The Prince's Second Chance

by Brenda Harlen

  “Don’t tell me you read that drivel.”

  His sister’s chin went up. “It’s not drivel, it’s interesting. And while she strikes me as a very savvy lady, I do have to wonder how and where the two of you ever hooked up.”

  “She was a waitress at Marconi’s,” he admitted. “And from the first moment I laid eyes on her, I was seriously smitten.”

  Marissa’s brows rose. “How did I not know any of this?”

  “You were away at school at the time, and we weren’t together for very long,” Cameron explained.

  “Long enough, obviously,” she remarked dryly.

  He couldn’t disagree with that.

  “So what went wrong? What did you do that prevented Gabriella from telling you that she was pregnant? Because I know that you have your faults, but I also know that you wouldn’t walk away from your responsibilities.”

  He stared into the mug of coffee cradled between his hands and wondered what he’d ever done to deserve her loyalty. “I think she tried to tell me, but I didn’t want to hear it. I was young and scared and I’d just been subjected to another of our mother’s endless lectures about the duties and responsibilities of being royal and—”

  “And you let her come between you and the only woman you’d ever loved,” Marissa told him.

  He frowned. “I was twenty years old. What did I know about love?”

  “You probably knew more then than you do now—because you’ve spent the past sixteen years trying to forget about her.”

  “You’re such a hopeless romantic, Mar.”

  “Because I can believe in love even though I’ve never experienced it myself?” she challenged.

  “Because you believe that the chemistry that draws a man and a woman together is based on elusive emotion when the reality is that the male-female attraction is founded on lust rather than love.”

  “Lust flares hot and bright and burns out quickly,” she told him. “Love endures.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “It’s obvious—at least to me—that you still have feelings for Gabriella Vasquez, even after all this time. The only question now, big brother, is what do you intend to do about those feelings?”

  It was a question that Cameron couldn’t begin to answer.

  When Gabriella returned home, it was to an empty house. Not wanting to think about Cameron or Rafe or the million things she had to do before Sierra’s birthday party the following weekend, she decided to spend some time working on her column instead.

  Unfortunately, the first letter she opened proved that escape from her own problems was impossible.

  Dear Gabby,

  My boyfriend of two years recently asked me to marry him and although I’m now wearing his ring, I’m not sure that I’m ready to make that kind of lifelong commitment. I said “yes” when he proposed because I do love him and because I figured a long engagement would give us both the time we needed to be sure that we want to be together forever.

  But he insists that he doesn’t want to wait, that he wants to start our life together right now. He says that if I really love him, I’ll marry him.

  I do love him, but I’m only twenty-one. He insists that he’s ready to settle down and has warned that if I’m not ready to start a life with him, he’ll find someone else who is.

  Should I set a date or bide my time?

  Signed,

  Muddled about Marriage

  The email address from which the letter had been sent clearly identified “Muddled” as the VP of a local telecommunications company, a title that carried more prestige than power and was granted to her upon graduation from college by the president—her father—only a few months before his death. Now, less than a year later, her twenty-first birthday celebration had been big news because it meant unrestricted access to her trust fund.

  Gabriella considered for a moment, wondering if this additional information would impact the advice she intended to give “Muddled,” and decided that it would not. Even if the letter writer wasn’t an heiress and her fiancé wasn’t so obviously a fortune-hunter, her response would be the same: ditch the jerk now before you’re stuck with him forever.

  Of course, she was a little more subtle in her formal response.

  Dear Muddled,

  If you’re not sure that you’re ready to make a lifelong commitment, then you’re definitely not ready and your fiancé shouldn’t be pressuring you and he definitely shouldn’t be issuing ultimatums.

  If he loves you, he will wait, and if he finds someone else while he’s waiting, then he obviously isn’t as committed to you as he claims to be—and if that’s the case, it’s much better to find out before you speak the vows that will tie you together.

  If he continues to pressure you, then you should set a date—to move on with your life without him. Because if you let him propel you down the aisle before you’re sure that it’s what you want, you’ll find yourself standing at the altar and kissing a frog!

  Good luck,

  Gabby

  Gabriella re-read the letter and her response, then clicked to save it on her computer. She felt comfortable with the advice she was giving to the young woman, but as she lifted her gaze to glance at the clock above her desk, the light blue box on the shelf caught her eye and she sighed.

  “Muddled” was right to be concerned—she was young, she’d barely had a chance to experience life and shouldn’t be rushing to tie herself down—especially when she had reason to suspect her boyfriend’s motivations. Gabriella had no similar excuse.

  She was almost thirty-four years old and she’d known Rafe for two years. He was handsome, charming, intelligent, successful and wealthy, and she’d been attracted to him from the beginning. So why was she hesitating?

  She lifted the box down from the shelf and opened the lid, blinking at the flash of white fire that seemed to erupt from within. The ring was truly dazzling—a three-carat heart-shaped diamond in a platinum bezel setting—and she was sure it had cost Rafe a small fortune.

  He hadn’t pressured her, but she knew that her almost-fiancé had believed it was only a matter of time until she took the ring out of the box and put it on her finger. Gabriella wasn’t so certain.

  What if I’m never ready?

  But, of course, she hadn’t actually spoken those words aloud. She hadn’t dared ask the question that might have alerted him to the reality of her emotional scars. She’d been too afraid that he would walk away from her forever. And though she wouldn’t blame him if he did, she wasn’t ready to lose him. She couldn’t commit to spending the rest of her life with him, but she didn’t want to live her life without him, either. She didn’t want to be alone.

  She carefully—almost cautiously—took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly, as Cameron had correctly assumed it would, but it felt heavy. Part of the sensation was a direct result of the size of the rock, but she knew that it felt a lot heavier than it really was, that it was the weight of expectations that felt so cumbersome when she put the diamond on her finger. With a sigh of sincere regret, she put the ring back in the box.

  She’d hoped that she could wear it someday, but she knew now that it would never happen. She’d thought her heart was sufficiently mended that she could fall in love again, but as wonderful as Rafe was, something had always held her back. After the kiss she’d shared with Cameron in the park, she knew that it wasn’t something but someone. And she knew that she would have to tell Rafe the truth about her feelings.

  She was still at her computer, staring unseeingly at another reader letter, when the doorbell rang. She automatically rose to respond to the summons, surprised to find Rafe on the step.

  “It can’t be seven o’clock already,” she said, wondering how she could have lost track of so much time.

  “It’s not,” he admitted. “But I decided I couldn’t wait until then to see you.”

  She moved away from the door so that he could enter
. He stepped into the entranceway, but didn’t go any farther.

  “Something’s wrong,” she guessed.

  “I’ve decided to go back to New York. Tonight.”

  Her throat was suddenly tight and dry, so that she had to swallow before she could ask, “Why?”

  “Because as long as you’re still hung up on Sierra’s father, you’re never going to be able to make a commitment to me.”

  She dropped her gaze, felt her cheeks flush, but she had to ask, “How did you know he’s Sierra’s father?”

  “It wasn’t anything obvious,” he assured her. “It certainly isn’t as if she looks like him—it was more the way he was looking at you. And the way he looked at me when he saw me with you, like he wanted to tear me apart for daring to touch his woman.”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t like that. We’re not…involved.”

  His smile was wry. “I can’t tell if you’re really that naive or if you think I am.”

  “We’re not,” she insisted. “Until last week, I hadn’t even seen him in more than sixteen years.”

  Rafe looked unconvinced. “I always figured you were still harboring feelings for the man who’d fathered your daughter, but I also figured, with time, you’d get over him. Of course, I never expected that he would turn out to be a prince.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Maybe none,” he allowed. “Maybe your feelings have nothing to do with his title and everything to do with the fact that he was the first man you ever loved—the man you still love.”

  She shook her head again, refusing to acknowledge that it might be true, refusing to even consider that she might be so foolish as to harbor any feelings for a man who had proven years ago that he’d never really cared about her.

  But Rafe only lifted a hand and laid his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, and wishing she could feel more.

  “I can’t make you love me,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “And I can’t accept any less.” Then he dipped his head and kissed her softly. “Goodbye, Gabriella.”

  She watched him drive away, as she had so many times before, but this time, she knew that it truly was goodbye.

  Chapter Seven

  The morning of Sierra’s sixteenth birthday was sunny and bright, and the only thing that put a damper on her spirits was the cast that still weighed heavily on her broken arm.

  Her grandmother brought a tray to her bedroom, preserving the “breakfast in bed” tradition that had been a birthday ritual in the Vasquez household for as long as Sierra could remember.

  She sniffed the air, hummed her approval. “Fresh chocolate chip waffles?”

  “They are your favorite,” Katarina said, settling the tray across her granddaughter’s lap.

  Sierra took in the glass of orange juice, the bowl of fresh fruit with a dollop of yogurt, the small pitcher of warm syrup, the plate of waffles—already cut up, in deference to her injury—and the vase with a single white rose, and smiled. “You spoil me.”

  “That’s what abuelas are supposed to do.”

  “If I eat all of this, I won’t fit into the dress I was planning to wear tonight,” Sierra warned, spearing a piece of waffle with her fork.

  “Then you should have bought a bigger size,” Katarina said, with only the slightest hint of disapproval in her tone. Though they didn’t often battle over Sierra’s wardrobe, the teen knew that her grandmother didn’t favor the figure-hugging fashions that were currently in style.

  “What if I share my waffles with you instead?”

  “You’re just like your mother at your age—with an answer for everything,” Katarina said, shaking her head in what Sierra took to be a combination of exasperation and affection.

  “Where is Mom?” Sierra asked, popping another piece of waffle into her mouth.

  “Right here,” Gabriella said, carrying an enormous vase overflowing with tropical blooms. She set the flowers on the table beside the bed and leaned over to kiss Sierra’s cheek. “Happy Sweet Sixteen.”

  “Where did those come from?” Sierra asked.

  “Rafe sent them,” Gabriella told her.

  “Is he coming for dinner with us tonight?” she asked.

  Her mother and grandmother exchanged a look, and then Gabriella shook her head. “Rafe went back to New York.”

  “Oh.” Although Sierra couldn’t deny her disappointment, she was more concerned about her mother’s apparent reluctance to share the information. “Is everything okay with you two?”

  “Yes. No.” Gabriella sighed, then lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress as Katarina hustled away on the pretext of cleaning up the kitchen. “Rafe and I… We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

  Sierra felt her jaw drop open. “But…why?”

  “He wanted more of a commitment from me than I was ready to make.”

  Though her tone was casual, Sierra knew that her mother’s feelings for the American were not, and that knowledge only baffled her more. “You’re not going to marry him?”

  Gabriella shook her head.

  Sierra narrowed her gaze. “Is it because of Prince Cameron?”

  Her mother’s head shot up, her eyes went wide. “Why would you ask something like that?”

  “Because you’ve been acting kind of weird ever since that day he showed up here.”

  Her mother hesitated, just long enough to convince Sierra that her suspicions weren’t unfounded.

  “I was just surprised to see him after such a very long time,” Gabriella said. “But even before Cameron showed up, I knew I couldn’t marry Rafe.”

  “So I guess that means we won’t be going to New York City, either,” Sierra said, aware that she sounded like a spoiled child.

  “There’s no reason we can’t go for a visit on our own sometime,” Gabriella promised her. “If we save our pennies.”

  Sierra sipped her juice and tried not to resent the fact that they wouldn’t have had to worry about pennies if her mother had decided to marry Rafe. He could have flown them all to New York City—and anywhere else they wanted to go—on his company’s private jet.

  “So it’s just you and me and Grandma tonight,” Sierra clarified. She knew her mother had planned a party and that all of her friends would be at the house later, but she played along, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

  Gabriella fussed with the flower arrangement, repositioning an enormous pink lily. “And Prince Cameron might stop by later.”

  Sierra nearly choked on a piece of pineapple. “Why?”

  “To wish you a happy birthday,” Gabriella said.

  But Sierra suspected that the real answer wasn’t nearly as simple as her mother wanted her to believe.

  Gabriella hated being less than completely honest with Sierra, but she wasn’t nearly ready for the life she’d built with her daughter to come crashing down around them, and she hated knowing that that was exactly what would happen when the truth about Sierra’s paternity came to light.

  And she knew that it would eventually come to light. Now that Cameron had figured it out, there would be no stopping it. And as concerned as Gabriella was about her daughter’s potential response to the news, she had more reasons than that to worry. Because when Sierra was only a baby, she’d struck a deal, and she knew now that it was only a matter of time before the promise she’d made would be broken. And though the bargain might be destroyed through no fault of her own, she knew there would be repercussions.

  A knock at the door startled her from her reverie.

  She set down the knife she’d been using to chop veggies and made her way to the door, expecting Beth or Rachel, who had volunteered to come by to help set up for the party while Jenna kept Sierra occupied and away from the house. She wasn’t expecting Cameron, and her heart gave a traitorous thump against her ribs when she opened the door and found him standing there.

  “You’re about five hours early,” she told him.

  �
��I know,” he admitted, unfazed by her lack of welcome. “But I wanted to show you what I picked out for Sierra before I gave it to her tonight.”

  “You didn’t have to get her a gift,” Gabriella protested.

  “I could hardly come empty-handed to a sweet sixteen birthday party.”

  “And yet, your hands are empty,” she noted.

  “It’s an expression,” he chided. “The gift is parked across the street.”

  Parked?

  Gabriella’s stomach twisted into painful knots as she looked up and spotted the shiny yellow sports car with an enormous pink bow on its roof.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she echoed, incredulous. “Do you really think that’s an appropriate gift?”

  “I can exchange it for another color, if she doesn’t like it. Of course, I don’t know what she likes and doesn’t like, but I noticed that her cast was yellow and thought she might be fond of the color.”

  “It’s not the color—it’s that it’s a car,” she said, incensed. “You can’t give her a car.”

  “Why not?”

  She stared at him, stunned by his obvious lack of comprehension. “Firstly, because she just turned sixteen and doesn’t even have her driver’s license yet. Secondly, because it’s far too extravagant a gift from someone who is supposedly only here as my date.”

  He frowned. “Considering that I’ve missed sixteen years of birthdays, I don’t think it’s extravagant at all.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” she muttered.

  “Every teenager wants a car,” he pointed out reasonably.

  “That doesn’t mean they should have one.”