‘Meanwhile you’ve perused your grandmother’s dossier and picked out the perfect bride.’
There was no sugar-coating his answer. ‘Yes.’
‘I see. You have it all worked out.’
‘Posy. I am really grateful—’
‘The villa,’ she cut him off. ‘You still need it, I suppose?’
‘Can you afford to keep it?’
Her eyes glinted then, defiant. ‘No, but Javier could without even noticing the cost. He loves it too. I could sell it to him.’
A wave of tiredness swept over Nico. That ridiculous pink villa. If he hadn’t been drawn there, hadn’t thought it would make the perfect hotel, then they wouldn’t be standing here now, staring at each other over a newly opened chasm with no way across. And sure, he had been the one to shake the ground but it didn’t make any of this easier. Not that Posy could suspect that. He knew her all too well. If she suspected for one moment he wasn’t for real, if she had any idea that he...that he loved her, goddammit...then she would insist on staying, Throw her one chance away out of misguided loyalty and an overdeveloped sense of honour. Out of pity.
Would it make any difference if she did love him back? No. Giving up on a dream was an awful lot to ask of another human being. He would never be worth that kind of sacrifice.
‘Do what you want. I’ll give you fair market price.’
She sagged then, defeated, just for a moment but it was enough. ‘Fine, have it. I’ll talk to my solicitor.’
‘Good. Posy, this is for the best. You’re meant for the stage, for dance. You need to go back to London and shine, not spend your life here shouldering burdens that were never yours to shoulder.’
She straightened and turned away to gaze out of the window. ‘You may be right. Nico, I need a moment. I’ll meet you downstairs.’
It was his turn to pause before bowing and turning away, the ring box still weighing him down, taunting him with its forbidden promise. But he knew with utter certainty it was the right thing to do. Better end it now rather than in a couple of months when letting her go would hurt more and she’d lost her chance at the promotion. Better let her go now than marry her and watch her regret her choice more every passing day. He hadn’t done the right thing for Alessandro and he regretted it every single day. Hated himself for being too selfish to free Alessandro to live his life. But he could free Posy. And maybe one day, when it stopped hurting, he’d know that he’d done a really noble thing for once in his life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
POSY STARED AT her hands and tried to formulate a coherent thought, a way of framing what had just happened, but the words slipped out of reach. Last night she had come to a realisation, this morning a decision. And sure, Bruno’s offer had thrown her, seduced her because she would always, always be a ballerina, but the last few weeks had shown her the possibility of a different kind of life. Not a normal life, sure, not a free one, but a life with purpose.
It wasn’t an easy life. She didn’t like the stuffy traditions and frosty atmosphere and customs and bodyguards and the press following her everywhere she went. But she liked it when Nico smiled with those navy-blue eyes and she knew he had her back, when he grazed her arm with the back of his hand and she trembled with sheer lust. She liked it when he noticed she was uncomfortable, whether she was trapped in a dull conversation or out of her depth socially, and he came to her rescue so smoothly no one noticed. She still had his shirt, hidden in her wardrobe, crumpled and unwashed, smelling of him, a reminder of when he had understood her, protected her.
And it wasn’t one-sided. He confided in her, relaxed with her; she knew he let down some of his defences with her. She’d felt needed. More fool her.
Sure she’d missed dancing, was lost without the ritual of it, but the theatre was a way of combining old Posy and new Princess Rosalind and changing lives for the better. There was no denying she’d have liked her Odette/Odile moment first but she was ready to choose a new path.
But Nico didn’t want her to. He wanted her to return to London with Bruno and take the promotion, and of course he was right but...
He wanted her to take the promotion.
She hadn’t mentioned the promotion.
So how did he know?
The only other person who knew about the offer was Bruno and he was busy putting his hapless students through their paces until they were perfect—and even if Nico had bumped into Bruno she couldn’t imagine Bruno saying anything. It simply wasn’t his style.
But hadn’t she asked Nico to come to the theatre? What if he had? What if he’d overheard her conversation with Bruno?
Or maybe she was delusional, clinging onto some ridiculous hope. He’d made it clear: her usefulness was at an end, her exit planned. And she would walk away with a promotion and money in her pocket. Things actually were going to work out for her. It almost seemed too good to be true...
Selling Villa Rosa would enable her to buy a small flat in London, the promotion would mean more money plus more teaching and sponsorship opportunities. She’d be a fool to not grab this chance with both hands. Who knew? Maybe in ten, twenty years’ time she’d look back at this interlude with nostalgia, her few weeks of being an almost-princess. Maybe she’d see pictures of Nico in the papers and tell her children about her romance with a prince, her very own fairy tale.
Only this wasn’t a fairy tale and Nico was no Prince Charming. She didn’t love him because he was perfect—she loved him because he wasn’t.
Posy turned and looked at the rooms; somehow they had come to feel like home. She still felt a little uncomfortable when she came in to find her bed made, her bathroom cleaned and her laundry miraculously done and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to being tailed by two six-foot-something unsmiling men in dark suits, but she loved the old palace with its maze of corridors and twisty staircases. Her Italian was coming on and she only unknowingly ignored some archaic custom three times a day now, rather than ten or twenty.
And Nico was here.
Would he tell his perfect princess bride about Alessandro? Would he host small, intimate dinners with his bride and Guido where all etiquette was cast aside and they acted like the family they so very nearly were? Would he take his bride kayaking away from the bodyguards and onlookers, buy her a picnic to eat on the beach? Would he kiss her under Neptune’s Arch until her knees buckled and she didn’t even realise how itchy sand could be until the next day when her flesh ached for him?
No, he wouldn’t. He wanted a bride he could keep at arm’s length. She had got too close. Was that why he was running?
She folded her arms. ‘Running never solves anything, Nico Del Castro.’
She’d run away once before and, if it hadn’t been for Nico, she’d probably still be sitting in Villa Rosa staring out to sea and mourning her lost life. But Nico had made her see a world that existed outside class and discipline; he’d given her the new ingredients Bruno saw in her dancing. Life. Fire.
The truth was she’d been a coward. She saw that now. Too scared to confront her fears, her failure. If she’d just gone to Bruno in the first place maybe he’d have suggested a change of scenery anyway, helped her find a way to improve, and she could have spared herself all that heartache and uncertainty. But she’d been too lost, too heartbroken to risk opening up, to allow herself to be seen in all her vulnerability.
Not again.
No more regrets. She was going to tell Nico how she felt and if he didn’t like it, didn’t reciprocate, well, she’d lived through a broken heart before, she could do so again. But she wasn’t going to just give up. Not this time. This time she was going to fight.
* * *
‘You look ready for battle, Posy.’
Posy did her best to relax, unclenching her fists and remembering to smile, but she clearly wasn’t fooling her family.
‘I thought you were dancing Juliet, not Boudicca,’ Immi teased.
‘I’m just a little nervous.’ She put on her most winning smile and beamed round at her family, who had been collected from Villa Rosa by palace drivers and were now gathered in one of the grand salons for an informal audience with Nico’s family before the ball officially started. ‘Don’t you all scrub up nicely? Dad, you look so handsome in a tux.’
‘I keep expecting someone to mistake me for a waiter,’ her father confessed, pulling at his tie.
‘If someone hands you a tray of canapés, then keep them,’ Miranda told him. ‘I’m starving. Will there be food later, Posy?’
‘We already ate,’ Immi reminded her twin, but Miranda just snorted.
‘Hours ago so we could get ready for tonight and some of us are eating for two.’
‘Don’t worry, there are copious amounts of canapés and a whole room groaning with buffet food,’ Posy assured her. ‘The baby won’t go hungry.’
She shifted, her nerves too tight to allow her to stay still. When could she get Nico alone? There were the family introductions to get through, after which they were heading straight to the September Ball, where Nico would be on the receiving line as a dutiful Crown Prince should, welcoming the island’s great and good to the palace. Then, after the opening waltz they would announce her role as Patron of the Arts for the island and she would perform her solo, followed by Bruno’s students. The chances of her speaking to Nico before midnight were slim but every second she didn’t her fears and doubts grew. Was she just going to make a colossal fool of herself?
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she reminded herself. ‘It’s time you learned to take a risk, remember?’ But taking a risk was one thing, the slow build-up another, just like the agonising crawl up, up and up on a roller coaster, the eternal wait at the top of the loop with a sheer drop before you, knowing any moment now you were going to fall but with no idea when. Her stomach clenched with fear, her legs wobbled. She really needed to calm down somehow before she danced.
She wasn’t sure how she made it through the next hour but despite her nerves it went surprisingly smoothly. Nico’s mother had elected not to attend the ball so Posy was spared that particular introduction, and Javier’s presence meant the usually haughty Queen was almost warm, unbending enough to make polite conversation with Posy’s mother. The King, it turned out, had an interest in aviation and soon he and Posy’s father were chatting away like old friends, joined by Cleve, Miranda and Imogen. The Dowager Queen had been frosty on introduction, obviously all too aware that these people knew and loved her greatest rival, but Portia used all her interviewing skills to break the ice and was soon entertaining the irascible old lady with outrageous titbits of Hollywood gossip.
Only Nico stood aloof, one hand on the ornate mantelpiece, looking more like a Regency hero than a real flesh and blood man, his features carved in stone, eyes set. Posy took a deep breath. They still had a job to do, people to fool, a relationship to fake. She walked over to him, smile steady and hands only a little shaky. ‘I didn’t imagine they would all get on so well.’
He didn’t reply for a moment, the muscle in his cheek the only sign he was actually flesh and blood. ‘Your family are lovely.’
‘They have their moments,’ she said thoughtlessly and winced. It was true they’d had their worries, her father’s health this last year, Immi’s troubles in her teen years, but they were still loving and supportive no matter what. Something Nico had never had. Something he was determined not to want, to need.
But no one could go through life alone.
Not even Nico.
* * *
You could say one thing about his timing: it totally sucked. Obviously he had had little choice. He needed Posy to accept the promotion as soon as possible, had to ensure his uncle didn’t say anything about an engagement tonight, but playing the happy couple in such intimate surroundings, Posy’s family clustered around them, was almost physically painful. The only thing he could do was turn off his feelings and detach himself from the whole situation.
Standing and watching the two families make their way through the stately dance of introductions, Nico felt more like an observer watching a play. Posy was coping better than he was—she was probably relieved the decision about her future had been made for her. She seemed a little nervy, her hands fluttering as she talked, her words a little fast, but that was to be expected. No doubt she was excited about her solo, about her future. Her freedom.
He’d have to keep an eye out, get tickets when she performed. Incognito, no royal box this time.
His uncle had frowned when Nico had informed him that they weren’t planning to announce their engagement tonight and that Posy would be leaving L’Isola dei Fiori to take up her career once more, but had accepted the news with unexpected calm. ‘I hope you haven’t driven that girl away,’ was all he’d said. ‘She’s far too good for you.’
‘I know she is.’ He’d left it at that. When his uncle found out the engagement was never going to happen he’d have the satisfaction of telling Nico that he’d told him so. Who was Nico to deprive him of that?
That detached feeling continued through the early stages of the ball. He took his place in the line, grief stabbing him as he did so. This was Alessandro’s place. As the spare, Nico had escaped the ordeal, using his time when he was younger to raid the buffet table, later on to chat up the prettier female guests. His parents, on the other hand, had always insisted on being included, needing that validation of their status. More fool them. An hour of shaking hands, remembering names and smiling at inanities left him with a headache and an urge for a strong drink. Instead he had to dance the first waltz. With Posy.
As she approached, shimmering in that dress, a goddess brought to earth, reality crashed back. His heart hammering, he took her hand, every nerve on fire where their flesh met. Her mouth was so soft, inviting, but not for him. Not any more.
But no one out there could suspect that they weren’t in love, and so he made a sweeping bow, and allowed himself a teasing smile. ‘My lady?’
Posy took his extended hand as she curtsied with her usual grace. ‘My Lord.’ She paused. ‘You can waltz, can’t you? I don’t want to dance Juliet with a bruised foot.’
‘Waltz, foxtrot and tango,’ he assured her. ‘Part of the essential princely toolkit.’
His uncle and aunt had taken their place in the centre of the ballroom floor, his grandmother allowing a bristled field marshal to lead her out. Custom dictated that the first few turns would be made by the royal family alone, the rest of the guests joining in afterwards. The ballroom glittered, every chandelier lit, the sparkling lights reflecting off a thousand diamonds and other precious stones, myriad sequins and crystals on the gorgeous, jewel-like dresses of the assembled guests. Champagne was served in crystal flutes, the black dinner jackets of the men the only sombre note—although many were wearing waistcoats as gorgeous as any of the ladies’ dresses. The September Ball was a time for colour, for celebration, and the island was known for its bright fabrics.
Posy’s hand was cool in his as he put an arm around her waist and drew her in close. He closed his eyes as he touched her supple curves, felt the heat of her through the thin fabric and inhaled her scent, a warm, spicy perfume. They had this one dance. He should make the most of it, a gift to himself, something to remember in the long years ahead.
‘Are you having a nice time?’ Oh, the inanity of that sentence. But what else could he say? I was wrong? Please don’t go? Marry me, stay with me, love me. His jaw clenched.
‘Not really.’ Posy was still smiling, her voice low and intimate. For all the people watching them knew they were whispering love words to each other. They both knew how to play the game to perfection. At that moment the first chord swelled and the waltz began.
Neither spoke again. Nico k
new he had been taught well and Posy was a dream to partner; she understood how to be led, how to respond, to follow his twists and turns with confidence and trust. The room fell away, the voices drowned out by the music until it was just the two of them in perfect time. Her hand in his, her breasts against his chest, hip to hip. It was all he could do not to pull her even closer, crush that soft mouth and claim her as his. Only his.
They should finish as they started. With a kiss. Only this time a goodbye kiss, a memory to keep him company through the years of duty and ritual that lay ahead.
Just one kiss...
The floor was filling up, laughing, smiling couples allowing themselves to be caught up in the romance of the moment. Nico navigated Posy around an elderly couple dancing in stately dignity and, without allowing himself to consider his actions, whisked her behind a curtain into a certain private alcove he had made good use of in years gone by, a low light and a small sofa making it the perfect secluded spot. They came to a stop, both breathing heavily, Posy’s eyes glazed. ‘What? Where? Why are we...?’
He didn’t allow her to finish, couldn’t allow her, pulling her closer as he had wanted to from the minute he’d seen her and kissing her with a force, a passion he hadn’t allowed himself before. Not the teasing, gentle kisses or the carnal erotic embraces but pure want, pure need. A hard kiss, a punishing one, although who he wanted to punish he couldn’t say. She froze for one moment and then her hands were around his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer.
‘No...’ She broke free, her hands pushing now so he staggered back, shocked.
What had he done?
* * *
‘No,’ Posy repeated. It couldn’t be like this, not like this. Not anger and hurt and denial all mingling together. She had to tell him first, and then he could kiss her or walk away or take her right here against this wall; her knees buckled slightly and she put out a hand to steady herself.
A Proposal from the Crown Prince Page 15
