by Kate Hardy
So he’d go to see her. He’d release her from her agreement to marry him, and he’d tell her that he would support her, the baby and her mother however they needed him—just as Tia had always supported her family. If she eventually came to love him, then maybe she would come and live with him. But he was going to put her first.
Before he could arrange a flight to London, Miles called up to see him. ‘I was hoping to have a meeting with you and your mother,’ he said.
‘If it’s about Tia, I’m not in a position to discuss anything just now,’ Antonio warned.
‘It’s about Gabriella,’ Miles said.
Antonio frowned. ‘Surely Gabriella needs to be part of any discussions about her?’
‘They’re preliminary discussions so we don’t need to bother her just yet,’ Miles said.
‘What about Luca?’
‘Prince Luca,’ Miles said, ‘is otherwise engaged at the moment.’
Antonio sighed. ‘I really need to be in London. When do you need the meetings?’
‘If your mother is free, we could start now,’ Miles suggested.
Maria was available, so Antonio joined her in Miles’s office.
‘We’re having a presentation ball for Gabriella before the coronation, to welcome her to the country,’ Maria said.
‘That’s nice,’ Antonio said, wondering just why he was needed at this meeting. Surely they didn’t need his input into a ball?
‘And we need to think about possible marriages for her,’ Miles added.
Oh. So that was it. Politics. Antonio folded his arms. ‘If you want my honest opinion, I think we should call a halt to this discussion right now. Gabriella should choose her own groom. The last arranged marriage for this family didn’t work out well for anyone.’
‘That’s true,’ Maria said, ‘and we do need to repair relations between our countries.’
Diplomacy and palace politics. The two things Antonio loathed most. ‘I still think Gabriella should choose her own groom. It’s the twenty-first century.’
‘The word is that Prince Cesar has broken up with his girlfriend,’ Miles said. ‘And he will be attending Gabriella’s presentation ball. He’s been called home to welcome her.’
Antonio snorted. ‘I hope you’re not marking him out as a potential match, Miles. Cesar Asturias is a smooth operator, a playboy who doesn’t take women seriously—and I’m not sure he’s good enough for my sister.’
Maria said gently, ‘Things aren’t always what they seem. Remember, the media calls you a playboy as well. Your girlfriends don’t exactly last a long time.’
‘Because I never found the right one,’ Antonio said, ‘and I hope that’s just about to change.’ He looked pleadingly at his mother. ‘Do you really need me in these discussions? I think you should talk to Gabriella, not to me.’ He took a deep breath. Time to tell them how he felt. ‘Mamma, Miles—right now, I don’t want to be here discussing politics. I want to see Tia. I need to tell her...’ The words stuck.
‘Tell her what’s in your heart,’ Maria advised, and gave him a hug. ‘Good luck.’
‘Good luck, sir,’ Miles said, shaking his hand.
To get Tia to really listen to him, Antonio thought, he was going to need more than luck.
And if his words froze on him again when he was talking to her, he was really going to be in trouble. Maybe he should write them down. Just to be sure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LONDON FELT GREY, dull and dingy after the bright, open spaces of Picco Innevato.
But Tia’s time in Casavalle had all been a lie. She knew she’d be very stupid to let herself believe otherwise.
She’d been such a fool. Fancy thinking that Prince Antonio might really care for her.
And now she was going to be trapped into marriage with a man who didn’t love her. And was marrying her purely for the baby’s sake. This was utterly ridiculous in the twenty-first century, but she supposed things were different when you were a Royal. If she said no, that would mean the press would hound her mother, and Tia couldn’t let that happen. She’d do anything to protect her family.
She rested her hand on her bump. ‘Why couldn’t he have just let us disappear back here?’ she whispered.
The baby didn’t kick.
Yeah. She had no idea, either.
There was a gentle knock on her door. ‘Tia?’
She forced herself to look all smiling and happy. No way was she going to let her mother know what an idiot she’d been. She didn’t want Grace to worry. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘I thought you might like to see these,’ Grace said, coming into the room with a box that Tia recognised as being full of Nathan’s things.
‘I’m not sure I can face that,’ she admitted.
‘I think you need to see what’s in here,’ Grace said gently. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Tia sat staring at the box for a long, long time. Then she removed the lid.
Inside were books and papers. On the very top was a photograph of Nathan and Antonio in their fatigues, smiling, their arms round each other.
Her eyes prickled. How much she missed her brother.
And the man with him in the photograph—that was the man she’d let herself fall for. Except he didn’t really exist, did he?
She turned the photograph over and recognised the handwriting on the back. Nathan’s handwriting.
A—the dream team on a good day N
Why was a photograph that had a message obviously addressed to Antonio in Nathan’s belongings? Had her brother never sent it?
The next thing in the box was a letter. Except it wasn’t to Nathan—or from Nathan. It was a letter to her mother.
She was about to fold it up again, rather than pry in her mother’s things, when she noticed the address at the top of the page.
Picco Innevato.
Antonio’s house.
Why would Antonio be writing to her mother?
Was this her mother’s way of trying to tell her something?
Frowning, she read on.
Dear Mrs Phillips
I would like to apologise sincerely to you for the way in which I broke the news of Nathan’s death back in January. I should have told you back then that Nathan was like a brother to me, and I miss him terribly. I should also have been there to support you and Tia in your grief.
My only excuse, such as it is, is that I find it very hard to show my feelings. I grew up knowing that duty should always come first. But I want that to be different for my child, whether the baby is a son or a daughter—I know the baby will be loved because Tia is his or her mother, and she’s amazing.
I apologise, too, for the way in which I’ve behaved towards Tia. I truly didn’t intend to abandon her, or you. It feels like a weak excuse, but we’ve had a lot of unexpected events in our family over the last few months and it’s been a struggle to deal with them.
Your daughter is an amazing woman. She deserves more than I can ever give her. I have asked her to marry me, and I know she thinks my sole motivation is that the baby will be fourth in line to the throne of Casavalle. But I think a lot of your daughter and I want to be a full part of our baby’s life.
I should have asked your permission before asking her to marry me, and I apologise for my forwardness. With your permission, I should like to ask Tia again if she will marry me. It has nothing to do with convention and everything to do with who she is and how she makes me feel.
I am trying to be more open about my emotions, and I hope that she and our baby will find it in their hearts to help me.
I thought that you might like this photograph, taken on the mission before Nathan’s last one. It means a lot to me, but I think you should have it.
With kindest regards
Antonio Valenti
The date was yesterday.
&n
bsp; The day of the children’s Christmas party.
The day when she’d fallen asleep on the sofa; when he’d woken her later, she’d realised that he’d tucked a fleecy blanket round her.
And this letter, where he said that he thought a lot of her... Antonio wasn’t one to talk about his feelings. He was aloof and formal and royal. So this was tantamount to saying that he loved her.
She couldn’t quite take it in.
Did he love her?
Had she misjudged him?
Frowning, she went out into their kitchen, where her mother was sitting at the table.
‘Are you all right, love?’ Grace asked.
‘Confused,’ Tia admitted. ‘When did you get that letter?’
‘Today, when the car brought you back from the airport,’ Grace said. ‘And there were two parcels, too, with a note asking me to let you rest for a bit before giving them to you.’
‘Parcels?’
Grace indicated the two boxes on the kitchen counter-top, both perfectly wrapped.
Tia opened the smaller one first, and caught her breath. It was the etched glass bauble for the tree.
In silence, she handed it to her mother.
‘That’s beautiful. Is that where you were?’ Grace asked.
Tia nodded. ‘He said he bought it for the baby. For the tree.’
‘Just like your father and I used to buy a new decoration every year for our tree,’ Grace said softly.
With shaking hands, Tia undid the scarlet ribbon on the second box. And she had to bite back the tears when she saw the snow globe nestled among the packing peanuts that protected it: the beautiful filigree star suspended in a perfect orb, except she hadn’t wanted to spend the money on herself.
When had he bought this?
Perhaps when she’d been browsing at the candle stall yesterday. He must have gone back and bought it especially for her.
Antonio Valenti might not say a lot, but he noticed things. He’d seen how much she’d liked it. He’d guessed that she didn’t want to spend money on herself when she had the baby to think of, and he’d bought it because he’d wanted to do something nice for her, give her something that she’d denied herself.
Especially given what he’d written to her mother, that snow globe was a definite declaration of love. It wasn’t the cost of the item; it was the thought behind it.
With horror, Tia realised that he really did love her. And he hadn’t been able to tell her exactly how he felt because he’d been brought up in a formal, public world where he’d always felt forced to hide his emotions away. She hadn’t made it easy for him to talk to her, either.
This year, he’d been emotionally swamped: he’d lost his best friend, actually been there when the land mine had exploded and seen Nathan killed; he’d lost his father; and then his life had been turned upside down with the revelations about his brother’s fiancée cheating on him and the existence of his half-sister.
And then she’d come along, six months pregnant, and informed him that their one night together had had consequences and he was going to be a father.
No wonder Antonio had had trouble talking about it. It was an overwhelming amount for anyone to deal with, let alone someone who wasn’t used to talking about his feelings.
She’d pushed him away because he couldn’t tell her how he felt. She’d made the assumption that he’d manipulated the situation with the media, so she’d be forced to marry him and make the baby his heir. Yet had she been fair to make that assumption? If she looked at what he’d actually done... He’d taken her away from the public glare of the palace to his family’s private home, the place where he’d spent the summers during his childhood.
He’d tried to make a proper family Christmas for her, choosing a tree and decorations with her and then cooking her Christmas dinner. He’d agreed to fill in for the Father Christmas who’d broken his leg—the kind of role she knew he’d never done before, simply because she’d asked him to. He’d kissed her under the mistletoe, shown her with actions rather than words how he really felt about her.
And, because he hadn’t had the words to tell her, she’d assumed the worst.
How could she have been so stupid—and so unfair?
And this was the last straw. For the last year, she’d tried so hard to be strong, kept all her worries locked inside. Now tears slid down her face. She cried not just for her brother, but for the man she loved, for her mum, for her dad, for her baby and for herself.
Grace wrapped her arms round Tia. ‘It’s going to be all right, love.’
‘How can it be? I’ve messed everything up. I’ve hurt Antonio; and I just don’t know what to do.’
‘I do,’ Grace said. ‘Talk to him. Go back to Casavalle and tell Antonio how you really feel about him.’
‘I can’t leave you in London, Mum.’
‘Yes, you can. I’ll be fine,’ Grace said firmly. ‘I’m managing. Yes, I’m still going to have bad days, but I have support here. And I’ve always felt terrible about you putting your own life on hold because of me. I know you love me and you worry about me—but that’s how I feel about you, too. And it’s about time you started living your own life instead of trying to fit everything around me.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘But nothing,’ Grace cut in. ‘All I want is to see you happy. Go to Antonio and tell him how you feel about him.’
‘What if he’s changed his mind? What he said in that letter... I didn’t give him a chance to tell me any of that.’
‘Give him a chance now. It’s not too late.’
‘But...how can he be with me? How will his family ever accept me?’
‘They’ll love you as much as he does,’ Grace said. ‘I know your father’s family didn’t accept me, but not everyone is like them.’
‘But he’s a prince, Mum!’
‘Think about how he was with you in Picco Innevato,’ Grace counselled. ‘That’s the private man—the man he really is. One who cares. One who might not be very good at telling you how he feels, but look at that photograph.’ She brought the newspaper over to Tia, showing her the front page. ‘The look on his face when his hand’s on your bump and he’s feeling the baby kick. You’re looking at him with exactly the same expression. You love each other, Tia. You just need to give him the chance to learn how to tell you.’
Tia hugged her mum and cried even more, letting out all the misery and loneliness she’d hidden away for the last year.
And then, once she’d washed her face, she started packing.
She was halfway through when their doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get it,’ Grace called.
When her mother didn’t call her, Tia continued packing, assuming that it was a courier wanting them to take in a parcel for their neighbour.
But then Grace knocked gently on her door. ‘I’m just going next door to see Becky. And you have a visitor.’
‘A visitor?’
‘Remember what I said,’ Grace said softly. ‘Give him a chance.’
Tia’s pulse leaped.
Had Antonio come for her?
‘I’ve made you both a cup of tea. You need to talk,’ Grace said.
Tia followed her mother into the kitchen. Antonio was sitting there as if he belonged—but how could a prince belong to her world?
‘Good luck,’ Grace said, patting his shoulder, then left the flat.
Oh, help.
What did she do now? What should she say?
In the end, she fell back on a simple, ‘How was your flight?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
His face was as impassive as ever. She didn’t have a clue what was going on in his head. Was he here to follow up on the letter he’d written to her mother, to try to tell her how he felt? Or was he here because he’d had time to think about it and had changed h
is mind?
‘Why are you here?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.
‘I’ve come to release you from your agreement to marry me.’
It shocked her so much that she ended up sitting down at the table with him, knowing that her knees simply weren’t going to support her.
He wasn’t here to follow up on that letter. She was too late. He’d changed his mind.
‘What I did was selfish,’ Antonio said. ‘I railroaded you into agreeing to marry me. I didn’t give you the choice and I was wrong. You’re a strong, independent woman and you’re amazing.’
Tia couldn’t quite get her head round this. Was he breaking up with her, or was he trying to tell her something else?
‘I’m not very good at showing my emotions,’ he said. ‘That’s true of all the Valenti men—my father, my brother and me. But when you stayed with me at Picco Innevato, you taught me so much. You taught me how to feel—and that it was OK to admit I love someone.’
She stared at him, still not quite comprehending.
‘I’m making a mess of this,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’m trying to tell you that I...’ He paused.
That he what?
That he loved her?
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it. ‘“I love you, Tia. I want to marry you, but only if you want to marry me. I’m not asking you out of a sense of duty or of honour, just because you happen to be pregnant with my baby. I’m asking you because I want to be with you.”’
She looked at him. ‘Are you reading that to me?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Because I can’t do the words otherwise. They freeze in my throat. I don’t know how to say it. That’s why I wrote everything down on the plane, in case I froze. So, yes, I’m reading from a script, because otherwise I can’t do it and I don’t want you to think...’ He blew out a breath. ‘I’m off script. I’m stuck.’
He loved her.
So much that he’d written it down to make sure, with his usual military precision, he got it right.