The Prince's Wedding

by Justine Davis

  And Colorado was her home, in a way this place could never be.

  She shook herself out of her reverie, wondering just how long she'd been on this stairway, and grateful no one had happened along to see her standing and staring into space. And she'd been here long enough now to realize how lucky she'd been; there were always people around the palace. There never seemed to be a quiet moment, or a spot that stayed quiet for long, and she knew that would drive her crazy after a while.

  She could barely remember all the people she'd met—Eliya, the Sabinas, Josie and Rudy, who had been in King Marcus's service for decades stuck in her mind. As did Nathan Winters, the gardener, remembered as much for his obvious love and knowledge of the plants and flowers he tended as for the unexpected story of his daughter Serena and her marriage to the queen's nephew.

  The Sebastianis were not, she had to admit as she finally continued down the stairs, an exclusionary bunch. Their family members married commoners without concern, it seemed. Which made the idea of royal blood a little more confusing. Except that none of the others were in the direct line of inheritance for the throne. And she couldn't help wondering how those commoners felt, once they were face-to-face with the reality they now had to live with.

  The massive front doors began to swing open just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she stopped abruptly for a second time, this time because she heard voices. Male voices, several of them. And lots of hearty laughter. She hadn't heard about any visitors, but also didn't want to stick around to see who they were. Or have them see her.

  She dodged to her left, into the gold room she vaguely remembered, ready to run before she intruded on some high-level private meeting. This place, she reminded herself, was also where a lot of government business was done. And the last thing she wanted was to be the focus of a bunch of male eyes as she was introduced as.. .as what? Lucas's one-time lover? The mother of Lucas's son? Broodmare for the heir?

  The drawing room was fortunately empty, and she drew a breath of relief. She could cut through the banquet room, she supposed, trying hard to remember the layout of this part of the palace. Then go through the—

  She stopped for a third time, this time because the voice she heard next from the entry foyer next was unmistakably Lucas's.

  "—rest assured. Montebello is as solid as ever. My father is, as you have seen, in excellent health, I have suffered no ill effects from my little adventure, and the succession to the Montebellan throne is assured through yet another generation with the birth of my son."

  "Our investors will be glad to hear that," another voice said, but Jessie barely heard a word.

  .. .my little adventure.

  Was that what it had been to him? A "little adventure" that was over and done with, and now only something to be chuckled about with business acquaintances?

  The rest of what he'd said rang in her head like some bell tolling for a funeral. ... the succession to the Montebellan throne is assured through yet another generation with the birth of my son.

  As if her concerns were meaningless and already set aside by royal decree. As if it were all settled, and it was a given she would quietly and docilely hand her helpless baby over to the Sebastianis to raise in the manner they saw fit. While she had no doubt that he would be well taken care of, and in fact smothered in attention and caring, she also knew she could not take away her son's choices before he even knew they existed. She simply couldn't.

  Nor could she stay here, knowing so little was thought of her rights when it came to Luke.

  A shiver went through her. What were her rights, in Montebello?

  She had to lean against the nearest wall to stay on her feet. What if this was one of those utterly patriarchal places where the father had all rights, the mother none? Or where she had no rights at all, simply because she was a woman? What if the Sebastianis were not exceptions to a harsher rule over women? Considering what part of the world they were in, she realized belatedly, she should have thought of that before.

  She had to find out. But she didn't want to betray her hand, in case her worst fears proved true. The library, she thought. Surely there would be information there. Now if only she could manage to find it....

  It was off the grand ballroom, she remembered that much. But the only route she remembered, that she was sure would get her there, was through the foyer. So she crept closer to the doorway and listened. The voices had faded, and continued to fade as she stood there. Wherever they were going, it was away from her, and toward the back of the palace. She waited until she'd heard nothing for several minutes, then risked a peek to make sure the coast was clear. Then she darted for the doors to the grand ballroom.

  Thankfully, she found it was empty—amazingly, she thought, since she guessed maintaining it was a constant chore. She turned right and found the library doors standing open. She stepped inside, wondering if she dared close them to hide her presence here.

  She had to, she decided. She couldn't risk being caught here reading about women's rights in Montebello, they would quickly guess she was getting ready to fight them. And who knew what they might do then—the Sebastianis were used to winning, she was certain.

  "May I be of assistance?"

  Jessie yelped and whirled. She'd been so focused on not being seen from outside it hadn't occurred to her that someone might already be inside the library. But here she was, face-to-face with an older gentleman—it was the only word that truly fit—looking at her imperturbably from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

  "I'm Arthur," he said by way of introduction. "I'm the palace archivist."

  "Oh." Still flustered, she decided she should introduce herself. "I'm Jessie Chambers."

  "I know, miss. Welcome to the palace library and the Montebello archives."

  She wasn't sure she wanted to know how he knew who she was. And was sure she didn't want to know who he'd been told she was. "Thank you," she said hastily.

  "Is there something I could help you find?"

  She thought quickly. "There must be a section on Montebello. You know, history, laws, geography, that kind of thing?" She hoped by dropping the one thing she really wanted into the middle he wouldn't fixate on it.

  "Most certainly." He said it calmly, but there was a spark of appreciation in his eyes, and she wondered what kind of thing he was usually asked for. "Right over here, if you will please come with me?"

  She followed him over to a rather alarmingly large corner of the room. The shelves were clearly labeled, however, so she supposed she would be able to find what she needed, given enough time.

  Not, however, if he was hanging over her shoulder, making her nervous. "I think I'll just browse, if that's all right," she said.

  "Of course, miss. Make yourself at home." He gestured toward the back of the large room. "I'll continue with my cataloging, so if you need anythingjust call."

  She would have preferred to have been left alone, but realized it would hardly be productive to draw his attention by asking him to leave when he obviously had work to do. So instead she picked out a naturalist's book on the plant and animal life of the island, another on the history of the royal family, and after some searching, pulled out a very dry-looking book on civil law and slid it in between them.

  She carried the books over to a large leather wing chair that was placed, conveniently, with its back to where the man named Arthur was working. She glanced through the naturalist's book first, spotting first the familiar eucalyptus and cedar trees, then the less familiar jacaranda and arbutus. When she was fairly certain Arthur was paying no attention to her, she slid the civil law book out and opened it.

  She knew after scanning twenty pages of dense, small print that it was going to be difficult to get what she needed. She didn't have the background—or right now the time—to translate all this legalese into plain language.

  What I need is some scandal rag or something, the kind that documents celebrity divorces and custody battles, she thought. And had to stifle an ironic, m
iserable laugh that she would ever be personally involved in anything like that, the kind of thing she shook her head over when in line at Shady Rock's single grocery store.

  She went back to the book, but without much hope. She didn't find anything of help, and shut it with a sigh. She leaned back in the chair, wishing now she had never come to Montebello, but knowing she couldn't get away. She knew her face had already been splashed across the pages of the Montebello Messenger newspaper, a couple of its less-respected competitors, and more than one magazine. There was no way she could get quietly out of the country, even if she managed to get Luke away from the palace.

  She heard a sound from the back of the room, and nearly jumped. And then the absurdity of it hit her, that she, Jessie Chambers, was sitting here thinking about sneaking out of a foreign country and smuggling her baby out with her. How on earth had her life gotten so out of control?

  She got up, put the books back, and walked out thinking that her life had careened out of control the day Joe had ridden into it.

  * * *

  Lucas rubbed wearily at his neck, glad to see the last of that bunch. He'd once made the mistake of laughing at his father's lengthy preparations for his annual meetings with the international investors who poured a lot of money into the Montebellan economy. His father had promptly turned them over to him, saying it was time the heir to the throne learned what it took to keep his country among the wealthiest and most successful in the world.

  What it took besides hours of reading and looking at spreadsheets and company reports, he'd discovered, was sweet talk, kowtowing, promises of endless stability and a lot of wining and dining. Ordinarily it was merely an annoyance, something he had to get through, hopefully without getting too irritated at the maneuvering and attempts at manipulation for better treatment or trade agreements.

  But now, with Jessie and Luke here in the palace, every long, dreary minute was agony. However, it was his responsibility, and he'd learned a lot about responsibility in the last year or so.

  "Problem, son?"

  He turned to find his father grinning at him. "No more than you ever had with that group," he said. Then, wryly, he added, "But I wouldn't say no to your favorite way to unwind after these things."

  King Marcus Sebastiani chuckled. "I'll pour," he said, and led the way to the small smoking room and bar off the gold drawing room.

  A few minutes later, with a small glass of his father's best cognac in his hand, Lucas leaned against the polished cherrywood bar that had been brought here from London back when Montebello had been a British colony.

  "I'm sure the meeting went well," his father said.

  Lucas opened his mouth to give a full report, but his father didn't give him the chance. To his surprise, Marcus interrupted him, to speak not about the meetings, but about something far more personal.

  "Tell me how everything between you and Jessie is progressing."

  Startled, Lucas set his glass down on the bar untouched. "What?"

  "Don't look so surprised. I do have a vested interest in the mother of my grandson the future king, don't I?" his father said, almost testily.

  "Yes, sir," Lucas said very politely, subtly acknowledging his father's tone.

  Marcus muttered something under his breath. "Gwen told me to stay out of it."

  "My mother is very wise."

  "But you're making a hash of it, boy!"

  Lucas blinked. "This from the man who was turned down how many times?"

  The king of Montebello actually blushed. "That was different."

  "Because there wasn't a baby involved?"

  "Partly. But also because she was English. It makes a difference, you know, if you've grown up in a monarchy. You're accustomed to it. Americans may understand, but they never quite accept. It's not their way of life."

  "I know." Lucas grimaced. "Ironically, it's one of the things I admire about them, this idea that anybody can become anything, and no one has to let anyone or any thing else choose for them."

  Lucas saw his father's gaze sharpen. "As you had to?"

  "I accept things as they are." He remembered Jessie's question, and added, "If I'd had a burning need or desire to become a doctor, an engineer, or something else like that, I might have felt differently. But I didn't. I want to be right where I am."

  "Some would say you've been convinced of that by a lifetime of indoctrination," the king said frankly. Lucas knew he'd heard that argument before.

  Lucas shrugged. "It hardly matters now. Let's not dwell on it."

  "No," his father agreed. "Let's dwell on what you're going to do about your current situation."

  "Then I'm going to need that drink," Lucas said grimly, reaching for the glass.

  * * *

  Jessie was surprised when Rudy brought her the small parcel. She thanked the solemn butler, closed the door of her room, and sat on the bench at the foot of the huge four-poster. There was a small vellum card attached to the gaily wrapped package, and she opened it expecting it to be from Lucas, another salvo in his campaign to convince her Montebello was paradise on earth.

  It was from Julia.

  A little something for the little prince, the card said in a lovely script, and was signed simply "Julia" in a bold yet feminine hand.

  Despite the fact that it still rattled her to think of her tiny son as a prince, she was delighted that Julia had thought to send a gift. Her first baby gift, she thought as she carefully removed the thick, expensive-looking wrapping paper, trying not to dwell on what she'd missed.

  The small rattle gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the window. It was obviously not merely silver plate, she could tell that with a look. The handle was solid and curved to perfectly fit a tiny hand. The head was engraved rather ornately, in a pattern that was vaguely familiar, and after a moment she recognized the Sebastiani family crest.

  Her delight faded. She stared down at the etched crest, seeing in the lovely lines and the strong, solid "S" nothing less than a claim made tangible. The Montebello royal family's determination to have her son was suddenly solid and heavy in her hand.

  She felt an odd sense of betrayal. Julia had seemed so nice, so understanding. But it was hard to doubt or deny the significance of this particular gift. And now that she'd seen the gift, that simple, sweet-seeming line written on the card seemed ominous.

  A little something for the little prince. The prince who had no choice about being a prince.

  She should have realized. No Sebastiani would understand why everyone didn't think Montebello was the best place in the world. Or that being prince, and someday king, might not be everyone's dream job.

  And certainly not a job for someone who didn 't want it! she thought.

  But Julia wouldn't understand that. She was a Montebellan, a princess, and a Sebastiani.

  Jessie sighed. She'd dared to hope she might have found a friend here, another new mother who could understand her reservations, her resolve not to take away all her son's choices for his future. She'd looked forward to talking to her again, perhaps even asking her for help.

  She sat staring at the gift a while longer before it occurred to her. Maybe she wouldn't have to ask Julia for help. She'd already been invited to Tamir, hadn't she? And it wouldn't surprise anyone if she wanted to take Luke with her, would it? She'd have to find a time when she could be sure Lucas couldn't accompany her, as she was sure he'd want to do, but surely she could do that?

  And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be recognized in Tamir. They couldn't be as enamored of the Sebastiani clan as the local press was, could they? Surely her picture wouldn't have appeared on every magazine cover and in every newspaper over there. She could get on a plane and skedaddle for Colorado.

  Of course, Lucas could, and no doubt would, come after her with all the force of the Sebastianis behind him. But at least in America she could fight him. She couldn't swear his position wouldn't matter in any court battle, but it would matter less at home than here, that she was sure of.
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  She could do it. She knew she could. She'd find a way.

  As soon as she finished crying her eyes out over being put in the horrible position of having to run from a man she had once loved.

  And if she dared admit it, loved still.

  Chapter 16

  Lucas let out an inward sigh of relief. Something had gotten through to Jessie, because she had relaxed, had once more become the woman he remembered from the ranch. He found it much easier to be with her now, without the strain underlying every word or action. Last night she'd seemed almost giddy at dinner, laughing at his father's awful puns, even the worst, something about good gnus and bad gnus.

  His parents had noticed the change, as well, and they'd both given him encouraging nods and smiles. His father had even whispered, on his way out of the room, "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

  The problem was, he hadn't done anything any differently than he had since they'd arrived here. He'd tried to give her space and time, while at the same time showing her how good life could be here. It hadn't been working at all, at least that he could tell.

  So he couldn't explain the sudden change. But that didn't stop him from feeling good about it. He'd walked her upstairs after dinner last night, and when they'd stopped outside her door, she'd turned to face him. And for a moment he could have sworn she was looking at him with longing, the same longing he felt every day for her.

  The same longing he'd seen in her eyes on the ranch when he'd been just a guy called Joe.

  It had taken every bit of restraint he had in him to keep from pressing his luck. He'd been aching for her for so long now that it was about to drive him mad. When she unexpectedly kissed him, quick but no less hot and sweet for it, he nearly lost it. But then she was gone, darting into her room and closing the door, leaving him with a disturbing image of that last second before she'd turned away seared into his mind—a woman with utter despair in her eyes.

  By morning, he convinced himself he'd imagined that look. He'd wanted to take her to the beach today, now that he'd finished with the last of the financial meetings, but as she'd told him last night, there wasn't much call for a bathing suit on the ranch. So he decided to send her off to his sisters' favorite boutique with instructions to pick out whatever she wanted.