”

  She nodded. “He’s fully booked, but had some recommendations for me. Good ones. He offered to put out feelers, see who might be interested in working with me. I figured you and I could talk through the options after you finished with your mother’s estate.”

  “Where would you need to train?”

  “Depending on the coach, they’d probably want to go to either Chile or New Zealand by late June or early July. I’ve been putting in the gym time, but I need to get on skis to see what I have. Or don’t have.”

  “You’d need to go soon.”

  He knew from past years that she did most of her off-season training in the gym, working to enhance her strength, balance, and explosiveness. However, she tried to clock at least fifty of those days on skis wherever she could find fresh powder, and that meant the southern hemisphere. Given that she hadn’t skied in a year, she’d need to fit in as many snow days as possible during the coming off-season if she hoped to compete.

  “Within two to three weeks, I imagine. I’ll talk to a few coaches first.”

  “Do what you need to do. Whatever’s best for your career.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll ski yet. It may all come to nothing. I’m at the age where most competitors retire.”

  “I know you. You’ll race again.” He faced her after he slowed to a stop at a red light. “You turned down the television job, didn’t you?”

  Yesterday. It’d been one of the most difficult calls of her life, knowing the gamble she was taking. “I didn’t think it was fair to keep the producer waiting. If I’m going to do this, it needs to be all or nothing.”

/>   “That’s what I figured.”

  She frowned at his tone as the light changed and he stepped on the gas. “The way you said that…I thought you said you’d support me making another go at competing.”

  “I did. And I do.” He turned the car onto a road that headed toward the Old City, rather than in the direction of the villa. “But I also said I’d do my best never to hurt you again.”

  “Oh, Rocco, no.” At once his attitude became understandable. It was why he’d been pulling away from her for the last week, though he needed her more than ever. Why he’d been silent for most of the drive back from the Konavle. Why he was turning toward her apartment instead of the villa. It was all she could do not to grab the wheel and spin it toward the home they’d once shared, the home they should share again. “Don’t be a martyr. There’s no need.”

  “I’m not!” All the strain and hurt of the last week came out in those two words. “I’m being practical.”

  “You want to end our marriage before we’ve had it back for even two weeks because you think all this nonsense with your mother will be bad for my career.”

  “Bad? Try devastating. Think of how you’ll be perceived.”

  “Like a woman with good taste who’s married to one of the hottest, smartest men on the planet. If you call that devastating, then—”

  “Stop.” His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “This isn’t a joke, Justine. What my mother did…” He grit his teeth. “Maybe I’ve known it from the moment I read her letter. Or when we boarded the airplane to fly home and that couple in the waiting area kept sneaking peeks at you. They not only recognized you, they recognized you in a positive light. They were smiling and elbowing each other. Think of how that would change.”

  “It wouldn’t. And if it did, I wouldn’t care.”

  “Says the woman who assured a television producer she has no skeletons in her closet. No scandals. Nothing to detract from a long-term career in front of the camera.”

  “Rocco—”

  “The minute you step back into your ski boots, you’ll be under more scrutiny than ever. There’s a reason sports broadcasters have made a trope out of the comeback kid. It makes a great story. It’s the kind of story that will bring you new fans and endorsement deals. Deservedly so, because you’ve worked your tail off. You’re a great athlete and a spectacular role model. When you do finally end your competitive career, you’ll be in even higher demand than you are now, but only if you’re conscious of your image.”

  “For being such a smart guy, you’re a real idiot.” How could he not see? Being with him gave her courage. He made her feel invincible.

  “I promised I’d never hurt you again, but I’m stuck in a Catch-22. I hurt you if we divorce. I hurt you if we stay together.” He turned onto the street where her apartment was located. She wanted to tell him to keep driving, to go to the villa, but knew her plea would fall on deaf ears. “One will be short-term pain, and one will haunt you over and over. I’m opting for the lesser of two evils.”

  She undid her seatbelt and twisted to face Rocco as he parked at the curb in front of her apartment. The night was as silent and dark as when they’d fled down this same street with Radich and Karpovsky on their heels. The sense of doom crushing her lungs felt as immediate now as it had then. “I’m going to chalk up everything you just said to the fact you’ve had a very long, emotional day. It’s not normal for you. Give this time. Sleep on it. I’m happy to stay here at the apartment and give you space at the villa if that’s what you need, but don’t make a rash decision. We belong together. We’ve known it for years. I need you more than any job. And frankly, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  Taking a chance, she closed the space between them to cradle his cheek. She looked deep into his eyes, eyes filled with pain, and hoped he could see the sincerity in hers and draw strength from it. “I know you, Rocco. And I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He covered her hand with his, then slowly eased it away from his face to kiss her palm before lowering it to her lap. “That’s why I need to let you go.”

  * * *

  Rocco felt like a first class bastard, and not because of his birth.

  Well, come to think of it, exactly because of his birth, and the actions his mother’s choices now necessitated.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled over on the library’s long gray sofa, mentally replaying the night’s conversations, first with Carlo, then with Justine. He’d done the right thing in both instances, but doing the right thing didn’t feel right.

  It felt horribly, terribly wrong. As if he’d taken a knife and plunged it deep into his own chest, and was now staring down, watching himself bleed out. Worse, he knew Justine was sitting in her apartment at this very moment, likely wide awake and staring out at the first blush of sunlight as it hit the city streets, wondering what in the world had gone wrong. What she could’ve said or done to change his mind.

  She wouldn’t believe him if he’d told her there was no going back. In Justine’s mentality options always existed. A tweak to her equipment, another route down the racecourse, a subtle change that could shave an extra tenth of a second to secure a victory.

  The look on her face as she’d stepped out of his car and unlocked the door to her apartment building shredded him. He’d had to force himself to put his hands on the steering wheel so he wouldn’t go after her. So she wouldn’t think she could hop back in the car and convince him he was making a mistake. When he’d told her he needed to let her go, she hadn’t argued. Not with words. She’d stared at him as if she could make him recant with the force of her will alone.

  He’d simply met her gaze until she’d finally grabbed the door handle in a huff and stepped out of the car. Those few seconds had seemed interminable.

  I need you more than any job.

  That was the part she failed to think through. Skiing wasn’t a job for her. It was her. Whether she spent the rest of her life on the slopes or in front of a camera, skiing was her passion. It put sparkle in her eyes and had her talking to complete strangers as if they were lifelong friends. He wouldn’t take that from her. She wouldn’t be the same Justine without it.

  She knew it, too, or she wouldn’t have been so determined to defy her doctors, to do everything her rehab specialists asked of her and more. To push herself to the absolute limit, to toss aside the pain medication when she feared it might interfere with her long-term plans.

  She’d wanted him to sleep on his decision. She was the one who needed to sleep on hers.

  Rocco swiped a hand over his stubble-covered chin and pushed to sit. Unfortunately, actual sleep hadn’t been in the cards. He’d tried going to bed, only to meander to the library. He’d poured a drink, but hadn’t consumed it. He’d turned on the news only to mute it when a perky brunette began gushing over the irrepressible spirit of a local man who’d been injured in a motorcycle accident and was now, against all odds, learning to ride again.

  That one hit a little too close to home.

  His fist connected with the back of the sofa. “I love her too much for her own damned good,” he muttered to himself. “And mine.”

  More than anyone he’d ever met, and—he knew with every cell in his body—more than anyone he’d ever meet again. Screw second acts. He had none. Justine was his first, his only chance at a happily ever after. But she had other chances. She was beautiful, tenacious, and had an inner light that drew people to her. The best thing he could do for Justine was let her go, though the idea of her eventually finding another man, one who’d be better for her…it turned his stomach.

  He stretched and cracked his knuckles. He’d made a promise to her and he meant it. He’d do what was best for the two of them—for everyone—not what was best for him. He wouldn’t put Justine through the agony of being asked again and again about her husband or her late mother-in-law. Or have Justine wonder every time she was turned down for a job if it was her marriage that ultimately decided her fa
te, or if she’d somehow missed the mark when judged on her own hard work and talent.

  The world needed to see her for who she was. Not for the man she’d married. If it did, the possibilities for her future were endless.

  A muffled hum came from his desk. He crossed the room with a curse, expecting to see Justine’s number on the phone’s display. He wouldn’t answer it. Not yet. He needed more time and so did she. But when he glanced at the screen and noted the private number, he answered immediately.

  “I apologize for waking you. I didn’t intend to use your card so soon, but there’s been a development.”

  King Carlo’s voice was as clear as it’d been when they’d spoken less than six hours earlier, making Rocco wonder if the monarch had slept at all.

  “What is it?”

  “I was spotted disembarking the jet at three in the morning. I imagine it’ll be mentioned on the morning news here in Sarcaccia. I’m attending a planning meeting for the restoration of Cateri’s central library later today. The press will be there.”

  “Which means you’ll be asked about it.”

  “Yes.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Rocco. I can put off questions easily enough today. Perhaps for three or four days. But the longer I defer, the more convinced reporters will be that there’s a story to uncover.”

  “I understand.” Rocco took a deep breath. “Do what you need to do. I’ll call Lina and Enzo to warn them.”

  “You’ll have reporters at your doorstep.”

  “Then I won’t be here.”

  Once he ended the call, Rocco sank into his desk chair and stared at the framed wedding photo on the corner, the one Fabrizia had studied the day she’d come to warn him. Jack and his mother looked so happy. Too bad Jack hadn’t known his wife was lying to him about her past. Or maybe it was for the best. Jack had lived a robust life, one filled with love from his wife and three adopted children.