But first, she’d have this one week of freedom.
With him.
Matteo Rossi stared out over Lake Geneva through the huge panes of glass that spanned the whole front of the villa. It was quite the view, he had to admit that. The lake glistening in the late-afternoon sun, the snow-peaked mountains in the distance, even in June. And it was definitely in the middle of nowhere—which he was pretty sure his management team had insisted on. Nowhere for him to get into trouble, and wasn’t that the whole point of this week?
‘So, it’s nice?’ his manager, Gabe, asked on the other end of the phone line, probably happily ensconced in his office in Rome, preparing for the next race. A race where Matteo pointedly wasn’t driving, even though his broken leg had healed perfectly well already. ‘Madison promised it would be nice.’
Ah, yes, the famous Madison Morgan. Former child actress and now the owner of the M dating agency, the latest strategy Gabe and the others had hit on to slow him down, and the reason he was now stuck in Switzerland and not on the racetrack where he belonged.
‘It’s fine,’ Matteo said dismissively. He’d stayed in some of the finest hotels in the world, from Abu Dhabi to Las Vegas and home to Rome. This villa was just a building, impressive though it was.
‘And is she there yet?’ There was a knowing lilt in Gabe’s voice, a teasing note. Because Gabe wasn’t talking about Madison, of course.
He was talking about Matteo’s Perfect Match.
Matteo rolled his eyes just thinking the words.
‘No, she’s not here yet.’ But then he looked down at the terrace outside the villa and saw two women talking. One—with caramel hair and a skirt suit—was obviously talking a mile a minute, if the way her hands were waving around was anything to go by. She was pretty, Matteo conceded. But his attention was already held by the other woman, the one with her back to him.
Dark curls tumbled down her back, loose and wild, falling almost to where her waist nipped in before curving out over generous hips. From what he could tell from behind, she had her arms folded in front of her, one hip tilted out as she stood, as if she was listening to what her companion had to say but didn’t really believe it.
Her. He felt the word run through his body more than he consciously thought it, but he knew in an instant it was true. If she wasn’t the woman Madison had picked for his perfect match, then the woman was doing her job wrong.
Suddenly, the idea of this week in exile wasn’t looking quite so bad.
Except, no. Because whichever woman was here to meet him, she’d be expecting something he couldn’t give. The M agency didn’t do booty calls; his perfect match was expecting true love. Commitment. Forever.
Matteo had far too many adventures in his future to even think about settling down with someone. Which meant he couldn’t give the woman the wrong idea.
Still, they’d been matched on personality, so hopefully hanging out with her for a week wouldn’t be too bad. They could blow this place and go explore the region. There had to be some interesting things to do around here, and, if she was his perfect match, she’d be up for an adventure.
Just as long as he made it clear she couldn’t expect anything more.
‘Are you looking forward to meeting her?’ Gabe asked. Was it just guilt keeping his manager on the line so long? He’d sent Matteo here, away from his team, away from racing. They’d told him it was for his own good—a treat, even. But Matteo knew the truth.
This was a last-ditch attempt to repair his reputation—and his sponsorship deals. Apparently some of his most recent adventures had cut a bit too close to the line. Were they hoping that the lure of true love would tame him? Stop him chasing after the next adventure, taking bigger risk after bigger risk?
If they were, they were going to be disappointed.
‘I guess,’ he replied. After all, he wanted to save those sponsorship deals, too. Not to mention his career. He’d already made more money than he could spend in a lifetime, on and off the track. But if he didn’t have racing, his dream career, what would he do?
Whose dream career? The whispered question in the back of his mind surprised him.
See, this was what happened when he slowed down. He started thinking. And unless he was thinking about speed and angles and winning, what was the point? As a rule, Matteo getting all introspective wasn’t good for anybody. He acted, that was who he was. Who he’d always been.
Only since Giovanni died.
That voice. Matteo shook it away and turned his attention back to the women by the lake instead. Women, he understood. The thoughts that came to him late at night, or when he wasn’t distracted by something fun...those he didn’t want to understand.
But as he looked down, he realised the woman with the dark hair, his possible perfect match, had turned around to face him. Even through the glass, and over the distance between them, he felt it the moment her gaze met his. A feeling that hit his chest and spread through his body. And he wasn’t entirely sure he understood that, either.
It was just her curves, he told himself. The way her folded arms highlighted her perfect breasts, the narrowness of her waist and the arch of her hips. Or her mouth, full and luscious. A purely physical reaction to a beautiful woman, nothing more. Of course, it was.
‘It’s just one week, Matteo,’ Gabe was saying, when he finally tuned back into the phone conversation. ‘Just...stay out of trouble this week. Finish healing.’
‘My leg—’
‘I know, I know. The doctors said it was fine, but they also said not to push it too far, too soon. And that’s basically your motto in life, so...just take the week. When you get back, we’ll come up with the next stage of the plan to get you back out on the racetrack. But, Matteo?’
There was something in his manager’s voice that made him nervous. ‘Yeah?’
‘If you did happen to come out of this week happy, in love and ready to settle down with the love of your life... I don’t think any of your sponsors would be disappointed.’
Because as much as they wanted the maverick, risky moves that won races, they needed him to appear a good role model for the younger fans, responsible enough that people trusted the things he was selling, however tangentially.
How do they expect me to be a champion and a boring, stay-at-home guy, all at the same time? The adrenaline was in his blood. The need to live life to the fullest, to chase every dream, tackle every challenge, beat every odd—on the track and off.
Except, the last time he’d gone adventuring, the odds had beaten him. Calling Gabe from the hospital to admit that he’d broken his leg while cliff diving, two weeks before the Dutch Grand Prix, had not been his finest moment.
Everyone wanted him to slow down—just not when he was behind the wheel.
Matteo sighed. ‘Message received.’ He hung up.
Down below, the terrace was empty—and he heard the electric buzz of the front door closing and locking behind whoever had just keyed in the confidential code. A code only he and the woman who was supposed to be his perfect match had.
No sign of the other woman outside, either, so he couldn’t know exactly who was waiting for him downstairs—he just hoped he was right in his guess.
He didn’t believe for a moment that some agency could find him his dream woman based on a questionnaire—one he’d been forced to fill in while still in the hospital—or a brief video interview, which he’d done with his leg in plaster, propped up on Gabe’s coffee table.
But if the right woman was waiting downstairs—if she really was a match for his restless, reckless spirit—they might at least have found a way to stop him thinking too much. And Matteo would take that as good enough for now.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WASN’T UNTIL the door swung shut behind her, the alarm beeped, and the sound of Gianna’s car driving away down that long, private driveway faded, that Isabel
la realised this could be a massive mistake.
She was alone in a house in the middle of nowhere with a man she’d never met. Sure, Gianna said there were security personnel in the cabin down the driveway—including Isabella’s own long-term security woman, Tessa, apparently—towards the perimeter of the grounds, but what if she was wrong? What if this was a set-up? What if Gianna had been blackmailed into bringing her here? What if...?
No. Gianna never would—not for anything. One betrayal didn’t mean Isabella had to keep looking for another one around every corner, and, besides, she was a very minor royal of a very minor Mediterranean country. Nobody would go to this much trouble to set her up, would they?
Isabella forced herself to breathe slowly, mindfully, as she took in her surroundings. Modern, sparse furnishings—the opposite of the palace at Augusta with all its heavy wood and dark antiques. Bright white walls, and comfortable-looking sofas loaded with cushions and blankets in various textures and shades of white, both looking out over Lake Geneva. She supposed the interior designer who furnished the place hadn’t wanted anything to distract from that incredible view, through that all-glass wall out to the water.
She felt calmer already. This villa might not be like anywhere she’d stayed before—her family tended towards the traditional, even when travelling—but there was something about it. Something peaceful.
Hopeful, even.
This place gave her hope that she might be able to take this week to regroup, to find herself again after so long feeling adrift in her royal world.
Following The Rules was all well and good, and after everything with Nathanial she understood better than ever why it was important. But still, she couldn’t help feeling hemmed in sometimes. As if she were pushing against tightly woven walls of cloth holding her in, stopping her from stretching, from reaching out for something more.
Maybe here, in peace and solitude, she could figure out what that something more was.
Except she wasn’t alone, was she?
She heard a tread on the stairs behind her and knew it must be him. Her perfect match, if such a thing really existed.
She hoped he wasn’t dreaming of too much from this week. A fairy-tale ending with a princess, for instance. Because however nice he was, that wasn’t in her power to give. Friendship was all she had to offer.
Pasting on a smile, Isabella turned away from the lake to face him.
Gosh, he was even better looking up close. That cropped black hair, curling tightly against his skull. Those bright green eyes. And that body...tall, lean but obviously muscled; she’d been able to tell that even from a distance. Up close it was almost overwhelming, the sheer physicality of him.
He was staring at her, too. Good. At least she didn’t have to worry about being accused of ogling. She wondered what he saw. Did he know who she was? Probably not, unless Madison had told him; she wasn’t exactly highly visible outside Augusta, most of the time, and the palace had been keeping an even tighter rein than normal over her publicity since the incident five years ago.
Isabella frowned. Should she know who he was? He looked faintly familiar, in some way, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And it wasn’t as if she were particularly well up on the rich, famous and notable of Europe—or the world—either. Since her father mostly just involved her brother Leo in international business, the only men she really got to meet were potential suitors. Especially since Nate.
And none of her suitors had ever looked like this man.
‘Hi,’ he said, finally, a wide, open smile spreading across his face. ‘I’m Matteo. Matteo Rossi.’
Even the name rang a bell, but she still couldn’t tell from where.
She moved forward to meet him as he descended the last few steps, and held out her hand. ‘Isabella.’ And then, because there was no point trying to hide these things, she continued, ‘Princess Isabella of Augusta.’
Matteo’s eyebrows shot up and, instead of shaking her hand as he’d clearly been about to, he twisted it and brought it to his lips. ‘Should I bow?’ he murmured as he kissed the backs of her fingers.
He should, really, she supposed. But the warmth that spread through her from the touch of his lips on her skin was more than an adequate substitute.
‘It’s probably going to get a little awkward if you have to go around the house bowing to me all week,’ she said, after pretending to consider it for a moment. ‘I think we can let it go, just this once. Under the circumstances.’
Matteo straightened up and stepped back, but kept a hold of her hand, a wicked smile dancing over his lips. ‘Good to know, Your Highness.’
‘Isabella, please.’ Maybe she didn’t want to be a princess this week. Not with this man.
Maybe she wanted to be something more than just royal. Human, perhaps.
‘Ah, but I’m only a humble racing-car driver, Your Highness,’ he teased. ‘Are you sure it would be appropriate?’
‘That’s where I’ve seen you before!’ Isabella snapped her fingers as it came to her. Humble racing-car driver her foot. Even she knew that he’d made the rich list last year, his billions earned from racing and sponsorship deals ratcheting him up the rankings. ‘Matteo Rossi. I watched you race in Barcelona last year. You won, of course.’
That had been a treat for her. A rare trip out of Augusta with Leo and his wife. A chance to escape the stifling air of the palace, just for a few days. She hadn’t seen much of Barcelona, but watching the cars racing around the track she’d envied them their freedom. Until her sister-in-law, Princess Serena, had pointed out that they only ever went in circles, and only where someone else pointed them.
Isabella had wondered if maybe nobody had the kind of freedom she dreamed of sometimes, late at night, with the windows open. But looking at the man in front of her now...he didn’t seem hemmed in by anybody.
She would bet he could go anywhere, any time, with anybody, whenever he chose.
And he was here in Lake Geneva with her.
A nervous excitement jolted through her at the realisation. Maybe she could learn a little freedom from this man. And she had a feeling she would enjoy the lesson.
A princess. Madison Morgan thought his dream woman was a freaking princess?
Matteo hadn’t exactly spent time memorising the names and faces of European nobility, but he was still surprised he hadn’t recognised her. Hell, she’d recognised him, and he was nobody, really.
Well, he was the world champion, but what did that really mean to people who didn’t follow the sport? What did it mean to royalty?
He was still holding her hand. He should stop that.
He’d been so relieved when he’d walked down the stairs to find the curvaceous, dark-haired woman standing with her back to him again, looking out over the lake. The idea that she might have left before he found out if that instant connection he’d felt when their gazes had met meant something had been unbearable to him.
Now, he wasn’t sure what any of it meant. The Princess seemed...cautious. Guarded, perhaps. There was something in her eyes, even when she was joking about him bowing, that told him this was not a woman who let people in. Which was okay by him, since he didn’t particularly want or need anyone getting close to him, either.
But a princess. He was pretty sure she’d never climbed Machu Picchu or been bungee jumping or travelled across America in a convertible, as he’d done over the past few years. From her tone when she talked about watching him race in Barcelona, he suspected that was the most excitement she’d had in years. Just watching someone else have fun.
That was what royals did, wasn’t it? They hid away in their palaces and watched over other people actually living their lives.
Which begged the question, what was a princess doing signing up to an exclusive dating service? Let alone spending a week in a secluded location with a strange man, like him. She couldn’t really
believe he could be her perfect match, could she? And if she did, he needed to disabuse her of that idea pretty quick.
More than ever, he was glad he’d already resolved that this week would be about friendship and fun, rather than romance or anything more. He liked a risk as much as the next guy, but he definitely wasn’t Prince Charming material.
Somewhere behind him, something pinged. And then it did it again.
‘Is that...some sort of security alarm?’ Isabella asked, her eyebrows furrowed.
Matteo listened to the ping. ‘I think it’s an oven timer, actually.’
Even a place as designer and minimalist as this villa on the lake had to have a kitchen, right? And it sounded as if someone had planned dinner for them.
‘Come on, Princess. Let’s go investigate.’
Downstairs had seemed completely open plan—with sitting areas and a dining table and a well-stocked bar with stools, all looking out towards the incredible view. But first appearances could be deceiving, Matteo realised. Behind the white stone staircase that ran from the centre of the room up to the first floor was a hidden corridor—one that led to a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a pinging oven timer.
With a little trial and error, Matteo found the right button to stop it pinging, turned down the oven temperature and opened the door. There were oven gloves hanging right next to it, and he used them to lift out a steaming dish of lasagne. His mouth watered at the sight. This was proper food.
Normally, when he was training, he watched his diet carefully to keep himself at peak fitness. Everything made a difference on the track and, besides, he was usually training for something else as well—like the Machu Picchu hike, or the Paris marathon, or a cross-Channel swim.
While he’d been in recovery with his broken leg, he’d kept up the habits—keen to show the team that he was ready to get back out there the moment it was healed. But since he’d been sidelined anyway, sent to Lake Geneva to keep him out of trouble...surely a little lasagne wouldn’t hurt.
The Princess and the Rebel Billionaire Page 2