by Holly Rayner
“I’m actually from a small village in Italy. Hans took pity on me, you see, as my father is a poor fisherman, so he invited me to his yacht party and started whispers that I’m actually a prince. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve never seen anything so luxurious in my life!”
Matteo nearly laughed as he watched the woman’s face sink with disappointment, her body slinking away as she realized he didn’t have all that she really wanted.
It would have been his favorite test, if every single woman hadn’t failed it.
“Oh, that’s neat,” the woman said, standing. She downed her drink then in one gulp and pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Oh, would you look at that? My drink is empty. I’m going to get another one. It was nice to meet you,” she said. Before Matteo had a chance to agree (whether that was true or not, he’d been raised to be polite), she was gone and inching closer to Hans.
“What a crowd, huh?”
A blond woman sat next to him, a flute of champagne in her hand as she stared at the group of women vying for Hans’ attention. For his part, Hans glowed in the limelight of their praise. Though Matteo knew that once this night was over, he would never see any of these women again.
“Always is,” he said.
The woman laughed. “I can’t believe I got dragged into this,” she said. She pointed to a brunette woman that was dancing up against Hans. “My friend has been dying to be a part of these parties for ages. Somehow, she managed to drag me along with her. I probably stole some single woman’s chance at a real prince charming, huh?”
That got Matteo’s attention, and he glanced at her in surprise.
“You’re not here to try and win our favor?” he asked.
She held up her left hand, and a very large diamond flashed in the light of the sinking sun.
“I’m good. That was a good lie you just told, though. If anything, I’m glad to have the chance to meet my own sovereign.”
“You’re from Golina?” he asked, surprised.
“Sí. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, then she lowered her voice to a whisper, “Your Royal Highness.”
She winked at him and he grinned, happy to have found a friend among the vultures.
“You know, the people of Golina would love to have you back,” she said.
“Is that a reproach?” he asked. Even to his ears he sounded defensive, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been on the defense his entire life, especially when it came to his father.
She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her drink.
“Not at all. The people of Golina simply like to see their monarchs. It makes us feel stable and unified. Besides, even you have to admit that your lifestyle is a little…extra.”
“Ah, so you’re a gossip columnist, is that it?” he asked.
“You don’t trust easily, do you?”
Just then the sound of a camera flashing grabbed their attention, and Matteo and the woman glanced over to see a small boat sailing by, a photographer furiously snapping pictures to capture their faces. Matteo frowned.
“Congratulations. You’ve just become the new mystery woman I’m dating,” he said, his tone deadpan.
Her olive cheeks blanched at that comment, and he noticed that she toyed with her ring as she turned her face away from the camera.
“Oh, no. Do you really think so? My fiancé will be so upset!”
Matteo’s stomach sank. Even being in the same space as the prince had consequences. It was one of so many reasons that he often kept people at a distance or flat out pushed them away. Sometimes being involved with royalty was a curse that an outsider didn’t understand until it was too late.
“Don’t worry. I will squash the rumors as soon as they come out. Fortunately with the paparazzi, gossip only lasts until the next juicy story arrives, and to sell papers they need them at least once a month.”
“Paparazzi scum!” Hans shouted. He pointed at the boat with the photographer in it and tore off his shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted abdomen.
“Let’s get him!” he roared.
The group was perfectly willing to go along with anything Hans said. A chorus of screams rang into the approaching night as the entire group jumped off the boat and began to swim after the cameraman. Panicked, the man turned on his motor and sped away, leaving the group to splash and swim on their own.
“Well, if you can’t beat ’em,” the woman said with a shrug. She nodded to Matteo and then walked to the edge of the boat and jumped off.
Matteo lifted his glass to his lips and realized that his drink was empty. He poured another and stayed on board, watching as stars appeared, one dot at a time, in the evening sky. Soon it became impossible to tell where the sky ended and the sea began, and Matteo felt oddly philosophical, watching the night.
His phone went off again. He picked it up to see a text this time.
Matteo, this is serious. Pick up your phone, now!
Matteo turned off his phone and placed it in a drawer. For some reason, he wasn’t in the partying mood this time. At twenty-eight, he was starting to feel too old for this, though Hans clearly did not feel the same way. He finally released the sigh he’d been holding back, then he padded across the deck, ignoring the sounds of flirting and splashing, and headed to his single bedroom just off the captain’s cabin.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark and pondering what he would do the next morning.
“Matteo! Wake up!”
Matteo opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. The room was bright with the morning sun, which was strange, because Matteo didn’t remember falling asleep. The blur that yelled at him came into focus, and he saw his father’s chief advisor, Silvio, glaring down at him.
He groaned.
“What are you doing here, Silvio?” he asked, his voice like sandpaper, his throat just as dry.
“You refused to answer your phone, so I had to get on a boat to come get you, you selfish boy.”
“Spare me the lecture until after breakfast, please,” Matteo moaned as he rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.
“Matteo, this is serious,” Silvio said. “It’s your father.”
The advisor’s tone sent a cold shiver down Matteo’s spine, and he suddenly felt alert and on edge. He rolled back over and looked into the man’s weathered, brown-eyed gaze.
“What about my father?” he asked.
Silvio sat on the bed and stared down at Matteo, his expression grave.
“Matteo, he’s dying.”
Chapter 2
Matteo
Matteo’s head felt like a giant cotton ball as he stepped onto his private plane a few hours later. Silvio was already on board and on the phone, dealing with something that sounded entirely uninteresting.
“Would you like some painkillers, sir?” a flight attendant asked.
Matteo nodded and gratefully took the pair of pills and glass of water from the proffered tray.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he said. He downed the pills in one gulp and finished the entire glass of water, cursing himself for drinking so heavily the night before. Then again, were it a normal day he would have had a nice quiet yacht to nurse his hangover on for the rest of the day.
Instead, he was facing his father’s mortality, not to mention the death of his own freedom.
How could this have happened?
Matteo needed a distraction. He pulled out his phone and tapped his favorite news app to catch up on world affairs.
Golinian prince and new mystery romance?
Matteo bit back a growl. They hadn’t had their picture taken more than twelve hours ago, and already it had made the gossip rags, just as he knew it would. He hadn’t even gotten that poor woman’s name, but he hoped that her fiancé wouldn’t be too upset.
The paparazzi had a way of destroying lives.
He held his head in his hands as the plane took off, the pressure in the cabin doing nothing for the throbbing ache in his h
ead. Silvio came up and tried to talk to him a few times, but Matteo couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Finally, the man gave up and went back to work in the back as the plane flew over the stunning blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Matteo would have normally enjoyed such a view. Instead, he tipped his seat all the way back and did his best to rest up for what was to come.
A confrontation with his father would not be pleasant, no matter what condition the man was in.
His ears popped as the plane began its descent, and he moved his seat back up and gazed out the window at his country.
His country.
He swallowed, and his throat constricted. He wasn’t ready to be king. His father couldn’t be dying. Clearly, Silvio was simply being overdramatic.
Or was this a manipulation to get him to come back home?
The stunning coastline of the island came into view as the plane curved toward the airport. Colorful houses dotted pure white cliffs as aqua waters crashed along the sandy shoreline. It was a view that was dear to Matteo, and, in spite of the situation, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sensation of coming home.
The plane touched down at the royal airport and taxied to a stop by a small hangar. When the cabin door opened, Matteo was met by a sleek black town car, the back door already open and waiting for him. He nodded to the driver and slid in, Silvio joining him shortly after. The man was tense, and his energy made Matteo even more nervous. The car ride to the palace was silent as they drove along winding roads to the palace entrance.
It was as stately as ever, with the long straight road cutting through perfectly preened gardens laid out in intricate designs. The palace itself was cream-colored, topped with the red brick that was typical of the region. The front was lined with windows that sat above three large arches, marking the official entryway. The car pulled up in front of the center arch and came to a halt on the pebbles that lined the drive.
Silvio opened the door and stepped out, not waiting for Matteo as he hesitated to exit. Normally that would be seen as an impertinence, but Silvio’s role allowed him certain exceptions. Matteo was hardly in a mood to be offended by being left behind, anyway. He opened his door and inhaled. The scent of warm grapes and the faint aroma of the ocean washed over him, as it always did. He was home.
When he stood and walked toward the palace doorway, he could feel many pairs of eyes on him as he made his way into the main atrium, the patterned tile pristine beneath his shoes.
“Matteo!”
His sister’s choked sob echoed across the smooth, high walls all around them. Before he knew it, Carlotta was in his arms, hot tears staining his rumpled shirt.
“You made it. Thank goodness, you made it,” she whispered over and over again.
He placed his hands gently on her arms and pulled her back, staring into her glistening gaze.
“Carlotta, what happened?” he asked.
“Papa has been sick for some time now. He didn’t tell anyone, not even me, and then the other day he just…collapsed,” she cried, wiping tears from her cheeks as she related the story.
“The doctors tell us that he doesn’t have much time. He’s still conscious, but he’s very weak, Matteo. I fear he won’t make it through the day.”
Matteo’s heart sank at this news. He wrapped his sister back in his arms and held her as she cried for their father. Finally, after some time, he released her, his expression grave.
“Where is he?” Matteo asked.
Carlotta nodded down the hall.
“He’s in his bed, being attended to by the finest physicians in the country. I can’t believe that there is nothing they can do!” she said, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes.
“We shall see,” Matteo said. He strode down the hall, Carlotta at his side until he reached his father’s door.
The last time he’d been in that room, they had the fight that sent him running away. He fought back the combination of anger and guilt and fear and pressed the door open.
The room wreaked of sickness. They had clearly tried to cover it up, but Matteo could sense it, the moment he stepped into the room. Silvio was at the king’s bedside, and he looked up and murmured something to the king. The man in the bed tried to move, but then went still.
It was worse than Matteo thought.
He approached the bed slowly, pulling himself by will, one step at a time. When he reached the bedside, his father’s sunken eyes took him in, and then the man coughed. A small drop of blood perched at the corner of his mouth, and Silvio quickly dabbed it away.
“Father,” Matteo said quietly.
“Son,” the king replied.
“King Giovanni, please save your strength,” Silvio said.
The king shook his head at him. It was a small gesture, but a powerful one.
“I need to speak with my son. There are things that must be said,” Giovanni said. His gaze did not leave Matteo’s.
There was a heavy silence as Matteo waited for the king to speak first. He had no idea what to say. He was too stunned by how terrible his father looked, and silenced mostly by his own guilt at staying away for so long. If he’d been here, he might have caught on to the illness sooner.
“I’m glad Silvio was able to find you, Matteo. I was hoping we’d get one last chance to bury the hatchet, as it were.”
“Don’t say that, Father,” Matteo protested.
Giovanni shook his head again.
“Don’t act like this isn’t what it is. Death is a part of life, Matteo, but I’m afraid I’ve become a stereotype, filled with regret and wishes.”
“There is nothing to regret, Papa,” Matteo said, changing to their informal address.
The king frowned.
“There is plenty, I’m afraid. Matteo, I did the best I could with you, but I failed you. I didn’t know how to be a parent alone. When your mother died, I was so lost. I didn’t know how to control the situation, so I did what I could to control you. I see now that my behavior is what drove you away, though I could not see it at the time.”
Matteo wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It was absolutely true that when his mother died, Matteo was so lost. He’d only been ten years old at the time, and when he looked for solace in his father, the man simply treated him like a soldier to be ordered about. The love and affection he received from his mother was gone, replaced by the intense, military-style control of his father. It made the loss so much deeper, and as Matteo grew, he began to fight back, to act out. He’d been happy to leave Golina because it meant being free of his father’s tight grip.
“You did the best you could in a very difficult situation,” Matteo hedged.
“All I ever wanted was the best for you, my only son,” Giovanni said. He coughed again, and Silvio was there to dab the blood once more.
Matteo felt a hand slide into his, and he realized Carlotta was at his side. The king noticed this as well, and he nodded as he stared at them both.
“I don’t have much time,” Giovanni said. “I can feel it.”
Carlotta sobbed again and knelt down, grasping the old man’s hand as he continued to stare up at Matteo.
“There is something that I need to confess to you, before it’s too late. Something that I have hidden from you for a very long time.”
Matteo waited, a sense of dread filling him. The king hesitated, then spoke once more.
“Three years ago, a woman came to the palace, demanding to speak with a member of the royal family. She was ignored, until she revealed something that made it absolutely imperative that we speak with her.”
Matteo’s brow furrowed as he considered what a strange woman could possibly hold over the royal family, or why anyone would want to blackmail them? Was it blackmail, or something worse?
“She carried with her a small baby, newly born. The mother had died from complications, leaving the boy an orphan. While we were saddened to hear such a tale, we hadn’t the slightest idea why that should concern us. You know that Golina partners with a
gencies in the United States to adopt out babies in need to give them good homes, if we can’t find them here,” Giovanni said.
Matteo had actually never once considered that fact, but he was glad of it anyway. Still, he had no idea where his father was going with this story. What was the point?
“The woman told us that before the mother passed away, she revealed the child’s birth father—a man of royal blood,” Giovanni said, his gaze pointed as he stared at his son.
Matteo waited for him to give the big reveal.
“What? Was it our uncle?” Matteo asked.
Giovanni shook his head.
“No, my dear boy. It’s you.”
Matteo’s knees stopped working, and he sat on the bed next to his father, staring down at him in disbelief.
“No,” he said. “That’s not possible. I would know if I had a child!” Matteo protested.
“Clearly not,” the king replied. “This was at the height of your rebellious phase, where clearly you were sowing some wild oats and weren’t as careful as you thought.”
Matteo considered this news, his mind reeling.
“But if I have a child, then where…” Matteo began. He glanced up at Silvio, who was scowling and refused to meet his gaze.
“I knew that a child born out of your carelessness could be a scandal from which the family wouldn’t recover. I had Silvio arrange for a private adoption, to cover up the process as deeply as possible, so that the child could never be connected to you. You know that no one would accept an illegitimate prince as Golina’s future ruler. Besides, you had already flown the coop and stopped talking to me by then, so we kept the child’s existence from you and ensured the child’s adoption was far from here. I’m sure he’s quite fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He. Him.
Matteo had a son. A three-year-old son, living somewhere, completely unaware of who his father really was.
“And you have no idea where this child is?” Matteo asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
How could he be angry with his father when the man was so close to death’s door? His emotions were roiling inside of him, threatening to burst, though Matteo didn’t know if he would scream or cry or simply collapse from it all. Instead, he sat up straight and waited for his father to answer.