by Sarah Morgan
Astounded by the depth of her perception, Matteo lifted his eyebrows. ‘You discovered all that from a search engine?’
‘I filled in the blanks.’
And she’d filled them in with astonishing accuracy. ‘Wealth and privilege come with responsibility. I have always understood that.’ It wasn’t true, of course. He hadn’t always understood that. It had taken a brutal lesson for him to really see the obligation that came with his role.
‘People have expectations of you. It’s a bit like running a business, I suppose.’ She picked another daisy and started another chain. ‘Royalty, Inc. or Monarchy.com. So that would make your dad sort of the CEO, right?’
It took Matteo a moment to work out who she was talking about because he’d never before heard his father referred to as ‘Dad.’
‘I suppose so.’ He marvelled that she took such pleasure in something as simple as making a daisy chain.
‘And it would make the public your customers.’ With a pleased smile she slipped the second daisy chain onto her other wrist and admired it.
‘I suppose so.’
‘And right now you have unhappy customers. There are grumblings about you being detached from the real world and that’s why you’re all so hyped up about this engagement.’ She glanced at him briefly. ‘The scandalous Jacksons wouldn’t be your ideal pick, but you’re hoping Allegra will be the bridge between your family and the public.’
‘This was Alex’s choice—’
‘But your parents are allowing it because they think it might help the reputation of Monarchy, Inc.’ She stuck out her wrist and smiled at her bracelet. ‘Cute, isn’t it? I haven’t done that since I was about six. Shame it has to die.’
Normally he found this part of the grounds restful and tranquil but today there was a dangerous tension in the air. A tension not helped by those tiny shorts. Never had an item of clothing been so well named.
‘I need to get back to work. From now on I’d like you to tell someone where you’re going when you leave the palazzo.’
‘I’m supposed to file a route every time I leave the house? What if I don’t know where I’m going until I get there? This place is huge. Exploring will be fun.’ She squinted across the grass towards the cliffs. ‘So what’s that white building? You haven’t shown me that.’
‘It’s my recording studio.’
He saw her face change. Saw the moment that she sensed opportunity, like a hound on the trail of a fox.
‘You actually have a recording studio in your grounds?’ She virtually salivated, her eyes hungry and hopeful at the same time. ‘A real one? With a vocal booth and everything?’
‘It’s out of bounds.’
‘Can I see it?’ She almost shimmered with excitement and Matteo decided that if he didn’t show her she was likely to break in anyway.
‘It houses millions of pounds worth of equipment.’
‘I want to see it, not steal it.’ She was already sprinting across the grass and Matteo was forced to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. Pausing by the door she almost quivered with anticipation as he pulled out the key.
‘I can’t believe you have your own recording studio.’
He opened the door and heard her gasp as she saw the glass-fronted control room.
‘I’ve died and gone to heaven—if I’d known you had this here I would have kidnapped you and held you to ransom. Why didn’t my research tell me you had this?’
‘Next door is a small theatre with some instruments. There’s a great deal of expensive equipment here which is why we keep it locked.’ His phone rang. Given the state of his arousal he should have been relieved by the interruption but instead he felt a flash of irritation. Seeing that it was his father, he took the call and Izzy made straight for the piano like an iron filing to a magnet.
Listening to his father’s warning that Isabelle Jackson was trouble, Matteo watched her as she stroked one of the keys with the tip of her finger. All she was doing was touching his piano and yet even that movement was sensual.
His father was still talking.
‘I’ve read about her. She’ll try and use you if she can. Exploit the connection—’
Izzy’s head lifted and their eyes met. One look at her expression told him that his father had spoken loudly enough for her to hear his comment that had, unfortunately, been expressed in English. He switched to Italian. ‘That isn’t going to happen.’
Did his father really think the lesson hadn’t been learned?
Without realising he was doing it, Matteo flexed his damaged hand and when he terminated the call, Izzy was still watching him.
‘Just as a matter of interest, does he mean sexually or professionally?’ Her voice casual, she fiddled with the keys of the piano. ‘Because in the interests of full disclosure I ought to tell you that I’m not interested in you sexually because it would mess with my head, but I’d use you professionally in a heartbeat if you’d let me.’
Heat spread through his body. ‘You overheard.’
‘Of course. Kings obviously don’t feel the need to speak in hushed voices.’
Matteo drew in a long breath. ‘My father is concerned about anything that might affect the monarchy.’
‘And one Jackson in the family is enough for anyone.’ Her fingers slid seductively over the keys of the piano. ‘So rock stars come here to record in peace and quiet.’ Her hair tumbled forward, obscuring her features so that it was impossible for him to read her expression.
He didn’t know if she was hurt, offended or angry.
And Matteo didn’t know how he felt either. All he knew was that the air in the studio felt thicker and heavier than usual. Oppressive. ‘Yes, rock stars come here. We have producers and sound engineers. Everything they need. It’s state of the art.’ So was her mouth. And the slope of her shoulders and the smoothness of her skin. And the way those long, smooth legs went on for ever.
He wondered if her parents knew about her tattoo.
‘Could I stay here for a while? I’d really like to play the piano.’
Matteo was still listing reasons why he shouldn’t touch her. ‘You play?’
‘No, I just thought I’d vandalize it. Yes, I play.’ This time there was a dangerous snap in her tone and when she lifted her head to look at him it was matched by the flash in her eyes. ‘Do you even realise how patronising you sound sometimes?’
The room was soundproofed and windowless and as a result there was nothing to distract from the woman—from the subtle floral scent of her perfume that wove itself around his senses and slowly drove him mad. The powerful explosion of awareness confirmed what he already knew—that sexual attraction was no respecter of boundaries.
His phone rang again but this time he ignored it. ‘I am not patronising you, but this place is not a playground. It’s designed for serious musicians.’
‘Ah, and I’m not serious, of course. I’m a joke. A national laughingstock.’ Her tone was brittle, the cheerful smile gone from her pretty face. She stood abruptly and Matteo breathed deeply, telling himself that honesty was kinder in the long run.
‘All I’m saying is—’
‘I know exactly what you’re saying. If you’ll excuse me I’ll find my own way back. Five more minutes with you and I won’t have any confidence left to lose.’ Snatching up her shoes, she stalked past him, her bare feet soundless on the floor. ‘And you can reassure your father that if I want something I am always up front about it. I asked you straight out if I could help with Rock ‘n’ Royal. I call that asking for what you want, but if you want to call that “using” then go ahead. Thanks for the tour. It was really illuminating.’
She yanked open the door and immediately the breeze from the sea lifted and flirted with her hair.
Matteo could have smoothed the situation easily. He had the skills. But he didn’t use them. He didn’t want things smooth. He didn’t want to encourage that chemistry. Nor was he prepared to give false flattery. No one, not even her own pa
rents, who should surely be her biggest supporters, could describe her as a serious musician.
And surely no one who put themselves up for public scrutiny in a show like Singing Star could still be sensitive. The show had been slated. She’d been slated.
And if she was offended and kept her distance from him, that would be a good thing.
Having rationalised his behaviour, he watched as she tugged on her shoes. ‘Dinner is at eight.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘I’ll eat in my room. Isn’t that what usually happens to prisoners?’ With that parting shot she stalked off towards the palazzo, leaving Matteo staring after her.
CHAPTER FIVE
MISERABLE, angry and totally humiliated, Izzy pulled on her pyjamas and curled up on her bed. It was all very well believing in yourself but what was the point in believing in yourself if everyone else just put you down?
Perhaps everyone was right. Her voice was rubbish, she had no talent and no one was ever going to take her seriously. She was kidding herself if she thought anything was ever going to change. There was perseverance and then there was being just plain deluded.
Perhaps she should follow Allegra’s advice, get a proper job and forget her dream.
Look at me, I’m not what you see …
Deep inside there’s part of me, longing to break free …
The song just wouldn’t leave her alone and she sat up and rubbed the tears from her cheeks, furious with herself for being so pathetic.
If she gave up she was definitely going to fail, wasn’t she? No one who gave up had ever succeeded, but sometimes people who had failed loads of times eventually made it. Just because you didn’t succeed the first time or the tenth, didn’t mean you wouldn’t on the hundredth.
Desperate for human comfort, she toyed with her phone.
She could ring her mother, but what would be the point of that? All she’d get was a bracing lecture on getting back up when life knocks you over when what she really wanted was a hug. And the yearning for a hug surprised her because Chantelle had never been tactile and Izzy had given up hoping or even wishing for a closer relationship. What chance was there of that when she wasn’t even allowed to call her ‘Mum’? It had to be ‘Chantelle,’ as if the use of her first name would somehow roll back the years.
Deciding that there was no lonelier feeling than looking at a phone full of contacts, none of whom you could call, Izzy flung her phone back in her bag.
Suddenly she was a young child again, sitting on her bottom in the dirt, crying and reaching out her arms to her mother—a mother who stayed at a distance and watched impatiently as her child struggled.
‘If I pick you up, Izzy, you’ll never learn to get up by yourself. Stop crying and stand up.’
Once in a while, Izzy thought miserably, it would be nice to at least have someone hold out a hand to help her up.
She thought about texting Allegra but then remembered that she wasn’t supposed to use her phone. And anyway, Allegra was probably still basking in the ecstasy of being engaged to a prince and Izzy didn’t want to ruin that.
There was no one she could talk to and the truth was there was no point. People didn’t understand her love of music, they never had and the fact that no one understood her was infinitely depressing.
Despite what people thought, it wasn’t about the attention. She didn’t sing because she wanted an audience. She sang because she had to sing. There was something inside her that made it impossible not to sing. Since she was tiny, she’d had tunes and words in her head. It had driven Chantelle crazy that she was always singing, but Izzy could no more stop singing than she could stop breathing. It was part of who she was.
And right now she didn’t like that part one little bit.
She almost wished she could give up so that she could stop being crushed by disappointment at regular intervals.
But of all the rejections she’d received in her life nothing had been quite so crushing as the prince’s total dismissal of her talent. Or maybe it just mattered more because it was him.
Izzy slid off the bed and wandered through to the luxurious bathroom. She removed her streaked make-up, splashed her face with cold water and looked in the mirror.
Her eyes were red, and without make-up her face was almost ethereally pale.
She looked a million miles from the successful singer she wanted to be.
Staring at her reflection she reminded herself that every journey was made up of single steps and no one was going to take those steps for you. She just needed to stay focused.
She was still stunned by the discovery that he had a recording studio in his home. Envy seeped through her. He could just walk into it at any time of the day and start playing. Drums, acoustic guitar, piano—
Her palms itched with the need to play. The piano was amazing. If only he’d given her permission to use it, she’d be as happy as a monkey in a banana plantation.
Walking over to the window, Izzy stared wistfully across the floodlit grounds towards the recording studio. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
The piano was in the outer room. She didn’t even need to go into the rooms that housed all the expensive equipment. All she needed to do was get through the first door.
Her heart started to beat faster.
A slow smile spread across her face.
She wondered if Matteo had realised that he hadn’t locked the door behind him when he’d left.
Matteo lay sprawled on the sofa in his office as he listened to the final track.
Was he being too fussy?
That last song was fine. Nothing special, but not awful.
With a curse he reached for the bottle of beer on the table next to him.
He didn’t want ‘fine.’ He wanted mesmerising. He wanted emotional, heartbreaking, beautiful—a song everyone would be humming and words that would embed themselves into people’s brains.
He couldn’t even put his finger on exactly what was wrong, except that everything he’d heard had been instantly forgettable and he wanted unforgettable. He wanted it to touch hearts.
Touch hearts? Laughing silently at himself, he finished the beer.
Who was he kidding?
He wanted the song to raise money. Piles of the stuff. He wanted the song to be so damn good the whole world downloaded it. He wanted the music websites to crash but nothing he’d heard had the emotion needed to guarantee the song would be a global success.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Matteo tapped out a quick email.
They were running out of time and options. And as if the concert wasn’t enough to give him a headache, he now had Izzy Jackson to think about.
His jaw tightened as he contemplated what the hell he was going to do with her.
As she’d threatened, she hadn’t turned up to dinner and he’d been too busy with his guests to chase her down.
Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to chase her down.
Restless, his mind uncomfortably preoccupied with the past, he rose to his feet and strolled over to the tall windows that overlooked the landscaped gardens. The lake was floodlit, but beyond that everything was in darkness.
Or at least, it was supposed to be in darkness.
Matteo stared in the direction of the recording studio.
Was it his imagination or had he seen a flicker of light?
No. The place was locked, and—
He gave a faint groan. He’d forgotten to lock it. He’d been so busy trying not to grab her that he’d forgotten to lock the door. And she would have noticed that, of course, because Izzy Jackson didn’t miss a thing. Not if it might help her achieve one of her goals.
Anger erupted inside him and the anger felt good because it blew away the more uncomfortable thoughts that had seriously disturbed his evening. Nursing that anger like a vulnerable flame, he strode out of the door.
He’d told her the place was out of bounds. With well over a million pounds worth of recording equipment in the studio, not to mention the
musical instruments, it wasn’t a place for someone inexperienced. She was irresponsible, aggravating—
His mouth tight, tension mounting with every angry stride, Matteo reached the recording studio in record time. A summer storm was brewing and he could hear the wild crash of waves exploding over rocks at the foot of the cliffs, but nothing that nature produced could match the force of his own temper.
As far as he was concerned this was the final straw.
She had no respect for rules. No concept of appropriate behaviour.
He’d told her the place was out of bounds but she didn’t listen to the word no unless it suited her.
Enveloped by the darkness, he opened the door, ready to unleash hell.
And then stopped.
A clear sweet voice resonated around the studio, the quality and emotion enough to wipe his mind of all thoughts except one—
This was the song he’d been waiting for.
He’d entered the studio ready to let rip, but now he could do nothing but listen as her voice soared and her fingers flew over the keys creating harmonies that made him catch his breath.
Emotional, heartbreaking, beautiful—the song was all those things and more and he was knocked sideways by the beauty of the sound. She was mesmerizing and there was a musical sophistication in her performance that outstripped anything he’d played over the past few months.
Goose bumps spread across his skin and then she hit a top note and those goose bumps changed to chills. She wasn’t just good, she was incredible, and he was afraid to breathe in case he drew attention to himself and disturbed the flow of the music.