by J. M. Stengl
When we arrived back at the villa that afternoon, I was surprised to see Manny’s car. My heart gave a bound, then sank low. Marvelous—now I had him to deal with today as well as Max. As usual, I stopped in front of the steps, climbed out, and came around to help Lady B.
“I can walk without your help,” she informed me in carrying tones, and tottered toward the steps while I hovered near. With my help she climbed the steps, and Maria met us with the wheelchair just inside the door. She stared from Lady Beneventi to me and back, and I thought I saw her lips quiver and her cheeks twitch. It was the most emotion she had ever displayed in my presence. Was she laughing at me or with me? I couldn’t be sure so pretended not to notice.
When I stepped back outside to go park the car, Manny stood at the base of the steps, arms folded over his chest. I glanced around, but no one else was in sight. My stomach tied itself in knots, yet I smiled casually. “Hello.”
“You look great in white hair,” he observed, but his tone held no humor.
“Maybe in fifty years.”
“Did Lady Beneventi enjoy wearing your hair to church today?”
“You saw her?”
“Just a glimpse. That hair is hard to miss.”
“She’s excited to show it off to the staff now. I think—I’m not sure—but I think Maria almost smiled when she saw it.”
Maria had expressed wild hilarity compared to Manny’s blank look.
Whatever. I didn’t need more cold and expressionless company. I descended the steps, and he turned as I passed. “I hear you have a guest coming today.”
I grimaced. Had the maids told him? “It would be a stretch to call him that,” I said. To my surprise, Manny stepped forward to open the car door for me. “Thanks.” I climbed in.
“My pleasure.”
Really? Then why the stone face? Once I was seated, he closed the door and stepped back. But since he’d been a gentleman (and maybe I wanted him to know), I rolled down the window and added, “Stalker would be a more accurate description than guest. I told him not to come. He says he’s coming anyway.”
His brows flicked up and then down, he unfolded his arms, and his dark eyes studied my face. “You didn’t invite him?”
“Never. He randomly wrote and told me he knew where I was living, would be in Vetricia this weekend, and wanted to take me to the city for an evening. I must have been brain-dead, because I told him Sunday afternoon was the only time I had free.” I heaved a sigh, thumped my forehead on the steering wheel, and turned my head to look at him sideways. “I immediately sent another social media message saying that I was busy after all, but he considered himself invited. If you knew this person, you would understand.”
Manny stepped closer, thumbs hitched into his jeans pockets. There was a line between his black brows, but he seemed more like himself again. “When is he coming?”
“I don’t know.” My spirits rose slightly, and I sat upright. “I emailed him three or four times not to come, but he kept replying that he was coming anyway. I could tell him again, but it wouldn’t do any good.”
“What if you called him?”
“I don’t have his phone number. And he’d better not have mine!”
He stared at my steering wheel or thereabouts. I wished he would look me in the eye.
“When Lady B first wished to trade hair with me, I was furious,” I said, talking too fast. “Like I needed that on top of everything else. Now I hope Max comes while I’m a silver-haired lady. That’ll scare him off.”
“No, it won’t.” Manny gave me a grim look, then backed off. “If you need help sending the stalker on his way, I’ll be around. And so will the Ganza brothers.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate the backup.”
He watched me drive around the house toward the garage.
After lunch, Valentina came upstairs to take over my duties. I almost sent her away but realized I needed to be prepared if and when Max showed up.
My head felt light without my hair, but it was kind of nice to run a brush over it and be done. After changing into skinny jeans and a long tee-shirt, I opted to sit in the shade beside the pool—which was newly filled and hopefully being warmed by the sun—and read a book. I kept checking my phone, but there was no word from Max. If he showed up despite my messages, I hoped it would be soon so I could get this over with. Maybe Elena would feed him before I sent him away—that might soothe the savage beast. But knowing Max, he would make a scene and then everyone would know what kind of loser prince wanted me. Oh, how I hoped he would be offended and not show up at all!
“From a distance you could be an ash blonde.”
The voice from nowhere nearly stopped my heart. “Oh, you startled me! What are you, a cat? Sneaking up on people. Hmph. Rude!” I couldn’t help smiling through my babble.
“Sorry.” Manny pulled out the chair across the table from mine but didn’t sit down. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” Why was he acting all serious and formal today? Every time the man reappeared, he was different. “You’re so tan you could pass for Khenifran.”
“Yeah, even they were telling me that. And this was with sunscreen.”
He sat down, leaning forward with his arms folded on the table. He wore a loose cotton shirt, its sleeves rolled above his elbows, showing hairy forearms to match the dark scruff on his chin and his wavy hair that needed a trim. I disliked hairy men.
Except this one.
He studied my wispy white hair. “I bet all the old men at church asked for your number.”
“Lady B was the magnet.”
He smiled, looking more like himself . . . or more like the version of himself I liked best. “She undoubtedly loved hogging the limelight. How many wishes have been happening?” he asked. “I thought you would let me know about them.”
I tightened up inside. “You asked me to tell you about potentially dangerous ones. I didn’t think you would care about custard turning into cream cakes.”
He gave me an assessing stare, or at least that’s how it felt. “What else?”
“She has wished for Arturo several times.”
He looked pensive, as though he hadn’t really heard me. I narrowed my eyes at him and asked, “Why are you here today?”
“To supervise, of course. They’re nearly finished with the renovations here.” There was some emotion I couldn’t identify in his voice. Did he sound . . . sad? Relieved? Hearing him state the fact I already knew only made it worse.
“I appreciate the shower in my bathroom and the modern plugs and light switches,” I said quickly. “The house is more livable, and it still has charm—maybe more charm since we’re not freezing at night and can take hot showers.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Good to hear. Next we need to replace some of the garden walls and walkways. A house like this is always in need of something.”
“Oh, but it’s worth it!”
“You think so?” His voice held an unmistakable edge. “Someone quoted you saying it was a ‘run-down museum piece.’”
“Did I say that?” I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. “I’m sorry I was so beastly when I first got here. I’ve enjoyed living at Torre Santa Lucia, most of the time, and I hope to stay long enough to pay off my father’s debt completely.”
There was a pause. Then, with a little sigh, he said, “You’ve defied all odds and expectations by not only lasting through the winter but also winning Lady Beneventi’s affection.”
An unexpected warmth in his tone brought my gaze up to meet his. “Why do you think she likes me? How would you know? You never see her.”
“I hear news through the Trefontane family, such as how she insisted on having you brought to her over the Christmas holidays. They suspect she acted out in hopes they would cave to her demands.”
“Really?” My heart warmed a little. The old woman was abominable but perhaps not entirely unlikeable.
Just then we
heard a shrill argument from the open doors of the balcony over the veranda. He met my gaze, and I sighed. “Sometimes I suspect there is a likeable person hidden inside her. Every now and then I see glimpses of the girl she once must have been—bossy and ornery but fun to be around. I think she is deliberately unpleasant, critical, and demanding, but I don’t understand why. She is a dowager viscontessa who had a husband who adored her, and still has two fine sons, seven grandchildren, and this beautiful home. She lacks for nothing.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking at that balcony through eyes narrowed against the brightness of the pool. His lips pursed, then pressed together. When he spoke, I thought he selected his words carefully: “Circumstances and birth influence us, but over time, we determine and reveal our own character.”
I thought about this. “We reveal character with actions and words—that part I understand. But determining it?”
His dark gaze slid back to my face. “Character can change for better or for worse. Our choices have lasting consequences to ourselves and on other people.” He rose and replaced his chair but paused, gripping the back of it. “I will see you later.” He walked toward the nearest gate and disappeared from my sight.
I ran down to sit with Giano beside the pond. Anything to keep my mind off Manny’s piercing gaze and confusing statements. If Max arrived while I was down here, so be it.
“Could I become like Lady Beneventi?” I asked Giano. “Am I already like her?”
When Manny looked at me—when the servants looked at me—did they all think I was like her? “If I am, can I choose to be different, or is my character already set in stone?”
Silence.
“No offense,” I added. “I guess that might be a rude thing to say when addressing a statue.” I dropped my face into my hands, then ran my fingers through my borrowed hair.
What kind of person did I really want to become?
The sun had barely set, returning my hair and Lady Beneventi’s to their proper scalps, and I was partway up the grand staircase when the distinctive whining rumble of a late-model sports car poured through the open windows of the great hall. I turned, cringing, to see Luca and Luigi dash from the kitchen hall to the front windows to stare outside. Valentina and Oriede followed close behind, heading for the windows on the other side of the door.
“No way!” Luigi gasped. “It is!”
“I told you I heard a Bonocchi 463 Speciale!” Luca sounded triumphant. “Coolest car in history! Who is this guy?”
When Manny and Lorenzo also stepped into the entry hall, I stood frozen on the stairs, barely able to breathe.
Luigi turned to look at me. “He’s getting out of the car, Gillian. Is this guy your date?”
I shook my head. “He’s not my date. I told him not to come!”
“Guess he doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Want us to send him off?”
Max could likely hear Luigi’s resonant voice from outside. Having a sudden mental picture of the prince pulling out his huge hunting rifles, I shook my head. “I’ll take care of this,” I said, and my feet started moving down the stairs and across the floor.
“We’re here if you need help, Gillian.” Manny’s quiet voice sent hot blood into my face. Could the situation possibly be more humiliating?
Without looking his way, I opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it behind me. “Your Highness,” I said quickly. “Didn’t you get my emails and messages? I’m so sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
Max trotted up the steps between the stone lions, grabbed my upper arms, and kissed me before I could turn my face away. I backpedaled, making protesting noises, but kept my mouth tightly shut even when the back of my head struck the door. It was the most completely unromantic experience imaginable. I had just raised one foot to kick him or stomp on his foot when he let go and stepped back, his triumphant smile more of a sneer.
Leaning against the door, I raised both hands to my bruised mouth to wipe my face clean. “How dare you? Yuck! Is my lip bleeding?”
He laughed. “You’re a terrible kisser! But I’ll train you.” He scanned me up and down. “You look great to me. I like your hair down. Just run upstairs, brush your hair or whatever, slip into a skimpy cocktail dress and some heels, and we’ll make a night of it. I’ve got dinner reservations at Marino’s for nine o’clock. Plenty of time.”
Anger would get me nowhere, so I played it cool and factual. “Max, as I told you several times by email, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He shook his head, still grinning. “You just don’t get it, do you? Don’t worry about your so-called job. You’re free now, and you’re coming with me. I have a full night of activities planned! After dinner we’ll hit all the night spots and shows.”
He snatched at my wrist, but I twisted it away. “Don’t touch me!”
A fire lit behind his eyes, and he loomed closer.
Maybe it was because Manny was just inside the door. Maybe it was his comments about making choices. Or maybe it was just my redhead temper firing up. Whatever the reason, my fear of Prince Max vanished, and I let loose, pointing my finger at his face. “Look, you ill-mannered polar bear, I said I don’t want to go anywhere with you, and I meant every word.”
To my surprise, he recoiled. I brushed past him, down the steps, past Manny’s car, and across the drive, where I leaned on the fountain near his car. Now everyone inside could see what happened but maybe not hear every humiliating detail.
I turned to find Max at my heels, his eyes burning with a new light. I indicated his sports car. “Nice ride. Hope you enjoy your drive home.”
He propped one hand on the fountain’s rim and grinned down at me. “Baby, you’ve got more spunk than I suspected. Better and better. Now, if you’ll stop and listen for a moment, I’ll tell you some very good news. I know what happened with your father and T.I.I.”
His big voice echoed off the house and walls. Not even the fountain’s noise could prevent everyone in the entry hall from hearing. Marvelous.
“Oh yeah, that’s great news.” I scowled. “Thanks for sharing. How did you hear it?”
He chuckled—not a pleasant sound. “It’s all over the gossip grapevine. Maybe Prince Fidelio let it slip. Raoul Trefontane is his cousin, and everyone knows he was sweet on you last summer. What’s the story with that? Has Raoul been here trying to woo you?” He laughed and stroked his clean-shaven chin. “I could have told him you’d never look at a man with a beard, but why help the competition?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him since the race day,” I said firmly. If Bird-nest Beard had told people about the scandal in revenge for my insulting rejection of his proposal, I could hardly blame him.
“Ha! Must have quit while he was ahead. Maybe he figured out that you’re set on marrying a prince and wouldn’t consider the son of a mere visconte.” Satisfaction edged Max’s deep voice. “You’ve got me, Gillian. Why look further? Fidelio is a weak boy; you would walk all over him. You need a man to keep you in line.” He tapped his broad chest with one thumb.
“I don’t need a man at all,” I snapped. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
He laughed outright. “This villa belongs to Lord Beneventi’s old mother, and you’re here working as what? Her companion?”
“Max, what is your point? I already told you I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He stepped closer in the deepening twilight, but I moved away. There was no way I would let him touch me again.
“You are my point, Gillian. Fine, I’ll tell you why I came here tonight. I intended to treat you to a night in the city, but that was just icing on the cake. Here’s the deal: My parents insist that I marry soon and produce an heir to the throne. If I must marry, I will marry the most beautiful woman of noble blood available. Money doesn’t matter—I’ve got plenty. Since I know you’re hunting a royal husband—the whole world knows that—we are ideal for each other! You’re selling; I’m buying. I don’t mind being your trop
hy if you’ll be mine.”
Hearing him delineate my plans in such blatant terms made me sick with shame. Everyone knew. Everyone knew that I wanted to marry a prince, or at least a royal duke. Max’s decision to marry me for my beauty sounded calculating and heartless, but certainly no more so than my own goals.
“Look,” he continued. “Marry me this spring—June at the latest—and I’ll pay off your father’s debt. You don’t have to work even one more day. We’ll spend our wedding week at the palace, then honeymoon on my yacht, stopping at countries all along the coast . . .”
While Max rambled on, I made a decision—a choice. Not only could I never marry this prince, I could never marry any man for a crown or title or fortune.
He was still talking when I noticed a line-up in front of Manny’s car: Four tall, broad-shouldered men stood with arms crossed, feet apart, backlit by the villa’s front lights.
Max paused, followed my gaze. “Who are these people?” he snapped. “Servants?”
“My friends.” The words came out easily, and I realized it was true: These men were my friends. They cared enough to watch over me and protect me if necessary.
“Send them away,” he growled.
“I don’t have the right to send them anywhere, and neither do you. They answer to Lord Beneventi.” Heartened by their presence, I led Max directly to his car and stood aside. “Ciao, Max. Have a good life.”
Max struck an intimidating pose in the glow of the exterior lights and stared down at me. “Not so fast. I plan to finalize our engagement tonight and announce it officially tomorrow. This will simplify matters and allow my mother to get the wedding plans rolling.” He paused. “I hope you don’t expect me to go down on one knee. I’ve been patient enough already. Not going to grovel.” He chuckled. “But you could practice kneeling before me if you like!”
“Like that would ever happen!” I straightened to my full height, lifted my chin, and said: “You have never actually asked me, but I will give you my answer anyway. Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince Maximilian of Petrovce, I will not marry you. Not now, not in June, not ever! You can keep your money, your title, your fancy car, your yacht, your palace, your crown, and your colossal ego for some girl who wants and deserves them.”