by Julia James
‘Did she keep you busy, waiting on her hand and foot?’ His voice was dry.
‘Maria?’ Lizzy’s brow furrowed, confused ‘Maria was the best sister anyone could ever have.’ She felt her throat tighten dangerously. ‘She was truly a golden girl. Everyone loved her. She was so beautiful. She was tall, and slender, and she had long, long legs, and her hair was like honey, and hung straight to her waist, and she had beautiful blue eyes, and even when she was at school the boys were all over her, and when she became a model she was even more beautiful, and no wonder a prince fell for her—’ She halted abruptly.
Rico picked his words carefully.
‘Maria was pretty—very pretty. But she was…’ He paused. Bimbo, Luca had called her. Cruel and callous. And yet Ben’s natural mother had, indeed, possessed the kind of eye-candy looks that gave rise to that harsh dismissal.
‘Hers is not the only kind of beauty,’ he said.
But if Maria’s sister had grown up being told that only candyfloss blondeness was acceptable, that the kind of ultra-slim figure that suited models was the only ticket in town, then no wonder she’d never tried to make anything of the looks she had. No wonder she’d settled for being Busy-Lizzy, living in the shadow of her sister.
‘So who called you Busy-Lizzy?’ The edge was back again.
‘That was Maria,’ she said with a half-laugh, making herself do so. ‘But she didn’t mean it in a bad way. She used to say it to me in exasperation. Because I never—’
She halted, reaching for her glass of champagne and taking a deliberate sip to cover her silence.
‘Never what?’ probed Rico.
What had happened to her? What had made her see herself as ugly? He had thought it might be her sister, and yet she denied it. So what, then?
He wanted to know. Wanted to find out what had been done to her, and by whom.
‘Because you never what?’ he prompted again.
He wanted answers. Wanted to understand. So that the poison in her would come out once and for all. Never to return.
‘I never stopped,’ she answered.
‘Stopped what?’
‘Being busy, I suppose. Being useful.’
‘Who to?’ he asked in a low voice.
He saw her fingers tighten around the stem of her flute.
‘Maria. My parents.’
‘Why did they need you to be useful?’
Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.
‘Because—’ she stopped.
‘Because?’ he prompted. Quietly, insistently.
Her fingers pressed on the glass. He could see her fingers whiten where they gripped.
‘Because it was all I was good for. I wasn’t beautiful, like Maria, and she had all the brains, not me. She was all they needed—my parents.’
Her eyes had slid past him completely now. Staring ahead of her. Something was going wrong in her face; he could see it. She jerked the champagne glass to her lips and took a gulp. Then set it down, just as jerkily.
Then deliberately, almost angrily, her eyes snapped back to his.
‘When Maria was born I ceased to have a function. Apart from that of handmaid. That was all I was good for. Looking after Maria. Helping Maria. Making way for Maria. Maria, Maria, Maria! Everything revolved around Maria. Me, I was just the spare wheel—surplus to requirements. Not wanted on voyage. Existing on sufferance—justified only if I looked after Maria, and even then barely. I wanted to hate her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate her. No one could hate her. Because there was nothing to hate. There really wasn’t. She really was a golden girl. Everyone loved her. No wonder my parents adored her. They adored her so much they forgave her everything. Even becoming a model. There was only one thing they didn’t forgive her for. Only one thing.’ She stilled, then spoke again.
‘Dying. That’s what they could not forgive her for.’
She bowed her head, as if bowing beneath a weight.
‘They couldn’t live without her. So they didn’t. They went into the garage, locked the doors, got into the car, and turned the engine on.’
For a moment there was silence. Complete silence. Rico felt cold ice through him.
‘Your parents killed themselves?’ His voice was hollow. This had not been in the dossier on Maria Mitchell.
‘Once they knew she would never recover. That she would be a vegetable—in a coma until….’
She halted. Her face was stark, even in the candlelight.
‘She was everything to them—their whole world. They had dedicated their lives to her. And she had gone. Left them. Left them to go modeling.’ She swallowed again. ‘Left them to go off with some man who had, so they thought, simply “got her into trouble”—and then she left them utterly. Left them all alone.’
Slowly, still with that cold draining through him, Rico spoke.
‘But they had her baby—and you.’
She looked at him. Her eyes had no expression in them.
‘The baby was a bastard—fatherless, an embarrassment, a disgrace. As for me, I was…an irrelevance. I didn’t count,’ she said. ‘I was—unnecessary—to them.’
His eyes darkened. He felt the anger rising in him like a cold tide.
Unnecessary. The word had a grim, familiar sound.
He was unnecessary too. Had been all his life. He was the spare—surplus to requirements. To be put on a shelf and left there, just in case of emergencies. But with no other purpose then simply to pass the time, fritter his life away until and in case he should ever be needed, cease to be unnecessary.
He felt the anger lash through him again. But this time it was at himself. For having accepted his parents’ verdict on him. Oh, he had resented the role he’d been born to, but he’d still accepted that that was all he was. The spare to Luca’s heir.
Well, that wasn’t true any longer.
Emotion swept through him. He looked at the woman sitting opposite him, who had been so horrifically unnecessary to her parents—but who was so necessary to the one human being to whom he, too, had proved necessary.
He reached across the table and took her hand. He spoke with a low intensity.
‘But you’re necessary now—necessary and…essential. You are Ben’s happiness, and I…I am his safety. And together—’ his hand tightened around hers, warm, and safe and protecting ‘—we’ll take care of him, and love him.’
Gently he drew her to her feet. Emotion filled him as he led her down the terrace to where the French windows to her room stood slightly ajar. Inside, they stood by the bed, looking down at Ben’s sleeping form.
Rico’s arm went around her shoulder as they stood, gazing down at the one human being on the earth to whom they were absolutely and totally necessary.
United in that.
And more, Rico knew.
‘Hang on to your hats,’ Rico yelled
‘I’m not wearing one,’ Ben yelled back, against the revving of the engine.
‘Just as well,’ riposted Rico, and let the throttle out.
The boat roared off, sleek and powerful, carving a foaming wake through the still blue water.
Lizzy’s arm tightened around Ben automatically, but Ben was oblivious of anything except the thrill of being in a speedboat. Wind whipped at her hair, half blinding her, and she had to grip with all her might to the boat rail. The hull slapped and slammed against the water, bumping like a rollercoaster ride.
‘Wheee!’ yelled Ben, ecstatically.
Rico turned from the wheel and grinned.
His hair was blown off his face and he looked younger, carefree.
‘Faster?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes,’ Ben cried.
‘Here we go, then.’
He accelerated, and the boat picked up yet more speed. Exhilaration filled him. This might not be anything like the speed of a powerboat in a race, but it was still fast and furious.
When finally he slewed around in a great curve, and started heading back to land, he slackened the throttle and turne
d to his passengers.
‘Was that fun?’ he asked with a grin, his eyes dancing.
‘Yes!’ yelled Ben.
‘You’re a complete maniac,’ said Lizzy.
His grin widened. ‘No, just Italian.’ He eased back on the throttle even more as they headed for land at a sedate pace. He patted the wheel. ‘She’s not bad, but she’s no powerboat. They can get to speeds of over a hundred knots. Now, that’s really moving. Still, we’ll have some fun in this one, won’t we?’
Annoyance flared in him. The boat he’d hired from the marina was ideal for cruising around, exploring the coastline. But that wasn’t something they could do yet. He would be recognised, it was inevitable, and then the press would start buzzing with rumours and speculation about who he was with, and why. He didn’t want that. He wanted his marriage officially announced from the palace. Not out of consideration for his father, who deserved none after his callous treatment of Ben and his mother, but for Lizzy’s sake.
She’d had enough stress already. All her life, in fact. Thanks to her parents—and everything that had happened since to her.
But so far there had been nothing but silence from the palace. Well, he’d given his father time enough to climb down, to accept what he’d done—perhaps he should send him a reminder.
He’d get on to it today. Jean-Paul would oblige, he knew.
Smoothly, he brought the boat into shore, cut and trimmed the engine, and dropped anchor in the shallow water. Ben jumped out without prompting, landing with a splash to wade ashore. Lithely, Rico climbed over the side himself, then held out his arms to Lizzy. She got rather unsteadily to her feet.
‘I’m sure I can manage,’ she said.
He scooped her up, and she gave a gasp. He grinned down at her. She was soft in his arms. Soft and voluptuous. And in the couture beach shorts and short-sleeved matching azure top she looked fantastic. Her hair was windblown, but that only gave her a tousled, wanton look.
‘I’m too heavy for you,’ she gasped.
He laughed scornfully, wading ashore with her. To think he had thought that her baggy, shapeless clothes had meant she was overweight. There wasn’t a kilo of flesh on her that wasn’t in the right place.
‘I can bench twice your weight,’ he said confidently. He lowered her gently to the sand, steadying her with his hands. She looked amazing. Her bare arms were smooth and already beginning to tan, now that they were finally being exposed to the sun.
She was beginning to get used to the transformation, he could see. The look of bewildered disbelief was rarer now; she was accepting what had happened. She was out of the box her parents had locked her into—a coffin for her womanhood.
Well, that was a box she would never go back into. And soon her womanhood would blaze into the glory it deserved.
His expression changed. Patience, he was discovering, was a hard virtue.
‘Tio Rico, I need a new sandcastle. Come and help—’ Ben’s piping treble pierced the air.
Rico was glad of the diversion.
He phoned Jean-Paul after lunch. ‘How would you feel about an exclusive photo-shoot?’ he asked him. ‘Ready for the glossies…’
He would send the photos to the palace first. Remind his father that time was running out for him, that if he kept on stonewalling Rico would simply make the announcement of his marriage himself—and let the press go to town on why the palace had let that happen.
‘Don’t wait too long, Rico. Security at Capo d’Angeli might be tight, but even so—’ His friend’s voice held a warning. ‘This is a story to kill for.’
‘I hear you—so can you do the shoot tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be there. Would I miss the second scoop of a lifetime on you?’ Jean-Paul laughed, and signed off.
Slowly, Rico slid his phone away. His eyes travelled down the terrace to the French windows, behind which Lizzy was attempting to make Ben yield to an afternoon siesta. His thoughts went to them.
Jean-Paul was coming tomorrow. To take photos of the happy couple—the happy family. A fairytale marriage that would set a glow over them all. A perfect ending to the tale—the Playboy Prince marrying the adoptive mother of his brother’s child.
Who had turned out to be Cinderella indeed—not the ugly sister she had always cast herself as. A Cinderella whose transformation had taken him by storm…inflamed his senses.
Whom he longed to embrace…possess…
A troubled look entered his eyes.
Did he have the right to do it? He wanted her, badly. He wanted her because she was a beautiful, alluring woman and he was bowled over by her—because his body was telling him, every time he saw her, that she was a woman to desire. And he wanted her, too, he knew, for her sake—because she had made him feel free and because he had seen her turn into a swan. Yes, she had emerged from the box she’d been locked into, and he wanted to lead her out of it—lead her to where every woman should go.
But did he have the right to take her there?
She’s my wife. What other woman in the world should I desire?
His expression shadowed. Became sombre.
Yes, she was his wife—but their marriage was not about them, it was about Ben. Everything about their marriage, including those fairytale photos tomorrow, would be about Ben. His safety—his future. Not theirs.
Why not about our future? Why not about us?
The words formed in his head, coming from the same place deep within him that told him that the woman he wanted so much now was his wife—a wife to desire…to possess…
He sat very still as he realised what he was thinking.
Feeling.
Wanting.
He had married her, promising her a marriage of convenience purely to protect Ben, to protect her. When that had been achieved, when it would not cause any scandal, then he would end the marriage. Set her free. Set himself free.
I don’t want that—
The realisation seared through him. Burning its way through his brain.
And in its wake came another emotion. He did not know what it was. He knew only that he was yielding to it, that it was far, far too strong for him to do anything else but yield to it.
And tonight—tonight he would do just that.
Tonight he would make his marriage real.
Those photos tomorrow would be no fairytale.
CHAPTER TEN
QUIETLY, Lizzy slipped from her room out on to the terrace, carefully lifting the long rustling skirts of her gown.
Ben was asleep. Reluctantly, but finally succumbing. It was later than his usual bedtime, but then he’d been judging a fashion parade. He and Rico had sat on the bed while she’d tried on one after another of her outfits, to choose which ones to wear the following day.
Nerves clipped at her as she thought about it. A photo-shoot, Rico had said. His friend Jean-Paul, to whom he had entrusted the story of their marriage, would undertake it.
She was glad Rico had suggested trying the outfits first, even though it seemed odd to have finished with her in evening dress.
‘I want a full-length portrait photo of you,’ Rico had said.
Then, when he’d finally chosen which gown he thought would be best for such a photo, he’d told her to leave it on.
‘It will get you used to the feel and fit,’ he’d told her, before heading off to get changed himself, for dinner.
She’d complied, though the close-fitting strapless duskyrose silk gown with its flowing skirts, gorgeous though it was, seemed to make her somewhat over-dressed for a seaside villa.
‘Ah, there you are—’
Rico’s voice made her head turn.
And then her breath caught, and stilled in her lungs.
He was strolling towards her in the soft light spilling out on to the terrace, and he was wearing evening dress himself.
He looked—
She swallowed.
Oh, dear God, he looks incredible.
The tailored hand-made tuxedo moulded his long,
lithe form, and made her legs feel weak. His freshly washed hair feathered over his forehead, and as he approached she caught the faintest tang of aftershave from his newly-shaved jawline.
She gazed at him helplessly, incapable of tearing her eyes away from him.
He came up to her. His eyes were on her, but all she could see was him.
A half-smile played about his lips.
‘Buona sera, Principessa,’ he said softly, and lifted her hand with his, to raise it to his lips.
His mouth grazed at her knuckles, and she felt a thousand butterflies release inside her.
He tucked her hand over his arm, and she found herself clinging to it. Numbly, she let herself be glided along the terrace.
‘We’re dining indoors tonight. Some light rain is forecast.’
She glanced absently at the sky, which was clouding over from the west. Then he was leading her into the large, formal dining room where they’d never eaten before.
She could see, as she looked round, why he had decided for them to wear evening dress. Her eyes widened. She’d never been in here, and she was astonished at its opulence. The huge glass table was edged with a gold metallic border, and an ornate chandelier festooned with crystals shone above. There seemed to be mirrors everywhere, and more glass and gold all around.
‘It’s a little overdone,’ said Rico wryly.
He led her to her place and saw her seated. Then he took his own place opposite her. Almost immediately came the soft pop of a champagne cork, and then one of the staff was filling her flute before performing a similar office for Rico.
He lifted the glass.
‘To us,’ he said softly, his long lashes sweeping down over his dark eyes, and yet again Lizzy felt the fluttering wings inside her taking flight.
The meal passed as if in a dream. The silent, swift staff placed dishes in front of her, then whisked them away unnoticed. One by one the array of glasses at her place were filled, and then removed. She must have eaten and drunk, she knew, and it must have been delicious. And yet food and drink were the last things on her mind.
Her eyes were held, entirely and only, by the man sitting opposite her.