The Wicked Prince

by Nicole Burnham

  He felt his smile tighten. Before he could give her the same line he’d given everyone else about Alessandro, Frannie added, “I understand he’s spent time in the South Pacific.”

  “The more remote a location, the more it seems to attract him.”

  “There’s a lot to be said for traveling outside one’s comfort zone. Seeing parts of the world that are unlike Sarcaccia, understanding a different way of life.”

  Just like that, he was in familiar territory. “I’ve learned more from traveling than I have in any classroom. I believe Alessandro has, as well.”

  “You must travel a great deal as crown prince. Environmental talks, economic summits, that sort of thing.” Instead of pursuing the subject of economics, as he expected, she added, “I imagine when you’re not in meetings, you’re escorted about on carefully planned tours.”

  “It’s not the best way to see a new location, but in those circumstances security concerns often make it necessary.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  The music grew louder as the song hit its crescendo. When it quieted again, she asked, “When your brother’s away, where does he stay? Does he stick to luxury hotels, as you must on your travels?”

  He scoffed at that. “Alessandro isn’t the luxury hotel type. It’s not his constitutional role to involve himself in matters of state, which means—fortunately for him—he’s not usually tied to those accommodations.”

  She was quiet for a beat before asking, “Does he pursue charity work when he’s abroad?”

  The question was asked casually, but he suspected it was a test…though he wasn’t sure whether she was testing Vittorio or Alessandro. He spun her away from a couple who’d maneuvered to a spot within hearing distance. “Would it be terribly rude of me to point out that you ask the strangest questions?”

  One side of her mouth lifted. “As long as you don’t mind the questions, in which case, I don’t think you’d have asked me to stay on the dance floor.”

  “Touché.”

  Her smile blossomed at that. “Your family has a long tradition of philanthropy. I simply wondered if Prince Alessandro gets involved in local charities when he’s away. When he’s not, ah, socializing.”

  Ah, so it was a test. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to pass, though he still couldn’t fathom her reasons for asking, given his reputation for, as she put it, socializing. “Alessandro spends much of his time away either diving or climbing and keeps the details to himself until he returns. The only exception was when he summited Mount Kilimanjaro to raise money for the International Red Cross. That was—by necessity—quite public.”

  Her gaze lit on a spot behind his shoulder before shifting to him. When he circled so he could see that side of the room, he noticed his mother was watching them. Queen Fabrizia angled her chin in question, but Alessandro ignored her when Frannie spoke again.

  “There’s an island in the Pacific called Kilakuru. It’s rather isolated. No airstrip, so it’s only accessible by helicopter or an hour-long boat ride from neighboring islands. Ever heard of it?”

  “I have.” It was said to be a diving enthusiast’s dream, well worth the effort to travel there. He leaned back and gave her a look to say, You’re still asking strange questions.

  She grinned, reading him correctly, but her voice turned serious as she said, “A tsunami recently wiped out much of the island’s infrastructure. It seems like the kind of place the Barrali Trust would assist, so I wondered if that’s where Prince Alessandro went. That’s all.” Her gaze darted toward the doors leading to the ballroom’s reception area. “Jack Gladwell is spearheading the construction of a shelter for those orphaned by the disaster. He’s also funding repairs to the island’s emergency services facilities.”

  “I didn’t think Jack Gladwell publicized his donations.”

  “He doesn’t, but he’s sailed in that area and felt compelled to help. I noticed him speaking with your father earlier and assumed Jack convinced your parents to finalize—” At Alessandro’s open look of surprise, she explained, “I work for Jack. Well, I do for another two weeks. We spend a great deal of time discussing his charitable objectives.”

  Jack Gladwell operated a massive business conglomerate. Stefano’s fiancée, Megan, once headed business development at one of Gladwell’s many hotels. Few people could claim to work for the man directly. Far fewer referred to him by his first name. Frannie intrigued him more with each passing minute. “Why for another two weeks?”

  She shrugged. “I was presented with a new opportunity, one that will take me out of my comfort zone. With Jack’s blessing, I decided to take the leap.”

  Though he wondered what she did for Gladwell—and what she planned to do next—he couldn’t help but tease her. “It was the fact he acquired an American baseball team, wasn’t it? You hate sports. Can’t work for a man with a financial interest in such nonsense.”

  She flashed a dazzling smile, one that made his breath catch. “I happen to love baseball, though the fact he now owns a rival to my Mets is a point against him.”

  “Rugby would’ve been a more appropriate British pursuit. Or polo. Baseball is surprising.”

  “Jack does love to surprise.”

  The song wound down and the DJ announced he’d play one more slow number before ramping up the beat. Frannie stepped out of his embrace. “Thank you, Your Highness, for allowing me to monopolize your time.”

  He covered his disappointment with a smile. “I invited you to do so.”

  “Still, I suspect others wish to dance with you.”

  He suspected as much, too. Women always flocked to Vittorio, though for different reasons than they flocked to Alessandro. With Vittorio, they hoped for marriage and a happily ever after as the future queen of Sarcaccia. With Alessandro, they simply wanted to get laid. Any woman who approached him tonight would be out of luck on both counts.

  Before he could stop himself, he took Frannie’s hand and raised it to his lips. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Her eyes widened momentarily. “And I enjoyed meeting you, Your Highness. Have a happy Christmas.”

  He returned to the bar, pausing along the way to make small talk with his youngest brother, Bruno, while pretending not to see the women who’d subtly placed themselves in his path. When he finally reached his destination, he discovered his Scotch had been cleared away.

  For the best, he supposed. His fascination with Miss Economics and her employment situation was a clear sign he craved a diversion tonight. Alcohol would only make matters worse. He’d been about to dance with her a third time, and he knew better. Vittorio wouldn’t have danced with Frannie a second time, and she was exactly Vittorio’s type. Intelligent, proper, and lacking flash.

  Alessandro turned to face the room and schooled his features into the same placid smile he’d worn earlier. Another fifteen or twenty minutes and he could make a polite exit, claiming matters of state needed his attention in the morning. The fact it was true—and that he was beginning to find the complicated dynamics of the Mideast far more interesting than palace parties—proved he was slowly losing himself to the role of Vittorio, and that would not do. Even if he wanted to jump into the political fray, it wasn’t his place.

  His place was to show up for the occasional family or charitable event. Otherwise, he need only play backup to his father and twin brother.

  The minute Vittorio returned to Sarcaccia and Alessandro was free, he estimated it’d take less than twenty-four hours to find a buxom, carefree woman willing to do absolutely anything he wanted in bed for as long as he wanted to do it. That was a role he’d enjoy.

  Chapter 2

  Today

  * * *

  For a moment, Prince Alessandro thought it was the sway of his family’s yacht, the Libertà, that woke him. The warm scent of a woman, the silken glide of a feminine thigh against his muscular one, and the pressure of a firm set of breasts against his back indicated otherwise.

  He
stretched to run his hand along the glorious curve of Sylvie’s calf, only to catch the sound of moans coming from the bathroom, followed by running water and a muttered French curse.

  “Nothing to worry about,” came Sylvie’s whisper. “Too much champagne for our Claudine. She will have an aspirin and we will have our moment of privacy. Then, when Claudine returns, we breakfast on the deck and sunbathe together, yes?” A low, carnal growl escaped her before she described exactly what she and Claudine wanted to do once they bored of lounging on the deck. As a preview, Sylvie slid one of her hands under the sheets to give Alessandro an intimate caress, punctuating it with a scrape of her teeth against the curve of his ear.

  “That sounds…stimulating.” Physically. But why did it leave him hollow on the inside?

  After enduring five long months in a gilded cage so Vittorio could manage his personal crisis, all Alessandro had wanted was rest and relaxation. But when Vittorio opted to make his return public, Alessandro had been compelled to stay put for nearly a year, answering questions from the media and working alongside his brother to assure Sarcaccians all was well. Now that Alessandro finally felt secure enough to leave the palace, the rest portion of his rest and relaxation plan hadn’t materialized. He’d enjoyed nights of drinks and rowdy sports betting with his male friends, danced the night away in the see-and-be-seen clubs of the French Riviera, and savored the lush life aboard his family’s yachts with stunning women like Sylvie and Claudine.

  What he’d delighted in last night was the stuff of most men’s deepest fantasies. Typically, he preferred to entertain one woman at a time, but Claudine and Sylvie were unique, always wishing to visit him together. After they’d boarded the Libertà, Claudine turned the television to the Sarcaccia F.C. game in time for Alessandro to see his favorite player bury the ball in Real Madrid’s net. She’d instructed him to relax on the sofa and cheer on his team while she and Sylvie took turns massaging his shoulders. Performing mind-blowing fellatio. Straddling him at an angle that allowed him to check on the game.

  They’d even chastised him when he’d turned his attention to pleasuring them, though it hadn’t taken much effort for him to win that argument. Physically exhausted, he’d fallen asleep sometime in the small hours of the morning, one woman on each side. Erotica books that sold in the millions of copies contained stories of nights less titillating than what he’d experienced.

  Best of all, the French women preferred to keep their exploits as private as Alessandro did. Claudine and Sylvie were in it for the same reason as he…the sheer, decadent physical pleasure. They didn’t give a damn about his family’s name or their billions other than what it offered in that moment: a free night on board one of the world’s most luxurious yachts as it sailed the Mediterranean off the coast of Sarcaccia.

  So why, with Sylvie’s hand expertly stirring him to life, did he feel dead inside? He should be rolling over and making the most of the moment. Tasting the soft, salty skin at the base of her throat. Sliding into her warm, welcoming body and satisfying every carnal urge a man might possess.

  “Alessandro,” Sylvie breathed against him. “You are so big, so hard. I ache for you inside me. Come. Ease my suffering.”

  He rose on one elbow, smoothed her thick hair away from her face, then did as she asked. Despite her moans of satisfaction and the sound of Claudine entering from bathroom and urging him on in the most ribald language possible, it wasn’t pleasurable. Not in the way it once was, before he spent five months walking in his uptight brother’s shoes.

  Damn Vittorio. The activities that had always excited Alessandro now left him dissatisfied. Purposeless. As if he were an automaton going through the motions of having fun, satisfying the needs of his body, but without feeling anything.

  It wasn’t as if this was the first time. It’d happened last weekend with the amazing Dutch glassblowing artist who’d cozied up to him at a dinner party in Cannes, then joined him at his hotel. And a few weeks before that with the high-profile Italian journalist who’d interviewed him, then bedded him. The journalist had flat-out told him she considered him the ultimate notch in her belt, despite the fact she’d had a long-term affair with a world-famous actor. He’d attributed his blasé attitude that night to her mention of the actor. But when it’d happened again with the Dutch woman, then again with Sylvie and Claudine….

  Sylvie and Claudine were his go-to women for hedonic thrills, guaranteed.

  Ninety minutes later, while the gorgeous French women bathed topless on the foredeck, he stepped out of the shower in his suite, used a towel to scrub his dark hair harder than usual, then stared at himself in the mirror. The face staring back was virtually indistinguishable from Vittorio’s. He flung the towel in the direction of the heated rack as an epiphany hit him: stepping into his twin’s shoes might’ve given the crown prince a much-needed break from duty, but it had the opposite effect on Alessandro. Months of fulfilling a government role, working with heads of state on solutions to the humanitarian crisis in the Middle East, and hosting affairs at the palace—all while ensuring no one knew he wasn’t Vittorio—served as a monumental challenge.

  Freedom now bored him. There was no challenge in it.

  He stepped into his boxer briefs, then pulled on a pair of freshly laundered slacks and a sharp button-down shirt. He needed to get out of town. Not on board the yacht, and not to nearby Italy or the French Riviera. He needed to return to Nepal. Or Zimbabwe. Explore little-known corners of the globe with nothing more than a backpack to weigh him down. Climb a mountain rather than a woman. Learn something. Expand his mind. Then, once he’d had his fill, maybe sex would feel exhilarating again. Stimulating. Fun.

  He’d promised to stay close to Sarcaccia to ensure all remained stable at home with Vittorio’s return. Well…it’d been long enough. More than long enough. He’d done his duty. He’d made himself available to the media, answered all their questions. Proven that the work he’d done in Vittorio’s absence was all with his father’s and brother’s blessings. He shouldn’t be expected to hang out in southern Europe waving the Sarcaccian flag at parades for the rest of his life.

  “After breakfast, we’re returning to Cateri,” he informed the women once he dressed and made his way to the deck. “Unexpected business. I’ll ensure you’re provided transportation from the port to wherever you wish.”

  The women made all the expected protests over the change in plans, but shrugged into their clothes and made their way to the breakfast table. He didn’t miss the amused look they shared when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. Within hours, they’d be on to their next escapade and they believed he’d be on to his.

  For some inexplicable reason, their attitude galled him.

  Decision cemented, he spun on his heel to inform the captain.

  * * *

  Frannie perched on the edge of a brocade chair in the Barrali family’s private library, her gaze moving back and forth between Queen Fabrizia and Prince Vittorio. Try as she might to keep her focus on the business at hand, she couldn’t stop mentally cataloging the differences between Prince Vittorio and his twin, Prince Alessandro.

  When the crown prince asked her to dance at Sophia’s Christmas party, she’d been caught off guard. At the time, the entire country had been consumed by the tidal wave of gossip that followed the suicide of Vittorio’s ex-girlfriend, Carmella Rivas, a few months before. Some newspapers attributed the actress’s tragic death to career pressure, others directly to the breakup. Certainly the Spanish papers had blamed Vittorio, despite the fact he’d spoken passionately at Carmella’s funeral service about her talent, her kind heart, and her beauty, and had followed up by announcing he’d established a fund in Carmella’s name to help those struggling with thoughts of suicide.

  No one expected him to dance at the Christmas party. When he’d kept Frannie on the dance floor for a second song, she’d nearly stumbled in shock.

  Of course, a few months later she learned the truth. The man with whom she’d d
anced wasn’t Vittorio, but his twin, Prince Alessandro. The one Barrali known for his wanton ways. If ever there was truth to the axiom that people would see what they wanted to see, that was it.

  When he’d untangled himself from the well-heeled crowd and come to stand beside her at the bar, she’d heard a simmering frustration in the way he voiced his Scotch order. Then she’d caught a glint in his eye, one that indicated an active mind hid behind his proper exterior, and she thought she’d found a kindred spirit. Someone whose mind was far away from the Christmas party. It was what made her open her mouth to ask if he had anything to discuss aside from the weather. When they’d danced, she’d also sensed he was a man who believed in noblesse oblige. A man cognizant of both his blessings and his responsibilities, who believed in living life to the fullest even as he frowned at the propriety of her questions about his work in the Middle East or his twin’s exotic travels. She thought she’d discovered that the proper, responsible prince known for his practicality had a secret side, one that appealed to her desire to grow beyond the fortunate circumstances of her upper-middle-class life and take on a new adventure.

  How wrong she’d been. He had a secret side because he was living a lie.

  While Alessandro had held himself formally that night, there’d been a consciousness about his carriage she didn’t see in the crown prince today. Vittorio’s posture and quiet charisma came naturally. Alessandro, on the other hand, had seemed an actor in a role, mimicking his brother’s erect spine and squared shoulders as he’d surveyed the ballroom before taking his leave.

  But she’d seen what she wanted to see.

  In her own defense, she hadn’t met either of the brothers before that night. Looking at Vittorio now, she wondered how anyone who knew the pair could confuse them. Kind and intelligent though he was, Vittorio lacked the stifled look of wickedness she’d noticed in Alessandro’s amber eyes. And Vittorio was more than willing to discuss philanthropic work with her today, with all the seriousness the topic deserved. She couldn’t imagine Prince Alessandro doing the same.