Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set

by Rebecca Winters

  ‘I disagree. Marriage should be all about love,’ Vittoria said.

  ‘I know you loved Rufus, and he loved you—but he wouldn’t have been able to cope with life as your consort,’ Maria said, this time a little more gently. ‘You need someone who’s been brought up with this background, someone who won’t buckle under the pressure. It’s not an easy thing to do.’

  ‘I need more than that,’ Vittoria said. ‘I need someone who loves me for me. Who sees me for who I am, underneath all the trappings of royalty.’

  Someone like Liam MacCarthy.

  ‘It doesn’t happen like that for people like us,’ Giulia said.

  Vittoria looked at her grandmother, shocked. ‘Are you saying you don’t love Nonno?’

  ‘Of course I love your grandfather. But I had to learn to love him,’ Giulia said.

  ‘Just as I learned to love your father, and just as you will learn to love José,’ Maria added.

  ‘With respect, Mamma and Nonna, I disagree. I know traditions are important to you both, but traditions should underpin a monarchy, not lock it into the past.’ Vittoria lifted her chin. ‘Society changes, and a monarchy needs to change with its people, so it stays relevant. I want our country to be at the forefront, not seen by the rest of the world as a place that can’t move on.’

  Her mother and grandmother frowned, but at least neither of them was trying to shout her down. This time, perhaps, they were listening to what she said.

  ‘I worry about you, Rina.’ The use of the pet name alerted Vittoria. ‘I was so worried when I found out you’d taken this ridiculous secret break.’

  Worry. That was the crux of it, Vittoria knew. Her father had died in a sailing accident—and Maria was clearly panicking that something might befall her eldest daughter in the same way. It was why she wrapped both her daughters in a suffocating mix of cotton wool and tradition.

  ‘Mamma, I didn’t take any reckless risks. I stayed well away from the edges of cliffs, and I didn’t swim out of my depth or anywhere near a riptide. No water-skiing, no paragliding, nothing to worry about at all. I was perfectly safe. Giorgio was with me.’ Something suddenly occurred to her. The last thing she wanted was for her security detail to get into trouble. ‘It was my idea, so don’t blame him, Mamma. He did his job perfectly, keeping me safe. And Nonno was fine about it.’ Which was true. After a slightly uncomfortable interview, King Vittorio had come round to his granddaughter’s point of view.

  ‘I know you think we wrap you in cotton wool,’ Maria said. ‘But we lost Francesco.’

  ‘We couldn’t bear losing you, too,’ Giulia added. ‘It was bad enough when you went to study in London. Every time we turned on the news and heard about an accident or a fire or some terrible thing happening, we worried.’

  ‘And when nobody knew where you were, these last few days... We were frantic,’ Maria said.

  ‘Izzy knew,’ Vittoria said gently. ‘And I’m pretty sure Giorgio would have called Nonno if he thought I was taking too much of a risk.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know you both love me—as I love you—and I understand that you worry about me. But I need to live. I can’t be a good ruler if I feel stifled all the time. This isn’t about disrespecting you, but we need to find a better compromise. One where you worry less and I breathe more.’

  ‘So you refuse to marry José,’ Maria said.

  ‘I do,’ Vittoria confirmed. ‘Becoming queen will be hard. I need you both on my side, not fighting against me.’

  ‘We just don’t want you to make a mistake,’ Giulia said. ‘Rufus was a mistake.’

  ‘Maybe if we’d supported him better, taught him how to deal with the royal lifestyle, it could have worked,’ Vittoria said. ‘I can’t change the past. But I’m saying no to José. I will discuss it with you—of course I will, because you’re both important to me—but at the end of the day I need someone I can feel comfortable with. Someone I can trust.’ Someone like Liam—though she knew that was too much to wish for. ‘And, while you’re thinking about that, I’ll go and get some more coffee from the kitchen.’

  ‘You’re going to be the queen at the end of the year,’ Maria said. ‘The queen doesn’t go to the kitchen on an errand.’

  ‘Actually, Mamma, I think the queen should go to the kitchen on an errand, from time to time. The castle doesn’t run itself. I have a responsibility to the staff here—to make sure they’re properly supported in their jobs. Which I can’t do if I don’t have a clue what’s going on or who any of them are, or what they do. A good leader understands a business from the bottom up—and nowadays a monarchy is equivalent to a business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not going to be a figurehead queen. I did my MBA in London, remember. I understand the challenges a business faces, and I’ve always intended to be a working queen. One who listens to her subjects and does her best for her people and her country.’

  Maria was clearly about to say something, but Giulia placed a hand on her arm. ‘Our girl has a point, Maria. And we’ve always taught her to respect our staff—we cannot function well as a monarchy without them. Understanding what they do will deepen Rina’s understanding of our people.’

  Maria looked at her. ‘You’re not a little girl any more, Rina. You’ve grown up.’

  Vittoria hadn’t been a little girl for a long, long time. But it was good that her mother had finally noticed. ‘I’ll always be your daughter, Mamma,’ she said gently. ‘But, yes, I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Good ones. Ones I’ve thought through.’

  Giulia’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Your father would have been so proud of you.’

  ‘I hope so. And I hope I’ll make you both proud of me, too. You’ve both taught me so much,’ Vittoria said. ‘But, please, call off the negotiations with José’s family. It isn’t fair to either of us.’

  Maria and Giulia looked at her for a long, long moment.

  Then Maria nodded. ‘All right. We’ll do it your way.’

  Vittoria hugged them. ‘Thank you for trusting me,’ she said. ‘And in future I’ll try not to worry you.’

  ‘And we,’ Giulia said, ‘will try not to make you feel so smothered.’

  * * *

  ‘Thanks.’ Liam took the parcel from the postman. He hadn’t ordered anything online, and he wasn’t expecting anything. The address on the front was in handwriting he didn’t recognise. Frowning, he looked at the back. There was a London postcode, but the surname didn’t mean anything to him.

  Still puzzled, he opened it to discover a hardback biography of his favourite photographer. There was nothing else in the parcel; he opened the flyleaf, and then he saw the inscription.

  Liam. Thank you for everything. Vittoria.

  It was a book he’d been meaning to order for himself. She must’ve remembered him saying how much he admired Karsh. Typical Vittoria, having perfect manners and sending her host a thank-you gift.

  But in those six words there was definite finality.

  She’d used someone else’s surname when posting the book—he assumed either Giorgio or Pietro.

  But it would be rude not to thank her for the gift, he told himself, ignoring the fact that part of him was jumping at the chance to contact her again.

  He emailed her.

  Thank you for the book. I’d been meaning to order a copy. Liam.

  The reply came later in the day. Short, polite, but not inviting further conversation.

  You’re very welcome. Vittoria.

  Time to leave it, he thought, and buried himself back into work.

  * * *

  ‘What’s this in aid of?’ Liam asked a few days later, eyeing the excellent coffee and wholemeal chicken salad sandwich that Saoirse had brought him, along with an apple.

  ‘I’m just making sure you eat something nutritious. You’ve skipped dinner three times in the last week, so either you’re forgetting to ea
t because you’re so busy, or you’re stuffing your face with fast food because you’re hungry and it’s quick. Even if you scoff junk for the rest of today, I’ll know that, if you’ve eaten this, you’ll have had two of your five portions a day. And that’s probably better than any other day this week.’

  Bless her. She was trying to look after him, the way he’d looked after her for years. He gave her a hug. ‘Love you, Sursh.’

  ‘Love you, too. But I really am worried about you, Liam. You’re working crazy hours, even by your standards.’ She pulled back slightly. ‘Can you delegate anything to me, or maybe hire an assistant?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Telling her the truth would mean admitting that he was trying to keep himself too busy to think about Vittoria. ‘I’m fine. You know what my job’s like, all peaks and troughs. I had a few days off recently, and now I’m making up for it.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did something happen while you were away?’

  Yes. I fell in love with your best friend’s sister and I don’t know what to do about it, so I’m burying myself in work. ‘No,’ he fibbed.

  She didn’t look as if she believed him. ‘You always take a gazillion pics when you go to Norfolk. You haven’t shown me a single photograph, this time.’

  He’d taken photographs. He just didn’t want to show her, because they were a dead giveaway and he wanted to protect Vittoria as well as himself. The princess all dreamy in the bluebells; the princess relaxing by the sea and unbending into a woman he wanted so much it was like a visceral ache. ‘I was busy showing Izzy’s sister round.’ And falling in love with her. He pushed the thought away. He couldn’t afford to fall in love with her. They didn’t—couldn’t—have a future.

  ‘Vittoria’s been acting weirdly, too. She’s been really quiet with Izzy. And she tells Izzy everything.’

  Liam knew that wasn’t strictly true. Vittoria obviously hadn’t told Izzy about their near-kiss at the palace, or Izzy would’ve told Saoirse. And Vittoria definitely wouldn’t have told Izzy about their stolen night together. She’d also sworn him to secrecy about how lonely and isolated she felt at the palace, asking him to keep it from Izzy—to protect her little sister from the knowledge. But she’d shared it with him... ‘She’s probably just busy, catching up on all the stuff she didn’t do when she had those unplanned days off over here.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Saoirse shook her head. ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

  Liam had no intention of explaining it to her. ‘I honestly think you’re worrying over nothing. But thank you for the sandwich.’

  After his sister had left, he leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. So Vittoria was acting weirdly and being quiet with her sister. That was exactly the way Saoirse was complaining that he was behaving. So what did that mean? Was she missing him as much as he was missing her? Did she lie awake at night, wondering if there was some kind of middle way where she’d get to do her regal stuff, he’d get to follow his career dreams, and they could be together?

  He had no idea.

  They’d said it was goodbye. They both knew there was no point in dragging things out, trying to cling on to some form of friendship. Even when she’d sent him the book and he’d thanked her for it, there had been a tacit agreement that it was over.

  But maybe it wasn’t.

  Maybe it was time to open up a conversation and find out how she felt.

  And he was shocked to feel a weird flicker somewhere around the region of his ribcage. He couldn’t quite put a name to it, but he thought it might be hope.

  Talking without words.

  It was what he did for a living: telling a story through a picture.

  Maybe this was the way forward.

  Later that day, he searched through his digital archive and fished out a shot of a rose that he’d taken during a shoot in a garden.

  A single red rose.

  How would the future Queen of San Rocello interpret his message? And, more importantly, was he fooling himself—or would she reply?

  * * *

  A picture of a rose. Without comment. There was definitely meaning in this, Vittoria knew. Liam wasn’t the sort of man who’d send something at random. It was deliberate. A red rose. Was Liam referring to what she’d told him about walking in the palace gardens when the roses were in bloom, and feeling close to her dad? Was this his way of telling her he missed her?

  She definitely missed him. In odd little moments during the day, when she found herself looking at the photographs she’d taken of him, and wished she was back under the stars with him. Or when she woke in the middle of the night and her bed felt much too wide, and she wished she was back in that little room overlooking the sea. It wasn’t just loneliness; it was his company she missed. Waking in his arms and talking, as they had on that last morning. With him, she could be herself. And she missed that, too.

  She closed her eyes, and for a mad moment she could imagine him brushing her lips with a rosebud, until her mouth parted and he dipped his head to kiss her...

  Oh, for pity’s sake. This mooning around had to stop. She needed to be sensible.

  OK, so she’d managed to talk her mother and her grandmother round on the subject of her arranged marriage, but that didn’t mean that she could have a future with Liam.

  Then again, he’d sent her the photograph.

  Was he expecting a reply? Hoping for a reply? Waiting to see what she did next?

  Why hadn’t he sent her a proper message? Traditionally, a red rose meant true love, so was this his declaration?

  And what should she say to him?

  She shook herself. Ridiculous. She’d been training for her role for so long. She knew exactly what to do and say in almost every situation, and she was bright enough to work out what to do in situations that were new to her.

  Except this one. Because she couldn’t think straight where Liam MacCarthy was concerned.

  He’d sent her a picture without a comment. So perhaps she should do the same.

  She’d picked up a shell from the beach on that last day. She fished it out of the drawer where she’d stored it, took a snap of it on her phone, and sent it to him without a single word of explanation.

  * * *

  A seashell?

  What on earth did Vittoria mean by a seashell? Liam wondered.

  He remembered that she’d picked one up from the beach on their last afternoon together. After he’d told her that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Had she sent him a picture of the shell to remind him of that conversation? Or was it a reminder of their first evening on the beach near the dunes, when they’d watched the stars come out and he’d kissed her? Or maybe it was a warning, a reminder of that last morning, when they’d woken together in the room with the view of the sea and agreed that this was goodbye.

  He drummed his fingers on his desk as he thought about it. The longer he dwelt on it, the less he could work out what it meant.

  It was his own fault. He’d been the one to start this, sending her a picture without a caption. A picture was meant to be worth a thousand words. This seashell was the equivalent of two single-spaced A4 pages of text. Was he reading things into the picture that weren’t there? What was she trying to say to him?

  And what did he want to reply?

  The obvious thing to do would be to send a photograph of a bluebell. But flowers, he knew, had meanings. Everyone knew what a red rose meant, but what about bluebells? He needed to be sure that he wasn’t sending her the wrong message. Checking online told him that the bluebell was a legally protected flower in England—who knew what she’d make of that?—and that in the language of flowers it was a symbol of constancy and everlasting love.

  Two flowers in a row, expressing love. Wooing her with flower photographs. Wooing her, when he knew it couldn
’t possibly work out between them. The princess and the photographer. They were worlds and worlds apart. This was insanity.

  But he couldn’t get Vittoria out of his head. He thought about her all the time. And he had a nasty feeling that this weird feeling, the one he couldn’t pin down, might just be the ‘everlasting love’ signified by a bluebell.

  And he really didn’t know what to do about that.

  Knowing it wasn’t a sensible idea, he sent the photograph to her.

  * * *

  Bluebells?

  Vittoria stared at the picture.

  It was an English bluebell, with narrow bells down one side of the stem only. Liam was definitely reminding her of their conversation that last morning. When he’d told her he wished he’d asked her to take out the brown contact lenses in the woods, because her eyes were the same colour as the bluebells.

  Were they the same colour as bluebells?

  She left her desk and headed for the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror.

  Eyes the colour of bluebells...

  She and Liam hadn’t spoken since he’d dropped her at Izzy’s flat. They’d agreed that it was over. Neither of them had messaged the other—except for his email to her with the access code for his website, the brief exchange when he’d thanked her for the book, and now the photographs.

  * * *

  What was he telling her, this time?

  And what should she reply?

  She went back to her desk and logged in to the private gallery on his website. Then she zoomed in on one of the photographs she’d taken of him in the bluebell wood.

  He’d said that a portrait showed you who someone was.

  He’d also said that these were pretty much stock male portrait poses.

  And here he was, his right hand up so it almost cupped his chin, his thumb to the side and his index finger across his slightly pouted lips.

  Almost as if he were saying, ‘Shh.’ Telling her what she was seeing was secret.