Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals)

by Burnham, Nicole

  “Your Highness,” the two officers said at the same time, their tone reverent though their eyes were wide with surprise. “We’re honored,” Officer Scarpa added. “We are sorry if we have disturbed you this morning, but we have police business with Ms. Chase.”

  Your Highness? Kelly turned back to the officers just in time to see the taller one straighten. Behind them, the manager had clasped his hands together and folded into a placating bow.

  “Prince Massimo!” he cried as he raised his head. This was followed by a torrent of Italian and several wide gestures she took as a welcome.

  Slowly, she looked back at Massimo and raised an eyebrow. Were the police and manager for real?

  He didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stepped forward and began speaking to the police in such rapid Italian she couldn’t pick out any but the most basic words. Officer Scarpa asked him a question—the only word Kelly thought she understood was cane, for dog—then nodded understanding as Massimo gave him a relaxed-sounding response. Massimo then said a few words to the manager, who waved his hands in the universal signal for no problem.

  Slowly, the knots that wound Kelly’s gut eased. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to deal with the police rationally, rather than having to spend her day sorting out the villa payment at a police station.

  Then she could ask Massimo why he was being called Your Highness. And Prince Massimo.

  She tried to recall exactly what he’d said in the Jeep last night when he’d told her his name was Barrali. She’s asked if it was common…and whether she was right in thinking that was the name of the royal family.

  He’d said it was common. But he hadn’t exactly said he wasn’t royal. And though she knew the names of King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia, she couldn’t remember what all their children were named. She only knew they had a lot of them. She bit the inside of her lip as the men continued talking.

  What in the world—who in the world—had she done last night?

  “Ms. Chase,” Massimo said in a courteous but formal tone, “I explained to the police that you found my dog on the beach and were kind enough to call the phone number on his collar so I could retrieve him. I am in your debt. I apologize for putting you in the position of violating the policy against dogs, but the manager assures me that you will not incur any fines.”

  Playing along, she said, “Oh, I couldn’t leave a stray dog on the beach alone. And he’s so well-behaved, he wasn’t a problem at all.”

  “Again, I thank you for your assistance.” He gave her a polite nod, then whistled for Gaspare. “I’ll leave you to sort out your misunderstanding.”

  She felt her jaw drop open, then snapped it shut before the officers noticed. He wasn’t going to help her? Maybe explain her situation to the cops or the awestruck manager? She didn’t expect he’d be thrilled to hear she was supposed to have been spending this week with another man—even if that man apparently was so angry with her for canceling the wedding that he canceled the reservation—but she thought that last night was meaningful enough that Massimo might consider spending five minutes translating for her.

  Apparently not.

  She tried to formulate a proper response, but Massimo was off the porch and climbing into his Jeep without a backward glance. The taller officer hurried to move the cruiser enough to allow Massimo access to the main road.

  Anything for a prince, she supposed.

  A prince. She’d had sex with a prince. A lot of sex. A lot of good sex.

  She exhaled and ran her hands over her hair. The roots still held moisture from the shower she and Massimo shared. Even if he didn’t look like he’d spent the night rolling in the sheets, she imagined she did.

  “Ms. Chase, if you would come with us now?”

  Her attention whipped from the driveway, where Massimo was backing his Jeep under the wisteria vines toward the main road, to Officer Scarpa, who remained with his feet firmly planted on the front porch, then back to the Jeep. Massimo’s hand gripped the gearshift as he put the Jeep in drive, then took off, out of sight, with Gaspare riding shotgun beside him.

  “Ms. Chase.”

  “What?” Massimo hadn’t even looked back. Was he so used to mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex that he didn’t think twice about leaving her?

  “You must now come to the police station. We will resolve this issue there.”

  A protest popped into her mouth, but dissolved before she could utter it. There was no give in Officer Scarpa’s stance, no sign he’d listen to any further discussion until they reached the station.

  “All right.” She glanced at the taller officer, who’d returned from moving his car looking as stern as ever. “But I’d like to get my things.” No way was she leaving her belongings behind for the manager to peruse…or toss.

  “We will escort you inside, yes?” He turned and spoke to the manager in Italian, apparently asking him to wait, then gestured for Kelly to lead the way. She wanted to argue, but his expression made it clear the issue was non-negotiable.

  Hopefully they’d stay in the living area while she gathered her clothing and toiletries from the bedroom. If the police went in there, there’d be no mistaking what went on the night before. All the night before.

  “I’ll grab my suitcase from the bedroom. It’s nearly packed,” she said as she moved from the entry hall to the living area. To her surprise, the kitchen counter was clear. No wine glasses, no wine. Even the bowl she’d put down for Gaspare had been moved. She turned to the bedroom, hoping like mad the police would stay behind her, and nearly gasped aloud at the sight.

  Massimo was a one-man cleaning crew. The bedding looked as if a hotel maid had whipped everything into perfect shape. Perfectly stacked pillows lined the top edge of the fluffed comforter. The bed didn’t even look slept in. Even more impressive, not a stitch of clothing remained on the floor. Her wadded dress had vanished from the corner, her underwear were…wait, where did he put everything? Discreetly, she scanned the room as she walked toward the bathroom. If everything had been kicked under the bed, she’d have to fish it out. Worse, she’d probably have to explain it to the cops.

  Her suitcase remained on the rack beside the bathroom door. There, folded as neatly as if she’d done it herself, were the clothes she’d worn the previous evening.

  Oh, geez. He’d folded her panties.

  Her face burned as she entered the bathroom and plucked her bikini from the small towel rack where she’d hung it to dry, then swept her toiletries into her makeup bag. After zipping everything into her suitcase, she rolled it past Officer Scarpa, who stood at the door to her bedroom. “That’s all of it. Once I prove that I did rent this villa and made the required payments, I assume you’ll give me a ride back here? This is cutting into my vacation time.”

  She hoped she sounded like a typical vacationer—an innocent vacationer—dealing with a travel snafu. But as irritated as she was by the headache Ted had caused her, her mind remained fixated on Massimo. Though she wanted to believe he’d cleaned the place as a favor to her, she doubted that was the case. He had his own reputation to protect. A royal reputation, apparently. He wasn’t about to leave behind a mess.

  Her stomach twisted with a sick feeling of déjà vu as she crossed the gravel driveway to the police cruiser.

  Two short weeks ago, she’d pressed her engagement ring into Ted’s palm and insisted he take it back. He’d stared at it for a moment. She’d worried that he’d refuse or that he’d come up with yet another excuse for why he’d acted the way he had. But he’d curled his fingers around the diamond and nodded as if accepting her decision. He’d looked up from his fist with a smile hooking the edges of his mouth. When he spoke, his response was so unexpected it had burned itself into her brain.

  This is a mess, Kelly. But I clean up my messes. Before you know it, everything will be put to rights. We’ll both be happy again.

  At the time, she’d thought he’d meant he’d be able to put his life back together. Nothing in his tone implied
a threat. In fact, he’d sounded placid, as if he’d come to a place of acceptance.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  The tall officer took her bag and placed it in the trunk of the police cruiser with a thump while Officer Scarpa guided her by the elbow into the back seat. She reached for the door handle just as Officer Scarpa used two hands to push it closed without meeting her gaze. The men climbed into the front and simultaneously shut their doors.

  The sound may as well have been a jailhouse door slamming shut.

  * * *

  He’d avoided a scandal. So far.

  Massimo strode through the long gallery leading to his private apartment, which was located on the ground floor in the rear of the palace. Gaspare kept pace at his side, no doubt salivating over the thought of his waiting food bowl. Hungry as he was himself, all Massimo wanted was to fall face-first into bed. Physically and mentally, he was exhausted.

  Despite the tiredness that gripped him clear to the bone, sleep wasn’t an option. Daytime in the palace meant someone—a sibling, a staff member, or God forbid, one of his parents—would want to see him. If a family member discovered him asleep, they’d either ask questions he didn’t care to answer or they’d fret about his health. There’d been enough of that since his return from Africa to last him a lifetime. He hated being grilled about his recovery. Worse than that, though, he hated being fussed over. It made a man feel impotent, and if last night proved anything to him, it was that he wasn’t that.

  He swore under his breath as a new thought occurred to him. At his request, his family had taken steps to ensure the public was unaware he’d been wounded while on duty. He’d explained to his concerned parents that it was a security measure. If the enemy ever learned the details of his injuries, it was possible they’d determine where he’d been stationed. That knowledge could cause irreparable harm to those still operating in the area as well as to the locals his unit had helped. But now someone outside the family knew he’d been hurt.

  Kelly knew.

  To her credit, she hadn’t fussed. Nor had she plied him with questions. She’d merely run her fingers over the burned, scarred area, traced the still-healing ridges with her fingertips, then moved along to caress the rest of his body…exploring, sucking, kissing, tasting. Making him feel more alive, more vital, more normal than he’d felt in months.

  But apparently he knew nothing about her. Her body, yes, a few tidbits about her life, but nothing that was truly important. Yet she knew some rather important things about him.

  He desperately needed a nap so he could think about what to do. Or not do.

  Gaspare slowed his gait to look behind them. A beat later, the sound of heels clicking against hardwood came to Massimo’s ears. He knew without using the towering mirrors lining either side of the long gallery or glancing over his shoulder that it was his mother.

  More than once he’d wondered if she’d always sounded royal when she walked or if it was marrying King Carlo that imbued her with that particular trait.

  The clicking deadened as she stepped from hardwood onto the carpet that ran the length of the gallery, meaning she was close enough he couldn’t ignore her. He stopped walking and slowly turned, a warm smile on his face.

  “Good morning, Massimo.” She was alone, a rarity at this time of day. If she was in the palace rather than attending a luncheon or political event, she was usually surrounded by staff. He wondered how long she’d been waiting for him.

  “I thought that might be you behind me. You look lovely today.” And she did. Tasteful beige heels and a form-fitting emerald green wrap dress made her appear both young and stately at the same time. Her blonde hair was arranged in a perfect updo, disguising the wisps of gray she’d allowed to appear in the last few years. A pair of delicate, pear-shaped diamonds graced her ears. Despite being in her early sixties, Queen Fabrizia’s face glowed with a radiance usually seen in women half her age.

  Of course, it probably helped that she prioritized her exercise time when outlining her schedule each week. The woman could knock out a six-mile run in a better time than most men he knew. Having a personal chef create fresh, vegetable-heavy meals didn’t hurt her figure one bit, either.

  “Thank you.” Her assessing gaze took in his stubble and the wrinkles at the elbows of his shirt before alighting on the duffel bag he’d carried in from his Jeep. “Were you out this morning?”

  “Yes.” She knew perfectly well he’d been out this morning and all night, too. He suspected that was precisely the reason she’d followed him into the gallery. She’d likely asked the staff to notify her when his Jeep entered the palace’s underground garage.

  “I assume you’re heading to your apartment. May I join you?”

  Since saying no to Queen Fabrizia wasn’t an option, he gestured down the hall in the direction he was already walking. She fell into step beside him, saying nothing more until they reached the double doors leading to his suite of rooms. One of the housekeeping staff exited just as they arrived. Despite the stack of towels balanced in her arms, the young woman gave the pair a deferential bow. The queen greeted her by name and asked after her brother’s health, mentioning his recently broken leg, then offered well wishes for the woman’s entire family.

  Once the doors were closed behind them, Massimo said, “You have an amazing memory for names, Mother. I didn’t think Maria was assigned to any of your rooms.”

  “She’s not, but it’s only polite to know the staff. It’s our duty, as well.”

  Ah. So that was where the conversation would go. Duty.

  Massimo invited her to take a seat on one of the living room’s two large sofas as he set his duffel bag near the door. Gaspare disappeared toward the apartment’s kitchenette, where he’d find his food dish. A strip of light below one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the palace’s rear garden caught Massimo’s attention. The heavy curtains had been pulled most of the way shut. Ostensibly it had been done to protect the furnishings and carpets from the sun’s bright rays, but it gave the place an abandoned, foreboding feeling.

  He walked to the first window and used the hidden pull cord to let in more light. As he moved to the second window, he heard his mother lightly clear her throat. It was her way of letting him know she’d searched him out for a specific reason and that her time was limited.

  Much as he loved her, and much as he knew giving her his undivided attention would get her out of his apartment faster, he wasn’t in the mood. He grasped the cord to the side of the second window and pulled, allowing sunshine to stream across the room’s gleaming hardwood floors, masculine brown sofas, and antique furnishings. Eventually he’d need to redecorate the apartment and replace the palace treasures from generations past with more modern and—frankly—more livable furnishings. His mother had been after him for years to update the rooms, but when he’d been granted the space after returning home from college, he’d known he’d only be in residence temporarily and didn’t much care what was in it. He certainly hadn’t any urge to hire a decorator or order furniture during his time abroad.

  By the time he’d crossed to the third large window, Queen Fabrizia had tired of waiting. “Massimo, dear, take a seat. We need to talk.”

  “Sounds ominous.” The cord on the third window stuck. He reached behind the curtain to locate the source of the snag.

  “Let me call someone to fix that. You should sit.”

  While politely stated, it wasn’t a suggestion. Reluctantly, he left the window and moved to the sofa opposite the one where his mother sat. Her back was perfectly straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap as if she were posing for a portrait.

  He didn’t flop onto the sofa, exactly, but he didn’t lower himself quite as she expected him to, either. “What’s on your agenda this morning?” he asked.

  Her smile was tolerant. “I’m attending a brunch in the garden with a group from Doctors Without Borders and later this afternoon there’s the opening of the new tennis ce
nter. But my first priority this morning is my children.”

  “Alessandro causing trouble again?”

  “Always.” Amusement flickered in her eyes, then faded. “But at this precise moment I’m worried about you, Massimo.”

  She expected him to ask why or to state that all was well, but he knew better than to give her such an opening. Instead, he remained quiet as she stared at him and waited. And waited. Though she appeared unruffled on the surface at his prolonged silence, he could tell it flustered her. There was a slight flare to her nostrils, the most miniscule of movement in her hands. Tics only he—and perhaps his siblings—would notice.

  “You were out overnight,” she said at last.

  “Yes.” He made it a point to frown as if confused. As a royal he didn’t have quite the same freedom of movement as most people, but his mother should realize that twenty-eight-year-old men occasionally stayed out all night and didn’t check in with their parents.

  “Were you on your boat?”

  “Not all night, no. Not the most comfortable place to sleep.”

  This time, it was her turn to play the silence card. Queen Fabrizia was nothing if not a quick study. He knew she wasn’t going to speak until he explained himself. As she watched him, a curious twitch made the corner of her mouth jump. He knew then that she knew.

  It wasn’t that he was out all night, hanging out at a bar or playing cards with friends. It was that he’d mentioned sleep, and comfort, which suggested that he’d been prone in a bed besides his own.

  Chapter Nine

  His mind raced for an explanation that would satisfy her curiosity without confirming he’d had female companionship. Queen Fabrizia was worldly enough to know that her sons were no paragons of celibacy, nor did she expect it; however, she didn’t want them flaunting their sexual escapades and risking the family’s reputation. As each of her sons hit puberty, she’d asked her husband to speak to them about the need for discretion, given their family’s high profile position.