The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  He saw the way her blue eyes flared with excitement, saw the mask come down, saw her hesitate.

  “Ah, you are caught and you might as well be good about it. You have been working like a demon and I am feeling quite the bum.” He held out his hand. “Come. Take a walk with me in the sunshine. Let me listen to that sweet Southern voice.”

  Her lips turned up in a reluctant smile. “You’re so full of it, Prince.”

  He tsked. “Now, now. Do not be elevating my status. Especially within hearing of my brother. He will put me to work.”

  “I’ve seen you working this week, and it didn’t look as though anybody was twisting your arm. You’re a fraud, Antonio Castillo.”

  “Ah, you do know how to put my ego in its place. Although I am happy to hear you admit you have watched me—especially since you have been so adept at avoiding me.”

  Chelsa laughed. Oh, she had missed him. “I don’t think there’s a place big enough to hold your ego.” She didn’t acknowledge or deny his comment about avoidance. “But regardless, you’re far from a bum.”

  The sound of chisels meeting stone echoed from the high ceilings. She looked up. A balcony where minstrels serenaded on special occasions was covered with plastic as masons busily worked on some sort of statue. It was this noise that had distracted her from working and had caused her to run into Antonio, something she had been avoiding lately.

  Now her curiosity got the better of her.

  “What are they doing up there?”

  “Carving statues of Joseph and Briana.”

  “Why?”

  “It is a tradition. The likeness of all kings and princes are rendered when they marry. Briana insisted she would not be chiseled though, while pregnant, and the masons have waited. Now, however, she is butting heads with them artistically over Joseph’s statue. She is determined they get his expression just right.” He lowered his voice and glanced around as though he were about to impart something forbidden. “The masons are adamantly refusing to sculpt their crown prince laughing like a hyena.”

  She loved the way he added drama to his storytelling, could spend a lifetime just listening to that sexy Latin accent. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant.”

  Antonio laughed. “You are right. Though tradition has always dictated a reserved, staid rendering, Briana feels Joseph’s should reflect his new persona.”

  “You mean he didn’t used to grin like a besotted fool?”

  “Do not let him hear you say that.”

  “I think it’ll make a nice change. He and his princess are so obviously in love. It’s hard to imagine that Raquel’s statue might have been the one standing next to his.”

  “Now there would have been a stoic replica if ever there was one.”

  “I adore Briana, but I can’t imagine anyone not being crazy over Raquel.”

  “That is love, I suppose. It strikes where least expected.” His voice went incredibly soft and the look he gave her made her mouth go dry. It was as though he were speaking of himself. Good night, she must be more tired than she thought. It was just those sort of fantasies that played cruel games with her heart.

  “I imagine Cole’s thankful there were no feelings between Joseph and Raquel.”

  “Thankful is much too tame. Cole and Rocky are perfect for each other.” He held out his elbow. “So, madam, would you care to take a turn around the gardens with me? I, for one, am quite ready to escape this noise.”

  Chelsa hesitated, then finally placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. She was going a little stir-crazy. And when she got this close to Antonio, she was weak.

  Before they made it to the front door, Emily and Sophie came streaking around the corner, wearing matching, bright pink bathing suits.

  “Momma!” Sophie yelled above the racket of the mason’s chisels. “I swimmed wif’ out the floaties!”

  “You didn’t swim,” Emily debated. “You just doggie-paddled.”

  “So? Irish doggie-paddled, too.”

  Chelsa looked at Antonio. “The dog went swimming?” she asked faintly. Then she looked back at the girls. “Next time I’ll come watch.” She felt guilty over leaving her daughters in the care of Antonio’s family so much lately.

  Subconsciously she’d been avoiding everyone—including her own children. Rick’s beef was with her. If he found her before the authorities got to him, she didn’t want anyone else nearby.

  Her heart swelled with overwhelming love as she gazed at her daughters. She’d made Antonio promise to care for them if something happened to her. She knew he’d uphold that vow, make sure the kids got to her parents. And his family would be right there to lend an emotional hand. They were good people.

  But, oh, the thought of being parted from her children was intolerable, wrenched her heart.

  “Did you get your work done?” Emily asked, forgetting about arguing with her sister.

  “Yes.” Chelsa couldn’t resist touching Emily’s baby-soft hair, stroking Sophie’s pudgy cheek. “Antonio and I were just about to go out for some fresh air.”

  “Can we come?”

  She hesitated, saw the disappointment in her daughters’ eyes and gave in. The grounds were well protected. Photos of Rick had been distributed all over town and security was on twenty-four-hour alert. They were safe. And she had to be careful not to thrust her own fears onto her daughters. “Sure.”

  “Wait for me,” Briana said, appearing in the hallway with baby Joseph in her arms. “I’ve had it with those pigheaded masons and their racket. Every time I try to communicate, they look at me like I’m speaking a different language!”

  Chelsa started to point out that maybe there was a language barrier. Briana was obviously American.

  Then Joseph came up behind his wife. “I must remind the workmen how fluent you are in languages, querida. I would not want them to speak ill about you, unaware that you can understand.”

  “Speak ill?” she said, her voice raising above the din. “All I said was that they had the lips wrong. You have wonderful lips, Joseph, and the workmen were getting entirely too chisel-happy in that area.”

  Joseph smiled and kissed his wife. “Let us move out-of-doors. If we escape the noise for a bit, it will likely improve all of our dispositions.”

  “Amen to that,” Queen Isabel said, looking thoroughly composed even as she chased the wet puppy through the hall. A bedraggled cat followed at a more dignified pace, stopping every now and again to shake a damp paw.

  Chelsa’s eyes widened and she looked at her daughters. “You took Señor Gatito swimming, too?”

  “Yep,” Sophie announced. “But he didn’t like it. And I telled Emily, but she didn’t listen.”

  Emily gathered steam to level a comeback, but the queen intervened before Chelsa could.

  “Everyone must try something they do not like at least once. Otherwise they will never know what they are missing.” She was looking at Antonio as she said the words, which seemed to have a deeper meaning.

  A meaning that everyone in the room apparently understood except Chelsa.

  Antonio got his mother’s meaning, and it slammed into him with the force of a raging bull. He thought about the story he’d read—Chelsa’s latest.

  A story about a black sheep among fleecy white ones, whose fur was washed and curled and bedecked with bows. With long, flirty eyelashes, the fluffy sheep pranced around with brightly painted toenails that matched their bows. The black sheep, on the other hand, had hair flopping in his eyes and dirt on his hooves and a grin so wide, everybody just had to love him. He was always pulling outrageous stunts for attention and wallowing in the dirt and having fun.

  Then one day, a huge, pouring rain came down and drenched Andy, the black sheep, which he thought was great fun, until he noticed that the downpour had swept a wandering baby sheep into the pond. Since Andy considered himself somewhat of a hero, he immediately jumped into the water to save the fleecy white baby. When he came out, he was astonished to find that his own f
urry coat was white and fluffy. For the first time in his life, he realized he could blend in, that he didn’t need to show off and scare everybody to death with his antics.

  And while Andy the sheep pondered this new turn of events, resisting it even, the Sophie water baby hopped onto his back and told him he had always been part of the family. But they all knew and respected the fact that he didn’t want bows and ribbons like everybody else, so the mama sheep concentrated on keeping the other sheep groomed. But that didn’t mean the mama sheep or brother and sister sheep loved him any less. He was always part of their flock, no matter what his color.

  Because family was about love.

  Antonio felt his lips pull upward as he remembered the cute story. Putting his arm around Chelsa, he looked at the queen and grinned, knowing that in her silent way, his mother was telling him that relationships and commitment weren’t such a bad thing.

  A fact that he’d already figured out all on his own.

  But now wasn’t the time to announce that fact. Chelsa’s story had just put one of the missing pieces in place for him.

  Subconsciously he’d been searching for completion, and incredibly, he’d sought that in thrill seeking. But it wasn’t enough. He knew that now. Just like duty hadn’t been enough for Joseph. His brother had gone out searching for love, and evidently the saints had been listening because he’d been led to Briana.

  Had Antonio, in turn, been led in much the same way through the freak boating accident to Chelsa’s doorstep? And her heart?

  That slippery moss under his feet had already started to wear away. Knowing Chelsa, making love with her, had turned everything he believed about himself upside down. She made him rethink his lifelong aversion to commitment. In the past week—while Chelsa had been doing her best to avoid him—he’d had plenty of time on his hands to notice the happy couples around him, the changes in both Joseph and Raquel, the glow that was still present between his parents even after thirty-five years of marriage.

  Just like the little black sheep in Chelsa’s water baby story, he realized he’d been so busy running from nonexistent shadows, that he’d missed what was truly important. Family. Love. He realized that all his running had really been an elaborate search.

  A search for the one person who was the perfect complement to himself.

  His soulmate.

  Chelsa.

  But she had a stubborn streak a mile wide. It might take some doing to get past that, but he felt he was up to the task.

  He looked down at her, wishing they were alone. “Let’s get out of here before we have the whole city on our walk,” Antonio said.

  “There are plenty of grounds, my son,” Isabel admonished. “If you wish for privacy, we will certainly afford it to you. Come, niñas,” she said to the girls. “Let us corral these animals and encourage them to dry off in the sunshine. Cole and Raquel have just arrived around back. They were delayed by that wonderfully Southern detective, but they will be along any minute now. And I noticed that Raquel has brought camera equipment. I believe she intends to use the water gardens as her latest backdrop.” Holding each of the girls by a hand, she ushered them to the front door. “How do you feel about frog costumes, hmm? I believe Señora Raquel intends to do a water baby exposé as a tribute to your mother.”

  The girls chorused their enthusiasm for the subject matter, and Chelsa let Antonio lead her out the door.

  “Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined the royal family hanging around outside.” Chelsa remarked. The palace was like a small city. If everyone wanted to escape the noise, there were plenty of extra wings to choose from that would insulate them well enough.

  “Actually, we are like everyday people.”

  She raised a brow at that.

  “Seriously,” he said. “Wait until the fiesta this coming weekend, and you will see. My family goes all out, and joins in.”

  “There’s a fiesta this weekend?” Her heart lurched. This past week without incident had lulled her into a false sense of security.

  “Yes. Provided the masons finish their project.”

  “You’re going to celebrate the statues of the prince and princess?” Distracted, she glanced around at the beautiful gardens, trying to shake the niggling sense of impending doom, hating that she’d turned into such a worrier, that her life had been reduced to this.

  “Of course. We have fiestas and blessings of everything from hedgehogs to our grand toros. A likeness of our crown prince and his bride are cause for celebration. Have you not noticed the delivery trucks in and out of the gates of late?”

  Yes, she had, and it made her nervous. But she was a guest here and couldn’t very well ask them to change their plans and traditions on her account. She’d been enough of a disruption as it was. “What are you going to do? Conduct tours of the palace or move the stone figures outside?”

  “We will—” His words halted as a popping noise sounded simultaneously with the bark of an oak tree exploding.

  “¡Dios! Get down!” Antonio reacted instinctively, dragging Chelsa to the ground and covering her with his body. His heart thundered in his chest and adrenaline shot through him as he reached down and snatched a .38 from his boot.

  Chelsa, looking dazed, stared at the gun in his hand, but he didn’t have time to stop and explain that he’d been packing a piece since they’d returned to Valldoria.

  “What...?”

  “That was a bullet. Someone’s shooting at us.” A ridiculously generic statement, he realized. He knew who that someone was.

  He scanned the area, saw a flash of white. A uniform. A delivery uniform.

  His jaw clenched and his hand tightened around the gun. He couldn’t make out features from this distance, but he knew with a certainty deep in his bones that Rick Lawrence had somehow managed to breach security, had slipped past the gates, masquerading as a delivery person.

  Slipped past with the sole intention of exacting revenge on Chelsa.

  At a palace surrounded by half the Royal Guard. A fool, Antonio thought. The man had obviously gone mad. And that unstableness of mind made the situation all the more dangerous.

  And deadly.

  At the moment, no one was paying attention to the fact that he and Chelsa were huddled on the ground. Obviously, Lawrence was using a silencer. The roaring splash of the fountain would have prevented the occupants of the courtyard from hearing the thump of the bullet.

  “What are we going to do?” Chelsa asked, voice trembling, chest heaving.

  “Shh.” He shifted, pinpointing Cole’s position, trying to get his friend’s attention. Cole was a suspicious man by nature, and thankfully, now was no exception. He saw Cole’s shoulders go rigid, saw understanding dawn, saw Martinez and the Mississippi detective draw their weapons.

  He also saw Emily and Sophie.

  They’d wandered away from his mother to trail their fingers in the splashing fountain.

  And they were wide open—without even a bush to shield them from the force of a bullet.

  Everything within him went absolutely, rigidly still. He lived his life facing challenges head-on, never gave it a second thought, enjoyed it even, the thrill of conquering new heights.

  ¡Madre de Dios! This was no thrill-seeking danger situation. It was for real.

  Life-shatteringly important.

  Chelsa and her little girls had become his world.

  But the babies were too far away. If he went to them, Chelsa would be left unprotected.

  Indecision pumped through Antonio.

  With her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, Chelsa raised up, searched the distance...and looked straight into the eyes of evil.

  He wore a cap, and had a mustache—a disguise. But she recognized him. Recognized that build, that cocky stance.

  “Oh, God, it’s Rick!” She fought the scream that lodged in her throat. She knew Rick’s single-minded determination, knew he wasn’t bluffing when he stepped out from behind the oak and blatantly poi
nted a gun.

  Directly at them.

  “My kids!” She saw them by the fountain, felt nausea and dizziness swamp her. With a strength born of a mother’s terror, she ripped from Antonio’s arms and took off across the expanse of lawn toward her children.

  Antonio was less than a pace behind. A round of bullets whizzed past as they sprinted toward the courtyard. “Stay down, damn it!”

  Her lungs burned and her eyes stung. “Please, God!” she prayed.

  Antonio snatched her hand, nearly pulling her off balance, shielding her. She tried to tug away, wanting both hands free, wanting her arms filled with her babies, wanting Antonio far enough away from her so he wasn’t in the line of fire.

  The commotion and their urgency brought the Royal Guard, and the royal family running.

  One of Chelsa’s worst nightmares.

  Emily and Sophie, alerted to the danger, stood like frightened rabbits trapped in the path of a cobra.

  Joseph was forcibly restraining the queen from going after the girls, jockeying for position to run the race himself.

  Didn’t these people have a care for their safety? Their duty? If one of them was maimed or killed, it would be her fault. She’d brought this down on their heads.

  All because the man she’d married and thought she’d loved had turned out to be a stranger. A madman.

  But right now her children were her first priority.

  Cole, with his gun drawn was shouting orders and the Royal Guard was fanning out, creating a human barrier between the direction of the bullets and Chelsa’s children, as well as the royal family.

  Chelsa wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work. She felt like her legs were lead weights, carrying her in slow motion.

  The girls started to run toward them.

  “No!” Chelsa screamed. “Stay there! Get down!”

  The sound of Chelsa’s terror ripped Antonio apart. He never gave a thought to the danger—at least in the sense of it having a pull of intrigue that beaconed him to conquer. He was fueled by anger and love, the unholy terror of harm befalling Chelsa and his girls.

  And he was scared spitless.

  Trying to determine the direction of the bullets, trying to use his own body to shield Chelsa even as she resisted him, he reached the girls first, hooked an arm around each and kept on running.