The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Absolutely.” He shuddered, adding drama to the movement, even though he grinned. “That is why I am so pleased that he and Briana have a son. Now that lets me off the hook—not that I could ever envision anything happening to my brother which would prevent him from fulfilling his duty. Now, however, for certain my life is my own to live as I like.”

  “Within reason, surely. Aren’t there still expectations from you?”

  “Some. But not nearly as many as Joseph has to adhere to.”

  “Obviously he doesn’t mind his position.”

  “No. However, there was a bit of touch-and-go when he balked at marrying Raquel and ran off to France. He insisted on traveling without bodyguards, and I for one was hasty to remedy this breach on his part.”

  Chelsa laughed at the drama of his words. “Why don’t you have the same entitlements as your brother? Why don’t you have bodyguards?” She could have sworn his chest puffed up, could have sworn she could see a burst of testosterone rush through his veins. Which was impossible. But the impression was there nonetheless.

  “I am more than capable of looking out for myself, and happy at it. Besides, I am always on the move. Being watched twenty-four hours of the day would be too confining for me.”

  And just that quickly, she was reminded of the man he was. Gentle, to be sure, loyal, loving. But he wasn’t hers to hold. He wasn’t anyone’s to hold. He was a rolling stone, happy with his life. He wouldn’t be confined.

  For a few hours, she’d forgotten about their differences, allowed herself to fantasize, to dream. And she’d started this interlude with just that thought in mind. To experience the moment, to embrace the magic of the evening.

  But the evening was over. Yesterday had slipped into the wee hours of tomorrow.

  And with the dawning of a new day came reality.

  She eased out of his arms. “Speaking of being watched, you should probably go.” It felt weird telling him what to do in his family’s home, but she didn’t know any other way to say it.

  “Why?”

  “Because it wouldn’t look right if you’re caught leaving my room. I’m a guest here, and I’m starting to feel disrespectful for acting this way under your parents’ roof.”

  “We are in a separate wing, Chelsa. Technically you are under my portion of the roof.”

  “You know what I mean. Maybe your family’s used to you having overnight slumber parties with women, but...I don’t think I’m sophisticated enough to pull off that sort of confrontation, or—”

  “Stop right there.” His voice was soft yet tense. “I have never brought a woman to the palace before, never slept with one here. And if you recall, it was my mother who assigned you to my wing of the house.”

  “Oh.”

  Antonio watched the color wash over her face. His own words rang in his mind, giving him something to think about. His mother had made no secret of the fact that she’d like to see him settled. Nerves crowded in, making him uneasy. Not the unease of regret. But strange nonetheless. Emotions he wasn’t about to analyze too deeply.

  He was attracted to Chelsa Lawrence, more than he’d ever thought he could be to a woman. But settled? He wouldn’t know the first thing about being settled.

  “However, you are probably right. We would not want the niñas to burst in and get the wrong impression.”

  He stood and pulled on his pants, then bent to give her a soft kiss. Her lips clung. A warning sounded in his brain.

  Dios, had he told her he wasn’t the settling-down kind? Yes, he was positive of it. Had she forgotten? Built sand-castle dreams anyway? Aw, hell. He had a firm rule about hurting woman. And this one in particular he would never want to hurt.

  He eased back, a mere breath, looked into her eyes.

  She smiled and cupped his cheek. “Night, Tony.”

  He hesitated. Easy words. Dismissing words. Now he was the one reluctant to leave. He was the one who wanted to cling.

  ¡Madre de Dios! He was the one building the fantasy castles.

  Chapter 12

  Antonio wanted to look in on Chelsa, but it was still early by most people’s standards, so he went in search of someone he knew was a morning person. Besides, for the first time in his life he felt uncomfortable, not knowing quite how to handle the typical morning after.

  ¡Dios! That was not an admission he would care to have leaked.

  As he’d suspected, Joseph was already in his office in the west wing, hard at work.

  “Just seeing you slaving over this desk makes me glad I am the second born.”

  Joseph looked up, cocked a brow and nodded toward a crimson leather chair. “Come in. Do what you do best—watch other people work.”

  Antonio grinned and sat, not taking offense. He and his brother often traded friendly insults. “And here I thought Briana would have cured you of snippiness by now. I shall have to speak to her.”

  “Give me a break. I’ve got to keep my edge somehow, otherwise my negotiating power is nil. Now that you are here, I can get some much-needed practice.”

  “As long as your princess isn’t within earshot?”

  Joseph grinned.

  “You’ve got it bad, mi hermano. Feel free to snarl at will.”

  “I knew there was a reason I liked having you around. Speaking of lady loves, I like yours.”

  “She’s not—”

  “Your usual style?” Joseph interrupted. “I agree. Although I’m not happy about her bad circumstances with the ex-husband, I must admit, I’m glad she’s here. I have always wanted a ringside seat to watch your fall.”

  Antonio tried for a casual tone even though his insides were jumping as though he were facing a guardrail with the accelerator stuck. “I am not falling. And Chelsa’s not my lady. I am merely doing a good deed.”

  “Is canceling your entry in the Barcelona Grand Prix also part of the good deed?”

  “Why is everyone making so much of that? Can a man not change his mind?”

  “Most men, yes. You are a different breed.”

  “I said you could snarl—not malign my character. If Joseph II was not so small yet, I might challenge you to a duel. However, since I am confident that my combat skills are far superior to yours, I will restrain myself.” He folded his arms across his chest and slouched in the chair. “I would not want the consequences of responsibility. I am much too happy being the spare.”

  “Careful, little brother. I might issue a challenge of my own. It would do you good to accept a few of the royal responsibilities.”

  Antonio grinned, thankful that he’d accomplished his initiative—to steer the conversation away from the touchy subject of him and Chelsa. And they both knew Antonio did plenty with regard to upholding royal commitments—just not to the extent that was required of Joseph.

  “Alas, if you continue to threaten my person with violence, I will be very tempted to tell Mother.”

  Joseph snorted—very unprincelike. “The day you tell on me to the queen is the day I’ll eat my royal ribbons.”

  Laughing, Antonio picked up a Baccarat paperweight, and without a care for its outrageous value, tossed it from hand to hand like a tennis ball. “At least I am back in that woman’s good graces.”

  “Yes,” Joseph agreed. “By butting into both mine and Raquel’s lives.”

  “And aren’t you glad that I did?” He rubbed the crystal against his shirt as though shining an apple. “Rocky is happy as a clam with Cole, and you, my brother, are glowing like a Christmas tree. I have always though it was fairly ridiculous to expect me to hand out advice to the lovelorn, but obviously I am better at it than I had thought.”

  “Perhaps you have been taking some of your own advice? Seems there’s an extra glow about you, too.”

  Aw, hell. Now they were back to the subject he didn’t want to explore. “If I am glowing, it is merely because the queen is not scowling at me. And I would like to keep it that way, thank you. That is the only reas
on I insisted Chelsa and her daughters come to the palace. I did not want to take the chance of falling out of favor once more in the event danger befell the Lawrences on Castillo land—the island. That’s why I brought her here. Not because I was bringing her home to meet the folks, as it were.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or your yourself, brother?”

  Antonio felt like he was mired in quicksand and sinking fast. The more he said, the deeper he sank. “Do not read more into the relationship than is there.” Just saying the words made him feel odd. Especially in light of what he and Chelsa had shared last night. Earthshaking. Powerful. A first for him.

  ¡Dios! He needed some air. Needed freedom. He’d made a vow to see Chelsa through her dilemma. That’s the reason he wasn’t heading for Barcelona right now. Besides, he didn’t need the money. A few million here and there wouldn’t make a difference. He had more money now than he knew how to spend.

  However, a quick burst of reckless speed would do wonders for him, clear the cobwebs out of his mind, perhaps shake this niggling feeling of...of, well, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Whatever it was, though, it made him nervous.

  He stood. “Care to take a spin in the Ferrari?”

  “Conversation getting too hot for you?”

  “I am used to hot conversations, Your Highness.” He deliberately misunderstood, evaded, resorted to sexual innuendo—which was his forte. Or had been. “And do not ask me to tell all. You are a married man now, and you may no longer live vicariously through my adventures.” He’d shared stories with his brother before—of women. The thought of sharing his experience of Chelsa, though, was out of the question. It was too private. Too soul stirring.

  Unconsciously he rubbed a hand over his heart. “Last chance. Nothing like speeding around in a Ferrari to get the day started right.”

  “No thanks. You go risk your neck. I’ve got to protect mine so you don’t have to take over.”

  “Always thinking of me.” He tossed the crystal paperweight, grinned when Joseph snagged it. “I appreciate it.”

  On his way to the garage, Antonio passed through the kitchen, which was bigger than the entire bungalow Chelsa had been staying in on San Alegra.

  It was still early, but the staff was hard at work. Marta, wearing a starched apron tied around her ample hips, waved a wooden spoon like a maestro and spoke in rapid Spanish as a platoon of cooks busily prepared pastries and breakfast dishes.

  Normally the royal family didn’t enter the kitchens—other than the queen when she wanted to direct the staff for celebratory occasions...or more recently, make little girls feel welcome with cookies—but Antonio had never adhered to protocol. Some of his fondest memories were of getting underfoot in this room and of Marta scolding him over his daredevil stunts or for snitching food.

  Marta claimed that she was older than dirt and that she would still be ruling these kitchens for generations to come. He believed her. And he was crazy about her.

  He slipped up behind her and kissed her cheek. “Hey, beautiful. Have you missed me?” She blushed, distracted, and he reached around her, snagging a piping hot blueberry tart.

  Marta didn’t miss a thing. She smacked him lightly with her wooden spoon. “Mind your manners, Prince Antonio.”

  “Ah, Marta, Marta.” He shook his head, inching toward the door. “I am away just a short time and already you forget that I am just the spare.”

  “Do not talk to me about spares. Now sit, show the manners that your good mother, the queen, has spent money and years to teach you. Have your breakfast like a civilized person.”

  “Can’t. Just passing through.”

  Her dark red lips pursed. “You are leaving again so soon? But what of the niñas? And their sweet madre?”

  Aw, hell, even the staff were building a relationship where there was none. “I’m not leaving Valldoria,” he clarified. “I am only going out for a while.”

  “Oh. Bueno. But do not be long. You must not desert your guests.”

  The kitchen was feeling awfully hot—just like Joseph’s office had. With a hasty wave, he let himself out the side door and walked toward the garage, a detached structure that could house no less than thirty vehicles.

  The airplane and helicopter were kept separately in a hangar next to the landing strip, and he fought the restless urge to head that way, to take to the skies and see where he ended up.

  But he couldn’t. The desire to make sure Chelsa and the kids were safe was even stronger after last night. So he contented himself with the Ferrari.

  Pulling the canvas cover off, he ran his hand over the fiery red paint job. It was a sweet piece of machinery. Compact and streamline. He could picture Chelsa beside him, her hair blowing in the wind, a radiant smile on her face.

  She was a woman who would appreciate adventure.

  Right now she had too many responsibilities on her shoulders to let herself enjoy life’s simple pleasures, but hopefully that would be over soon.

  He could just imagine her joy as he showed her his country, and all it had to offer. Maybe he’d even suggest she drive the Ferrari. He’d bet she’d handle it like a pro. And the kids would get a kick out of seeing their mother let her hair down.

  He glanced at the rich leather of the compact interior, and frowned. No back seat to speak of. Maybe he ought to think about buying a family car, something more along the lines of the Rolls or the Mercedes.

  The minute the thought surfaced, he slapped a hand to his forehead. Surely he had a fever and it was affecting his brain—or more likely, his heart.

  * * *

  Chelsa wasn’t sure what was expected of her as a guest, but surely it wasn’t sleeping past eight o’clock! She leapt out of bed and dressed in a hurry, nearly scaring herself to death when she looked in the beveled mirror above the dresser.

  Her hair was wilder than usual.

  Her stomach gave a funny tickle when she remembered the reason for the disarray, remembered how Antonio had run his hand through it last night, of how they’d practically wrestled in the bed.

  And oh, how incredibly good it had been.

  Scraping her hair into a ponytail and adding a light blue ribbon that matched the peonies in the print of her dress, she dragged the brocade spread off the floor and made up the bed. Heaven forbid if the maid came in and saw the state of the sheets with their corners untucked.

  They’d know for sure what had taken place here.

  She took a good look around the room, something she’d been too distracted to do last night. Sun streamed in the windows and glass doors. Plump cushions in restful yellows, golds and whites rested in the window seat, inviting one to curl up with a book and simply watch the world go by. The walls were painted the softest buttery yellow, contrasted with lots of wood and crown moldings painted stark white.

  A feeling of peace enfolded her like a soft old quilt, something she hadn’t expected—especially here in a royal palace. Or was it that she just felt different after making love with Antonio?

  Idly she trailed a finger over a keepsake box made of platinum and glass with a foil-print lid exquisitely rendered in cherubs and hearts. Stunning Waterford and Baccarat crystal vases held huge arrangements of fresh flowers. In addition to the roses and orchids, sachets perfumed the air, reminding her of being in a potpourri shop. She’d never quite managed to get her home to smell this way, no matter how many candles she’d lit or scented oils she’d purchased.

  The sound of giggles from the next balcony alerted Chelsa that the girls were up, and she went to their room, where the faint scent of animals vied with the orchid sachet in the suite. She looked around for puppy puddles or signs that the cat had clawed the drapes. No visible disasters were evident.

  “Good morning, girls. Did you sleep okay? Any bad dreams?” Guilt zinged her. Would she have even heard her daughter call out?

  Emily rolled her eyes as though Chelsa had forgotten a very important lesson. “Antonio said they couldn’t come back because the
y have ears and he told ’em not to.”

  “Oh, of course. Silly me.”

  “Momma!” Sophie said. “Irish and Señor Gatito sleeped wif us!”

  “In the bed?” Automatically she checked the sheets, found them unsoiled and pulled up the comforter. She didn’t want housekeeping to go to any extra work on their account. Never mind that was their job. Chelsa wasn’t used to it. “Did you keep them both here all night?”

  “Yep. But they was real good.”

  “They didn’t need to go outside?” Dear Lord, she’d been so caught up in her own runaway hormones, she hadn’t considered the possibility that the girls might go wandering.

  “Marta put newspapers on the porch,” Emily said. “And a kitty box. Briana said Irish gets accidents sometimes, but that would be okay.”

  Chelsa didn’t think so. The ornately patterned carpet must have cost the earth. “Well, shall we try to find our way downstairs?”

  “Me and Sophie know the way.” Emily slipped her hand into Chelsa’s as though sensing her unease in an unfamiliar place. “Grandmama Isabel showed us all the stairs and rooms. And there’s a swimming pool in the house! Right inside, big as you please.” This was said with a fair amount of awe.

  Chelsa was still back a few sentences, though. “Grandmama? Emily, where are your manners?” Dear heaven, she knew her girls hungered for a father and two sets of grandparents and normality like their little friends, but calling the queen Grandmama was going a bit far. “You should call her Mrs. Castillo, or Queen, uh...” She’d taught her daughters not to call their elders by their first names. Did that still apply with a queen? She wasn’t sure of the protocol. “Well, I’m sure Grandmama isn’t appropriate.”

  “But she said we could call her that. She’s in training for baby Joseph and we’re helping her ’member.” Dismissing the subject slyly, Emily turned flirty eyes up to Chelsa. “Can we swim, Momma? Please?”

  “We’ll see, honey. Right now, though, we ought to see about breakfast.”

  “Wait!” Sophie said. “Irish gots to go potty first.” She twisted the knob on the French doors that led to the balcony and carefully herded the animals out. “No, sweetie-pie,” she said to the cat. “You go in the sandbox. Puppy gets the papers. Good puppy.” She patted the poor dog so hard its back legs nearly gave out. The cat was smarter, steering clear.