The Wicked Prince

by Nicole Burnham

  Then he saw it. The tightening of her features and flattening of her gaze that said she didn’t trust him. She’d sized him up, judged him, and found him lacking. A fraud. Less than Vittorio. She’d topped it off with a declaration that he wasn’t good enough to do philanthropic work.

  Like she was out doing “real, hands-on philanthropic work?” If attending swanky fundraisers or—how had she phrased it at the party? Oh, yes—discussing charitable objectives with Jack Gladwell counted, he supposed she did.

  Her timing was as terrible as when he’d met her at the Christmas party. Then, he’d been attracted to her because he’d been without female companionship for so long. Today, he’d come off the yacht frustrated by his lack of direction. Her critical words hit their mark.

  He’d egged her on. She pushed back. Then he challenged her with the most reliable weapon in his arsenal.

  What in the world possessed him?

  Worse, he’d enjoyed it. And so had she. She’d been about to return his kiss when he’d heard Sophia. He’d bet his favorite Suunto climbing watch that when she’d put her hands on his chest, it wasn’t to push him away. She’d been about to curl those sweet fingers into the fabric of his shirt. If that wasn’t proof enough of Frannie’s attraction, he’d seen it in the shiver that made her stutter step on her way out of the library. It’d made him want to kiss her all over again. Instead, he’d laughed.

  His sister’s friend! Sophia would shred his innards with her bare hands if she knew what he’d done.

  Gaspare nosed Alessandro’s knee, jerking him back to the present. The prince leaned down and unclipped the leash. “Go on, boy. Run.”

  The dog didn’t need to be urged a second time. He bounded along the wide gravel path toward the garden’s large fountain, but stopped at a feminine, yet brisk command to stay away from the water. Alessandro leaned forward to see his mother approaching from the direction of her palace apartment. She wore a soft pink wrap dress and a pair of wedge heels. Her fingertips trailed over a budding rose as she neared him.

  “Mother.” This couldn’t be good. Her busy schedule precluded her from wandering through the gardens in the middle of the day.

  She turned a brilliant smile on him. “Good afternoon, my dear. Such a surprise to see you here. Mind if I join you?”

  He scooted to make room for her on the bench. “No Daniela?” he asked, referring to her ever-present assistant.

  “She’s organizing my wardrobe for tomorrow’s state dinner. The French president and her husband will be here.”

  “I see. And you decided a stroll through the garden was in order?”

  “I was completing my correspondence when I saw you with Gaspare. I decided to take a short break.”

  “With a purpose, I assume.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her. “You know me well.”

  He shifted to face her. In the summer sun, the creases along Queen Fabrizia’s brow and at the corners of her bright green eyes were apparent. Given that she’d raised six children and watched over an entire nation at her husband’s side, they were lines crafted both by stress and by joy. She loved fiercely and completely. Much as she tried to micromanage her children, Alessandro wouldn’t have her any other way.

  “What is it you wish to share, Mother?”

  “I think this time, it’s you who have to share.” She brushed her hands over her lap, then angled her head to study her son. “You’ve been to Nice. Out on the yacht. In the clubs. Anywhere but here at the palace. And your company has been…questionable. When I heard you’d returned to shore a few hours ago, I knew there must be a reason.”

  “I’d hoped to see Massimo.” His mother remained silent, her eyes locked on his face, waiting for the rest. She was a master at compelling people to reveal their innermost thoughts with nothing more than a look, and he wasn’t immune. Finally, he admitted, “I wanted to talk to him about his adjustment to civilian life.”

  Her brows raised a fraction. “You’re having difficulty readjusting to your position after fulfilling your brother’s duties for so long.”

  He whistled for Gaspare, who’d escaped from view. “I wouldn’t say it’s difficulty readjusting. It’s…I suppose I’m bored. I hate saying that, because it sounds ungrateful. I’m well aware of how fortunate I am.”

  A mischievous smile danced at the edges of her lips. It was a look he’d seen in numerous photos of his mother, much to her chagrin, as she considered the look unbefitting a member of the royal family. However, it captured her true personality.

  “This is serious. I don’t believe you’ve ever asked your younger brothers for advice.”

  “Mother—”

  She raised a palm. “You received little credit for all you did while Vittorio was away. You cut off contact with your friends for months in order to convince the world you were away. You moved into your brother’s palace apartment. You wore his clothes and literally walked in his shoes. You made hundreds of public appearances and did a great deal of diplomatic work on behalf of our country.”

  Alessandro shrugged. “The family gave me all the credit I needed. Besides, it wasn’t much work. Most of what I did was follow Father’s lead.”

  She surprised him by placing one hand on his knee. “No, you did the work. The creation of the safe zone around Abu Kamal was entirely your doing. It was a new idea, and effective one. It’s saved thousands of lives. Doctors Without Borders is operating there now. The Peace Corps. Children are being educated rather than torn from their families or worse, trafficked. It’s not their home, but it’s a start.”

  He acknowledged her point with a nod. Abu Kamal was a success story. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

  “Nothing that effective is accomplished alone, but I know how much study went into that proposal and the effort it took to convince others that it could be accomplished.” She withdrew her hand from his knee as Gaspare plodded back to the bench. “You need a new purpose. After the months you spent handling your brother’s role, then staying here to deal with the media, I didn’t wish to push. I certainly didn’t begrudge you taking off for the past few months. However, now that Vittorio is marrying, it’s high time you found a permanent role here in Sarcaccia. Eventually, your brother will be the monarch. You need to be here when that happens.”

  “Father’s in wonderful health. I suspect he’ll be on the throne for some time.”

  “Nevertheless, you need to find your place.”

  He shrugged. His mother was right, but what was left to him? The constitution kept him from representing the government internationally. The local government was jammed with talent, and most charities were covered by his siblings, parents, and other wealthy Sarcaccian patrons. His contributions wouldn’t make much difference.

  Climbing had satisfied his need for accomplishment for years, but how many mountains could one man ascend before it felt pointless? And the parties, even those in glamorous settings, had become repetitive. Boring.

  “There’s no need to speak to Massimo and risk hearing about it for the rest of your life,” the queen said. “I’m happy to help. There are dozens of projects where I could use you. It’ll be a good start.”

  “Such as?”

  “The new children’s library. It’s scheduled to open next month. If you were to make a few appearances, it’d go a long way toward raising awareness of the toddler and after-school programs it will provide…oh, never mind. I can see from your face that the idea doesn’t appeal.”

  “It’s a worthy cause—”

  “But not you.”

  No, not him at all. “I’m not exactly a role model for children.”

  She laughed and reached down to pet Gaspare. Her smile faded as her fingers connected with his fur. “This dog is wet! He went in the fountain against my express command.”

  “Not everyone follows your commands? Shocking.”

  “They should.” Gaspare had the intelligence to look remorseful as the queen withdrew her hand. “I wonder, Alessandro
…perhaps it’s not children that are the issue, but which children.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Children here in Sarcaccia are fortunate. Even if their home situation is difficult, there are basic support systems in place. That’s not true in the rest of the world. For instance, think of the children who are living in Abu Kamal. While they’re safe now, their world view is different from that of children here. They’ve seen war up close and endured hardships that forced them to grow up quickly. What if you could help children such as those who live in the safe zone you created in Syria?”

  “Children in that situation don’t need fundraising as much as they need diplomacy and the ability to return to their homes. That’s Father’s role, and Vittorio’s. I don’t want to overstep, especially given the questions raised when I took Vittorio’s place.”

  “Not every child who’s endured hardship has faced it due to war. Natural disasters can be every bit as devastating. You’ve traveled. You’ve seen it.”

  That was true. When he’d last visited Nepal, the effects of multiple earthquakes were apparent. Buildings destroyed, villages cut off from supply lines. Families uprooted. He’d filmed a video during his trip that was used for the Red Cross’s fundraising efforts for the area, but it felt small in comparison to the need.

  “Helping children in a situation like that would give you purpose, Alessandro, though if you wanted to go beyond fundraising and awareness campaigns, it would require leaving Sarcaccia, at least in the short term. Getting your hands dirty, putting in hard work. I’m not sure that’s what you want. But perhaps there’s a good compromise. For instance—”

  “No. I’d like that.” Miss Economics and her holier-than-thou dismissal flashed through his mind. Maybe she’d seen his Red Cross segment and concluded that a quick film pitch was all he was capable of doing. “I can be hands-on.”

  The queen was quiet for a moment. “Have you heard of Kilakuru?”

  “Pacific island. Tsunami devastated it a while back.” Miss Economics alluded to it the night they met. Hearing his mother mention the place now struck him as quite the coincidence. “How do you know of it?”

  “The Barrali Trust contributed to Jack Gladwell’s construction of a children’s shelter there.”

  “Let me guess. Sophia’s friend Francesca Lawrence was responsible for your contribution?”

  “Your father worked directly with Jack. However, Ms. Lawrence used to manage his charitable giving, so she likely had a hand in the process. You’re in touch with her?”

  Not unless in touch meant kissing her in the palace library, then watching her leave.

  “I’ve only spoken to her once or twice,” —precisely twice— “so no.”

  “Yet when I mentioned Kilakuru, she was your first thought.” His mother eyed him. “You danced with her twice at Sophia’s party. Given Vittorio’s situation at the time—”

  “You’d encouraged me to mingle and dance with Sophia’s friends, remember?”

  “So I did.”

  “Some of us follow your instruction on occasion,” he said, aiming a look at Gaspare. “She mentioned Kilakuru that night, and that she worked for Jack Gladwell. Neither is a common topic of conversation, which made it memorable.” Never mind that his idiocy in dancing with her so publicly made the conversation memorable.

  The queen continued to scratch Gaspare’s head as she studied Alessandro. “They could use extra hands at the shelter. I could use eyes and ears to ensure that a continued investment from the Barrali Trust is money well spent.”

  “You want me to work at a shelter? With children?” He wasn’t sure what he imagined himself doing, but going to a Pacific island to babysit a bunch of kids wasn’t it. Then again, part of him burned to prove Frannie wrong…even if only to himself.

  “I understand if you feel it’s beneath you.”

  “It’s not that—”

  “It’s more of a challenge than you’d imagine,” his mother said, as if reading his mind. “If you want to be hands-on, as you say, Kilakuru is a good place to start. We could spare you here for three months. That’s the typical time that foreign volunteers stay. If you enjoy it and feel you’re making a solid contribution, perhaps you can extend your stay a month or two. That should give you time to consider how you’ll make an impact here. You need to find your passion, such as Massimo’s work with veterans or Stefano’s conference center and transportation upgrades. Mikhail can make the arrangements. You’d be doing me a favor. I need to ensure our contribution is used effectively.”

  He mulled over the idea. It held more appeal than the children’s library. And there was the opportunity to explore a diver’s paradise. “I’d need to return in September for Vittorio’s wedding.”

  “I doubt they’d begrudge you a week’s leave.”

  Alessandro leaned against the bench and blew out a long breath. It was as far away from palace life as he was likely to get. Wasn’t that what he wanted when he’d finally stepped out of Vittorio’s shoes? Three months doing charity work near surf and sand would be easier than the five months he’d endured pretending to be his straitlaced brother.

  One thing was for certain: on an island so remote it lacked an airstrip, he wouldn’t encounter women talking Morisot, enticing him into a kiss.

  “In that case…I believe there’s an island in the South Pacific calling my name.”

  “You’re off again?” a familiar voice said from behind the bench. “I heard you just arrived.”

  “Yes, Vittorio, I’m off. If you need me, Mother will know how to reach me.”

  Alessandro stood and gestured for Gaspare to follow him, then leaned over and gave the queen a kiss on the cheek. In a voice meant for her ears only, he said, “If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  She waved Alessandro away, then patted the bench for Vittorio to join her. “We need to discuss your wedding plans. Daniela brought me the updated guest list this morning.”

  Alessandro couldn’t help but punch his twin on the shoulder as he passed. Talking wedding plans with Queen Fabrizia was far worse than anything Alessandro might face on Kilakuru. He didn’t envy his brother that one bit.

  Chapter 4

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  Frannie stopped in the midst of stacking freshly washed towels inside the nursing station’s linen cabinet when she caught sight of two men walking through the open courtyard of the Sunrise Shelter compound. She managed a pleasant smile as she waved out the open window to Tommy Solofa, a local auto mechanic who’d worked at the shelter since it opened, but her stomach pitched at the sight of the man walking beside Tommy. Much as she wanted to believe that Kilakuru’s bright, early afternoon sun was playing tricks on her eyes, her gut knew the truth.

  “Frannie? What’s wrong?” Chloe Robinson, the shelter’s nurse, finished tucking a fresh sheet around one of the room’s two beds. Alarm etched her features as she turned to look over her shoulder, following the direction of Frannie’s gaze.

  “It’s all right.” Frannie took a deep breath and stacked the final towel before using more force than was necessary to close the cabinet door. “When Mikhail called from Sarcaccia to say that the Barrali Trust found a highly qualified volunteer, this isn’t who I was expecting.”

  “How all right can it be? I’ve never heard you swear before.” Chloe’s eyes widened as the men drew nearer. “Oh, shit! I’ve seen him before. Is that…?”

  “Prince Alessandro Barrali.”

  “Here? To volunteer with us? That can’t be right.” Chloe stared for another beat before her forehead creased into a frown. “Wait…how can you tell? He and his brother look exactly alike, don’t they?”

  Oh, Frannie could tell. It was in the smooth arrogance of his walk, the carefree wave of his hair. Even the devilish grin that lifted the man’s cheeks as he spoke to Tommy made it clear he was Alessandro rather than Vittorio. But to Chloe, she said, “The paperwork I received
listed the volunteer’s last name as Barrali, first initial A. That’d be Alessandro.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Chloe smoothed her hands over her sun-streaked blond hair. “I look awful! I probably smell awful.” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed her armpit. “Okay, well, not too bad. But Frannie! What’s wrong with you?”

  “I assumed it was a mistake, that the person who filled out the forms mistook the Barrali Trust for the name of the volunteer.” Either that, or a cruel joke. She’d kissed the man—well, he’d kissed her—two short weeks ago. There’d been an intensity to the simple act of having his lips meet hers that rattled her all the way to her bones. She’d tried to act unaffected, but he knew better. She’d left the room with his teasing laughter ringing in her ears.

  Her only saving grace was the certainty she’d never see him again.

  He couldn’t be so intent on humiliating her he’d fly halfway around the world. He had better things—better women—to do with his spare time. He’d had debutantes, actresses, and models throwing themselves at him since he was old enough to date.

  Frannie slid the empty laundry basket under one of the beds, then made her way out of the nursing station and across the compound toward the cinder block building that housed her office and living quarters. Her heart beat in her throat as she walked with Chloe close at her heels. Was Alessandro really planning to stay for three months, living and working within the spare confines of the shelter? He’d claimed not to need luxury hotels, but this was the land of squat toilets, solar showers, and sketchy Internet. It was a huge leap from one world to the other.

  She chewed her lip as she approached her office. Was it possible she’d misjudged him? Could that have been why he happened to be in the palace the same day she’d made her pitch to Queen Fabrizia?