She conjured a smile. “You said you had something for me?”
“I do.” He angled his head toward the backpack. “I’d like to leave that with you.”
“Won’t you need it?”
“The clothes I wear at the shelter aren’t exactly appropriate for a wedding. The sum total of my packing list for the trip home is my toothbrush, toothpaste, and a book for the plane.” A small muscle leaped at the corner of his mouth. “The Scotch is in there. It’ll be safer in your office than in my room.”
“It was safe here in the first place.” She raised a hand, checking her attitude. No sense in it. “I’ll keep an eye on the bag.”
“Thank you.”
She swallowed, hating to raise the topic, but needing to. “Family celebrations tend to focus a person on home and responsibilities. Have you considered your plans?”
“What do you mean, my plans?”
“You volunteered for a three-month term here. By the time the wedding is over, you’ll only have three weeks left. If the king and queen cross-examine you the way they do Sophia, they’ll expect you to address your royal obligations.”
The edges of his eyes crinkled. “Let’s see…that’s celebrations. Responsibilities. Cross-examine. And obligations.”
She frowned, which made him laugh. Her confusion mounted. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.” He surprised her by reaching out to cup her cheek. “When you’re nervous, your speech gets more formal. You use longer words, you stand straighter. Like you’re doing now.”
She became aware of the tension in her shoulders. He was right; she held herself more formally when she needed to subdue her nerves. He was making her more anxious with every passing second. It was all she could do not to tremble at his touch.
“You’re worried I won’t return. Either because I’ll be tempted by the ability to enjoy nights out and a tumbler of Scotch whenever I wish, or because my parents will demand I fulfill my family obligations.” His thumb grazed her lips, then stilled. “You’re right about my parents and the pressure they exert. I’ve spent a lifetime rebelling against them. But I won’t leave Kilakuru before my term ends. Regardless of my obligations at home, I owe that to the kids. I owe that to you.”
His eyes searched hers for a long breath, then a second. Frannie didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Her stomach pitched as if she’d crested the peak of a roller coaster and a rapid, headlong plunge awaited her.
“The challenge isn’t in resisting my parents,” he finally said, “or even in resisting the Scotch and nights out with friends. It’s in resisting you. You’ve changed my life.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth for a long moment. His lips parted and he moved fractionally closer before his hand dropped from her cheek.
On a long exhale, he said, “I’ll see you in a week,” then strode out of her office, letting the door slam behind him.
Chapter 21
Heat rose in shimmering waves from the asphalt at Cateri’s airport. It radiated through the leather of Alessandro’s shoes as he approached the uniformed driver parked at the edge of the tarmac. Sarcaccia was known for its warm weather this time of year, but it felt off to Alessandro after his months in Kilakuru. Different humidity, different scent to the air.
Alessandro feigned a polite smile as he greeted the driver. As a member of the royal family, Alessandro had the luxury of skipping customs. Grateful as he was to avoid the crowd in the terminal, he wasn’t up for small talk, either. Grit laced his eyes from a lack of sleep, his back ached from the long flight, and, much as he hated to admit it, he missed Frannie and the kids already.
The driver strode to the back of the car to close the trunk when he noticed Alessandro didn’t have a bag. Rather than wait for the driver to open the rear door, Alessandro moved to do it himself.
“You’re welcome to ride in the front.”
Alessandro did a double take, his ears registering what his eyes had not. He looked to the back of the sedan. “Vittorio?”
“I assumed that you, of all people, would see through the sunglasses and uniform. Much as I’d like to attribute it to my talent for disguise—”
“Talent? You?”
“—I consider it symptomatic of extreme jet lag. Even that godforsaken island where you’ve been holed up must have a mirror. Though, given your appearance, I suspect the place is without a proper barber.”
It’s not godforsaken, he wanted to retort. And I’m not holed up. Instead, Alessandro walked around the car, slid into the passenger seat, and waited for Vittorio to put the car into drive.
“What possessed you to come to the airport dressed like that? Did the entire staff resign?”
“It’s a wonder they haven’t, given Mother’s obsession with wedding details. Yesterday it was a fixation on the carriage I’m taking to the ceremony, of all things.” Vittorio’s mouth twisted as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “I wanted time alone with you. It may not happen at the palace between now and the wedding. If I’d simply taken a car, photographers and reporters would’ve followed me to the airport. I’ve never seen them so thick. It’s worse than when Stefano and Megan married.”
The palace and cathedral were surrounded by media trucks in the days and weeks before their younger brother’s wedding. Alessandro couldn’t imagine where more could park.
“Never would’ve believed you’d be so starved for my company.” Alessandro looked sideways at Vittorio as his twin guided the luxury sedan along the marked road that bordered the tarmac, heading toward the airport’s security gate. “You must be desperate. Should I be concerned? Is there trouble in paradise?”
He asked knowing full well there wasn’t. He’d never encountered two more compatible people than Vittorio and Emily.
“No trouble of that sort, though I do have what I’d call a problem.”
Alessandro raised a brow, waiting for Vittorio to continue.
“I have no best man.”
Alessandro used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun as Vittorio passed through the security gate and guided the car onto the road that would take them to the palace. “Your wedding is the day after tomorrow.”
“I’m well aware, but you didn’t give me the opportunity to ask before you jumped on an airplane to Kilakuru. Felt like a question that should be asked in person.” Vittorio looked at him and smiled. “I’d be honored if you’d serve as my best man.”
Alessandro stared at his twin for a long moment. “I assumed you’d asked Massimo or Stefano.”
“That’s a terrible response,” Vittorio said. “Who raised you?”
Alessandro couldn’t help but laugh as they entered the heart of Cateri, with its winding, cobblestoned streets and medieval architecture. “The answer is yes, of course.” He slanted a look at his twin. “You have a lot of faith in my ability to pull off a bachelor party. Tomorrow’s out, since we have the family dinner, which leaves tonight.”
“I don’t need a bachelor party. Or want one, for that matter.”
“Why else would you have me as best man? Aren’t I known for parties?” He said it with a lightness he didn’t feel. Spending the night carousing in a Sarcaccian bar or on board one of the Barrali family yachts didn’t appeal in the slightest.
Alessandro smiled to himself at that thought. The night he’d met Frannie at Sophia’s party, when he’d stood at the bar wanting nothing more than to indulge in a glass of Scotch and a romp with a curvaceous blonde, he wouldn’t have believed it, but he was suddenly far more willing to dance with Frannie and a pack of rowdy children in the hot southern Pacific sunshine than dance with scantily clad women in the darkened nightclubs of southern Europe.
If banana cake was involved, all the better.
“I don’t discount your social talents,” Vittorio said. “I ask because I can’t imagine anyone else standing by my side when I marry Emily. If not for your sacrifice—for the fact you gave up five months of your life to give me breathing room—I’d never have met h
er. Nor would I have had the strength to take the risks I did to prove to her that she should marry me. You’re quite good at that, you know…encouraging people to stretch beyond their imagined limitations.”
The compliment touched Alessandro, but he wasn’t comfortable saying so. Vittorio had needed that time away; Alessandro had only done what was necessary.
He shifted in his seat, then raised a hand in greeting to the familiar gate guard at the rear entrance to the palace grounds. “I haven’t spent much time around Emily, but it’s obvious to me that she understands you and loves you. She’s excited to marry you. That has nothing to do with me and everything to do with who you are.”
“And wanting you by my side has everything to do with you. Don’t discount what makes you who you are. It’s more than being the main draw of every party.” Vittorio rolled the sedan into its designated spot in the palace’s underground parking garage, then groaned as he cut the engine.
“What?”
Vittorio looked in the rearview mirror, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Mother switched our carriages. I’m switching back as soon as I can find a way to do it without putting the staff in a bad position.”
Alessandro climbed out of the sedan, eyed the gilt carriage, then tapped one hand on the roof and looked across at his twin. “Let your best man handle it. Mother hasn’t seen me in months. She’s less likely to get angry with me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“I’ll promise her that I’ll use that thing” —he glanced back to where the antique carriage, a family heirloom, was parked— “when I get married.”
A burst of laughter erupted from Vittorio as they walked toward the elevator that would carry them to the palace’s living quarters. “Mother will tell you it doesn’t count if she’s not alive to see it.”
“Stefano, Massimo, now you…who’s not to say I’m next?”
Alessandro’s phone buzzed as the words left his mouth. A glance at the screen revealed a flirtatious text from a Greek heiress who’d arrived in Sarcaccia to attend the wedding. Alessandro pocketed the phone, but not before Vittorio caught sight of the message.
“You next. Did you suffer a head injury on Kilakuru that I should know about?” Vittorio started to say something else, then held up a hand, cutting off his own statement. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Let’s take the staff corridor and find lunch before the family descends on us. Chef Fournier promised me made-from-scratch pizza and I intend to collect.”
“Sounds delicious.” Pizza from the palace’s new chef ranked right up there as one of life’s greatest delights.
It was also the perfect distraction from Alessandro’s sudden mental image of Frannie sitting beside him in the antique carriage, holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing white as she beamed with happiness.
From the depths of his soul, he wanted her. He knew he’d always want her. But he was a Barrali, and as tied to this island and all that the palace represented to its people as she was committed to the children of Kilakuru and their shelter. Worse than that, he’d lived a life of debauchery. If Frannie were faced with the reality of his existence prior to his stint on Kilakuru—the nights of gambling, women, alcohol—she’d be repulsed. She might say she wasn’t bothered, but it was easy for her to ignore reality when they were in the middle of the South Pacific with no paparazzi, no twenty-four hour news cycle, and none of his acquaintances. Not so here in Sarcaccia. Some women—like that Italian journalist—would have no problem spinning his reputation to their advantage, were they to step out with him publicly.
Not so Frannie. Aside from the months Alessandro had spent in his brother’s role, he’d lived a life that was the antithesis of Frannie’s virtuous one.
The look he’d seen in her eyes when he’d left his backpack in her office…to let go of her and walk away, rather than pull her body to his and bury his face in her hair, was as painful as summiting Everest without supplemental oxygen.
The shelter changed him. She’d changed him. Despite that, he was everything Frannie didn’t want or need.
With a last, long glance at the elegant carriage, he turned to celebrate his brother’s bliss.
* * *
Late the next evening, Alessandro leaned against the wide windowsill in the living room of his parents’ palace apartment, gave his Aberlour a slow swirl, then let the liquid burn a happy trail down the back of his throat.
He’d slept in this morning for the first time in months, then rolled over in bed and clicked on the television coverage leading up to tomorrow’s wedding in Cateri’s main cathedral. True to Vittorio’s description, the airport had been jammed for days, restaurants were booked solid, and even tiny hostels on the far side of Sarcaccia had been turning away reservations for months. Thousands—if not hundreds of thousands—of people already lined the streets of the capital, staking out their spots to watch the carriages drive the wedding party to and from the ceremony. Far more media—and more tourists—crammed the island than in the days leading up to Stefano and Megan’s wedding fifteen months earlier.
He’d sighed and clicked off the television.
After the peace of Kilakuru, the television, the endless pings on his cell phone from friends and acquaintances, and the flurry of invitations to private parties registered as chaos to Alessandro’s brain. Standing in the quiet of the massive cathedral during this afternoon’s wedding rehearsal provided only a temporary respite. The moment he’d stepped out of the gothic structure, his phone lit with more calls. He’d ignored them all. Invitations—salacious or otherwise—could wait until he was home for good. Today, he wasn’t in the mood.
He took another sip of his Scotch, gratified by tonight’s focus on family time.
Now that dinner had concluded, the Barrali clan, Emily, and Emily’s parents—who’d traveled from Oregon earlier in the week—enjoyed conversation in front of the fireplace. The relaxed atmosphere was a stark contrast to the formality of the palace itself or the pomp and circumstance that would dominate tomorrow. And, despite the large number of people in his parents’ apartment, the room was far more peaceful than anywhere else Alessandro could be on Sarcaccia.
Emily’s parents had married in their forties and Emily was their only child. “The happiest kind of surprise,” Mrs. Sinclair said over dinner as she smiled in her daughter’s direction. With that, Mrs. Sinclair and Queen Fabrizia hit it off immediately, each curious about the challenges the other faced when it came to raising children in their unique circumstances. They now sat in armchairs near the fireplace, sipping wine and chatting. Prince Stefano, King Carlo, and Mr. Sinclair occupied a sofa and talked sports. Everyone else drifted between the massive antique sideboard, where the staff had set out an array of after-dinner drinks, and the windows, where the night view of the palace gardens triggered discussion amongst the royal siblings of whether or not to go for a walk.
The couple of the moment, however, remained separate from the group. Vittorio and Emily stood behind one of the room’s two sofas, leaning toward each other as they spoke. Vittorio’s hand was at Emily’s waist, but the manner was caring instead of possessive, and Alessandro could tell from Emily’s expression that she didn’t need the gentle touch to understand how Vittorio felt about her. They were a team. Inseparable.
Alessandro took another sip of his Scotch as he discreetly studied them. Their relationship fascinated him. Each was used to being the center of attention upon entering a room—Vittorio as crown prince, and Emily as the executive producer and host of a popular travel show called At Home Abroad—and each was used to being in control. Alessandro would’ve thought their worlds would be in conflict. He’d always pictured Vittorio marrying a woman with a great deal of fortitude, yes, but one who preferred to stay out of the limelight. A woman more like Frannie.
Yet if anything, being together strengthened both Emily and Vittorio. They respected each other. They relied on each other. Seeing them now, Alessandro couldn’t imagine Vittorio with anyone but th
e dynamic Emily Sinclair.
Someday, Emily would make a wonderful queen. She’d navigate palace politics with the same grace and insight as Queen Fabrizia.
Alessandro turned his gaze out the window, taking in the view as soft lights illuminated the garden’s fountain. Marriage wasn’t a topic he’d considered at length, though on the brief occasions he did, he’d imagined he’d end up with a model. An actress. Possibly a member of another royal family or one with a great deal of wealth. A woman used to the spotlight, who moved in his circles and thrived on a busy social calendar. A woman who wouldn’t blink at his reputation, as long as she knew he’d be faithful in marriage.
Yet he’d fallen for a woman who’d left behind her college friends and a position that allowed her to rub elbows with a billionaire for a social circle consisting of children and shelter volunteers.
Frannie was the most compelling person he’d ever met. Her laugh, her penchant for order, and her quiet, yet confident management skills…she intrigued him to no end. Like his mother, Frannie possessed the ability to note the mood of those around her without having to be told and to adjust her interactions with them. Unlike his mother, however, Frannie never used that skill for her own advantage. It was always to the benefit of the other person.
With the kids at Sunrise Shelter, especially, Frannie’s ability was a great gift.
Alessandro took another long sip of his Scotch. She made him want to be the very best version of himself. Not because he was bored, as he’d been that day on the Libertà with Claudine and Sylvie, or even because he needed a challenge. She’d shown him that helping others gave him the soul-deep satisfaction of having contributed to the world rather than taken from it.
Through the window glass, he heard the deep chime of the palace’s clock tower marking the hour. He wondered how Frannie would fit in to palace life. She’d seemed perfectly at ease during Sophia’s party. While her clothing wasn’t as flashy as many of the women, she wasn’t out of place. She’d danced with the poise of a woman used to formal events, though without pretentiousness.
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