by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
He inclined his head. ‘So you know your roses.’
‘I’m not an expert, by any means,’ she said, ‘but I know what I like.’
‘You grow them yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I only have a windowsill in my flat, so I have a couple of pots of miniature roses. But if I ever move to a place with a garden, I’ll have a bower of roses just like we used to have at home.’ She smiled back at him and held her hand out for him to shake. ‘Sorry, I’ve been very rude—I should have introduced myself. I’m Indigo Moran.’
‘Enzo,’ he returned. ‘You have a very pretty name.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like me to show you round?’
‘If that’s not going to interfere with your job or make you late for something, then yes, please, Enzo. That would be really kind of you.’
She spent the next half hour wandering through the garden with him, learning about the oldest roses in the garden and taking some photographs. ‘I really love this one. It’s so pretty,’ she said, pointing out a crimson rose with pink and white stripes. She leaned over. ‘Oh, and the scent’s amazing.’
‘Rosa mundi,’ he said. ‘It’s one of the oldest striped roses known, nearly a thousand years old.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.
‘It was the favourite rose of my wife,’ he said quietly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to bring up something that would hurt you.’ In impulse, she took his hand and squeezed it.
‘They’re good memories,’ he said. He glanced at her sketchbook. ‘May I see?’
‘They’re just scraps of ideas,’ she said.
He flicked through it until he came to a sketch of Lorenzo. ‘The young prince.’
‘Yes—it’s one of the ideas I’m working on.’
‘So you’ve met the prince?’
She nodded. ‘Actually, his best friend is the brother of my best friend. He came to stay with them while I was restoring their mermaid window. He liked my work and asked if I would do some designs for a window.’
‘For the coronation?’ Enzo asked.
‘Yes, so I want to make sure I get it right and come up with a design to do him justice. He’s a good man and I think he’ll make an excellent king.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry, I’m not from Melvante and it isn’t my place to comment. I don’t mean to be rude.’
‘But you say things how you see them.’
‘Honesty,’ Indigo said, ‘is always the best policy. Then everyone knows where they are.’ She smiled. ‘Which isn’t an excuse for being rude. You can still be tactful and kind.’
‘True.’
They chatted for a bit longer, then Enzo cut half a dozen of the rosa mundi roses and gave them to her.
She gasped. ‘Is this going to get you into trouble with the king?’
‘No. I’m the head gardener, so I can cut any roses I choose,’ he said. ‘If anyone asks you, say Enzo gave them to you and you’re using them to help design your window.’
‘I will—and thank you for being so kind and spending so much time with me. Mille, mille grazie,’ she added.
‘My pleasure, child,’ he said with a smile, seeming touched that she’d bothered thanking him in his own language.
* * *
That evening, it never seemed to be the right time for Indigo to tell Lorenzo what she’d tried to tell him at the water maze. And, the next morning, she had an email from Lottie telling her that she needed to look at the newspapers.
When she did, she discovered a buzz of media speculation. A paparazzo had managed to capture a photograph of her with Lorenzo in the water maze, her hand on his arm, with them looking at each other. And they both looked as if they’d just been thoroughly kissed.
Is our prince falling in love?
Oh, no. She tried to get hold of Lorenzo, but his phone was switched off. In the end, she went to the office to talk to Salvatore. ‘When His Royal Highness is free, please can you apologise to him for me?’
‘About the papers this morning, you mean?’ Salvatore asked.
She nodded. ‘That wasn’t meant to happen.’
To her relief, he didn’t look angry. ‘There’s nothing you can do about the media, Indi. And it wasn’t just you in the photograph, remember. Don’t worry. The press office will handle it.’
‘They already have enough on their plates, with the coronation.’ And she dreaded to think of the media reaction to the rest of the news. A baby, and definitely no wedding because she wasn’t a suitable princess.
‘You look out of sorts,’ Salvatore said, ‘and would I be right in thinking it’s not just the press?’
She sighed. ‘I can’t get the design for the window right. I need to do something with my hands. Normally I’d make something in glass so I can let my subconscious work on whatever’s blocking me, but I don’t have my tools with me. This visit was just to look at the site and present some designs to His Majesty and His Royal Highness.’
‘My sister always makes cake when she wants to think,’ he said.
‘Making cake would work for me. Or cookies.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Except I don’t have a proper kitchen in the apartment.’
‘You know we have a little kitchen here in the office. You could use that. And I’ll arrange that you can borrow whatever you need from the palace kitchen.’
‘And in return you get cookies?’ she asked with a smile. ‘Sal, thank you, that would be wonderful.’
He made a swift call, then smiled at her. ‘Go and see Tonia in the kitchen and she’ll get you what you need.’
‘You,’ she said, ‘are a wonderful man.’ She kissed his cheek, making him blush; then she headed to the palace kitchen and spoke to Tonia to sort out what she needed, carried the lot back to the office kitchen, and lost herself making shortbread biscuits.
She’d just melted some chocolate ready to decorate the top of the shortbread when Lorenzo walked in. ‘What’s this, commandeering my office kitchen?’
‘Yes.’
‘I love the smell of vanilla.’ He stole one of the warm biscuits and tasted it. ‘Mmm. This is good.’
She tapped the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know about Prince of Hearts—I think you’re the knave, stealing shortbread.’
‘The knave of hearts,’ he said, ‘allegedly stole tarts, not shortbread.’
‘Same difference.’
He laughed. ‘I never get told off in the palace kitchen.’
‘Really? Well, you’re getting told off in mine.’ On impulse, she dipped her finger into the melted chocolate and dabbed a stripe on each cheek.
He looked at her. ‘That’s war paint. Hmm. Now there’s an idea.’ He dipped his finger into the melted chocolate, too.
As soon as Indigo realised his intentions, she ran.
Too late. He caught her, and painted her lips with the melted chocolate. And then he kissed it off.
Very, very slowly.
‘I give in,’ she sighed.
‘Good.’ He paused. ‘So why are you baking?’
‘I needed time to think about my design—I’m stuck on something, and my subconscious needs to work through it,’ she said. She grimaced. ‘And then there’s that bit in the paper. I’m so sorry.
‘The photograph.’ He didn’t look in the slightest bit fazed. ‘Yes, the press office has been fielding calls all morning.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s better out in the open.’
‘But you—we—we can’t. You’re supposed to marry a princess.’
‘This is the twenty-first century. And, apart from the fact that I can marry someone not of royal blood if I choose, you’re the daughter of an earl.’
‘Illegitimate daughter,’ she corrected. ‘And my past is messy.’ She still hadn’t
told him quite all of it. Or about their baby. But, the longer she left it, the harder it became, and she didn’t want to just blurt it out.
‘You’re human,’ he said. ‘And people like you.’ He tipped his head slightly to one side. ‘People like the man I am, when I’m with you. I like the man I am, when I’m with you.’
‘But it’s not just you. There’s your grandfather,’ she said.
‘I have a feeling he’s going to like you.’
‘But it’s not enough,’ she said. ‘You have your position to think of.’
He grinned. ‘Which is, right now, in my office kitchen, covered in crumbs and with chocolate all over my face. Very princely.’
‘Lorenzo, why are you making it so hard?’ she asked.
‘I’m not,’ he said softly. ‘From where I’m standing, it’s easy. You just have to believe. In yourself, as well as in us.’
That, she thought, was the rub. She couldn’t believe in them until she believed in herself. And how could she possibly see herself as the wife of a king, having to live up to so many expectations when she’d been found so wanting in the past?
‘I believe in you. And in us,’ he said softly, and kissed her again. ‘I’m stuck in official stuff all evening. But I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk then.’
And she’d have to tell him then, she thought. She’d really, really have to tell him. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
* * *
Predictably, Lorenzo was caught up in palace business until just before the time when he was due to introduce Indigo to his grandfather for the presentation of her designs, on the morning of the charity ball.
‘Sorry,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘It can’t be helped. I know you’re busy,’ she said. Though inwardly she wondered: just supposing they did manage to make a go of things between them, would he be able to carve out enough time to spend with their baby?
Not that she could ask.
He ushered her in to one of the state rooms. And Indigo froze in horror when she saw the man sitting at the head of the table: the man she chatted to in the garden. She nearly dropped her laptop.
‘I—you’re Lorenzo’s grandfather?’ she asked, staring at him.
Lorenzo frowned. ‘What’s going on? Nonno? Indi?’
‘We met in the rose garden, the other day,’ Enzo explained. ‘I was a little...mendacious, perhaps.’
A little? He could say that again. ‘I thought there was something familiar about you, but I told myself I was just being ridiculous,’ Indigo said.
Enzo shrugged. ‘And when you see an elderly man wearing sensible clothes for gardening, you don’t expect him to be the king.’
Even though, she thought, Lorenzo had pretty much warned her back in England. Hadn’t he said that he would know exactly where to find his grandfather after he retired—in the rose garden? She really should have thought a little harder.
‘You told me you were the head gardener,’ she said, forgetting all about protocol and the correct method of addressing the King of Melvante.
‘Strictly speaking, I am,’ Enzo said.
Indigo blew out a breath. ‘Well, I apologise if I was rude or said anything out of line. Your Majesty,’ she added belatedly.
‘I think,’ Lorenzo said, ‘Nonno was just as much in the wrong as you were. More so, in fact, because he misled you. And you probably weren’t rude.’
‘She wasn’t. Though she does believe in plain speaking,’ Enzo said. ‘Which is refreshing. Now, Signorina Moran—Indigo—would you like to show us your designs officially?’
‘You saw the rough sketches,’ Indigo said. ‘These are the proper proposals, Your Majesty. I hope you’ll allow me to talk you through my ideas.’
* * *
Lorenzo sat back and watched as Indigo went into professional mode. She had a presentation on her laptop which she’d clearly run through a few times because her words were flawless. Then she gave them both paper copies so they could take a closer look; and she’d also made a rough copy of some of her designs on tracing paper and held it up to the window so they could see the colours.
‘So the roses aren’t a prison, this time,’ Enzo said.
Colour flared in Indigo’s cheeks. ‘You saw the drawing?’
‘It was why I agreed to the commission,’ Enzo said. ‘I notice my grandson isn’t an angel this time.’
‘He can hardly be an angel at his coronation,’ she pointed out.
He looked more closely at one of the designs. ‘Is that Caesar at his feet?’
‘Um, yes,’ she said. ‘I could make the window without the dog, if you prefer. But I thought it might be a nice touch to make Lorenzo seem more human.’
Lorenzo coughed. ‘I am still here, you know.’
‘I know.’ She smiled at him, her expression all warm and soft and sweet. ‘Lorenzo, having your dog with you is something your people will be able to relate to—a beloved pet. It’ll make them feel closer to you.’
‘Good point,’ Enzo said, sounding approving. ‘I vote to keep him. And I like this one, very much. You’ve captured something in my grandson, Indigo. Something I never expected to see.’ This time, he met Lorenzo’s gaze. ‘But I’m glad it’s there.’
Lorenzo knew exactly what his grandfather was saying, and relief flooded through him. Now all he had to do was convince Indigo.
Once they’d finished their discussion, she curtseyed and left the room.
‘Thank you,’ Lorenzo said quietly, and hugged his grandfather.
Enzo raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s changed you. And it’s a good change.’
‘I need to talk to her.’
‘Go, child. With my blessing,’ Enzo said softly.
Lorenzo caught up with Indigo just outside her apartment. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Just a bit shocked that the man I was chatting to in the garden turned out to be your grandfather. I must’ve broken all kinds of protocol.’
‘Sometimes protocol needs to be broken—and, if you think about it, he broke it as much as you did.’ He paused. ‘He’s on our side, Indi.’ When she didn’t look convinced, he leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers. ‘Trust me,’ he said softly.
* * *
That was the rub, Indigo thought. She wanted to trust him. She knew he was an honourable man. But that made everything even more mixed up and harder to say. ‘You must have a million and one things to do.’
‘I can postpone them, if you need me to.’
No. She was never, ever going to stand in the way of what he had to do for his country. ‘I’m fine. I need to work out the glass order for your window. Go and do princely stuff.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll see you at the ball tonight.’
And then—then, she would definitely tell him. After the ball. ‘See you later,’ she said, and forced herself to smile as sweetly as she could.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT TOOK INDIGO the second half of the afternoon to get ready for the ball. Lottie’s gown was gorgeous—plain black and strapless, with a frothy ankle-length skirt that reminded Indigo of a ballerina’s dress. And Lottie had given her an early birthday present to go with the dress—an enamelled pendant in the shape of a butterfly, coloured iridescent green and blue. That was the only jewellery she wore.
She didn’t look in the slightest bit like a princess, she thought as she looked in the mirror. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up. This wasn’t who she was—but it was who she’d have to be in Lorenzo’s world.
He’d said that he liked the man he was when she was with him.
Could she learn to like the woman she’d have to be, by his side?
She shook herself, and marched down to the ballroom—luckily Salva
tore had given her directions earlier. Salvatore was at the door of the ballroom, and smiled when he saw her. ‘You look enchanting, Indi.’
‘Grazie, Sal.’ Even if he was just being polite and flattering, she’d take it. Because right now she could feel every bit of adrenalin running through her veins and spiralling into panic.
‘Let me introduce you to some people.’ With relief, she noticed that he introduced her as a professional glass expert. And everyone spoke English, so her limited Italian wasn’t stretched too far.
Even so, she was aware of people watching her and she knew they were speculating about the photographs and stories in the press. Who was Indigo Moran—Cinderella, or a gold-digger out for what she could get?
It was worse when Lorenzo walked in, because everyone was watching both of them. And either he wasn’t aware of it or he was trying to make a point, because he came straight over to her. ‘Come and dance with me?’
‘I—haven’t you got loads of meeting and greeting to do?’ she asked, panicking.
‘It’s a ball. People are supposed to dance at balls, Indi,’ he teased.
‘Proper ballroom dancing. I’ve never done this sort of thing. I’m going to trip over and fall flat on my face.’
‘Not if your partner knows how to lead you properly,’ he reassured her.
For one horrified moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. In public. But, to her relief, he simply smiled. And then he swept her into his arms.
‘All you have to do is remember to use alternate legs, and go where I steer you,’ he said softly as the waltz began.
She discovered that he was absolutely right. In his arms, and with him guiding her, she couldn’t fall and make an idiot of herself. And she found herself relaxing, enjoying being in his arms.
He danced with her twice more during the evening. So did Salvatore, as if he realised she was feeling just a bit unsure of herself and could do with some back-up.
But then she went to the Ladies’. She was adjusting her dress when she heard people talking.
‘She’s plainer than I thought she’d be,’ someone said.
In English. Indigo’s skin crawled. Did they know she was here and meant her to overhear every word? Or were they just gossiping and at least one person in the group didn’t speak good Italian so they were speaking in English to keep her in the loop?