Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

by Raye Morgan

  “My father is already up to his chin in loan repayment bills,” she told him. “He can’t handle any more.”

  “Hmm.”

  He looked thoughtful and she smiled. Yes, she could easily fall head over heels for this man. Sadness still haunted the recesses of his eyes, but it didn’t seem to dominate his spirit the way it had before. His smile seemed more genuine. And he laughed more. He was opening up to her more than she would have dreamed possible just a few days before.

  And that was good, because Isabella had plans. She had ideas. She had projects swirling in her head. She wanted to tell him, but she knew she had to take it slowly so as not to scare him off.

  Max had no plans at all. He was enjoying her and enjoying the day, and that was all he thought about. Little by little he began to realize she had more on her mind, but he didn’t flinch. As she tentatively brought up the vineyard and what a shame it was to let it go to waste he listened. He was enchanted by her and her enthusiasms and he didn’t want to tell her that her ideas were crazy.

  So by the end of the day, they had a compromise of sorts. He would allow her to bring her friend to take a look at the vineyard and give an estimate of what it would take to bring it back into production. And he would give it a fair consideration. Then she would bring more of her restaurant’s wonderful famous sauce for him to have on his pasta for his dinner.

  She felt good about it. It was so obvious to her that he was ready. She wouldn’t be pushing if she weren’t sure of that. If what he really wanted was to be alone, that was his choice. But she could tell he was ready to spread his wings. All he needed was the space and the opportunity to fly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE next few days seemed to race by. Isabella went to the castle nearly every day on one pretext or another, and Max was just as complicit as she was in finding reasons she should be there. They seemed to mesh so well, and their interest in each other was new and still overwhelming. Max told Isabella everything he could think of about his childhood, and she still asked for more. Then he quizzed her about the village, about her brothers, about her father’s past, about her childhood and her dreams as a young adult.

  “I went to library school for a while,” she told him. “I was actually thinking of a career in a big university library. I dreamed about going to live in the city, of being a part of the hustle and bustle, the lights and the excitement.”

  Her eyes shone as she talked about it and he smiled.

  “What happened?”

  She sighed. “My father got sick. My brothers were both gone, so I came home to help him.”

  He nodded. It was just what he’d feared. She was the one whose shoulders were supposed to be big enough to carry all the weight. And here she was, ready to take up his concerns as well.

  He asked more about the restaurant and she filled him in. Once she started, it was as if she’d opened the floodgates and she opened up about her worries for her father, about the state of the family finances and how worried she was about the haphazard way her father had managed things. And finally, she even told him about the problems with Fredo Cavelli.

  Max frowned as he listened to all this. “Can he really do any damage to your restaurant?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment. “You know, I didn’t think so until very recently. He was always just an old grouch who had a grudge against my father. But now that he’s become big friends with the mayor and managed to get a seat on the planning commission, he’s starting to make me nervous.”

  He listened sympathetically, nodding and asking intelligent questions at all the right times. And she realized he was the first person she’d ever told all these things to. Suddenly that seemed very, very significant to her.

  “If it’s money your father needs,” he began.

  “No,” she said quickly. “You are generous to a fault, Max. But my father needs more than money right now. He needs his family to get together and help him.”

  Max nodded. “Now, that’s up to you to handle,” he told her. “You’re the one they will all listen to.”

  “What?” She couldn’t imagine where he could have got that idea. “No one listens to me.”

  He gave her a penetrating look. “They will if you let them know how important the family is to you, and to them. Try it. I think you’ll be surprised.” He squeezed her hand. “And in the meantime, if your father has more trouble with the board, I might be able to make a few phone calls and pull a few strings myself.”

  She loved that he was offering, but couldn’t foresee a time when his help could really make a difference. He still didn’t leave the castle walls. But his other advice was sound and she took it to heart.

  She marveled at how her life had changed in such a short time. Who would have believed that she would so quickly become so at home in the castle? And so very happy there. The place seemed to be timeless, ageless, forever. If only that could really be true.

  To her surprise, Renzo had become an ally of sorts. She’d been straightforward with him from the beginning.

  “You know what I’m trying to do, don’t you?” she asked him one day while Max was on the telephone with a researcher he often collaborated with.

  “No, miss.” The man looked more like a walking skeleton every day. “Perhaps you should explain it to me.”

  Isabella took a deep breath and searched for the right words. “I guess I would say that I’m trying to find a way to get the prince to come out of his shell a little, to take part in the wider life of the community he lives in.”

  “Ah.”

  She couldn’t read a thing in that reaction.

  “He’s been living here, away from everyone else, though wonderfully protected by you and his family, for almost ten years now.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Do you think it’s been good for him?”

  Renzo hesitated. “Well, I do think that a large part of him has healed over that time.”

  She smiled, relieved. She’d been so afraid he would take offense at what she was doing. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that. So you agree with me that it is time for him to branch out a bit?”

  She held her breath, waiting to see what his verdict was.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  She closed her eyes and laughed a little. “Thank goodness. I was afraid…”

  “No, miss,” he said stoutly. “I will help you in any way I can.”

  She took his hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you, Mr. Renzo. Thank you so much.”

  “I’ve known him since he was a boy,” Renzo continued solemnly. “He’s a wonderful man, you know. He’s suffered too much. He deserves more out of life than what he’s been given so far.”

  “We agree on that.”

  He nodded. He didn’t quite smile, but she had a feeling he never did. “I could see from the first that you were a good-hearted lady,” he went on. “I just want to help.”

  It was such a relief not to have to fight against Max’s oldest employee and closest companion. Just knowing that he was in her corner gave her courage and she didn’t waste any time.

  The very next day, she brought in her friend the contractor to take a look at the vineyards. Having been warned ahead about what to expect and how she wanted him to act around Max, Giancarlo did fine. His face did register a bit of shock when he first caught sight of the scars, but he quickly settled down and treated Max like anyone at all.

  So far so good. Now to convince him that the large mentioned sum would be worth the effort in expenditure. Giancarlo put up a pretty good argument and Max promised to think it over. The contractor left and Max didn’t seem unduly bothered by the entire process. She breathed another sigh of relief.

  And when Giancarlo returned the next day with a wine expert, just to give Max more information, that meeting went just fine as far as she could see.

  To her eyes, he seemed to be blossoming. Little by little, he was beginning to be able to accept others in a way he hadn’t been able to do fo
r so long. She told him as much that day as they sat out on the veranda and ate a simple lunch.

  “I think you’ve developed a sort of paranoia by living alone for so long,” she told him. “Most people are perfectly willing to accept people who are different, once they get used to it. It’s the surprise that gets them at first. Then, when they realize it’s only skin-deep, they are usually okay with it.”

  “You’ve made a detailed study of this, I presume?” he teased her.

  “Sure,” she shot back. “Live and let live is the motto of our age,” she added with a flourish meant to overwhelm his doubts.

  He shook his head and his mouth twisted with his signature cynicism. “You’re dreaming.”

  She gave him a mock glare. “If so, it’s a good dream. Why not join me?”

  He shrugged. He knew what she meant. She was so set on his starting off on this project. “Tell me this, Bella, why does the world need a Rossi vineyard?”

  She leaned forward, her eyes big. “It’s not just that. You need to be a part of your community. And just think of the jobs you could provide. People around here could live better lives, all because of you.”

  He bit back a grin. “What if I don’t care if all those anonymous people I’ve never met are getting jobs or not?”

  “You should care,” she maintained stoutly. “That’s why you have to go out and meet them. Then you’ll care.”

  He groaned, but he didn’t tell her to stop planning.

  She brought in plants to fill in a bare spot in the gardens at the mausoleum. She loved going there, loved looking at the statue that reminded her of Max. He went along with her and helped break up the soil. And he told her about his beautiful mother and how she’d loved this garden. And somehow he went on to describe how destroyed she’d been when the people had turned against her as her looks had faded.

  “For some reason, when a woman is that beautiful, it becomes the most important thing about her,” Isabella said, agreeing with him. “Nothing else she does, no matter how much genius it displays, is held to the same esteem.”

  He nodded, thinking of his mother. “The celebrity culture needs its routine sacrifices, and she was one of them.”

  Isabella put a hand on his knee and looked up into his huge dark eyes. She knew very well that what had happened to his mother had colored how he looked at his own loss of beauty.

  “It’s very sad, but you can’t let it affect you.”

  He smiled down at her, but he knew she was right. It had affected him. And it was high time he reversed that process.

  Later that evening, Isabella got up the nerve to ask Renzo a very sensitive question. She’d made dinner for the three of them and was in the kitchen, gathering her supplies and getting ready to head home. Max was off doing some research on the Internet.

  “Tell me something, Renzo,” she said, turning to find him preparing breadcrumbs from the leftover garlic bread for toasting. “I know the prince was scarred in an accident, but I don’t know much about the details. Are you willing to tell me what happened?”

  She watched his eyes to see how he would react to that question but he didn’t give away any clues.

  “Have you asked him?”

  She shook her head. “He’s never volunteered the information and I don’t want to make him relive it if it’s just too painful for him. But if you’d rather not say…”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “I think it would be better if you talked to him about it directly, miss.”

  Sighing, she nodded. She knew he was right. Walking out onto the terrace, she looked up at the stars. She remembered the day he’d told her about how Laura had died. Could she really ask him to do this as well? It seemed she was going to have to.

  Max came out to join her a short time later.

  “Max, I need to know. About your scars…” She raised her hand and touched his face. “How did it happen?”

  His hand covered hers. “Do you want the official story? Or the truth?”

  She searched his eyes. His words were bitter but his gaze was clear. “Don’t they say the truth will set you free?” she asked softly.

  “They say a lot of things meant to sound smart that are nothing but hot-air balloons,” he told her, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. “Okay, Bella, you asked for it. Here goes.” He tilted his head back as though searching for the Milky Way. “It happened the night Laura died.”

  Her heart lurched. She’d been afraid of that.

  “I raced her lifeless body to the hospital, knowing there was really no hope, but praying some miracle might happen. They tried. They did everything humanly possible. But she…” His voice choked and he paused for a moment, regaining his composure.

  She put her hand over her heart, aching with the pain he must have felt that day. She rocked back and forth, wishing she could take it from him somehow. But that could never happen. It was his burden to hold forever. All she could do was hope, in some simple way, to help him deal with it.

  “She was still dead,” he said as he went on, his voice rough. “They couldn’t perform miracles and I found I had no magic powers either. It was hopeless. I was hopeless. I had just let my wife and my unborn child die while I lay snoozing a few feet away.”

  He turned to look at her, his eyes burning. “The horror of that, the pain and the guilt, were just too deep to bear. As I drove myself home, I found myself going faster and faster. I couldn’t think of a reason to slow down. I no longer had anything to live for. The rest of my life would be hell on earth. What was the point?”

  “Oh, Max. You didn’t…”

  He winced. “I aimed straight for that tree. All I could think of was joining Laura.” He looked at her again. “So now you know.”

  “Yes.” She barely whispered the word. In trying to end his suffering, he’d only made his own suffering worse—but perhaps that was what he’d wanted to do. She nodded. It didn’t really surprise her. But she felt such utter sadness. He’d made his own hellish prison on earth and now he didn’t know how to break out of it. She didn’t speak. Her throat was choked with unshed tears. But she understood better now. She knew he’d created his own special torture. He’d locked himself away here because he thought he deserved it. It wasn’t just that he didn’t like the way people reacted to his face—he thought of it as a punishment. He thought he deserved never to connect with the rest of humanity. It was his lot in life, his life sentence, and he had no right to try to overturn it.

  No reprieves for the Rossi prince.

  Finally, tears filled her eyes and she could cry. She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. Gently, carefully, he took her into his arms and held her close. And she cried. She cried for Laura, and the tiny baby. She cried for Max and his mountain of pain. And she cried for herself.

  “Don’t cry, Bella,” he said at last. “I only got what I deserved.”

  And that only made her start sobbing all over again.

  Finally, she pulled back and looked up into his face, half laughing, wiping away the tears.

  “Look, I’ve ruined your shirt,” she said, putting her hand over the wet spots and feeling his heart beating very hard beneath her palm, as though he’d been running, as though he were feeling…

  Her own heart began to pump in response. And then she looked up at him, her lips parted, waiting.

  He looked down and she could see the struggle behind his eyes. He wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted it herself. Why, oh, why was he fighting it?

  It was a question that was bothering her more and more lately. She’d never felt anything this close to love before, not with any man. She wanted to tell him so. She wanted his arms around her; she wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted his kiss.

  He’d kissed her the day she’d let herself into his house with her sauce for him to sample. The entire encounter had been unexpected and he hadn’t been prepared. His defenses had been down. His kiss had been spiced with a wildness that he’d quickly leashed, but she had been able to
sense it flowing just under the surface. He’d been so gorgeous with his naked chest and his wet hair. Her heart beat like thunder whenever she thought of it.

  She knew he cared for her. She even knew that he felt a strong attraction. A connection of excitement arced between them every time their gazes met across a room. When he helped put on her cloak in the evening, his fingers lingered on the slope of her neck and she knew he was aching to let his hands slide down and cup her breasts. She could feel it. And still he didn’t kiss her.

  She turned quickly once, wearing a light and skimpy vest-top, and let her breasts brush against the hair on his bare arm, making her nipples harden beneath the cloth. He watched her do it and the chords of his neck stood out like a mountain range while the color of his eyes deepened almost to purple. He clenched his fists and she knew it was taking a tremendous effort for him not to reach for her.

  But he didn’t. The moment passed, and he turned away as though he couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

  She knew what the problem was. He didn’t foresee any possibility that their light and friendly relationship would last, or that it could turn into anything meaningful, and he didn’t want to set up any expectations in her mind. She knew he was probably right, but when she was with him, she hardly cared. She just wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to glory in the feeling they had between them.

  So she waited, her lips parted, her eyes dreamy, and practically begged him to bend down and take control.

  “Isabella,” he began, his voice slightly choked. “Cara mia.” He was shaking his head.

  “Max!” She grabbed his arm and glared up at him. “If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to walk out that door and never come back!”

  His dark eyes warmed and then he was laughing at her again. “Bella,” he said affectionately, reaching up to rake his fingers through the hair behind her shell-like ear. “You’re lying.”

  “You think I won’t do it?” she demanded wildly.

  He pulled her closer. “I know you won’t,” he said, his warm breath singeing her lips. “But this should seal the deal.”