Keeping Her

by Holly Hart

  “Except what if I want to be occupied all day, every day?” she says. “After last night, I think I need to catch up on everything I’ve been missing.”

  “Then perhaps we need to start as soon as possible.”

  She turns her face to mine and we kiss. But just as things get interesting, she pulls away.

  “Oh, no,” she breathes. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What?” I ask, alarmed.

  “Today is your birthday! In the craziness of the wedding, I totally forgot!”

  She’s not the only one. My birthday has been the last thing on my mind the past two weeks. In fact, no one even mentioned it during the wedding yesterday.

  “I did, too,” I say. “I imagine most of the country did. They were all focused on you, as it should be.”

  “But I want you to have something special,” she says, biting her lip.

  “Amanda, I have everything a man could ever possibly want or need, so there’s no need to give me a present.”

  She stands to face me, breathtaking in her morning clothes.

  “I feel like the little drummer boy,” she says. “I have no gift to bring that’s fit to give a king.”

  With a few deft moves of her hands, her clothes fall to the floor, leaving her naked in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

  “All I have to offer is me,” she says. Her eyes are wide, angelic.

  I sweep her off the floor and carry her towards the bedroom.

  “That’s all I ever want,” I whisper in her ear.

  Our lovemaking is slow and luxurious at first, savoring every stroke like a sip of fine wine. Then we both seem to reach a new level of urgency at the same time, kissing harder, plunging deeper, faster, until we reach the heights of pleasure at the same time and collapse, trembling, onto the bed in each other’s arms.

  “See what I mean?” she sighs. “All day, every day.”

  “The wedding is still plastered all over the TV and online,” Amanda calls from the parlor as I dress. “It’s insane.”

  “Nothing about my birthday?” I joke as I emerge from the bedroom.

  “Very funny,” she says, flipping through the various channels on my streaming box.

  Headlines of videos scroll past: Party of the Century; Real-Life Fairy Tale; Amanda Is Europe’s Latest Obsession; Dante Finally Finds Happiness.

  “We’re a hit,” she says with a shy smile as she continues to flip.

  I hold up a hand as a familiar face appears on the screen.

  “Stop here, please,” I say. “We should see this.”

  Chancellor Huber is stuffed into an armchair on the set of Morova Morning, the early show on the country’s only national television station. Across from him is Lorenzo Ricci, the stodgy co-host and a staunch anti-monarchist.

  “Would you call the wedding a spectacle, then?” he asks. “Or was it more of a travesty?”

  I roll my eyes. Journalism at its finest.

  “It was quite simply a slap in the face to the Morovan people,” Huber says.

  “Half the Morovan people were there, you jackass!” Amanda barks. “You couldn’t be bothered to show up!”

  Sometimes I see so much of Ike in her, it’s scary. But I love it.

  “It was so far beneath the dignity of a monarch as to be laughable,” Huber continues. “But then, what else would we expect from Dante?”

  “That’s Prince Dante to you, you toad! You talk about dignity and you don’t even follow royal etiquette!”

  “Darling,” I say, putting a finger to my lips. “Please.”

  She’s still fuming, but she does as I ask.

  “He certainly has a reputation,” says host Ricci. “And really, two weeks’ notice? We’re expected to believe they met and fell in love in such a short period of time?”

  “Baby rumor coming in three, two, one…” she mutters.

  “Obviously, one has to wonder whether she’s pregnant,” Huber says. “But that’s beside the point. To have madding crowds at a royal wedding reception is unheard of. It’s a solemn event, not a Garth Brooks concert.”

  “Garth Brooks would kick your lily-white ass…”

  “Amanda.”

  “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.

  “So what do we do now?” asks Ricci. “Are we stuck with the playboy prince and his American commoner bride? Is this what we pay our taxes for, so the two of them can live their lavish lifestyle on the backs of Morovans?”

  “The national revenues and the Trentini fortune are inextricably linked,” I say. “My money supplements the economy of Morova!”

  “Dante, please,” she says, finger to her lips.

  I cock an eyebrow at her. She sticks her tongue out at me, making me laugh in spite of myself.

  “There are ways to work around the monarchy,” Huber says cryptically. “The Crown Council and National Council have grave concerns about its future, and we’ll be discussing it at length in the days to come.”

  Ricci looks into the camera. “There you have it,” he says. “Straight from the chancellor. Is the era of the Trentini family coming to a close? Only time will tell.”

  I click off the screen. The glorious afterglow of our lovemaking is gone now.

  Amanda comes to me and takes my hand.

  “I thought our wedding closed the loophole for government to take control of your fortune,” she says.

  “It did,” I say. “But the councils have the right, in theory, to call a referendum on the monarchy any time they choose. We may have blocked any legal challenge, but they still have the option of taking it to the people.”

  She circles her arms around my neck. “Then we’re fine,” she says. “Because the people obviously love us.”

  “Correction,” I say with a grin. “They love you. They tolerate me.”

  She gives me a long, leisurely kiss that’s almost enough to take my mind of off Huber’s bullshit.

  Almost.

  Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Seven

  42. INTERLUDE

  “What can I do for you today, Your Grace?” Huber asks, propping his elbows on his desk. “My assistant said this meeting was of the highest importance.”

  “It’s actually what we can do for each other,” Isabella says with a smile. “As I told him, I agree fully with your take on the situation between Dante and his new wife.”

  “So he said. My question is why you came to me. If you have a problem with your nephew, why not talk to him?”

  She looks around the room. “Are there any recording devices in here?”

  “No,” he says, eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ll understand in a moment. My question to you, Chancellor, is how badly do you want to end the monarchy?”

  “I don’t have a problem with the monarchy,” he says. “I have a problem with the monarch. Prince Dante is irresponsible, which he proved with his wedding the other day, and I don’t believe he should be in charge of the Trentini fortune.”

  Isabella nods. “On that, we agree. The question is, do you plan to press the councils to call for a referendum?”

  “I’ve made no secret of that. It’s an ongoing process. That’s why I chose not to attend the wedding. It would be unseemly to oppose the prince and then smile and shake his hand at his wedding.”

  “Of course,” she says. “I have no choice, however. I have to live with him.”

  “Now let me ask you the same question,” he says. “Are you in favor of a referendum? Or am I misunderstanding you? It seems unlikely that a member of the royal family would want to abolish the royal family.”

  “That’s what I came here to discuss,” she says. “I absolutely agree that Dante and his wife are the wrong people to be guiding the ship of state for Morova. But I am, and always will be, a staunch believer in the monarchy. It’s an integral part of Morovan culture.”

  “As you say. Which is why I’ve held off for so long on pushing for the referendum. It we bring this matter to t
he people for a vote, and it fails, the constitution says the option is null and void for as long as the current monarch is in power.”

  “So it’s all or nothing. You need to be sure of victory.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if I could guarantee that you would win?”

  Huber leans forward on his desk, brows knit.

  “You would obviously want something in return,” he says. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I like you, Chancellor,” Isabella says. “You understand the game. It’s all about give and take.”

  “You’ve talked about giving. Now let’s discuss the taking. What is it you want?”

  “Quite simple, actually. The referendum would be worded such that the government would have expanded powers in controlling the Trentini fortune, while keeping the monarchy in place.”

  “But you’ve already said you want Dante gone. What are you proposing?”

  She smiles. “My son, Emilio, has proven himself to be an excellent example to the people of Morova. He’s been Dante’s companion and conscience for many years. If it hadn’t been for his steadying influence, who knows what kind of ruin Dante might have brought down on Morova?”

  Huber sits back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his large belly.

  “Trade Dante for Emilio,” he muses. “And keep the monarchy.”

  “The government has more control, and a prince that’s more agreeable. The people of Morova keep their beloved monarchy.”

  “And your son takes the throne,” he finishes.

  “It’s a necessary sacrifice,” she grins.

  “I’m sure. Let’s say I agreed to this – what insurance are you offering that the referendum will pass?”

  Isabella retrieves her bag from the floor, withdraws a manila envelope and lays it on the chancellor’s desk.

  “That’s the unpleasant part,” she says. “But you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

  Huber opens the flap and slides out a series of photos. His beady eyes widen as he examines them closely for a full thirty seconds.

  “When were these taken?” he asks. “How do I know it’s not just something from his past?”

  “I have the original digital files,” she says. “The time and date can be verified. They were taken four days before the wedding, at Dante’s bachelor party.”

  He sits in thought for several moments.

  “This will be explosive if it’s true,” he says. “How did you get them?”

  “Unfortunately, Emilio was with Dante that night and saw everything,” she says. “Which is why I’ve come to you. Betraying his cousin will break his heart, but he realizes that Dante simply isn’t fit for the role of monarch.”

  Huber leans back and contemplates some more.

  “Where do we go from here?” he asks. “I agree with you completely, but I can’t be tied to a scandal.”

  “Leave that to me,” Isabella says. “Just be prepared to move when the time is right.”

  Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Eight

  43. AMANDA

  I think Dante got the better part of the in-law deal. He got my dad.

  I got Isabella.

  “How’s your fish, darling?” she asks, pointing her fork at my plate.

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “Chef Carina is a genius.”

  “Mm,” she grunts. “Mine is dry. I told Maria not to hire her, but she doesn’t listen to me.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just smile and nod. I wish Dante were here.

  We’re on the main terrace that overlooks the lagoon and the beach. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture, but to be honest, I’d much rather be down at the lake with the children.

  “Have you and Dante given any thought to children?” she asks

  A moment of panic stabs through me – can she read my mind?

  “I think we’re just going to focus on the twins for now,” I say. “It’s important that we have a solid relationship with them before we think about adding to the family.”

  “Well, you don’t want to wait too long,” she says. “Looks don’t last forever, believe me. Best to take care of things when you’re young.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “Darling, I know you have grand dreams for the future. And who knows? Maybe they’ll come true. But it never hurts to have insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Children, Amanda. It’s how women who marry into royal families ensure their status. That way, when – I mean if – they get divorced, they still have those blood ties to the monarchy.”

  What is she talking about?

  “That’s a bit cynical, Auntie, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she says. “I’ve always been a realist. Comes from losing my husband so young, I suppose. I can only judge by what I saw with my sister and Nero.”

  “But… they had a storybook romance,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, if you believe the breathless coverage by the newspapers.”

  “You’re saying that wasn’t a true portrait?”

  “Darling, I know you’re not that naïve. Royal marriages aren’t like commoner marriages. Even when they marry for love, as I’m sure you and Dante did, the responsibilities that come with the title can drag you down. Not to mention the constant glaring eye of the media.”

  Now that I think about it, three of Queen Elizabeth’s four children ended up divorced. It’s not an encouraging statistic.

  “Lia and Nero were far from a perfect couple. It wasn’t uncommon for me to pass by their quarters and hear the sound of vases being smashed against the wall.”

  My eyes widen. “Really?”

  “My dear, if the walls of this old palace could talk. I’m amazed none of the staff ever wrote a tell-all book.”

  “Does Dante know about this?”

  “No,” she says, looking alarmed. “And you shouldn’t tell him. Poor child was only ten when they died, he shouldn’t be burdened with the knowledge that they weren’t happy. I don’t know what kind of ideas he has about marriage – he’s never really been around a proper one.”

  “What about his sister and brother-in-law?” I ask. “Adriana and Albert looked after him for almost a decade.”

  “Yes, and they sacrificed their own family because of it. Adriana didn’t become pregnant with the twins until she’d been married for over ten years.”

  Isabella leans in and lowers her voice. “She never told me in so many words, but I’m almost positive they were unplanned.”

  I feel like I’ve been kicked by a bull. Does Dante know all this? How could he not, when he grew up around all of it?

  “I’m sure that’s why poor Dante grew into his playboy lifestyle,” she says, sipping her wine. “Without a strong male role model, he simply didn’t know how to treat a woman. I think it’s a curse we’ve seen many times among royals.”

  She’s right. Tabloid covers have been plastered for decades with stories of royal men who’ve cheated on their princesses.

  But Dante’s not like that. His image was crafted to protect the kids. Maria told me as much.

  “I think he’s more resilient than you give him credit for,” I say. “He’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman with me, and I plan to be with him for a very long time.”

  “Yes,” she says. “I’m sure Diana felt the same way about Charles. But good for you, darling. I admire your optimism.”

  She talks more about something, but I don’t hear it. All I can focus on is Diana’s face. That sweet smile always seemed to be masking the hurt behind her eyes.

  Is that what the future has in store for me?

  “This cake is dreadful,” Isabella mumbles. “I really need to speak with Maria about the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry, Auntie, will you excuse me? I’m afraid I have to run.”

  “Of course, darling. What’s so urgent, if I might ask
?”

  “Dante and I are taking my father and the children to Rome,” I smile. “We’re going to show them the ruins. My dad’s idea of historic is something that’s a hundred years old; I can’t wait to show him what a few thousand looks like.”

  Isabella smiles. “He’s a unique man, your father. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  “Funny,” I say. “Dad said the same thing about you.” But not in a good way.

  “Don’t let me keep you, then,” she says. “But do think about what we’ve discussed here. I don’t want to frighten you, not at all. But I want you to go into this with your eyes open. The life you lead now is not like life on the ranch back in Missouri.”

  “Montana,” I say absently.

  “Yes, of course. Arrivederci, darling.”

  As she walks away, my eyes wander to the enormous diamond on my ring finger. He wouldn’t have given me his mother’s ring if he weren’t serious about our marriage. Right?

  Or is that just another Trentini tradition that’s been drilled into him?

  I hear a ding from my purse and take out my phone to see a text from Dante: Getting ready to leave. Hope you survived lunch. RU on UR way?

  Just leaving I text back.

  As I drop my phone back in my purse and head back towards the palace, I can’t help wondering how many other women have the number I just texted to.

  Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Nine

  44. DANTE

  “So this guy I know gets a call from his feed supplier one day,” Ike says. “They appreciate his business so much that they’re sendin’ him to one o’ them all-inclusive places in Mexico for a week.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “So he gets there and this place is top notch, I’m talkin’ five-star all the way. He’s there for a week, and he comes back home and he’s tellin’ us all about it. The food, the tequila, the resort, it’s all incredible. And he’s lordin’ it over us because he buys so much feed that this company sends him all the way to Mexico.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “I can’t wait to get back home and tell him my son-in-law is the prince of friggin’ Morova,” he says with a grin so wide it threatens to cut his face in half. “And that I flew in a private jet to the family villa in Rome. He’ll bust.”