The Bachelor Prince

by Debbie Macomber

“It matters.”

  Priscilla was saved the necessity of an answer when the prince motioned for his friend. Pietro immediately left her side, and returned a few minutes later, frowning.

  “The prince has asked me to escort you home. It seems he’s going to be tied up here for some time and he doesn’t wish to detain you, seeing that you’re not feeling well.”

  Priscilla’s stomach knotted with relief, that this evening was finally over. And with regret that the last portion of this night was to be spent with Pietro. “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly in an effort to escape. “Really…I can send for a car.”

  “Nonsense. Neither the prince nor I would hear of such a thing. You’ll come with me.”

  His tone brooked no argument, and knowing it would be a losing battle to argue further, she obediently followed him. He guided her out of the ballroom through a back entrance. She traipsed behind him as he wove his way around the kitchen staff. Several seemed to think Pietro was the prince, and stopped and whispered in awe.

  To her surprise he didn’t call for the limousine, but had the valet bring a compact sports car to a side entrance.

  “What’s this?” she asked. She was unwilling to sit in such close proximity to Pietro. At least she could put some space between the two of them in the limousine.

  “A car,” Pietro answered simply, while holding open the passenger door. Only moments earlier Pietro had sought her out, and now it seemed as if he would have given anything to avoid her company. Her pride had been badly wounded by this man once already. She didn’t know if her heart was up to a second round.

  “I appreciate the ride, but I’d prefer a cab.” She ignored his protest, and raised her hand, hoping to attract the attention of a cabdriver on the street. Naturally, when she was desperate for one, the streets were bare.

  “Priscilla, don’t be ridiculous.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she frantically waved her arm and called out, “Taxi!”

  “Prince Stefano has asked me to personally escort you home,” Pietro argued.

  “Do you always do as the prince asks?” she challenged, walking into the middle of the street.

  “Yes,” he said bitterly. “Please allow me to take you home.”

  The gently coaxing quality of his words was what persuaded her to do as he asked. As the prince’s right-hand man, Pietro was a man accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed without question. Yet he was willing to plead with her.

  “Please,” he said again.

  Defeated, Priscilla lowered her arm and walked back to the curb. “All right,” she breathed in an exercise in frustration.

  “Thank you,” Pietro murmured.

  She walked back to the sports car and climbed into the front seat. The billowing skirt of her dress obliterated the view out the front window and she was forced to push it down. She felt like a jack-in-the-box who would spring out the minute her lid was opened.

  Pietro joined her and had trouble locating the gearshift between the folds of chiffon. Priscilla pushed the fabric out of his way as best she could.

  Pietro started the engine and when they stopped at a first light, he glanced at her. Priscilla felt his gaze, but couldn’t see much of him because of her skirt.

  She wasn’t sure who started it, but soon they were both consumed with laughter. For safety’s sake, Pietro pulled over to the curb. Soon their merriment died down, and there was silence.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” Pietro said with all sincerity, “but this dress is wrong for you.”

  Priscilla had known it the moment she’d tried it on. Her mother had attempted to dress her in a way that would prove to the prince she would make him an ideal wife.

  “I’ve offended you?” he asked.

  “No,” she assured him.

  He waited a moment and Priscilla assumed he was going to say something more, but she was wrong. When traffic cleared, he eased the car back into the flow.

  More at ease with him now, Priscilla relaxed.

  “You…you asked to talk to me,” she reminded him. Now was as good a time as any.

  Once again he hesitated. “Not now.”

  She hated that imperious way he spoke, as if everything were on his terms, on his time. “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Because I’m angry.”

  “With me?”

  “No…no.” His tone gentled considerably. “Never with you, Priscilla. Never with you.”

  She wouldn’t be so easily appeased this time. This man confused and frustrated her. “Then who?”

  He waited for several seconds, then said, “Prince Stefano.”

  His answer surprised her. “But why?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I might.”

  “No, my love. It’s complicated and best left unsaid.”

  His love. Only that afternoon he’d pushed her out of his arms and left her reeling with shock and embarrassment. Now he was speaking to her in the tenderest of endearments.

  Unwilling to be hurt again, Priscilla gathered her pride about her like a shawl and slowly drew inside herself.

  Other than the hum of the engine, there was no sound. The void seemed to stretch and expand, like yeast in bread dough. She felt Pietro’s gaze studying her in the dark.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” he implored. “I can’t bear that.”

  “Then don’t call me your love,” she returned heatedly. Her voice quivered, making it sound as if she were close to tears.

  Her words were met with stark silence, as if she’d shocked him. At the first opportunity, Pietro pulled off to the side of the road. He sat with his hands braced against the steering wheel, and after a moment a deep sigh rumbled through his chest.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Priscilla.”

  She blinked, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “Kiss me?” He made it sound as if this were the last thing he wanted. “But why…?”

  “I don’t think I can keep from kissing you.”

  “But you said earlier that…”

  “Forget what I said earlier.” He turned off the engine and turned toward her. Their gazes met in the dim light and locked hungrily. “Forget everything I said this afternoon.”

  Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Priscilla wanted to turn away from him, if for nothing more than to salvage her pride, but she couldn’t summon even a token resistance. The moment his lips touched hers, she realized that being in Pietro’s arms was more important than anything.

  Hope sat with her hands buried deep in her wind-breaker on the hard wooden bench inside the ferry terminal. She’d been waiting nearly forty minutes and Stefano still hadn’t shown. By all that was right she should be home and in bed asleep.

  The sound of heavy footsteps echoed against the hard floor. Her heart leapt with anticipation and she looked up, and saw that it wasn’t the prince. She couldn’t quite believe it, but whoever it was, resembled Elvis.

  Her shoulders sagged with disappointment, and she buried her chin against her chest. She was a fool. No one else would have waited this long. No one else would have gone on hoping he’d come when it was clear he wasn’t going to show.

  “Hope.”

  Her head shot up, and she frowned. The man standing before her was Elvis and yet…

  “Stefano?”

  He grinned and, breathing heavily, he sat down next to her. “I fooled you?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice or her eyes. She’d looked directly at him and hadn’t realized it was Stefano. He wore a pair of rhinestone-studded white bell-bottoms and matching top, and a white scarf was draped around his neck. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “I needed to escape the hotel without being noticed.”

  “In that outfit?”

  He laughed. “Don’t scoff. I paid good money for this costume.”

  “Where in the name of heaven did you get it?”

  “From the Elvis impersonat
or who’s performing in the cocktail lounge.” He was only now catching his breath. “I can’t believe you’re still here. I was afraid you’d left, but I found it impossible to slip away unnoticed.”

  “But why?” That was by far the more curious of her questions.

  The laughter drained from his eyes. “So I could be alone with you. If I came as myself, we’d be interrupted constantly. I am being selfish, but I don’t wish to share this time with anyone but you.”

  If that was being greedy, then she was guilty, as well.

  “Come,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  The question seemed to catch him unaware. “I don’t know yet. It is enough that we are together.”

  They walked down the ramp out of the ferry terminal and onto the sidewalk. Although it was after eleven o’clock, the streets were filled with the continual flow of foot traffic.

  Stefano slipped his arm around her waist and they strolled together. Stefano seemed unconcerned with the attention his disguise attracted. Every now and again someone would shout, “Hello, Elvis,” and he’d give a friendly wave.

  Finally Stefano turned off the sidewalk and led her down a long pier lined with tourist and art shops. They stopped at the end and looked out over the deep, dark waters.

  The night was gorgeous and the lights from West Seattle and the smaller islands of Puget Sound glowed like rows of bright bulbs on a Christmas tree.

  Stefano turned Hope into his embrace and locked his hands at the small of her back. Sighing softly, she found a peace, a serenity she couldn’t explain.

  Stefano kissed her cheek, her ear, her hair, before claiming her mouth. Hope experienced a deep, almost painful longing. The prince trembled and she knew he was as deeply affected by their kisses as she.

  Hope pressed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as the warm sensations melted over her. Biting into her lower lip, she tried not to think of the impossibility of their situation.

  “I was afraid of that,” Stefano murmured against her hair.

  “Of what?” she asked.

  “Your kiss. It’s even better than before.” His words were sad, almost bitter, and she lifted her head, wanting to look into his eyes. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Please,” he said gently, “let me hold you a little longer.”

  Hope hadn’t the strength of will to resist him. Nestled in his arms, it seemed as if the world and all the troubles that plagued the universe were a million miles away.

  “When I was a little girl, I used to dream of meeting a handsome prince,” she told him, finding life ironic. “My mother would read me a story before I went to sleep and she’d kiss me good-night and then tell me that someday my prince would come.”

  “Ah, yes, your mother.” Amusement laced his words. A moment passed and he chuckled softly.

  Hope’s head sprang upward. “What’s she done now?”

  “Nothing,” he said, pressing her head back to his shoulder. “Don’t be so concerned.”

  “Stefano, I know my mother. Please tell me what she’s up to this time.”

  He chuckled softly and brushed his lips against hers. “I received a letter from her this afternoon.”

  “And…” Hope coaxed.

  “She wanted to know what my intentions toward you were.”

  “No.” Mortified, Hope buried her face in his chest.

  “I apologize Oh, Stefano, forgive her. She means no harm. It’s just that…” Try as she might, Hope didn’t have a prayer of explaining, because she didn’t have a hope of analyzing what her mother could have been thinking. “It’s just that…”

  “Perhaps she believes I’m the prince she told you was coming all these years.”

  “Mom and her friends are romantics,” Hope offered as a possible explanation. “They don’t understand that life isn’t filled with happy endings.”

  It seemed his hold on her tightened briefly. “Let’s not speak of the future. Not tonight. It is selfish to indulge myself with you, I know, but it is a little thing, and I hope in time you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Hope didn’t want to think of the future, either. It went without saying she wouldn’t—couldn’t be—part of his life. Like Stefano, she was content to indulge her fantasies.

  They didn’t seem to have a lot to say. Together they sat on a bench at the end of the pier and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Every now and again he’d kiss her. In the beginning his kisses were gentle, but they soon took on an intensity that left Hope breathless.

  He stopped abruptly and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and his hand lingered there. Several moments passed before he gave in to the temptation and kissed her again..

  Hope’s breathing became heavy and shallow and when he raised his head, his gaze sought hers in the moonlight. She noted that his eyes were dark with passion and knew her own were a reflection of his.

  His mouth found hers once more and when he dragged his lips away, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t kiss you again,” he whispered.

  The funny thing with greed, Hope discovered, was that she was never satisfied. At one time all she wanted was to spend time with him, then she’d be happy, she told herself. Then he kissed her, and she never wanted it to end.

  “Why can’t you kiss me?” she asked, spreading a series of kisses over his face, starting at his jaw and working her way over the contour of his face, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “Hope…” He trapped her face between his hands.

  “Hmm?”

  He directed her mouth to his and it was as if they were reuniting after a six-month absence. When he pulled away, Hope saw that his face was tight with desire.

  “We must stop,” he murmured, sounding very much as if he were in pain.

  “I know…but I’m greedy for you.”

  “That’s the problem,” he murmured. “I am greedy for you, too. I just didn’t know…”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “How much I need you,” he whispered. “Now, please, don’t tempt me anymore. You make me weak and—” he chuckled softly “—strong.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I know, but it’s the truth.” He pressed her fingers to his lips. “I want you to tell me more of your childhood.”

  “But, Stefano, I’m so…ordinary. Tell me of yours.”

  “I have no interest in hearing myself speak. Tell me everything there is to know about you.”

  “What about my old boyfriends? Do you want to hear about them, as well?”

  “No,” he said and laughed softly. “It wouldn’t take very much to make me insanely jealous.”

  “It would only be fair,” she chided. “I’ve been reading about your exploits for years. You aren’t called the Bachelor Prince for nothing.” She meant to tease him, to make light of his reputation.

  He surprised her by clasping her upper arms. His eyes locked with her. “It’s true, there’ve been many women in my life.”

  “I know.” She lowered her gaze, not wanting to think about all the beautiful females who had loved him. And worse. Whom he’d loved.

  He lifted her chin with his index finger. “But there’s only been one woman who held my heart in the palm of her hand.” He reached for her hand and kissed her palm. “That woman, Hope Jordan, is you.”

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS THE WEE HOURS of the morning before Stefano returned to the hotel. He couldn’t remember a time in his life that he’d been happier.

  All his life he’d been groomed for his position as the Prince of San Lorenzo. He’d been taught the concerns of his country must come first. Duty and sacrifice were equated with honor and character. He knew he must marry Priscilla Rutherford or some other woman who was equally wealthy. There was no other option.

  Now certainly wasn’t the time to fall in love. Now wasn’t the time to give his heart to a woman he must eventually leave.

/>   A week, he told himself. He would give himself that time with Hope as a gift. Seven days would be ample time to fill his heart with memories. Ones that he would need to last him a lifetime.

  He’d been honest with Hope from the first. She understood and accepted that there could be no future for them. And yet she’d generously opened her heart and her life to him.

  By the time Stefano let himself into his suite, he realized how exhausted he was, and yet he doubted that he’d sleep. Sleep would rob him of the precious moments he had to think about Hope, to remember the taste of her kisses and how right it felt to hold her in his arms.

  “Where have you been?”

  Pietro’s hard voice rocked Stefano. Never had anyone dared to speak to him in such a tone.

  “Pietro?” His friend stood by the picture window, his hands clasped behind his back as if he’d been furiously pacing. “Is something wrong?”

  “Only that you’d disappeared!” he snapped. Walking over to the phone, Pietro punched out a series of numbers and spoke brusquely to Antonio, Stefano’s bodyguard, reporting the prince’s safe return.

  “I apologize, my friend. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “What is this…this ridiculous outfit?” Pietro gestured toward the Elvis costume as if he found it distasteful to look at.

  “What does it look like?” Stefano was prepared to give his secretary a little slack, but Pietro was stepping dangerously close to his limit. As the crown prince, he rarely had to account for his actions, and certainly not for his choice of wardrobe.

  “It looks like you’ve been making a fool of yourself,” Pietro said heatedly.

  “Pietro,” Stefano barked. “I think it would be better if we saved this conversation for morning. I’ve already apologized for any dismay I may have caused you and the others. It’s late and you’re upset.”

  “I’m more than upset.” His secretary walked over to the desk and reached for a sheet, jerking it off the top with enough energy to send several papers fluttering to the floor. He ignored the disruption and slapped the single page down on the table next to where Stefano was standing.

  “This is my letter of resignation, effective immediately.” Having made that announcement, Pietro stormed over to the window and stood with his back to Stefano.