Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals)

by Burnham, Nicole

  “First I’d like to know where we’re headed.”

  The smile he flashed looked exactly like the polite, professional one she’d deigned to give him only a moment before, when she’d exited the holding area to discover him waiting for her. “Away from the cameras across the street. No, don’t look. There are two of them. My guess is that either the property manager or someone in the police station tipped off the local paparazzi, though they did seem surprised when I drove up. More will come if we don’t leave soon.”

  That got her moving. She slid into the Jeep as Massimo rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side. He moved at a relaxed pace, as if he were visiting the police station on a routine errand rather than bailing out the woman with whom he’d spent the previous night. The sun-warmed leather sent heat straight through her T-shirt, bringing sweat to the surface of her skin. Or maybe it was the thought that she was sitting beside a man so famous he actually had paparazzi following him that made her sweat.

  “As if I don’t look bad enough already,” she grumbled, pulling her sticky shirt away from her back. Now her clothes would look as nasty as her mouth tasted.

  “What’s that?” Massimo said as he closed the door.

  “Nothing. Talking to myself.” She propped her elbow against the door and scrubbed a hand across her forehead. “The last twenty-four hours have been rather unexpected.”

  His silence drew her gaze. Once he had her attention, he waggled his eyebrows—the goofiest, most un-royal action she could imagine, particularly from a man of his size and imposing demeanor—then quietly said, “Surprise.”

  He’d done it to make her smile, but she couldn’t muster one. Instead, she exhaled and rolled her head back into the palm of her hand. Yes, his appearance at the station was a surprise. But once the officer stood before her cell and told her that her debt was paid, maybe it shouldn’t have been.

  How stupid was she to think for even a moment that Ted had come to bail her out?

  First, he likely hated her for ending the engagement so close to their wedding date. No matter how placid he’d been after accepting the returned diamond ring, Ted wasn’t the type who’d deal well with asking family and friends to cancel their travel plans because there wouldn’t be a ceremony. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d learned that she’d opted to take the honeymoon trip on her own. If he had lingering anger, canceling the villa and insisting there was no Mrs. Robards would’ve been sweet revenge for having to make all those embarrassing phone calls about the canceled wedding. He’d probably revel in the thought of her spending their honeymoon time in a cell. He’d only have bailed her out to see the look on her face at having been humiliated.

  And second, he couldn’t have used his original plane ticket. She’d have seen him on the plane if he had, plus the manager claimed that Mr. Robards had missed his flight. The word duh echoed in her head at that thought.

  A mortifying yawn escaped her. Her brain and body both craved sleep. Crankiness had set in and she needed her wits about her to deal with Massimo, her inability to access her bank account, and an angry landlord who may or may not have re-rented her dream villa.

  As it was, she couldn’t even think logically about Ted…and Ted was her past, not her present dilemma.

  Massimo’s arm brushed against hers as he shifted gears, making her aware she was alone with him for the first time since waking up beside him, when she’d studied the planes of his back in the morning light. She’d wanted to touch him, to share breakfast, to make love to him all over again.

  Now she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Her gaze lit upon a small blue container of mints propped near the gearshift. Without asking, she reached for them.

  “Why’d you do it?” she asked as she popped one. The instant zing was enough to keep her awake at the same time it rectified the cottony taste in her mouth. Before replacing the container, she popped another.

  “What, pay for your villa? Bail you out? Politely offer you a breath mint?”

  Make love to me like I’ve never been made love to before. Walk out on me. Conveniently forget to tell me you’re a prince. “Yes.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. The police station was located in the Cateri town center, an area dominated by centuries-old cobblestone streets. Even in her state of exhaustion, she was awed by its beauty. Buildings on either side of the road housed bakeries, cafes, and family businesses such as shoe repair shops and clothing boutiques. On a corner in front of them, a streetside florist busied herself wrapping a bouquet for an older woman, who was making space for the arrangement in her bicycle’s straw basket. Over the rumble of the Jeep’s engine, she could hear the heavy toll of church bells. Tourists wound their way through the old city, holding up cameras to snap photos of the architecture or consulting maps to see which side streets led to the museums. More than one person walked with an ice cream cone or pastry in hand.

  Any other day, Kelly would have enjoyed the scene immensely. At the moment, she almost resented it. It was all so…Massimo. His country. Under his control. Just like she was now under his control.

  “The honest answer—” he drew out the word honest “—is that I felt guilty about leaving you there to deal with the police. What I said at the station is true. I do owe you a debt for finding Gaspare.”

  “You think you owe me money? You don’t, not a dime. Or a Euro or whatever.” An apology for walking out on her was something else. Her elbow fell from where she’d propped it on the door as she turned to glare at him. “And what the hell, by the way? You’re a prince. An honest-to-goodness prince! And you’re rich!”

  He reached to the space between them to snag a pair of aviator-framed sunglasses, then slid them onto his face. “I don’t think I’ve had anyone describe me to myself in quite that way…but yes. To both.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Especially before she’d given him that whole speech about how rich and powerful was overrated and that she didn’t harbor any princess fantasies.

  Princess fantasies. Of all the things to say.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you were on your honeymoon?”

  “Because without a groom, it’s not a honeymoon,” she snapped. “It’s a vacation.”

  “Right.” There was a minute shake of his head. “You’re rather surly for someone who was thoroughly bedded last night on her—” he paused for effect “—vacation.”

  The words thoroughly bedded said in his light accent made her stomach clench, but she forced herself to ignore the sensation. “At least I didn’t lie. I asked if you were related to those Barralis.”

  “You did not,” he countered, his voice oozing confidence. “You asked if Barrali is a common name on the island, and it is. I may not have told you the whole truth, but I most certainly did not lie.”

  “Oh, and Princess Sophia is a nickname? Because she wore pink dresses when she was little?” What a crock that had been.

  An audible sigh escaped him. “All right, I did lie about that. Not the pink dresses part, but the nickname.”

  She crossed her arms and tried to revel in the small victory. She couldn’t. When his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror several times in quick succession, she frowned. “What is it?”

  “Checking to be certain no one’s behind us. I think we’re clear, but I want to give it a few more minutes.” He turned at the next corner, taking a narrow side street that twisted back in the direction from which they’d come. It was a residential area, with close-set buildings that boasted tiny wrought-iron balconies on the upper floors. Flower pots brimming with summer blooms hung over the edges of some, while others had laundry lines strung from end to end with clothes fluttering in the light breeze.

  As his gaze went to the mirror again, understanding dawned. “That’s why you kept checking the rearview mirror on the way to the restaurant, isn’t it? You were worried that we might’ve been followed from the beach. Does that happen very often?”

  One shoulder lifted, then lowered.
“If I’m with my parents or my oldest brother, Vittorio. He’s the heir, so he draws a lot of attention. Otherwise, I’m mostly left alone. It’s primarily tourists who want my picture. But if the local paparazzi think I’m doing something interesting, like seeing someone new—” she could swear his voice hitched as he said it, but his hand remained relaxed on the steering wheel “—they’ll try to snap a salacious photo they can sell to gossip magazines or websites. There are several that focus on royalty.” He slowed the Jeep before cornering onto another narrow street. “I’ve learned to be cautious. If I’m not, my private life won’t remain that way.”

  She turned that over in her head for a moment, thinking back to the previous night. “Giulia knows who you are—”

  “Of course.”

  “—which is why you wanted to know when she was expecting her first reservation. And why she mentioned turning on the patio lights. You didn’t want to stay once the sun went down because we would’ve been visible to anyone dining inside. It’s also why you didn’t want to go back inside to wish her good night.”

  “Your powers of observation are astounding.”

  The wry comment made her reevaluate their date from his point of view. “Apparently not. I didn’t realize you’re King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia’s son, though I’ve seen pictures of your family several times. There’s even one in the front of the guidebook I have in my suitcase.” A derisive laugh escaped her. How odd must it have felt for him not to be recognized? “It’s not as if you didn’t leave me plenty of clues as to your real identity.”

  “Ever consider that my real identity has less to do with a title foisted on me at birth and more to do with the topics we discussed last night? My likes and dislikes, my military service, or my dog?”

  His voice was so even, so calm, it froze the resentment that’d been coursing through her veins at the fact he’d deceived her.

  When she said nothing, he continued, “It shaped me, of course. Being raised in a palace with housekeepers, a nanny—she’s the American who taught me English, by the way—and with parents who are recognized all over the world, well, it isn’t typical. I know that. It changes one’s outlook. But so does time abroad at college or serving in a military unit. As does time on a boat, where you’re surrounded by an ocean that’s much larger and more powerful than you could ever be.” The steering wheel spun in his hands as he guided them around a curve. “What I’m trying to say is that while being a prince is part of who I am, it does not define me.”

  “Nor,” she said carefully, “does the fact I originally planned this trip as a honeymoon define me.”

  Silence reigned after that. He steered the car through a series of impossibly narrow alleys to emerge on the same side of the city center where they’d begun. As they crossed the block with the police station, he shot a quick look down the street. The men holding the cameras were gone. At the traffic circle just below the station, he opted for the lower of Cateri’s two main roads, the one that ran along the waterfront rather than the one he’d just taken through the center of town.

  He didn’t seem to have a destination in mind. Eventually, she’d need to give him one, but she wasn’t quite ready. Not only did she have no idea where to direct him, the scenery was a feast for the eyes, one she could appreciate even in her tired, grumpy state. Low bushes covered in pink blooms were interspersed with white and yellow flowers along the median of the divided road. Grass as green as she’d ever seen filled the space between the road and the beach, broken only by a winding path filled with joggers, skaters, and couples walking hand in hand. Palm trees cooled the area, inviting picnickers.

  Beyond the grass, the beach beckoned hundreds of locals and vacationers. Unlike the quieter beach near her villa, this was a wide expanse given to more active pursuits. Volleyball nets divided large groups of players. Adults and children alike flew kites high into the cloud-speckled blue sky. Frisbees sailed over the heads of those savoring the midday sun from their positions on oversized towels and the occasional lounge chair.

  The entire scene was postcard perfect. Fresh air carried the scent of the flowers and the sea, helping to shake the cobwebs from her mind.

  She shifted to look at the side of the street opposite the water, where luxury hotels competed for the best views, and the dashboard clock caught her eye. It was morning in Dallas now. She could call the bank and find out what happened to her money. If the issue couldn’t be resolved today, she’d have to figure out another way to pay for the rest of the week in the villa—or a hotel, if she’d truly been booted—and pay back Massimo.

  No matter what had happened between them last night, no matter how insignificant the money might be to a man of his resources, she would not allow him to pay her expenses.

  Reluctantly, she fished her cell phone from her bag. “I need to call my bank,” she explained. “Once I figure out what happened to my villa payment, I can tell you where to take me.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. A few moments later, as canned music came over the line, she let him know she was on hold. Again, he only nodded. His focus remained locked onto the road before them, as if another topic occupied his thoughts.

  “So why’d you really keep your identity to yourself?” she asked, since she never did get an answer to that. “You had any number of opportunities to tell me who you are, so you must have had a reason.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he slowed for a red light. A family of five crossed in front of them, making their way from one of the island’s larger hotels to the beach. The parents’ attention was on helping the youngest, a boy of about three, toddle across the road. They took no notice of who sat behind the wheel of the Jeep, only that it had stopped well before the crosswalk to allow them space.

  “I wasn’t ready for you to know. I liked that you treated me the way a normal person is treated. Not the way a prince is treated.” The family stepped onto the curb and the light turned green, but Massimo waited until they were a few feet further from the busy road before stepping on the gas. “As you said, rich people are treated differently. And royals even more so.”

  “For the record, I don’t treat normal people the way I treated you. Last night was unique.” She let that sit with him for a heartbeat, then pushed her rear end further back in the seat so she could sit straighter now that the breeze had cooled the leather seat and dried her shirt enough to make her comfortable. “As for my comments about rich people, I can’t remember my exact words—”

  He made a noise that indicated that he did, even if she didn’t.

  “—but I’ve had some rough experience in that area. I let it get to me and I ran my mouth when I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “Obviously.”

  They rounded a bend that brought them alongside Cateri’s famous marina. Dozens of luxury yachts lined the docks near the boathouse while others were moored in the bay. Massimo switched lanes, which afforded her a better look at a sleek white vessel as it moved out to sea. An impossibly fit-looking couple stood on the aft deck gazing back at the island. Wind caught the woman’s hair, blowing it in her face. She held it back with one hand and knotted a scarf around her head with the other, her motions smooth and elegant, the way one would expect a woman on a yacht to move. It was like watching a scene from a movie with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly, but in real life.

  She stole another glance at Massimo. “I said something about yachts, right? That I’d rather go out with a man who owns fishing boat than a man with a yacht. But I bet you own a yacht, don’t you?”

  “Not personally.” His tone sent her brow arching skyward. He grinned and added, “My family owns three. The fishing boat, however, is all mine.”

  She didn’t want to think too deeply about why that reassured her. It wasn’t as much about his honesty on that point, but about what it represented. This morning as she’d awakened beside him and studied his back, she’d thought about his scars, his dog, and yes, his fishing boat, and she’d thought him a man of
substance. One with complex layers. One who may have been as moved by what transpired between them as she was.

  And she’d hoped.

  Hope, however, was a dangerous thing. It caused women to make disastrous decisions. Decisions like the one she’d made with Ted.

  She sensed he was waiting for a response. “I give you points for being honest about the fishing boat.”

  “Thank you.” His tone, once again, was dry.

  “And you were honest about your height. When we left the police station and you held open the door for me, I noticed that according to the measurement on the door frame, you’re precisely 192 centimeters tall.”

  “Does that earn me points, too?”

  She opened her mouth to make a wry comment about what he could do with the points, but at that moment, a cheery male voice came over the line thanking Kelly for her call and asking if he could be of assistance.

  Massimo turned back to the road and began humming quietly to himself. It took Kelly a moment to realize that she recognized the tune.

  I Saw Three Ships.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wrinkles furrowed Kelly’s brow as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Massimo didn’t envy the man at the bank his job. Given Kelly’s lack of sleep and the time she’d spent with the police, he doubted she had much patience for dealing with bank bureaucracy.

  He doubted she had much patience at the moment, period.

  Massimo eased the Jeep into an empty parking spot in a lot located a few blocks past the marina. It afforded them a panoramic view, yet kept the traffic of the main road and pedestrians well behind them for privacy. He cut the engine so Kelly could hear without straining. The conversation did not seem to be going well. To give her the space to speak candidly, Massimo caught her eye and motioned that he was going to one of the benches a few feet in front of the Jeep. Once settled, he took a deep breath, savoring the brisk sea air and the warmth of the sunshine on his skin as he stared out across the blue waves. It didn’t take long to spot the Libertà, the largest of the three yachts belonging to his family, anchored offshore. Its white hull and silver trim gleamed. He hadn’t been on board in at least three or four years. Having been built for entertainment rather than for sport, the yacht was more to the twins’ taste. Vittorio used it frequently to host business luncheons or entertain foreign dignitaries. Alessandro, who escaped the privileges and duties bestowed upon the crown prince by virtue of being born four minutes after Vittorio, preferred to entertain foreign actresses and models.