The Prince's Scandalous Baby

by Holly Rayner

  She didn’t want to wake him before he woke naturally, so instead, she just lay in his arms and stared out the window. She could see the little crests of the waves on the water. She could hear the birds chirping, but the sea was too far, so the waves all felt like some distant silent movie. They only felt real when the breeze carried the faint scent of salt in through the window.

  Nothing could have been as perfect as that moment.

  And then she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  She scrambled to sit up, scanning the room for her clothes. The steps on the stairs weren’t fast or heavy, but they were growing closer too quickly for her to have any hope of getting fully dressed.

  Her only hope of covering herself was the bedsheet, which she threw around herself in haste. She spared a glance at Nico, just to make sure that she wasn’t robbing him of his own cover, but he barely seemed to have noticed that she had moved. He was just mumbling to himself and turning over, trying to block out the sun in the room.

  Like a sailor bracing for impact, Juliette grabbed onto a rail of the headboard. She would have called out and warned the intruder not to come up, but she had a feeling that that would only draw more eyes. This was a construction site, full of builders, and she was a naked woman lying in a bed that was not her own. Her only hope was that whatever surly builder was coming up the stairs was merciful, and would let them go without too much noise or trouble.

  But the head that emerged as the intruder entered the room was no surly builder.

  It was a woman, who looked to be in her mid-60s, wearing what appeared to be a domestic staff uniform. She was carrying a tray with what looked like breakfast on it.

  As soon as she saw Juliette, she nearly dropped the tray. She recovered, but only just, launching into a flurry of Italian words that even Juliette, for all her years of study, had a hard time following.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Juliette replied in Italian. “Can you please slow down? I don’t understand what you are saying.”

  She hadn’t had to say that since her first-year Italian courses.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said, swapping over to broken, tortured English. “I did not know that Prince Giancarlo had a friend here today. I thought he was at palace alone. I bring food.”

  The shocked expression on Juliette’s face seemed to calm the old woman, and even amuse her a bit.

  “What did you say? Who?” Juliette asked in Italian, but the woman clearly had no intention of switching from English, or answering her question.

  “I leave food. Yes?”

  The woman slid the tray on the floor, and then was gone, disappearing down the stairs in much the same way she had appeared up from them. All she left behind was the tray on the floor and the lingering sound of a hummed tune in the air.

  SIX

  Juliette sprang out of bed, letting the sheet fall as she did. She wouldn’t be uncovered for long—she was gathering her clothes with the speed and ferocity of a mad woman.

  “Juliette?”

  She heard him say her name, but she ignored him. He didn’t deserve her attention until she was ready to give it to him.

  She went through the room in a frenzied rush, grabbing up her clothes as quickly as possible. When she got to her shirt, she made sure to put it on right side out—a little detail that reminded her of the previous afternoon and all the feelings that accompanied the first words he had ever spoken to her. She hated him, in that moment. Hated him for the way he’d made her feel and then the way he’d turned it all around on her so suddenly, without even meaning to.

  When she was covered, she turned to him, fire in her eyes.

  “Giancarlo, is it?”

  She kept running her fingers through her hair to smooth it as she prepared to leave and face the outside world, even as she saw him open his mouth, close it, and open it again.

  “No,” she said, when he was about to speak. “No, I don’t want to hear it. You said you were a construction worker!”

  He sat up straighter in bed, still naked except for the blanket bunched around his midsection. “I have to lie when I go out like that. If I don’t, I get mobbed. I can’t just be myself. I’m the son of the King of Campania—heir to the throne.”

  “Oh, I know who you are. I watch the news. I read the newspapers,” she sneered.

  He held up a hand, as though it would soothe her anger. “Then you know that going out in public as myself wouldn’t work. If I play a role, and dress down, sometimes people don’t recognize me. I can get by without all the attention. And that’s all I want—”

  “And when we came back here,” she said, “were we still in public? Did you need to keep up the lie when we were alone?”

  She thought she had him at that, but there was a flash of something in his eyes. And, when he spoke next, there was anger in his voice.

  “Did you?”

  Juliette’s cheeks burned as she remembered the lie she’d told about her company managing the renovation. He must have known it was a lie from the beginning. Liars are always the best at knowing when others are lying.

  She looked around for something to throw at him and found his pants. She hurled them at him in frustration.

  “You knew!” she said. “You knew the whole time! And you just let me keep going with it all!”

  He rose up to his knees in the bed, the covers dropping lower and revealing more of the body she’d so enjoyed that night before, even as his fists balled up, gripping the pants she’d thrown at him.

  She had to look away. She didn’t want to see him this way. She didn’t want to be attracted, again, to a liar. And anyway, she had shoes to get on her feet. But she couldn’t tune out his words as he continued talking.

  “So it’s my fault that you lied? It’s on me that you decided to tell me a fairy tale about who you are and what you do…”

  She glared back at him. It was almost hard to see through the haze of embarrassment and anger.

  “OK, so I met a stranger at a bar and I made up a little story. I’m a student! I’m boring! I just wanted— I just wanted to forget about things for a while. But it wasn’t anything big. I didn’t make myself out to be some kind of savior of the working man in order to get you into bed.”

  He stood and began to put on his pants, causing Juliette to turn away so that she didn’t have to see his attractive body in all its glory. If she let him get his hooks in her again, she’d never leave. And she needed to get as far away from this man as she could.

  “So what are you mad at me for, then?” she heard him say, even as her legs started moving towards the stairs. “You’re angry because I lied, which you did, too? Or because I came up with a story I thought you’d like? Do you think I tricked you into coming here with me?”

  She was halfway down the stairs when she heard his last volley.

  “You mean you wouldn’t have come home with me if you knew I was just a prince?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t have a good response. She couldn’t say why it was, exactly, that she was so upset. She’d lied, too, and though that might have made her more understanding, the embarrassment of knowing he just went along with her lie, even when he knew about it, only made it worse.

  She didn’t remember the palace that well from the night before. All the time they had spent walking through it, looking at the way it all shone in the moonlight through the windows, felt like a dream to her, now. And, just like a dream, it was hard to remember the details. All she knew was that if she just kept going down, she would eventually get to the ground floor.

  She saw construction workers, arriving and getting ready for the day. She hated how they looked at her. Some of them seemed surprised to see her, while others seemed to put together who was in the house and shot her knowing glances.

  Juliette liked to consider herself a liberated, modern woman. But still, something about the looks on their faces, knowing that she’d been brought back here by the Prince, made her feel angry and ashamed. It all cam
e flooding back to her, now: the Prince’s reputation.

  Maybe that was what bothered her the most—the idea that she was the kind of girl who would be lured back to the palace by the allure of the idea of sleeping with a playboy prince. It hadn’t been like that! She wanted to tell them. She hadn’t fallen for the wealth, or the power, or the reputation! She’d fallen for the man.

  Or, rather, she fallen for who she’d thought the man was.

  She made it to the main room, and to the grand entrance that now stood open. She heard a few choice phrases, muttered in Italian, and decided it was best if she pretended she couldn’t understand. Setting the speaker straight would only slow her down.

  When she was finally out of the house, she almost felt like she could breathe again. There were still workmen around, working on the exterior, but they barely seemed to notice her.

  Out here, she could begin to get her thoughts together. She remembered what had been the whole purpose of her last night—she was going to have one fun night, not being herself, and then she was going to leave.

  Well, she’d done that. She’d had her last hurrah. And now she had a flight to catch. That very evening, she would leave this awful palace and its awful, lying prince behind. By this time tomorrow, she’d be thousands of miles away, and all this would just be a bad dream.

  All she really needed to do now was to clear her head. And she had a long, long walk back to the city—or at least to wherever the nearest bus stop was—to do it.

  SEVEN

  The heat of the Mediterranean sun beat down on Juliette as she walked. It was almost enough to regret not calling a cab. Almost, but not quite. She needed to get her frustration out, somehow, and walking angrily down the long road seemed as good a way as any. Besides, if she’d called a cab, she would have needed to wait for it. And she couldn’t stomach the thought of staying at that house any longer than needed.

  That palace, rather. That gorgeous, amazing palace. The further she got from it, the more she was able separate out her feelings of betrayal from the memories of the world she’d briefly been allowed into. It had been an amazing experience. Maybe one day, when she was past the anger of this moment, she would be able to look back on it and be glad that, at least, she’d gotten a private tour of the royal residence of the King of Campania.

  But that day was not today. No, today she was just looking forward to getting on a plane and leaving the country.

  The road from the palace back to town wasn’t a busy one. There were very few residences out there, and apparently all the workmen had arrived on site already. So, when Juliette heard the sound of a car coming up beside her, it was unexpected enough that she turned her head to look.

  Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. It was a limousine, black and shiny, gleaming in the morning sun. She would have known immediately that it was owned by the royal family, even if she hadn’t seen the little Campanian flag flying from the top of the antenna.

  She shifted her gaze back to the road in front of her, though she couldn’t see it as well through the tears of anger that jumped up into her eyes. She fought them back.

  The car slowed, and pulled up next to her, the driver keeping pace with her as she walked. Juliette heard the sound of the window rolling down, and had to force herself not to look. She knew who it would be, and she didn’t think she could see his face again. Not yet. There was too great a chance she’d forgive him, and she didn’t want to do that.

  “Juliette, please.”

  His voice still had the music she’d heard the night before. But now, there was an authority to it she hadn’t detected before. He was a prince, now, and the combination of anger and pleading in his voice didn’t do anything to disguise that.

  “Go back to your palace,” Juliette said, the anger still dripping from her voice.

  Her words came out harsher than she meant them to be. Harsher than she thought he really deserved. Embarrassment flooded through her again.

  “Juliette, wait.”

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t turn her head. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  And that irritated him. She could hear the frustration in his voice as he ordered his driver to stop the car.

  The car stopped, forcing Juliette into a choice. She could keep walking, knowing the car wouldn’t follow her, or she could stop.

  She wanted to keep walking. She willed her feet to keep going. But they wouldn’t. If she kept walking, now, she would never hear his voice again. She knew it. And, as angry as she was, she wasn’t quite ready for that. Not after he’d come after her.

  She stopped in her tracks, though she still looked straight ahead of her, her fists clenching and unclenching at her side. She heard the sound of the car door opening, and closing again, and the sound of expensive shoes walking on cheap roadside gravel. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, whirling around. And with the words and the emotion behind them, the same embarrassment rose up in her again.

  She was angrier than she should be, and she didn’t know why.

  Giancarlo removed his hand, but didn’t step back. He was standing so close to her, now. Nearly as close as they had been when they were laying down, staring at the stars the night before. They were almost touching.

  “I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice quiet, soothing.

  Juliette looked into his eyes for a moment before she had to avert her gaze. His eyes were still magnetic. If she looked any longer, she’d be lost again; lost again to the lying man.

  Instead, she swallowed hard, staring out at the ocean. She could hear the water, just as she had been able to last night.

  When it became clear that she wasn’t going to respond, he spoke again.

  “It’s a long walk back to the city, and it’s going to be a hot day. I’ve already upset you, and I’m sorry for that. Don’t let me make you have a miserable last day in Italy, too.”

  He hesitated, then, as though it were just occurring to him to question everything she’d told him. When he spoke again, she detected a little more pique in his voice.

  “If today even is your last day in Italy?”

  Juliette swallowed hard, again, and nodded, fighting back the tears that wanted to spring from her eyes.

  “OK,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his words. “I’m going to walk back to the palace. I’ll leave my car and driver here. I hope you’ll consider letting him drive you home.”

  He stepped back, and Juliette steeled herself before looking back up at his face. His gaze was shifting from one of her eyes to the other, as though he were searching for something there.

  “And,” he said, hesitantly, “if, before you leave, you can find it in you to forgive me, I’d very much like to see you again. I’ll be at the fountain tonight, waiting for you. I hope you will come.”

  She wanted to respond, but didn’t have the words. Instead, she looked down at the ground. She saw his expensive shoes walk away, and heard, again, the hateful crunch of the gravel.

  She stood there, without moving, listening to his departing footsteps and staring at the ground until she could no longer hear them over the sound of the waves. Finally, she looked up and saw him, some distance down the road. He wasn’t looking back. Not now. She couldn’t tell, in her own mind, if she wanted him to be.

  Now that he was far away, her mind began to calm a little. It was easier to breathe, and it was easier to think. She looked down the road, in the direction of the city, and felt the heat on her skin from the sun above. It was hotter, now, than when she’d first set out. Giancarlo was right; it was going to be a long, hot day, and a walk all the way back to the city would make it even more miserable.

  There was no harm in accepting his offer of a ride back, she finally decided. After all, he was the one who stranded her out there in the first place. So, she got into the limo, and told the driver where he could take her. The driver seemed surprised to hear her speak Italian, but respectfully complie
d.

  The city, when they reached it, felt like a very different thing, viewed from behind the tinted glass of the limo. It was so distant, somehow. She could see the people, but none of them could see her. She could see their envious, curious, or fearful glances at the car as it passed them. They had no way of knowing it was just her inside. They had no way of knowing she was just like them; that it was just a strange, random course of events that had led to her being in there, while they were outside, suffering through the heat of the day.