by Jessica Hart
He must have made an instinctive move towards her because she turned her head, startled, and their eyes met for a long moment before she remembered to lower her arms. “You’re back,” she said.
“Yes.” His own voice sounded hoarse to his ears.
“Good time?” Flora asked as he headed across the terrace to join her.
“Great. The kids were in heaven.” It had been a good day, Max acknowledged, but he had missed her more than he wanted to admit. Holly and Ben had been disappointed that she wasn’t there either. He’d had to make up some story about her being tired from the night before. Knowing Holly, she had probably guessed anyway that Flora had a colossal hangover.
“You’ve caught the sun,” she said.
“You too.” Max grazed her shoulder with his fingertips, where a faint red stripe on the downy skin showed that she had been sitting out too long. The temptation to leave his hand there and slide it down her arm was almost overwhelming, and he made himself snatch it away and sit next to her instead.
He was very aware of the warmth of the sun, the feel of the wooden armrests beneath his hands, the twitter of birds almost drowning out the sound of soldiers marching and presenting arms in the courtyard far below.
“What have you been doing all day?” he asked Flora.
“Recovering from my hangover mostly,” she admitted. “But I went down to the kitchen and met the head chef, and asked him how he’d prepared the sea bass last night so we got talking. He told me about some of San Michele’s special dishes and I’ve got a few ideas to include in the wedding meal as a nod to Jonas’s heritage.” She tapped the notebook on her lap. “I’ve got some great ideas for my restaurant too.”
Her restaurant. Right. The one she going to start as soon as she could. In London. Max kept forgetting that Flora would be moving away. If it wasn’t for the ridiculously named cat, she would be gone already, and only zipping back to Combe St Philip to prepare the food for Hope’s wedding.
And talking of his sister ...
“Have you seen Hope today?”
“No. You?”
Max shook his head. “Carlo came on the boat with us. There was no sign of Hope or Jonas.”
He was worried about his sister, but was reassured when both Jonas and Hope appeared that evening.
In contrast to the night before, an informal supper had been planned in the family apartments, or as informally as the Crown Princess could host it. In spite of her chilly adherence to protocol, Anna was clearly a good mother, with three lively children who joined them for supper along with Holly and Ben. The Dowager Princess was allegedly eating in her own apartments. Probably gobbling unwanted visitors, Flora thought, relieved to be spared the risk of another interrogation. Max claimed to have liked the old lady a lot, but then he would.
All the children were overexcited after their day on the boat, which was just as well, Flora reflected, as everyone else was noticeably subdued. She certainly was, perhaps because she stuck to drinking water all evening, but she was worried about Hope, too. Max had told her about the way Hope had started to confide in him the night before, but then changed her mind. There was a strained look around Hope’s eyes, and she wasn’t glowing with happiness the way someone whose engagement to a prince was to be announced in two days’ time should be.
When the Crown Princess chivvied the children off to bed, Max went with them to encourage Holly and Ben to behave. The rest of the small party were left with the evening stretching ahead. Nico mentioned a club in city. The Crown Prince offered a pool table and more drinks in the library, and Hope grew more and more silent. Flora exchanged a glance with Ally, who nodded slightly.
When Crown Prince Carlo asked Flora what she would like to do, she took her opportunity. “What I’d really like to do is to spend some time alone with Hope and Ally,” she said with her best smile. “May we could go out together, just the three of us? We haven’t had a chance to catch up properly yet.”
The Crown Prince looked uneasy. “I’m not sure Anna ...” he began, but Flora spoke over him, hoping that she wasn’t risking the San Michele equivalent of being sent to the Tower.
“Jonas, you can spare her for one evening, can’t you?”
“Of course,” he said promptly. “It’s up to Hope, of course. What would you like to do, Hope?”
She hesitated, then she smiled with a trace of her old smile. “I’d like to go out with Flora and Ally. That’s a great idea.”
“You may as well put the light on.” Max’s voice came out of the darkness as Flora stubbed her toe and failed to stifle a curse.
“I was trying not to wake you,” she said.
“You didn’t do a very good job of it,” he grumbled. Reaching out, he switched on the bedside lamp and hauled himself up onto the pillows. He looked rumpled and grumpy and delicious as he squinted at his watch. “It’s nearly two in the morning. What have you been doing?”
“Talking.” Flora sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her shoes with a wince. They hadn’t been any more comfortable two evenings running.
“For four hours? What in God’s name can you talk about for four hours?”
“Oh, you know ...” she said vaguely. “Girl stuff.”
She didn’t tell him how closely Hope and Ally had grilled her about her relationship with Max.
“It was fun,” she told him. “It’s been ages since we’ve all been out together. We found a fantastic bar.”
“I thought you were never drinking again?”
“I had to. It was my duty as a friend. Hope needed to go out and have a good time. We had cocktails, and there was live music and dancing. It reminded me how just much I like living in a city.”
She padded barefoot into the bathroom to get undressed. She had a pleasant buzz on after a good night out, but there was no denying that she was nervous, too. She wriggled out of her dress and into the camisole and soft shorts that she usually slept in but when she’d taken off her make-up and done her teeth and had a pee, she no reason to lurk any longer. There was nothing to be nervous about anyway, she reminded herself. Max had shown no inclination to jump her, had he?
Unfortunately.
No, wait, that wasn’t right. Pull yourself together, Flora, she ordered herself. Hadn’t she spent the evening remembering that she was a city girl now? It was the music still throbbing under her skin that was making her heart pound. Nothing to do with the sight of the T-shirt stretched over Max’s chest, the faint stubble along his jaw, the powerful arms ...
Stop it.
Taking a breath, she walked out of the bathroom and with an assumption of nonchalance, marched over to the bed, her dignity marred only when she tripped over the fringe of one of the Persian carpets, and ended up literally falling onto the bed.
Max eyed her. “How many cocktails did you have?”
Four. “Only a couple,” she said, recovering and scrambling under the covers. There, how hard was that? She was lying right next to Max, not touching him at all. Easy.
“So, how was your evening?”
“Very nice, in the end. I went for a walk around the gardens with Celina and her dog.”
“Oh?” Flora bristled. This would be Celina Harris, who was graceful and slender and dark and beautiful and discreet and everything Flora wasn’t. “She has a dog?”
“Yes, a golden retriever, called Roscoe. Beautiful dog,” said Max.
Great. Slim, elegant, well behaved and a dog person. Celina was obviously Max’s ideal woman.
“Really?”
“She’s a very nice woman.” Max shifted on the mattress, making Flora tense. “Interesting too.”
“Really?” she said again.
Max didn’t seem to notice the chill in her voice. “Her father was in the US Navy, so she travelled a lot as a child. She’s moved around a bit since, too.”
He turned on his side to look at Flora, who was lying with the covers pulled tight under her chin. “She’s a friend of Jonas’s. That’s how she ended u
p here.”
“You seem to have had quite a chat.” In the gardens. In the dark.
“She got married very young, but she’s divorced now.”
“Sounds like you two have a lot in common.”
“Mmn,” said Max, not understanding at all that he was supposed to deny it. “She’s quite private. She was happy to talk about general stuff, but when I asked her about when she got Roscoe, she clammed up. Just said it was a long story.”
“Is she coming to the wedding?”
“I hope so. It’ll be nice to have someone sensible to talk to.”
Well, that was her put in her place!
Max shifted position so that the mattress dipped and every cell in Flora’s body went on high alert, but all he did was reach across to switch out the light. “Better get some sleep, he said as the room was plunged back into darkness.
Sleep, sure. How could she sleep when Max was right there? Flora could feel his warmth, only inches away, could hear him breathing, slow and steady. He clearly wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was lying there, vibrating like a tuning fork, while he dropped easily back to sleep.
He was so close. It would be so easy to reach out and lay her palm on his firmly turned back. The temptation to wriggle over and press herself into his back was overwhelming. She could slip her hands beneath his T-shirt and kiss the back of his neck, drifting round to his jaw until he rolled over ...
Or she could not. A sigh leaked out of Flora. Very, very cautiously, she wriggled to the edge of the bed and turned her back to Max, putting herself firmly out of temptation’s way.
Flora surfaced feeling warm and safe and deliciously comfortable. There was a warm weight over her, pinning her into softness. A hard, solid body was pressed into her back, a warm hand holding her firmly in place. Puffs of breath tickled her bare shoulder, and a pair of hairily muscled masculine legs were tangled in hers.
She blinked at the faint light striping through the curtains. There was an annoying buzzing coming from somewhere. A phone. Flora didn’t want to move. She lay still, pretending that she couldn’t hear it.
Behind her, Max mumbled in his sleep and pulled her closer, and oh, it felt good. She should probably wake him and remind him who she was, Flora thought, but surely a few more minutes like this couldn’t do any harm? What would he do if she rolled over, and pressed even closer? Her body was clamouring: do it, do it, do it. Her blood was pounding, her skin pulsing, every inch of her itching and yearning. What if she did? Would he smile and pull her into him and kiss her?
The phone kept buzzing. To hell with it, Flora decided. She started to turn just as Max stirred. Too late. She felt him wake, felt him realize just where his hands were, felt him register that his phone was ringing.
With a muttered curse, he rolled away from her and flailed on the bedside table for the phone. “What?” he snarled into it, while Flora hastily adjusted her plan and put on what she thought was rather a good imitation of someone coming round from a deep sleep instead, stirring lazily, yawning, a languid hand rubbing her eyes.
“What?” Max said again in a different voice. “You’re what?”
Flora abandoned her improvisation and struggled up into a sitting position. This didn’t sound good. Max was sitting on the side of the bed, the phone clamped to his ear, his other hand dragging though his hair.
“But why? I thought ... No, don’t do that,” said hastily. “Just go. Don’t worry about anything. We’ll sort it out this end.” He paused, listening. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all that matters.”
Switching off the phone, he dropped it back onto the table and looked over his shoulder at Flora. It was clear that kissing her was the last thing on his mind. “What in God’s name did you two say to Hope last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“She and Jonas have run away.”
“What?” Flora’s jaw dropped. “Why?”
“She just said she and Jonas needed to talk. Are you sure she didn’t say anything last night?”
“No. Ally and I both asked her if she was okay or wanted to talk, and she said she didn’t. She said she just wanted to be ordinary again, so we were.”
Max rubbed a hand over his face. “The formal announcement of the engagement is at the ball tomorrow. Celina was telling me about all the arrangements. It’s not going to be much of a ball without the engaged couple, is it?”
At least Hope’s news had driven the awkwardness of waking up entwined out of their heads. Flora sent Ally a text and she came to the room before breakfast, looking as worried as they were.
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll have to carry on as normal,” said Max. “I don’t think anyone else knows about this. We could take the kids somewhere. What about you?”
“I’ve got some interviews,” said Ally. “You can say you think they’re with me, and I’ll say I think they’re with you. Maybe no one will notice?” she said hopefully.
But the Crown Princess was already fretting at Jonas and Hope’s absence. “I can’t think what’s happened to them!”
The Dowager Princess had been watching the exchange of glances between Flora and Ally. “Don’t fuss, Anna,” she said unexpectedly. “I’ve told them to take Max and Flora to the summer palace and give them lunch there.”
“Oh, Grandmamma! There’s so much to do before the ball!”
“Nonsense, everything’s perfectly organized.”
When Max, Flora and the Dowager were left alone at last, she regarded them severely. “So Hope’s bolted, has she? I wondered if she would.”
“She hasn’t bolted,” said Max. “She and Jonas are just ... having some time alone.”
The Dowager’s sniff showed what she thought of that. “Well, it’s up to my grandson. I wouldn’t underestimate him. There’s no point in telling Anna that, though. She’ll just flap. You’d better go and pretend Jonas and Hope are with you. I’ll send Celina to make the arrangements.”
So Flora and Max found themselves in a helicopter with Celina and with Holly and Ben, who at least were thrilled by the treat. They flew through pristine valleys and over spectacular mountains and landed at last at a beautiful palace mirrored in a lake, vineyards crowding behind it. If Flora hadn’t been so worried, she would have loved it, but as it was, she kept checking her phone in case Hope had been in touch.
She couldn’t help wishing that Celina wasn’t there as well, not because she wasn’t nice – she was. Too nice. Graceful, stylish, friendly without being pushy, competent without being bossy. She had a quiet sense of humour, but Flora thought there was a sadness there too, and wondered about her marriage. What sort of man had been able to bowl cool, calm Celina off her feet?
But if Celina hadn’t been there, they could have been a family.
Back in Liburno, they ate at a waterside restaurant and slunk back to the palace, hoping not to meet anyone who would expect to see Jonas and Hope with them.
“It’s exhausting being conspirators.” Flora flopped onto the bed when they got back to the room at last. They had left Holly and Ben in the children’s apartments with a capable nanny who promised to ensure that they were scrubbed clean and dressed in their best clothes to put in an appearance at the opening of the ball.
Max sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes. “The whole situation is ridiculous,” he said irritably. “What are we doing in a palace in San Michele, running around trying to hoodwink crown princesses? It’s mad.”
Flora’s phone beeped to signal a text and she scrabbled for it. “Is that Hope?” Max asked.
“I hope so ... oh ...no, it’s Ally’s mum. She’s sent a photo of Sweetie to reassure me that he’s okay.” She showed Max the picture of Sweetie squinting malevolently at the camera.
“Thank God for that!” Max didn’t even bother to hide his sarcasm and Flora stuck her tongue out at him.
“Who’s looking after Bella and Ted?”
“They’re staying with Stella.
She’s got dogs of her own, so they’ll be okay.”
“I bet you’ve had updates on how they are.”
“Daily,” he admitted, swinging his legs up onto the bed and settling himself more comfortably against the pillows, “but they’re dogs, so it’s different.”
“Right.”
He grinned at her expression and after a moment, she smiled back, which felt oddly companionable until at the same moment they both seemed to realize that they were alone on a bed and smiling at each other, and their smiles faded and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room.
Kiss me. The words rang so loudly in her head that for one terrible moment Flora thought that she must have spoken aloud, but as the silence lengthened, it was Max who looked away first. “I’ll text Hope again,” he said abruptly and swung his legs off the bed once more.
“I’ll go and get ready,” said Flora, equally cool (she hoped). We haven’t got that long before the ball.”
In the bathroom, she stared into the mirror. She shouldn’t be obsessing about touching Max when Hope was missing. It wasn’t as if anything had changed. It felt different because they were away from Combe St Philip, but he was getting texts from Stella every day. Did that sound like a man ready to move on? And while her grandparents’ beloved cat was still alive, she needed the manor kitchen. Much better to be sensible and keep things professional.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Max had showered, shaved and dressed in the bathroom, Flora was at the mirror, head tilted to one side as she fixed in her earrings, and the sight of her made his heart stumble alarmingly. She wore a dark blue ball gown that left her creamy shoulders bare, and gave her an elegance he had never seen before.
Sensing his gaze, she turned. “Look, no bright colours.” She shook out the long skirts with a tentative smile. “What do you think?”
Max thought that if he wasn’t supposed to be turning up and explaining to a fretful Crown Princess why his sister had gone missing from her own engagement party, he would have dragged Flora over to the bed there and then and showed her what he thought.