Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

by Raye Morgan

  “So neither one is here helping run the restaurant,” he noted.

  “That’s what my father has me for,” she maintained stoutly. “But I do wish they would come home more often.”

  “Of course.”

  “And finally, here is a picture of Rosa as it was two months ago, when we still had a plentiful stock of the basil. See how crowded it is? Doesn’t everyone look well fed and happy?”

  He laughed softly at her characterization. “Yes,” he admitted. “I see what you mean.”

  “And here is the restaurant now.” She plunked down a picture of the half-empty room and threw out her hands to emphasize how overwhelming the situation was. “Without the basil, no one is happy anymore.”

  He groaned, turning his head and refusing to study that last picture. “Isabella, I get the point. You don’t have to rub my nose in it.”

  “It seems I do.” She gazed at him fiercely. “I want you to understand how important this is. How it means everything to my father.”

  “And to you.”

  “To me?” She pressed her lips together and thought about it. Hearing his words surprised her, but what surprised her even more was that he might be right.

  For years she’d chafed at being the one everybody depended on, the one who had to stay behind and help with the restaurant while her brothers went off in search of adventurous lives and her cousins went off to explore places like England and Australia. Isabella was the one who stayed home and kept the flames going. Sometimes it didn’t seem fair. She’d had daydreams about leaving a note pinned to her pillow and slipping out into the night, getting on a train to Rome, flying to Singapore or Brazil, or maybe even New York. Meeting a dark, handsome stranger in an elevator. Talking over a drink in a hotel bar. Walking city streets in the rain, sharing an umbrella. All scenes snatched from romantic movies, all scenes folded into her momentary fantasies. What seemed hopeful at first eventually mutated into melancholy as it aged.

  And lately, even those dreams had faded. She’d been as wrapped up in finding ways to save the restaurant as her father was. So maybe Max was right. Maybe it did mean everything to her, too.

  “Maybe,” she said faintly.

  What did it mean when you gave up your dreams? Did they grow mellow and rich, like fine wine, warming you even as they faded? Or did they dry up and turn to powder that blew away with the wind?

  “Maybe.”

  Snapping back into the moment, she looked at Max, trying to see if he’d come around yet. She grimaced lightly. It certainly didn’t look like it. Those gorgeous dark eyes with their long, sweeping lashes were as cool and skeptical as ever.

  She sighed. He’d finished eating and he’d finished looking at her scrapbook and listening to her point of view. She had only one weapon left in her arsenal. Slipping away, she hurried back to the kitchen where she pulled a large portion of a beautiful tiramisu out of the refrigerator. Rummaging in a drawer, she found a candle, which she lit and put atop it. She smiled with satisfaction, then carried it back out into the dining room, singing “Tanti auguri a te,” as she went. She stopped, put the blazing pastry down before him, and added, “Buon compleanno!”

  He was laughing again, only this time it was with her, not at her.

  “How did you know it was my birthday?” he asked her, letting her see, for just a moment, how pleased he was.

  She shrugged grandly. “You told me.”

  He frowned. “When?”

  “It was the first thing you said when you came into the kitchen, before you realized it was me instead of Renzo.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  He looked into the flame as though it fascinated him. She watched him. In the afternoon light, his scar looked like a ribbon of silver across his face. She wondered if it gave him any pain. She knew it gave him heartache. And because of that, it gave her heartache, too.

  “Make a wish and blow out the candle,” she told him.

  He looked at her and almost smiled. “What shall I wish for?”

  She shook her head. “It’s your wish. And don’t tell me, or else it won’t come true.”

  His face took on a hint of an attitude, teasing her. “Okay. I know what I’m going to wish for.”

  She knew he didn’t mean anything by it; still, the implication was there, hovering in the air between them. She felt herself flushing and turned away, biting her lip.

  “Go ahead. Blow it out. I won’t watch.”

  “Why not?” He blew out the small fire and picked up a fork. “Anyone can watch. It’s not much of an event, you know.”

  He broke off a bit of the pastry onto his fork, and, instead of taking the bite himself, he waited until she’d turned back and then popped it between her lips and left it there.

  “Hey!” She ate it quickly, half laughing. “That was for you. I ate enough of it myself when I was making the thing.”

  He stopped, staring at her. The tiramisu was a thing of beauty, the dark of the coffee flavor and the cocoa topping a striking contrast to the light-as-a-feather, rich, creamy layers. It was a mystery to him how anyone made such a thing, and the thought that she had created it on her own was a revelation. Her talents were legion, it seemed.

  “You made it yourself?”

  She nodded. Yes, she had, thinking of him the whole time and warding off Susa, who’d wanted to take over.

  Max shook his head as he studied her face, searching her eyes, sketching a trail of interest along the line of her chin. “You made me that delicious pasta and you made me my birthday dessert with your own hands.” His eyes seemed to glow with a special light and his voice was so quiet, she could hardly hear him. “What can I do for you in return, Isabella?”

  She met his gaze and held it. “You know what I want,” she said, almost as softly as he had spoken.

  He stared into her eyes a moment longer, then his face took on an expression she couldn’t translate into anything but regret. Looking down, he began to eat and he didn’t speak again until he had finished.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “I appreciate this.”

  She waited. Was he going to relent? Was he going to tell her she could have another try at his hillside? She waited another moment, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so she sighed and rose, beginning to clear the plates away.

  “I suppose I’d better get all this cleaned up,” she said, wondering if she’d actually made any impression on him at all. “I’m sure you have people coming over to help you celebrate tonight.”

  He looked up at her with a frown. “I don’t see visitors. Not ever. I thought you understood that.”

  She stopped, staring at him. “Not anyone?”

  “No. Not anyone.”

  Her blue eyes betrayed her bewilderment. “Why not?”

  He sighed and threw down his napkin, then said in a clipped tone, “I think that’s self-evident.”

  She sank back into her chair and gaped at him. She remembered suddenly what Susa had said about his having lost his young wife years ago. She’d implied that the pain of losing her had brought on his lonely existence, but surely there was more to it than that. “You mean, because of your face?”

  He merely stared at her, confirming her suspicions.

  “But…” She choked, unable to comprehend his motives. “Why would you let something like that ruin your life? You need people around you, you need…”

  She stopped before she said something ill-advised. He needed love. That much was obvious. He needed a woman, someone to care for him and make him happy. Every man needed that.

  But did she have any business saying such a thing? Of course not. Especially since she needed a man just as badly, and look how she’d been unable to take care of that little problem for years now. She didn’t even have the excuses he had. So who was she to talk?

  But she couldn’t leave the subject alone.

  “If I were like you,” she said, pointing to her own injured eye, “I would have hidden myself away and we would
have had to close down the restaurant for the last week and a half.”

  He half smiled at her characterization and he looked at her black eye almost affectionately.

  “Did you get any reaction from your customers?”

  “Of course.” She stared at him again. He was a prince, rich and probably famous in certain circles, powerful, with resources she could only dream of. So how had he let this happen? How had others around him let it go this far? How had he become such a recluse, and how could he stand it for so long?

  “I get plenty of reaction,” she continued slowly, “lots of double takes, people turning back to have another look at me. Then I get the opposite, people who notice, then look away quickly as though thinking I must have been beaten up and would be embarrassed if they acknowledged seeing the evidence of it.”

  He nodded, recognizing the experience from his own ventures out into the world.

  “I even have little children making fun of me in the street.” She tossed her hair back with a defiant snap of her head. “But who cares? That’s their problem.”

  He gazed at her in complete admiration. She was a tough one. She could handle what life threw at her in ways he didn’t seem capable of. But there was so much more to his situation that she didn’t know about. “Our conditions are not comparable,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Maybe not to the degree, but the basics are very much the same.”

  He frowned, beginning to feel a bit of backlash against her attitude. “You don’t understand.” He glanced at her, then away. “You don’t know why this happened.”

  She leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, ready to hear, ready to understand. “So tell me.”

  His gaze darkened. For just a moment he saw it all again, the trees rushing past his window, the huge old bridge standing right in his path, the flash as they hit, the flames, the fire, the horrible sound of metal against concrete. They said no one should have lived through that crash. And there were times when he’d cursed his own powers of survival.

  Looking up, he spoke dismissively. “No.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why not?”

  His own eyes were as cold as they’d ever been as he turned to gaze at her again. “It’s none of your business.”

  He was right, of course, but she drew back as though he’d slapped her.

  “Oh.”

  She rose again and turned toward the door. He’d hurt her with those words, with that manner. She’d thought they were becoming friends and he’d shown her just how far from that they really were. She was not allowed into his real life. Of course, what had she expected? This was a cold, cruel world, after all.

  “I’ll just get out of your way, then,” she said stiffly. She walked firmly out of the room, waiting at each step for him to call her back. But he didn’t say a word.

  It only took her a few minutes to get her things washed up and ready to go, but she banged the pots a bit more than necessary. She was angry. There was no denying it. After all she’d done, all she’d said, and he still didn’t understand!

  She was packing her supplies away in her backpack when he came into the kitchen again. She looked up hopefully, but his eyes were still cold as ice.

  “Where did you park your car?” he asked.

  She went back to putting her full attention on what she was doing, stuffing the last of her utensils into the bag. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  He erased the distance between them and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. “I’ve told you I won’t have you wandering around the grounds on your own,” he reminded her sternly. “I’ll drive you to your car.”

  A captive, she stared back at him without saying anything. She wasn’t fooled. He wanted to see where it was that she was sneaking in. Good thing she’d parked a distance away from the chink in the wall. If he was going to find her secret, he was going to have to survey the wall himself, brick by brick.

  “I’ll do fine on my own,” she said again.

  “I’m going to drive you. I brought my car around while you were cleaning up.”

  Slowly, deliberately, she pushed his hand away from her chin. “If you insist,” she said coldly.

  His mouth twitched, but he managed not to smile at the fierce picture she made.

  “I do,” he responded. “Shall we go?”

  He helped her carry her things outside and there was a slinky little BMW Roadster.

  “Nice car,” she allowed, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” he agreed, stowing her things behind the seat and holding the door for her. “It seems like something of a waste. I almost never get to drive it.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “The only place I go is to my home on the coast, and I travel in a limousine for that.”

  “With darkened windows. I know.” Susa had told her all about it. “All so others won’t see your face?” she asked, troubled by such a denial of life.

  “There’s more to it than that,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

  “Of course. And it’s none of my business.” She stared out the side window.

  He twitched and gave her a look, then started the car and eased it out onto the driveway.

  “I don’t know why you think you should be let in on every little aspect of my interior life,” he said gruffly. “Believe me, the nuances are not all that interesting.”

  She whipped her head around. “I didn’t ask just because I was snoopy,” she said indignantly. “I actually care—” she stopped dead, realizing what she was saying “—uh…about you,” she ended softly and lamely, looking away again as quickly as she could.

  He didn’t answer. As they cruised down the two-lane road he wondered why her admitting that she cared sent warmth careening through his system. It wasn’t as though women hadn’t cared for him in the past. What made her so special?

  “Is that your car?” he asked as they closed in on a silver-blue compact sitting by the side of the road.

  “That’s it,” she admitted.

  He pulled up behind it and frowned as he studied the wall of his own property. “This isn’t where you go in,” he noted.

  She flashed him a triumphant smile.

  “You’re right. This isn’t it.”

  She began to gather her things for her great escape, slipping out of the Roadster and reaching for her bag before he had a chance to get out and help her.

  “Bye,” she said, not meeting his gaze and turning for her car.

  “Hey.” He got out on his side and followed her. “Wait a minute.”

  Throwing her bags into the backseat of her car, she turned to look at him, though she was poised to jump behind the wheel and race off.

  “What is it?” she asked guardedly.

  He stood facing her, his legs wide apart, his hands hooked on the belt of his jeans. For a moment, he seemed lost in the depths of her eyes. Then he shrugged and looked almost bored with it all.

  “I think I’ve come up with a way for you to get your precious herb,” he said casually.

  Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. “What? How?”

  “It’s simple really.”

  “You mean you’ll trust me to go alone?”

  Darkness flashed across his face.

  “No, of course not. I’ve told you, I will not allow you to go there unattended.”

  “Unattended?” Her frustration was plain on her face. She obviously felt they were just going around in circles. “But who would be available to go with me?”

  He shrugged, his head cocked at a rather arrogant angle. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  For just a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?” she said. But she could tell he meant what he’d said by the look on his face. Joy swept through her. “You!” And then spontaneous happiness catapulted her right up against his chest.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cried, throwing her
arms around his neck and kissing his cheek again and again. “Thank you so much!”

  He laughed softly, holding her loosely, resisting the impulse to take advantage of her giddiness.

  “Can we go right now?” she cried, looking as though she could fly all the way on her own.

  “Today it’s too late,” he said sensibly. “Come tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” She knew he was right. “Yes, I will.”

  He stroked her temple with his forefinger, smoothing back the tiny curls that were forming at her hairline. “And when you come tomorrow, you can drive in the front gate.”

  She stared at him, clutching his arm. “How am I going to do that?”

  “I’ll give you the code.”

  That took her breath away. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

  His gaze was cool, yet intimate. “Why not? I trust you.” For now, it suited him that she have the code, and that was that. He gave her a quick, quirky smile.

  “Besides, I can change the code any time I decide I don’t want you to have it any longer.”

  There were tears in her eyes. She’d been so downhearted and now she was so happy. “Why are you being so good to me?” she asked emotionally.

  His smile faded. He gazed deeply into her eyes and winced a bit from what he saw there. And then, he told her the truth.

  “Because I care about you, too,” he said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “YOU’VE been to see the prince again.” Susa’s tone was quietly jubilant, as though she’d just won a bet.

  Isabella turned and glanced at her sideways. “How did you know?”

  Susa smiled and looked superior, mixing gelatin into the whipping cream as a stiffener, preparing for the fabulous desserts she would be concocting that evening. Very casually, she shrugged.

  “I know many things.”

  Susa was like a member of the family. After Isabella’s mother died, it was Susa she often turned to for those familiar motherly things that she needed. It was Susa who taught her how to act with the customers, how to say, “Please,” and, “Thank you,” and look as if you meant it. When Luca was putting her into jeans and plaid shirts as though she were a little boy, Susa taught her how to wear frilly dresses. She had a lot to thank the woman for. But Susa could be annoying, all the same.