Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  “It would be a lot easier if someone would go on camera and tell the real reason why the councils want the monarchy gone,” I say. “They want to take over my family fortune. It’s essentially state-sanctioned embezzlement.”

  She grabs my mouth between her fingers and squeezes, turning my face into a fish mouth.

  “Look at that face,” she says in baby talk. “Who could steal from a face like that?”

  “Somebody tryin’ to steal from you, son?” Ike asks, toweling himself off.

  “It’s just politics, Dad,” Amanda smiles. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “My neighbor Lloyd Thompson had to deal with some rustling a while back. We all knew who it was, so we got together and had a little chat with ‘im outside the bar in Shelby. Fist-to-face conversation, if you get what I mean. Them cows were back in Lloyd’s pasture two mornings later. Just showed up outta nowhere.”

  I seriously consider sending Ike to talk to Huber for a full ten seconds before dismissing the idea.

  “It really is nothing to worry about,” I say, pulling Amanda onto my lap. “I’d rather focus all my attention on making this lady happy.”

  “What about us?” Vito asks as they arrive, dripping from the pool.

  “You’re already happy,” I say. “Right?”

  They grin.

  “No,” says Oriana.

  “No,” says Vito.

  “Whassat?” Ike pipes up. “Someone callin’ me?”

  He picks them up as they squeal in protest.

  “No! No!”

  “That’s me!” he cries, jumping back into the pool with the two of them. “Nonno!”

  Amanda and I giggle uncontrollably as the three of them wreak holy havoc in the pool.

  She leans close to my ear.

  “Are we really going to make it?” she whispers.

  “I think we are,” I say. “I really do.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Four

  47. AMANDA

  “Do we really have to do this?” I ask Maria, blowing my hair out of my eyes.

  I’ve been staring at books of fabric swatches and paint colors and accessories for what seems like a month now, but in reality it’s been less than a week.

  “It’s expected,” she says. “When royals begin to live together, it’s tradition for the new wife to leave her mark on their living quarters. And in your case, it’s one more step towards solidifying your relationship with Dante in the eyes of the people.”

  I wince. “So it’s pretty much a given that Renaldo will have his people ‘leaking’ secrets about my decorating choices to the media?”

  “It’s a reality of life for royals,” she says. “Everything you do is in the public eye.”

  “Everything?” I say, arching an eyebrow.

  She smiles. “In this day and age, I wouldn’t put it past them to have a hidden camera in your bedroom.”

  “Don’t say that!” I giggle nervously. “I’m paranoid enough as it is.”

  “Welcome to life at the Morovan palace,” she shrugs. “This is the reason the Trentinis pay their staff so well and tend to hire generations of the same families. Privacy is of the utmost importance.”

  I sigh. Dante’s – our – apartments really are too masculine. Gothic, almost. I get the sense he had it decorated in the aftermath of his sister’s death and hasn’t changed anything in the ten years since. So I guess it’s time to turn a new page.

  “Can we put this away for a little while and talk about something enjoyable for a change?” I ask.

  “You’re the princess, Amanda. You tell me what to do, not the other way around.”

  I grin. “Uh-huh. And then you give me that look that says ‘do you really think that’s a good idea?’ and we end up doing what you think we should do.”

  “My secret is out,” she says with a laugh. “I always said you were sharp. I can only beg you not to tell Dante about my technique.”

  She takes a seat next to me at the table, pushing the sample books away and folding her arms in the space she’s cleared.

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “I’d really like to start planning a visit to Montana,” I say. “I haven’t been home in so long. And I can’t wait for Dante and the twins to see the ranch. I think they’re excited about it, too.”

  “May I offer some advice first?”

  “Of course.”

  “Whenever you use the word ‘home’ now, you should make sure you’re referring only to Morova,” she says. “It’s a small distinction, but one the people will pick up on. In their eyes, you belong to them now. You are Morovan now, after all. Marrying Dante has made you a naturalized citizen.”

  I’d never thought of that. Another thing to add to the pile of things I need to get used to. My romance with Dante has seemed so unreal at times, it’s easy to lose track of the very protocols that are my field of study.

  When I’m in his arms and in our bed, it’s easy to lose track of everything.

  “You’re right,” I say. “Okay, let’s talk about planning a trip to my family ranch. Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Dad got back a couple of days ago, and there are some things he has to take care of, but he should be ready for us in a week or so. Do you think that’s doable?”

  Maria opens her ever-present iPad and pulls up a calendar. After a quick scan, she smiles.

  “Luckily, the height of summer is low season for social events,” she says. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Dante and I have talked about keeping the visit low-key. We want to make sure the kids have a chance just to enjoy themselves while we’re there.”

  “Of course. Now, what metropolitan center is closest to your father’s home?”

  Metropolitan center? In Montana?

  “Well, there’s Billings,” I say. “And Missoula. They’re both about 100,000 population. Great Falls and Shelby are closer but smaller. Why do you ask?”

  “For accommodations. That long a drive won’t be ideal, but I suppose we could rent a helicopter to speed things along.”

  I tilt my head. “I’m not sure I understand – we’ll stay at the ranch. The house has three bedrooms. The kids can share one.”

  Maria looks as if I’m speaking Chinese to her.

  “I meant the staff,” she says. “They’ll need somewhere to stay.”

  “Staff? What are you talking about?”

  “The royal family travels with secretaries, valets, drivers, security. A dozen in all, at least.”

  This is insane. Why on earth would we need a dozen people to fly somewhere for a visit?

  “Okay,” I say, putting up my hands. “We need to talk about this stuff. I really don’t think – ”

  At that moment, Carlo appears in the doorway of our chambers, agitated and huffing from exertion. I’ve never seen him any less than fully composed. What in the world is going on?

  “Carlo, are you all right?” I ask, rising to take him by the arm and lead him to the sofa.

  “I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” he pants. “I ran here from my office – neither of you were answering your phones.”

  “We have them muted. What’s the emergency?” My stomach suddenly drops. “Is it the children? Dante? Has something happened?”

  He runs a big hand through his hair. Seeing him in a state like this has goosebumps rising on my arms.

  “Something has indeed happened,” he says. “But not what you think. Maria, please turn the television to 4Roma.”

  She snaps up the remote and turns on the TV. After a few clicks, we’re looking at something on the screen that stops my heart cold.

  It’s a still photo of a blonde with her face digitally blurred, lying in a bed, holding a camera in a selfie pose. She’s naked, her body blurred like her face.

  Next to her in the bed is Dante, asleep, his arm under her head.

  Maria looks at me, eyes wide. My shock must show on my face because she rushes to my side
and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

  “Steady,” she says. “Don’t panic. I’m sure this isn’t what it appears to be.”

  “They’re saying the photos are from the prince’s bachelor party in Ibiza,” says Carlo. “I’ve been trying to track down Emilio to talk about this, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

  On the TV, Lorenzo Ricci sits behind the anchor desk with a scowl. The photo of Dante and the woman shrinks to the screen behind him.

  “For those just joining us, you’re looking at photos from Prince Dante’s bachelor party less than three weeks ago,” he says sternly. “Yes, you heard that right. The prince in bed with a woman who is most definitely not Amanda Sparks, just days before their so-called storybook wedding.”

  My mouth is dry. I feel like I’ve been cruising down the highway at sixty miles an hour and accidentally shifted from fifth gear to reverse.

  “We received these photos from an impeccable source and have independently confirmed that they are real and were taken the night of the twenty-sixth,” says Ricci. “The revelation comes as no shock to this reporter. I have said for years that Dante is not the man to lead the Morovan monarchy, and this simply adds to the mounting pile of evidence.

  “It is absolutely clear that the royal marriage is simply hasty window dressing to keep the councils from taking direct control of the Trentini fortune for the good of the nation.”

  Maria shakes a fist at the screen.

  “Bastardo!” she barks. “He calls himself a journalist! He’s nothing but a rumor monger!”

  “I don’t know,” I say through numb lips. “Looks pretty authentic to me.”

  “Your Highness,” Carlo says, taking me by the shoulders. “I’ve known the prince his entire life. I don’t pretend to understand the circumstances of these photos, but I can say one thing with utter certainty: I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been since you arrived at the palace.”

  “Carlo is right,” says Maria, taking my hand. “Dante is a new man.”

  I don’t know what to think. Carlo and Maria are my friends, but they’re also on Dante’s payroll. They claim to know him, but neither of them is disputing that the photos show him in the arms of another woman.

  And do I have the right to be outraged? Or even surprised? Our marriage was laid out in black and white as a contract. Nowhere did it say that Dante had to be faithful to me.

  My guts are twisting inside me. Was I blinded by naïve hope? I was a convenient virgin who happened to be in the right place at the right time – no one said I was anything more than that.

  Except Dante told me he loved me. Why would he do that if he didn’t really feel that way?

  “I can’t watch this anymore,” I say, wiping tears away with my palm. “I need to be alone. Leave, please.”

  Maria and Carlo exchange a nervous glance.

  “Please don’t worry, ma’am,” says Carlo. “I’ll be sure to send Dante here as soon as we manage to get in touch with him. There must be an explanation.”

  “Fine,” I say absently, showing them the door. “I’ll wait for him here.”

  They look at me uncomfortably as they file past. I close the door behind them and drop to the sofa.

  Great, racking sobs shake my body to the core as I see my whole world falling apart.

  Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Five

  48. DANTE

  This can’t be happening. It can’t.

  Maria’s glare is unmistakable as she clicks off the screen in her office.

  “I’m trying very hard not to jump to conclusions,” she says, eyebrow arched. “So please tell me what’s going on here.”

  “Has Amanda seen this?” I ask, panic creeping into my guts.

  “Yes,” she says. “You could have watched it together, but no one could get in touch with you.”

  God damn it. I turned my phone off while I was in the gym – when I came out, there were a dozen urgent messages from Maria and Carlo.

  “She must be beside herself,” I say. “I have to talk to her.”

  Maria holds up a hand to stop me.

  “Talk to me first,” she says. “Tell me what’s happening in those photos.”

  “I don’t know!” I shout. “We were drinking, I went to bed, and I woke up with a terrible hangover that lasted for days.”

  Her face slumps. “So it could be real,” she says. “You were too drunk to remember.”

  Bile rises in my throat at the accusation.

  “You know me, Maria,” I say. “I wouldn’t do something like this, that would hurt Amanda. I’m not like that.”

  “Your playboy image may have been exaggerated by Renaldo’s crew, but it’s still based in reality. Are you telling me that you’ve never woken up with a woman in your bed before? One that ended up there in the course of a night of drinking?”

  My stomach sinks. I can’t honestly say that. I’ve done my share of partying, slept with more than my share of women. Giselle Ranette was one of many, many mistakes I’ve made in my life.

  But none since Amanda walked into my life. Those eyes caught me like a fishing hook the moment we met, and they’ve held me fast ever since.

  “I’m not going to justify my past to you, Maria,” I say, more angrily than I intended. “I don’t know what’s going on in these photos, but whatever it is, I know I wasn’t consciously aware of it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That will go over well with Lorenzo Ricci, I’m sure. ‘I wasn’t aware.’ How many sleazy politicians have we heard that from over the decades?”

  “Look,” I snap. “I recognize the woman from earlier in the party. I said something… unflattering to her and a friend of hers at the party. Maybe this is some kind of revenge for her. With the hangover I suffered, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d put a date rape drug in my drink.”

  “Destroying a prince over an insult?” she says. “Really, Dante?”

  “I don’t know!” I bark, striding to the door. “All I do know is I need to talk to Amanda.”

  “I don’t think she’s in the mood,” Maria says. “As you can probably imagine.”

  I storm out of her office and stalk towards the quarters I share with Amanda. She has to listen to me! We can’t have made it this far to have it fall apart now over something so stupid! I need her to listen.

  My stomach is roiling with acid. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this upset as an adult, outside of learning of the deaths of Adriana and Albert, and discovering I was now the twins’ guardian. My life has been defined by tragedy, and the moment I find a glimmer of hope for happiness, this comes out of nowhere to blindside me.

  I reach our quarters and gingerly open the door. Amanda is sitting on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, staring at the wall.

  “Amanda?” I say softly. “May I come in?”

  “It’s your palace,” she shrugs, not looking at me. “You can do what you want.”

  I close the door behind me. “It’s our palace,” I say. “Yours and mine.”

  “I don’t remember reading anything about that in the contract. It specifically said five million dollars for a year of marriage.”

  The muscles in my neck and shoulders are stiff with tension as I sit next to her. This is a nightmare.

  “It’s a mistake,” I say. “I don’t know what happened with that woman, but whatever it was, I wasn’t conscious when it was going on.”

  That didn’t sound at all the way I wanted it to.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” she says quietly. “All you owed me was enough money to help save my family ranch from foreclosure. You’ve fulfilled that part of the bargain, I’m going to fulfill mine.”

  I reach out to take her hand, but she pulls away. She still hasn’t looked me in the eye.

  “The night those photos were taken,” she says. “That was the same night you told my father that the ‘bride price’ was twenty-five million, not five million.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do that?”
>
  I frown. “Because I didn’t believe five million dollars was enough to compensate you for what you would have to go through as my wife.”

  “I never thought I’d have to go through something like this,” she says. It hits me like an arrow in the chest.

  “Amanda – ”

  “Tell me one thing,” she says. “Did you do it to make sure I wouldn’t talk? Is that why you upped the money? Because you knew what you’d be doing later in the evening?”

  I reach out and take her by the shoulders, turning her to face me.

  “Absolutely not,” I say gravely. “I did it for you. And because your father deserved it. He’s the most honorable man I know.”

  “I doubt he feels the same way about you today. The story will be all over the morning news in Montana by now.”

  Jesus, I never even thought of that. And the twins! This mess is snowballing out of control.

  “Amanda, I swear to you: those photos are staged. Someone is trying to hurt me.”

  “Who?” she asks. “What motive would they have?”

  “The councils want me out! For all I know, Huber planted that woman at the party specifically to blackmail me.”

  She sighs and looks down at her hands for a long time. The thought that anything I’ve done has made her feel this way makes my soul crack. I have to make it right. If I don’t, I fear I may go insane.

  “I wasn’t there, and you can’t prove anything about that night, one way or the other,” she says. “My father raised me to take people at their word. I won’t ask you any more about it.”

  That’s a far cry from saying she believes me and that she’ll stand beside me through this. But she’s right – I don’t have any evidence about anything that night. I have to make her understand that I’d never deliberately do anything to hurt her.

  She raises those ghostly blue eyes to mine, and the sadness I see in them almost destroys me.

  “What are you going to tell the children?” she asks.

  “The truth: that someone is trying to blackmail me.”

  “Do you think they’ll understand that?”

  “I hope so. I need to talk to your father, too. He was there, I’m sure he’ll believe me.”