Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set

by Rebecca Winters

  ‘Sure—unless you’d rather eat fish and chips on the quayside tonight,’ he said. ‘Your choice.’

  Like a tourist. Eating fish and chips from the wrapper, with their feet dangling over the edge of the quay. And nobody would see the princess: she’d be just like everyone else.

  And it was her choice. She didn’t have to think what would be best politically; she could do whatever she wanted, just for the sheer joy of it.

  ‘There are plenty of options,’ he said. ‘We could have fish and chips tonight, or go to the pub, or one of us can cook dinner. If you want to go exploring somewhere, we can eat on the way home. Whatever you like.’

  How long had it been since she’d been able to choose?

  ‘I think I’d like fish and chips tonight,’ she said. ‘But I’m still doing the washing up after lunch.’

  ‘Fine. Then I’ll dry,’ he said.

  * * *

  There was something fragile about Vittoria di Sarda, beneath her cool royal exterior, Liam thought. Although she was a princess, she didn’t behave as if she was entitled—unlike some of his past girlfriends, who’d demanded more than he’d been prepared to give.

  Not that he should be thinking about her in terms of being a girlfriend. He could list half a dozen reasons off the top of his head why getting involved with her would be a bad idea—for them both. She was his guest. He ought to leave it at that.

  After lunch, they headed for the beach, with Giorgio strolling a few paces behind them, looking like any other tourist checking his phone but in reality finely tuned to any situation that could become difficult for the princess. Liam had already had a long chat with Vittoria’s security detail, the previous evening, briefing him about the area and any potential risks. Given that the English royal family had houses only a few miles away, Giorgio was relatively relaxed.

  In the first part of the beach they reached, there were small children playing with buckets and spades, and Liam noticed Vittoria looking wistfully at them.

  ‘Didn’t you do that sort of thing when you were small?’ he asked.

  ‘It feels like a very long time ago, now,’ she said. She frowned. ‘You’re a couple of years older than me. Doesn’t it feel like a long time ago to you?’

  ‘No, because I still build sandcastles with my goddaughters—my best friend Olly’s girls,’ he said. ‘And sometimes Olly and I get a bit competitive and see who can build the most ornate castle.’

  ‘Men,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

  How weird it was, Liam thought, that even though she didn’t look the same—she didn’t even have the same eye colour, thanks to the contact lenses she was using—she still made his heart skip a beat. The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her. The more attractive he found her. The more he wanted to be with her.

  But she was off limits. He really needed to keep remembering that.

  He took his shoes off so he could walk along the edge of the sea; she did the same, dangling the canvas shoes by their laces as she walked along.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I walked barefoot on a beach, with the waves washing over my toes,’ she said.

  ‘The beach is a good place. The sound of the sea can drive all the worries from your head,’ he said.

  ‘Is this what you do when you’re out of sorts?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he said. ‘I’ll come here with my camera, listen to the waves and the birds, and take a few shots to ground me again.’ He looked at her. ‘Given that you live on an island, I’m surprised you don’t walk on the beach more often. Don’t you have a special royal beach?’

  ‘No—as you already know from your visit, the palace is in the capital. Although there’s a port, there isn’t a beach you can walk on.’ She shrugged. ‘There’s always the garden.’

  ‘Or the library.’

  Again, her gaze met his and it sent a frisson of desire down his spine. He could still see the woman he’d photographed on the window seat, her face all soft in the diffused light. The woman he’d almost kissed. The woman he was tempted to kiss right now: but he held himself back.

  ‘Why do you take portraits rather than landscapes?’ she asked.

  ‘Partly for commercial reasons—I get more commissions for portraits than I would for landscapes—and partly because I like the challenge of showing someone’s character through an image,’ he answered honestly.

  ‘But you take landscapes when you’re out of sorts. Is that your dream, to be a landscape photographer?’

  ‘No. I want to be one of the greatest portrait photographers of my generation,’ he said.

  ‘Nonno was impressed with the photographs you took. I saw them, too: they’re good.’ She looked him straight in the eye again. ‘But he only showed me a single one from the library. Where I was still wearing royal regalia.’

  ‘Because the others weren’t the ones he commissioned. Izzy asked me to take a photograph for her—and I took several.’

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘But you took more than the ones she showed me.’

  ‘When you were quoting Shakespeare,’ he said. ‘There’s one—’ He stopped.

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘It’s not going to be used anywhere. You have my word on that.’

  She was silent.

  ‘Vittoria,’ he said softly. ‘I keep my promises.’

  ‘I imagine you do, Mr MacCarthy.’

  She’d gone all cold and regal on him. Which he probably deserved.

  ‘Nobody else has seen it. Not even Izzy.’

  She inclined her head. ‘However, given that it’s of me, I think I have a right to see it.’

  She had a point. He sighed. ‘All right. Give me a moment.’ He checked the signal, then logged in to his cloud-based storage. Then he fished out a single picture. The one he’d taken when he’d finished the sonnet for her. Without comment, he handed her his phone.

  She stared at the portrait.

  And he could see the colours changing in her face as she looked at it—first pale, then a deep blush.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice all soft and breathy.

  ‘It’s the best picture I’ve ever taken,’ he said. ‘Without question. It’s a career-changing shot.’ He waited a beat before adding, ‘And I’m not intending to publish it.’ Because that moment was too private. It revealed almost as much about the photographer as it did about his subject: and he hoped she hadn’t worked that out for herself.

  ‘I...’ Her eyes were wide. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then don’t say anything. Just keep walking along the beach,’ he said, and held out his hand for his phone.

  She looked at the portrait once more, then gave his phone back.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, logging out of his storage space and then stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

  They walked on without speaking. As they walked on the sand and the sound of the sea worked its usual magic on him, he found the silence between them slide from being awkward to being relaxed.

  * * *

  Vittoria was completely stunned by that photograph. It felt as if Liam had captured the inner her, the one she had to mask when she was a queen-in-waiting. The woman who dreamed, who looked up at the stars and wondered at the universe.

  She’d never really felt before that someone understood her and saw who she was inside, even Rufus. Certainly not José, the man that her mother was pressuring her to accept as her husband and future consort. He was handsome and had been brought up in royal circles; but he didn’t make her heart beat faster and she hadn’t felt an emotional connection to him.

  Though she knew her duty and she’d do what was expected of her: marry a suitable man and produce the next heir to the throne.

  All she needed was a little time to steel herself for that duty.

  Her hand brushed against Liam’s
as they walked, and it felt as if she’d been galvanised.

  Why was she so aware of him?

  She’d never reacted like this to anyone before. Not the couple of boyfriends she’d had in her late teens, and not Rufus.

  Vittoria had promised herself that she’d never make the mistake she made with Rufus again. She’d marry someone who’d grown up in the same sort of world that she had and could deal with all the media intrusion. Maybe it was a little too much to ask that she could fall in love with him, first.

  Liam took her hand, squeezed it and let it go.

  She looked at him, shocked. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because right then you looked really sad,’ he said softly, ‘and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to give you a hug.’

  ‘How do you mean, allowed?’

  ‘Protocol.’

  So, even though this was meant to be her time out of being a princess, there were still the same boundaries. She frowned. ‘Do you hug Izzy?’

  ‘I have done, in the past. Purely in a brotherly way,’ he added, ‘when she’s had a rubbish day and needed the equivalent of a big brother to tell her that everything would work out just fine.’

  It was the sort of thing she would’ve done, had he been the prince and Saoirse had been the one to need a hug. And in the short time she’d known Liam she’d started to realise that he saw the world in much the same way that she did. Pragmatic, practical, doing what needed to be done without a fuss. Of course he would’ve hugged Izzy when she needed it.

  Then she found herself wondering what it would be like if Liam hugged her... Except she didn’t want a hug from him in a brotherly way.

  For pity’s sake.

  This was meant to be a respite, not time to have a wild fling with her little sister’s best friend’s brother.

  But now the idea was firmly lodged in her head and she couldn’t get it out.

  She let her hand brush deliberately against his a couple of times; the touch sent a frisson of desire through her. But she noticed that he didn’t take the hint and didn’t hold her hand. It made her feel like an embarrassed teenager trying desperately to get the boy she liked to notice her, and being turned down.

  She thought about it.

  He’d said just now that the hand-squeeze had been all about comfort; but she remembered the look in his eyes in the palace library, when he’d whispered Shakespeare to her and she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Comfort? No. She rather thought it had been something else. The same thing that was making her feel so antsy. Longing. Need. Desire.

  So what was holding him back now? And how could she take that barrier away?

  She shook herself. This wasn’t sensible. And she was sensible, businesslike Princess Vittoria, who was simply pretending to be carefree tourist Vicky. She needed to remember that.

  Even though she had to try really hard to suppress that prickling awareness—and didn’t succeed completely—Liam MacCarthy was easy to be with. The silence between them as they walked along the beach, watching dogs racing around, was companionable rather than awkward. He was giving her space, and she appreciated that.

  Then a large black Labrador rushed over, so intent on playing chase with another dog that he banged into her, nearly knocking her over.

  Liam caught her and stopped her from falling, holding her close to him.

  She could feel the warmth of his skin through his T-shirt, and it made her tingle all over.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak because she knew her voice would come out all wobbly: a wobbliness that had nothing to do with the near-accident and everything to do with the fact that he was holding her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the dog’s owner called, ‘I’m afraid the boys get a bit carried away as soon as their paws hit the sand. The little one’s ten months old and has no sense whatsoever. Are you all right?’

  ‘No harm done,’ Liam called back.

  ‘Thank you for catching me,’ she said when she finally trusted herself to speak.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  And was it her imagination, or was there something in his blue eyes—that same awareness she had towards him?

  By the time they walked back to the harbour, a queue was forming outside the chip shop.

  ‘Why don’t you wait here with Giorgio while I wait in line?’ Liam suggested.

  ‘I need to give you the mon—’ she began, and he shook his head.

  ‘Buying fish and chips for three isn’t going to bankrupt me. It’s fine. Cod and chips all right with you, Vicky?’

  She knew she should give in gracefully. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Giorgio?’ Liam checked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ the bodyguard said.

  ‘Great. Find somewhere to sit, and I’ll come and find you with dinner.’

  Vittoria sat down on the low harbour wall next to Giorgio and waited for Liam’s return. The view across the salt marshes was amazing; there were a few boats moored up on the harbour, and the long sea wall stretched out towards the beach. Couples and families were sitting on the harbour wall, too, eating fish and chips; the children all seemed to be fascinated by the gulls, who stalked up and down the quayside, gimlet-eyed, waiting for someone to drop a chip so they could swoop in and grab it.

  Nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention.

  How good it felt to be able to merge into the crowd. To be just a normal person. Not to have to school her expression and mask her thoughts all the time.

  ‘OK?’ Giorgio asked softly.

  She nodded.

  ‘He’s one of the good guys,’ Giorgio said. ‘I’m glad you agreed to Izzy’s plan.’

  ‘Nonno’s not going to be pleased, when he finds out,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’ll understand.’

  She knew what her security detail wasn’t saying. The ones who’d make a fuss about the situation were her mother and her grandmother: the ones who were pressuring her to agree on terms with José and organise the official engagement.

  ‘Put it all out of your head. You can deal with it later. Just enjoy having time off—time for you,’ Giorgio advised.

  He’d been her security detail for nearly ten years, since she’d gone to London as an undergraduate; she knew his words of advice were meant kindly. And it was good advice. ‘I will,’ she said. Except it was much easier said than done.

  They sat just enjoying the view and chatting about nothing in particular until Liam returned with three boxes of hot cod and chips. ‘I hope it’s OK, but I added salt and vinegar to all of them, because that’s the best way to enjoy fish and chips,’ he said, handing them each a box, a wooden fork and a paper napkin. ‘And I played safe with drinks and bought us each a bottle of still water.’

  ‘Lovely. Thank you so much,’ she said.

  ‘My pleasure.’ His smile made her heart feel as if it had just done a backflip.

  Summer, sunshine and the sea. Along with his nearness, it was a heady combination.

  Not wanting to say anything else in case she started sounding like a starry-eyed teenager, Vittoria concentrated on the food. The chips were perfect: hot, crispy with the tang of salt and vinegar. The fish was beautifully fresh, the batter light, and she could see exactly why the queue outside the shop was so long.

  When they’d finished, Giorgio bought them all a whippy ice-cream with a flake.

  Just like all the other tourists.

  She blended in.

  And she enjoyed lingering on the quayside, laughing and chatting and people-watching, without the worry that someone was going to spot Princess Vittoria of San Rocello in the middle of it all and turn the whole thing into a media scrum. The pressure, the weight that seemed permanently between her shoulders and made her head ache most nights, started to ease
.

  By the time they got back to the cottage, it was beginning to get chilly.

  ‘Are you tired?’ Liam asked. ‘Or would you like to walk back over to the dunes and watch the stars come out?’

  ‘I think I’d like that,’ she said. ‘But let me grab Izzy’s fleece, first.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ Giorgio said. ‘I trust Liam to keep you safe, but you know what to do if there’s a problem.’

  She nodded. ‘The panic button.’

  By the time she’d come downstairs, Liam had sorted out two thermal mugs of hot chocolate and a blanket to sit on, which he stuffed into a tote bag and slung over his shoulder. They walked out to the dunes where he spread the blanket out and handed her a mug after she’d sat down. She could see the first stars appearing, and a narrow crescent moon hung above them, reflecting on the surface of the sea. The swish of the waves on the shore and the sound of birdsong were all they could hear. It was utterly magical. Though it was also cold, and neither the hot drink nor Izzy’s fleece was quite enough to keep her warm. Liam must have noticed her shiver, because he shrugged off his jacket and put it round her shoulders.

  ‘Won’t you be cold?’ she protested, feeling guilty.

  ‘I’m fine.’ He paused. ‘Though if you want to lean against me, we could share some body heat.’

  Every nerve-end prickled.

  Was this Liam’s way of saying he wanted to hold her? Would he kiss her? Vittoria could hardly breathe. All she’d have to do was turn slightly, tip her face up to his...

  Or was he doing this in a completely platonic way, just being kind to the older sister of his little sister’s best friend?

  She was unsure about the situation—or about what she wanted it to be.

  Move closer, or stay distant?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THAT HAD BEEN a really stupid move, Liam thought.

  What had he been thinking, asking Vittoria to move closer, to share their body heat?

  He sounded like a teenager on his first date. Awkward, socially inept, and cringe-makingly embarrassing.