The Playboy Prince and the Nanny

by Donna Alward

  “And why can’t they still? We can make this work.” He straightened a bit, and Rose saw the stubborn tilt to his jaw. “I’ll make it happen.”

  And just then Rose was reminded of her first night at the palace, where they’d met at the fountain and she’d felt so outmatched. Palace playboy or not, Diego was a Navarro, and he was confident and used to getting his own way. The stakes were far higher now. Real feelings were involved, and she didn’t want to be either manipulated or hurt.

  “What are you going to do, issue a royal decree?” She lifted an eyebrow. “This is what I want, so deal with it?”

  “If I have to.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She moved to pull out of his arms, but he held her fast.

  “Don’t run.”

  “Is that an order, too?”

  He frowned. “Rose, what’s got into you? I’m trying to tell you how I feel! That I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.”

  She knew what had got into her. More than a romantic date on the rooftop, or a kiss in the intimate confines of her room, or even holding hands ever so briefly walking down a hall. It was this setting, tonight. When she was next to him, she tended to forget. But it was just like that day in the city. Someone would always point out that she didn’t measure up. That she didn’t matter.

  What had got into her was fear, plain and simple. Because she wanted to say yes. She wanted to say yes so badly that she was nearly willing to throw caution to the wind.

  The song ended and Rose stepped back. “I have to go,” she said, trying hard not to stutter.

  “Don’t,” Diego said, reaching for her hand. But she stepped back, then pasted on a smile and affected a little curtsy in case anyone was watching. Of course they were watching . . . how could they not?

  “I said one glass and one dance. I have to get back. Good night . . .”

  She turned and wanted to run but didn’t. She walked carefully, deliberately, to the edge of the room again, then skirted the perimeter until she got to the doors. Her heart pounded as she hoped he wasn’t going to follow her, but she was too afraid to look back. Instead she smiled at people along the way, nodding politely. Then once she got outside the room, she let out a breath and picked up her pace.

  When she got to the stairs her feet were aching so much from her shoes that she slipped them off and hooked them in a finger as she climbed to the next story and then headed down the long hall toward the nursery and her room just beyond it.

  Once inside she shut the door, dropped her shoes, and leaned back against the cool wood.

  This wasn’t just caring anymore. She was utterly, totally, in love with him. How could they possibly live here together? She certainly couldn’t continue sneaking around with him, couldn’t bear the thought of being only his mistress, absolutely couldn’t be his wife . . . good heavens, what a scandal. And this was his home. She could leave . . .

  But she thought of the children and knew she couldn’t leave them. Not after they’d already had so much upheaval.

  What in the world was she going to do?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He couldn’t believe she’d walked away like that.

  Diego stared through the crowd at the rear door of the ballroom and saw her pink dress slip through the gap. He’d been trying to explain his feelings. To show her that they could be together, that it would be all right. And instead she’d run. Run! Rose didn’t run from anything. Nothing scared her . . . except, apparently, this.

  He could just let her go. Let the affair die a quiet death, move on, focus on other things. Only he couldn’t, because he suspected rather strongly that he could go just about anywhere and she’d be there. In his head and in his heart. That meant the only thing to do was go after her. His heart clubbed against his ribs as he threaded his way through the crowd to Raoul.

  He pulled his brother aside and met his startled gaze. “I’ve got to go. I just didn’t want to leave without making my apologies.”

  Raoul frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Diego took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I love her, Raoul. I don’t know if she’ll have me or not, but I have to at least tell her how I feel.”

  “This is the real thing?” Raoul maintained his stern face. “Because she’s not a girl to be toyed with, Diego. Nanny or not. Rose is a sweet, kind woman.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? And I wish it wasn’t complicated. I swear I do. I didn’t set out for this to happen. I certainly wasn’t looking to fall in love. It found me.”

  Raoul smiled a little, the curve of his lips breaking his icy features. “Well, you’d better tell her, then,” he answered. “Go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I didn’t know it was like that. Love is love, hermano.”

  “Thank you. And happy birthday.”

  Diego left through the main ballroom doors, paused to pluck a single white rose from an arrangement, and took the curving stairs two at a time.

  He slowed when he approached her door, and ran his free hand over his trouser leg, nervous about knocking. He’d never been in this position before. Never cared enough about a woman to lay it all on the line, but this was different. They would figure it out—how to be together, how to make it work for the children’s sake. Even if he had to move out of the palace while she was here, to give a better impression of propriety . . . he’d do it.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, and tapped on the door.

  She didn’t open it. “Go away, Diego.” Even muffled by the thick wood, he could hear the frustration and longing in her voice.

  “No. There’s something I need to tell you, Rose. And this isn’t going to go away.”

  Through the closed door he heard, “So tell me. And then go away.”

  He swallowed against the lump in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d ever pictured saying these words to a woman. He rested his forehead against the door. “I love you.”

  The knob rattled as she opened the door a crack. “If you’re just saying that to get me to let you in . . .” Most of her face was hidden, but he could see the strained look in her eyes as she peered out at him.

  “I’ve never said those words to another woman.” He held up the rose. “And I’m certainly not going to use them as a ploy. I love you, Rose. And my determination to make this work is because I believe we belong together, not because I’m used to getting my way.”

  She stood back and opened the door. “Get out of the hallway,” she said with a sigh. “Before someone hears you.”

  He stepped into her suite and held out the rose. “I could send you bouquets of flowers and fill this room,” he said, “but sometimes a single bloom says enough, don’t you think?”

  She took it in her hands, an odd look on her face. “And why white?”

  He considered telling her he’d plucked it on the run, but instead scoured his brain for meanings. “White roses. They’re wedding roses, did you know that? And new beginnings.” He stepped forward and clasped her hand. “Let’s make tonight a new beginning for us.”

  Her eyes glistened as she met his gaze. “Do you realize that once, many years ago, I handed you a white rose?”

  He frowned, wondering what on earth she was talking about, when she continued.

  “I was selling flowers on a train platform, trying to make money for school. I was so poor in those days . . . my family didn’t even know how tight my budget was, and that some days I hardly had anything for food. I lived on day-old buns, peanut butter, and porridge. You bought a rose from me, and then you bought all my flowers and told me to brighten someone’s day by giving them away.”

  He stood back and stared at her. He vaguely remembered the day . . . he’d been . . . where? Somewhere with Ryan, and they’d gone out, and he’d had a very nice evening. Woke in the morning feeling like a million dollars and in a generous mood. And he’d seen the skinny girl with the flowers and had impulsively given her a wad of cash.r />
  “That was you?”

  She nodded. “I was going to school to learn childhood education. The degree that took me to the agency and led me here. And that one day of sales got me through the month.”

  He couldn’t believe it. She’d been here months already and had never breathed a word. “Did you know who I was?”

  She nodded, still holding the stem of the rose in her fingertips. “Of course I did. My roommate was a big polo fan. The ‘sport of kings’ and all that. She was always very excited when there’d be word that you were playing. A real prince.” She smiled a little, a sweet little curve of her lips. “I never told her about the flowers, though. I wanted to keep that little bit of you to myself. That day I saw a Diego Navarro who was different from what I read in the rags. And I’ve seen that generous, caring man time and time again since I arrived here.”

  “I still can’t believe it,” he whispered. “If that’s true, why do you keep fighting it? Us? Because that sounds an awful lot like fate to me.”

  “Don’t you see? If we’re together, I won’t get to have you to myself. Our relationship will be in the spotlight. And I know it’s not fair of me to blame you . . . you didn’t choose this, you were born to it. But it’ll bring attention to the children, and a possible scandal to your family . . .” She blinked and a single tear fluttered on her lashes. “It’s not that I don’t care about you. This is just so different from what I thought I wanted. And I’m . . . afraid.” She looked up at him and her lip quivered. “Look at you. You’re the Playboy Prince. I’m just some plain English girl. I’m scared I won’t be enough for you. That you’ll figure out I’m dull and ordinary, and it’ll be too late. And I’ll be the one left hurting and broken.”

  “Don’t say that. If anything, you’re too good for me. You’re sweet and generous and lovely and you go through your day trying to make everyone else’s a little bit better.” He stepped closer and put his hand along her cheek. “I don’t care what people say, Rose. I’ll never inherit the throne, but I still want to have a purpose. These last weeks . . . with you . . . I’ve felt more vital than ever before in my life.” He lifted his other hand and put it along her jaw so he was cupping her face, and then he dropped a soft, sweet kiss on her lips.

  Lips that trembled beneath his.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She bit down on her lip. “It’s your father. It’s Raoul. They don’t know, and when they find out they’ll never approve. I can’t sneak around anymore, and I’m not sure I’m up to all the barriers we’ll face. You’re the prince. I’ll be labeled an opportunist, a gold digger . . .”

  “Raoul already knows.”

  “He does?” Her eyes opened wide at the knowledge.

  “I told him I was in love with you. And he told me to be careful, but don’t underestimate him or my father. We accepted Lucy into the family, even though she is our half sister. And we did it publicly, despite the scandal. The best way to meet criticism is head-on. Lucy came to Marazur, and had her own ball to announce her to the family as a Navarro. Do you think we think less of her because she married a rancher from Canada? Of course not. We love her and want her to be loved. When it counts, family is everything and we stick together. They’ll want nothing less for me. And for you, too. You’ll see. You just need . . .” He nodded, smiling a bit as the answer seemed suddenly so clear. “You just need to have some faith. In my family. In me. In love.”

  He looked into her eyes and said it once more, just so she knew for sure. “I love you, Rose. Ti amo.” She trembled beneath his hand. “Say you love me too,” he pleaded.

  She nodded slightly. “I do. Oh, I do, Diego. I’m sorry I pushed you away. That I’m so afraid . . .”

  “You don’t have to be afraid. Not anymore.”

  “I do love you.” Their gazes locked, and as she said the words, the air seemed to spark between them.

  “Tonight, then?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Tonight.”

  And he stepped forward and kissed her until he ran out of breath. Then he reached for the zip on her gown with shaking fingers.

  For the first time in his life, he was going to make love to the woman he’d fallen in love with.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rose slipped out of the bed and tiptoed to the walk-in closet. Diego was sound asleep, the remnants of his tuxedo draped haphazardly over a chair, and her elegant dress was in a heap on the floor. But she couldn’t worry about that now. Right now she needed to get some air. To think. To stop panicking.

  Being with Diego had been so much more than she’d imagined, and that was saying a lot. And when he’d fallen asleep, she stared at the ceiling, trying to bridge the disconnect between what she was feeling and what would happen next. Tried to imagine herself as a . . . a princess. She couldn’t. And yet she could easily see herself on Diego’s arm, in his life. And the possibility of being an aunt to Emilia and Max . . . there could be nothing sweeter.

  She slipped on a pair of yoga pants and a simple T-shirt, then put her hair up in a ponytail. What she wanted right now was a walk in the gardens. The soothing beauty of the flowers and the open air would calm her and help her think clearly. She hooked a pair of plain sandals on her finger, then tiptoed out of the room and down the back servant’s hall until she reached the side entrance to the grounds.

  The guests had either departed or had gone to bed. There was a distant clink—probably staff up late, putting everything away. A low rumble caught her ears and she saw a couple of trucks crawling away from the castle, and she figured it was probably the band and their equipment. Tomorrow it would all be back to normal. Except . . .

  The garden was quiet and dark, and she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, while the perfumed scent of the flowers drifted around her. She slipped on her sandals and began winding her way through the paths, her feet crunching on the fine crushed rock. Maybe she’d go sit on the bench by the fountain for a while. Clear her head. Get rid of this pit of uncertainty that sat in her stomach, which was in direct opposition to the elation she felt at having made love to Diego.

  But when she got to the bench, it was occupied. By Raoul.

  She paused, but he must have heard her feet on the rock because he looked up, startled. She was surprised, too, because his eyes were red-rimmed and unbearably sad.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You’re not,” he replied, and slid over on the bench. “I’m s-s-sitting out here feeling sorry for myself.” His words were slightly slurred.

  She should turn around and go and leave him in peace. But it was hard to turn away from someone who was so obviously hurting. And inebriated.

  “Shall I get someone for you, Your Highness?”

  He laughed, a bitter sound. “No. Besides, who would you call? My father? He’s had enough of his own grief. Diego?” His gaze narrowed. “Actually, I rather thought he’d be with you.”

  Her cheeks heated.

  “I see,” he said knowingly, a little sad smile on his lips. “He’s in love with you, you know.”

  A knot of nerves tangled in her stomach, and she quickly changed the subject. “Perhaps Stephani, Your Highness?”

  His gaze pierced her, and she wondered if she’d somehow touched a nerve. “She’s gone home,” he said sharply. “Where she belongs.”

  “I see.” She didn’t, but Raoul was edgy and she wanted to help him. She went to the bench and perched beside him. “Was today the first party without your wife, your—”

  “Raoul,” he interrupted. “No more Your Highness, please. Not now. Not when I’ve had far too much brandy to be sensible.”

  “Raoul,” she said softly, waiting.

  “And yes,” he admitted. “It was.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a silver flask, spun off the cap, and took a long drink of whatever was inside—most
likely the brandy he’d mentioned before. He grimaced and replaced the cap, but then belatedly handed it over to her, offering her a drink.

  “No thank you,” she said quietly.

  He leaned back on the bench. “So you and Diego. Interesting match.”

  “He told me you are aware of our . . . relationship.” Her heart pounded with something that wasn’t quite fear but was definitely anxiety.

  “Do you love him, Miss Walters?”

  It was a complicated question, but she answered simply. “Yes, I do.” At Raoul’s silence, she swallowed and added, “But I haven’t been comfortable with it. I am here to care for Emilia and Max. It wasn’t anything I intended to happen.”

  “I know that.” He swiveled his head in her direction, his chin dropping as if his head were heavy on his neck. “I have never seen my brother like this. It is good for him, I think. He’s happy.”

  “But I’m . . . nobody.”

  “And you think that will create problems?”

  “And the children have to come first. Oh, Your . . . Raoul,” she corrected, “they are such sweet children, and they still miss their mother. I would not sacrifice their well-being for my own selfish fancies.”

  His gaze hardened. “Is that what Diego is to you? A selfish fancy?”

  The knot of nerves hardened into a heavy ball, settling right in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, no, of course not. He is . . .”

  She hesitated. Thought of how he smiled at her. Held her as they danced. Sat with his arm around her as they talked in the dark.

  The way he’d made her feel like the only woman in the world only an hour ago.

  “He’s everything,” she admitted quietly.

  When she looked at Raoul again, his jaw was clenched tightly. At first she thought he was angry, but one look in his eyes told her he was simply trying to hold back his emotions.

  Raoul, it seemed, was a sad drunk. And it wouldn’t do for him to be seen in this condition.

  “Sir,” she said softly, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “We can discuss all this at another time, can’t we? Let me help you inside. You need a chance to rest. Rehydrate.” She tried a small smile. “The children will want to see you tomorrow, without the smell of brandy, don’t you think?”