“Perhaps they’ll be a good fit for Rigo or Sandro.” Darias leaned in and kissed Emma on the cheek. Heat flashed through her, and even when he pulled back she felt as if his lips had seared an impression on her skin. Her pulse raced, and she realized she was staring.
He’s just trying to convince his sister this is real.
Problem was, it felt way too real. Warmth now flooded her body, which probably would have liked to turn his quick kiss into something a lot more meaningful. “Uh,” she turned to Beatriz. “Could I use the bathroom?”
Beatriz blinked, as if astonished that such a mundane need should be mentioned in public. “Of course, my dear,” offered Darias’s mom. “Let me show you where it is. Come with me”
She threaded her arm through Emma’s and led her off along a wide hallway with an intricate pattern of black and white marble on the floor.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire!
Emma tried to walk in as dignified a manner as possible, which wasn’t easy since her cute ankle boots had a narrow heel and the floor was polished and slick. His mom didn’t say anything until they had rounded a corner and entered a second hallway, lined with tall wood doors surrounded by frothy white carvings, in a sea of light blue wall. How far away was this bathroom, anyway?
“I can’t understand why Darias never mentioned you to me,” she said at last. “The subject of his marriage came up several times at the funeral, and he never said a thing.” Emma didn’t dare look at her. She was afraid of the suspicious expression she’d see. “I suppose he wanted to ask you in person first.” She took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. “That’s so romantic, really. I’m rather surprised.”
So Darias’s mother didn’t think him romantic? She was right. He’d hired her to avoid the tiresome prospect of a real romance. “I was surprised myself. But I’m very happy,” she stammered.
All true, really. Her brother was finally safe from junkies and mobsters and had a chance to get back on his feet. She’d have an adventure and head home to a nice nest egg.
“So are we all, Emma. You have no idea! His aunt and I were so worried he wouldn’t agree to marry anyone, and there’s an ancient edict that the king must be married to take the throne. Such requirements were rather common in the old days; I suppose to ensure that the royal line continues with at least one legitimate heir. I wanted his father to abolish it, but I’m afraid he rather approved of it.”
Emma watched with horror as tears filled the older woman’s eyes. “Do excuse me. I’m not quite used to the idea that he’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Emma wanted to reach out and soothe her, but that might be against royal etiquette and she didn’t want to commit any gaffes. Darias’s mom pushed open a tall door and led her into a wide chamber with an elaborate parquet wood floor and some elegantly upholstered blue-and-ivory chairs. Huge portraits of eighteenth-century ancestors peered down at her as she picked her way across the ornate woodwork.
Where was this toilet? In Switzerland?
“It’s not far now.” Darias’s mom turned to her with a smile. Emma immediately panicked that she had the ability to read minds. “This palace was built back when everyone used chamber pots, and this first floor is all formal galleries that didn’t really lend themselves to having bathrooms installed. Don’t worry, all the bedrooms have an en suite these days.”
“That is a relief. I don’t fancy making a trek like this in the middle of the night.”
They both laughed, and it was a relief to have some kind of normal conversation with her future mother-in-law, even if she’d only know her for one year.
Finally, his mom gestured to a smaller, white-painted door in the corner of a striking blue-and-yellow room with a grand piano in one corner. “They put a lavatory in here because it was the old men’s smoking room. They needed somewhere to stagger to after they’d been hitting the champagne too hard. Darias’s grandmother always hated the room and had it redecorated as feminine as possible when she took over.” His mom’s conspiratorial smile made her smile back with genuine warmth. “Do you think you can find your way back to us?”
“Sure.” Emma tried not to look panicked. If she could make her way back to the group without GPS, it would be a miracle. When she emerged, she could barely remember if she should turn left or right. The room next door had sage green furnishings. That way.
A pretty staffer in a gray uniform smiled at her and she smiled back, hoping that wasn’t a breach of decorum. Her heels made a fearful noise as she headed into the marble corridor. Doors stretched in either direction for what seemed like miles. Could she hear voices?
She heard two people nearby, murmuring in what sounded like French, but they hushed as she came closer and she never saw them.
“Emma.” Darias’s voice filled her with relief. “We’re back this way.”
“I got confused.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. My mom loves you already.”
“She’s very sweet, just like you said.”
“See? Everything will work out fine.”
She glanced around, wondering if anyone could read into his words. She wanted to warn him that they weren’t alone. “I just heard two people speaking French nearby.”
“Probably staff.” He didn’t look worried. “Altaleone is situated in a place where several cultures meet. You’ll hear people speaking Italian, German, French and, of course, English. That’s what we grew up speaking. The Altaleone language is an obscure dialect of Italian that isn’t very useful outside of our borders. We’ll head to your room to unpack.”
“My room?”
“Until the wedding.” He lifted a brow slightly. “I told my mom you were superstitious and wanted us to sleep apart until then.”
“Thank you.” She glanced around. Not that she’d said anything at all incriminating. It was going to take her a while to relax into this charade.
The palace seemed to shrink to manageable size as she kept pace with Darias back to the foyer, then headed up a grand, winding staircase to the second floor. Tall portraits lined the walls of the staircase.
“Are these your ancestors?”
“Yes. That one is Ludovico Leone, who built this palace.” He pointed to a tall man in a powdered wig and a long velvet coat, with two black dogs at his heels. “Legend in the village says that he imprisoned his enemies in the wine cellar until they starved, then fed them to his dogs.”
“What?” She shivered, almost afraid to look at the confident, pink-cheeked man in the painting. “Is that true?”
“There’s no way to know for sure, but I suspect it was a PR campaign to keep his creditors at arm’s length. This was a very expensive palace to build.”
She laughed. “I’d imagine. Not a bad strategy, either.”
“The Altaleone people are known for being wily and defensive. That’s the main reason our tiny nation is still here despite all the upheaval over the last centuries.”
“That and the forbidding mountains all around you.”
“Those too.” He put his hand on a shiny brass door handle and turned it. The door opened to reveal a large, well-lit room with a huge four-poster bed covered in blue velvet brocade.
“I’ll certainly feel like a princess sleeping in here.”
She jumped when the door opened behind her. A young man in a gray uniform carried her two bags.
“He’ll unpack for you,” said Darias.
“Oh, no. I’d much rather do it myself.” She had packed a copy of their contract, which, now that she thought about it, was a very stupid idea. Not being used to living in a palace, she hadn’t considered the total lack of privacy. She’d have to find a way to burn that as soon as possible.
“I’ll leave you to it. Lunch will be downstairs in about forty-five minutes. Be warned. My mom and Beatriz are already planning your wedding.”
“My wedding? It’s your wedding, too.”
“Oh, yes.” He looked almost surprised. “So it is.”
Emma unpacked her bags, hiding the contract inside the folder with her birth certificate, passport and other important papers.
Then she pulled it out. If someone was to snoop through her things, looking for damning information about her, surely that would be the first place they’d look. After glancing around the room, she reached up and stuck the three typed pages up on top of the scrolled wardrobe, where they were hidden behind a decorative flourish on the front.
She dusted off her hands, then changed for lunch into a pair of dark brown pants and a fitted blouse. Everyone was quite smart—almost business casual—so she figured this would fit in. She combed her hair and put on some lipstick, then took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
She followed the sound of voices to a bright dining room with a shiny wood table set for a meal.
“Emma, come join us quick, before Darias gets here.” His mom was beaming. “I think a woman should choose the decorations for her own wedding, and he’s such an artiste he’ll probably have strong ideas about it.”
Emma doubted that, since he didn’t consider this to be a real wedding at all. “I’m open to anything you suggest,” she said, sitting in the chair his mom indicated. Beatriz sat opposite her, and the table was covered with glossy pages imprinted with the logo of some expensive design firm. “It looks like you’ve made progress already.”
To her surprise Darias’s mom seemed to blush slightly, her neck reddening. “I’m sure it sounds terrible, but I’ve been thinking about it all week. It was the only way I could get my mind off the awful events and the sadness of the funeral. We’ve been looking at monogrammed glasses and flower arrangements and the most beautiful cakes, even though we didn’t know who Darias would marry. I thought we were going to have to truck in a bride along with the extra chairs and napkins. I’m just so very happy that he brought you here.”
Emma blinked. “Me, too.” Darias really was doing his mom a favor by contracting his own bride. Otherwise his mom and sister would have probably arranged his marriage using a glossy stack of pictures of European nobility similar to these pages of expensive wedding ornaments.
“What style of dress did you have in mind?” Beatriz asked.
Emma paused. She had never given a single moment’s thought to a wedding, let alone a dress for one. And she had no idea what would be considered appropriate for a royal bride. “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing it should be long and white?”
“I think we should have the local dressmaker come and bring some samples. She’s quite famous for her wedding dresses. And we can choose the bridesmaid dresses, too. Will you be flying many friends out?”
Emma froze. She hadn’t even told her friends about Darias. She’d been so caught up in her mom’s illness and her two jobs that she’d lost touch with most of them lately. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Your parents will be coming, though?” Darias’s mom looked hopeful but wary.
“I’m afraid they’ve both passed.”
“Oh, goodness.” Her smooth brow furrowed. “You’re all alone?”
“I have a brother, but he’s…busy.” She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that her beloved firstborn son was marrying someone with a junkie in the family, let alone that he was paying for the junkie’s rehab. “He won’t be able to come either.”
Oh, dear. This wasn’t going well.
Darias’s mom’s faced softened, and Emma startled when she almost looked like her eyes were going to fill with tears. “Then, my dear, you have absolutely come to the right place, and we welcome you all the more warmly into our family.” She took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. Emma felt sudden tears rise unexpectedly at the warm gesture. “Darias’s sisters can be your bridesmaids. They’ll be thrilled to play a part in the wedding.”
Emma snuck a glance at Beatriz, who didn’t look entirely enraptured by the idea but stiffly said, “Of course we would.”
“I know it’s very soon to suggest this, but.…” Darias’s mom hesitated. “Would you consider calling me mama? I would never presume to take the place of your own dear mother, but I do hope you’ll count on me for anything you need.”
Uh-oh. Hot tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks. “That’s so very kind of you.” And of course Darias was right again. “I’d be very pleased to.” As long as she could handle each sharp stab of guilt she felt at knowing this was a business arrangement, not a true family bond being created. She wiped awkwardly at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”
“Of course you are,” said Darias’s mom softly. She pulled a perfectly pressed white monogrammed handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Emma. “A new country, a wedding, a new life—it’s enough to overwhelm anyone. Beatriz and I will do our best to make you feel at home.”
“Of course,” said Beatriz unconvincingly. “I’ll call the dressmaker.”
Darias climbed in his car, determined to drive out to the old palace, where his father and grandfather had been murdered, before one more person could try to stop him. He’d made it out there once during the frantic funeral preparations, but the site had still been a police crime scene and he couldn’t seem to get any straight answers from anyone, even about how the bodies had been found.
Newspaper accounts were disturbingly vague, and his mom wouldn’t tell him anything other than to warn him to “be careful.” Two members of the royal family dead in one day and not one suspect arrested? The injustice made his blood boil.
He left the narrow, cobbled streets of Casteleone behind and headed out into the sheep meadows outside the town. The dirt road wound up toward hillsides covered with flowers in the warm summer sunshine. The old palace was in a remote location and had once been the summer playground of his ancestors but was now rarely visited. He had never even been there himself until a week ago.
Darias drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. He hoped Emma was getting along okay with his mother and sister. So far she seemed like she would work out just fine. Except that he was far more attracted to her than he cared to admit.
Still, if a man couldn’t keep his hands off a woman in a business situation—which this was—he was hardly a man at all. He would simply have to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for the good of Altaleone and his family.
A herd of red-and-white cows did not look up from their grazing as he drove past. He shifted gears as the road grew steeper, winding toward the mountains. The dry dirt road bore the tracks of many cars, not simply the tractors that would normally pass this way. Police, detectives, the so-called security experts that the family had hired, any of these people might be milling around when he arrived at the old palace. He resolved to treat them all with suspicion.
And, if his mother was correct, he’d do well to be wary of them. They still had no idea why the royal family had been targeted.
The cows gave way to a herd of goats wandering across the fields with bells around their necks, much as they must have done for hundreds of years. Time stood still in Altaleone—it was one of the things he liked least about the place. But now that the serenity of his homeland had been disturbed, he took the affront very personally. He intended to find the killers and restore peace to his family and his nation.
There were only two cars in the wide courtyard in front of the palace. One, a police vehicle, parked almost directly in front of the main door, as if barricading it. Darias’s hackles rose. This house was Leone family property. He parked further away, by the second car, a black SUV with Altaleone plates.
“Hello?” His voice echoed off the stone facade. He had no desire to surprise the security and get shot. “Who’s there?”
He climbed the smooth stone steps toward the door, which stood ajar. Again, his sense of family honor felt offended by the casual treatment of this ancient family home. Even if no one had lived there for decades.
Darias braced himself as he stepped into the cool gloom of the interior. This remote
building always gave him the chills. And where was everyone?
“Darias Leone here,” he said, in as authoritative a tone as he could muster.
A figure dressed in black stepped out of the shadows to his left. Adrenaline coursed through Darias’s body, but he simply lifted his chin as a tall man walked toward him.
“Gibran Al Nazariyah. Your family has retained me to investigate the murders and secure your safety.
Gibran didn’t hold out his hand, but Darias wanted to feel his handshake and see what he was made of, so he held out his. Firm, solid, reasonably trustworthy. “Now that I’m back here for good, I want answers and I won’t leave until I get some. The details I’ve heard are far too vague. Where exactly was my grandmother—the queen—found?
Gibran’s poker face barely moved. “The circumstances were unusual.”
“I imagine that could be said for most murders. Tell me the exact details. I know it was in an upstairs room.” He hadn’t even been permitted entry when he’d returned for the funeral. “Take me there.”
Gibran led the way up a dusty staircase of inlaid red and white stone. The family portraits on the walls had been removed, leaving ghostly outlines. As they reached the top of the stairs, Darias saw a police guard standing outside a tall doorway.
“Why is he here?”
“We don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to tamper with the evidence.” Darias walked past the guard into the room. He was about to ask what evidence, but the words withered on his lips. In the center of the room was a tall wooden device with a hole in the middle like a medieval stocks where someone’s head would poke through. On the floor nearby, surrounded by strips of yellow police tape, lay a black leather flogger of the type used in BDSM play.
Darias stared. A horrible feeling clawed at the inside of his gut. “Was she…?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question.
The King's Bought Bride (Royal House of Leone Book 1) Page 5
