by Dani Collins
She smiled. “I’ve always known you would slay dragons if you were allowed to carry a sword and weren’t weighed down by a crown. You’ve made it possible for me to be who I need to be. I want you to be who you were meant to be.” She offered her cheek for a kiss. “I love you and trust you.”
“Ti amo, sorella. Don’t wait up. I’ll be gone as long as it takes to win her back.”
* * *
I was going to resign, but you’ll have to fire me.
Amy wrote that to Bea and Clare as she prepared to go into work two days later.
Clare was uncharacteristically silent, not answering texts or emails for the last few days, which was worrying, but Bea called her immediately. “I vote you be promoted to Executive Director of Executing Bastards. You’re my hero. I love you.”
“Where are you? When are you coming back?” Amy asked her.
“It’s a lot to explain,” Bea began.
“Oh, God. Wait,” Amy said as her phone pinged with a text. “My mother is threatening to come see me. I haven’t spoken to her since before Tokyo.”
“You don’t have to see her,” Bea reminded her.
“That’s what I’m going to tell her.” Sort of. “I’ll call you back soon.” Amy signed off and tapped her mother for a video call.
Her mother looked surprisingly frail, not wearing her usual makeup and designer day dress. Instead, she was in her dressing gown. Her skin looked sallow and aged and, if Amy wasn’t mistaken, she was putting out a cigarette off-screen.
“There’s a lot of paps outside, Mom. And I’m heading into work so don’t come over here. I won’t drag them to you, either.”
“That’s fine, but I wish you would have seen all of that old business from my point of view, instead of airing it publicly. In New York. Do you have any idea how traumatizing it would have been to put you through a court case over that prat? It was the best thing for you that we made it go away like that. You should be thankful.”
“You have a right to your opinion. Is that all?” Amy propped up her phone so she could use two hands to load her bag.
“I’ve spoken to your father. He’s arranging to release your trust fund as soon as possible.”
“I don’t need it, Mom.” She kind of did, but... “I never wanted money from you and Dad,” she added with a sharp break in her tone that she couldn’t help.
“For God’s sake, Amy. Have you never realized there was none? It was a recession! Your father borrowed from the trust to keep his company afloat. He stopped paying me support. That’s why I married Melvin, so I could sell the house and make your tuition payments. You were adamant that you finished school with your friends. Then you got yourself expelled. I honestly didn’t know what to do. We both thought you needed a dose of reality.”
“And the reality was, I couldn’t count on my parents to be honest with me.”
“Do not play the victim here, Amy. You were an absolute pill.”
“This is not a productive conversation, Mom. Let’s take a break. A long one. I’ll call when I’m ready to chat. If you don’t hear from me by my birthday, you can call me then.”
“In five months? No. That stupid Mason fool will not cost me my only child again. I swear, I want to track him down and stab him in the eye.”
“Let me know what they set your bail at. I’ll see if I can raise it online.”
“You think I’m joking.”
“You think I am.”
“I’ll see you at Wednesday’s lunch,” her mother declared.
Amy rolled her eyes, not caring that it made her mother sigh the way it always had, ever since she’d been a young, rebellious pill.
“I’ll text you once I’ve checked my schedule at work,” Amy conceded. “Bea and Clare are away and this is my first day back. It will be hectic.”
A short time later, her bodyguards cut through the paparazzi and she entered London Connection. Despite Bea’s supportive phone call, however, she wasn’t sure of her reception.
“Amy!” someone shouted, and everyone stood up to applaud her.
Which made tears come into her eyes. She was deeply touched and had a queue of hugs to get through before she arrived at her desk and began putting things in order there.
It was a busy day. Some clients had dropped her and the agency, claiming they were “no longer a good fit,” but the phones were even busier with potential new ones. Even more heartening were the emails from colleagues in her industry who not only expressed support for her personally, but told her how much they admired her professionally.
“I would rather work for you than the agency I’m at,” more than one said. “Please let me know when you have an opening.”
As Amy absorbed what an opportunity for growth they faced, she held a quick meeting with the department heads. She tasked them with helping her make a case for expanding London Connection that she could present to Bea and Clare the minute they were back.
It was exciting and consuming and kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t think about how thoroughly her letter had dropped the ax on any chance she might have had of a relationship with Luca. She kept waiting for his rebuttal to hit the airwaves, maybe something that would deride her for daring to be so comfortable with costing a king his crown. The arrogance! The cheek! Did she not know she had destabilized a nation?
There was only a short statement from the palace that they would not comment on the prince’s personal life. When she arrived home, however, a pair of stoic-faced men in dark suits were waiting in the lobby of her building.
“Will you come with us, Miss Miller?”
“She will not,” one of her own bodyguards said firmly, placing himself in front of her.
“It’s fine, I know who he is,” she said, nudging her man aside. Her heart began to race and she searched the face of Luca’s bodyguard. He gave away nothing.
He probably didn’t know what she faced any more than she did.
Would Luca rail at her? Force her to write a retraction? Have her thrown off a bridge?
There was only one way to find out. Despite her trepidation, she dismissed her own guards and went with the men.
They took her to a beautiful Victorian town house in Knightsbridge. The facade was white and ornate. Vines grew up the columns on either side of the black front door. She was shown across a foyer with a lovingly restored parquet floor and into a lounge of predominantly white decor. Three arched windows, tall and narrow and symmetrical, looked onto a garden where a topless maiden poured water from a jug into a fountain.
She looked at the figure and all she could think of was her walk with Luca the first day at his palace, when he’d confided in her about his father’s death. He’d been so hurt by the things his father had done, and she’d set him up for more of it.
She rubbed her sternum, hating herself for that.
“It felt like home the minute I saw her,” Luca said behind her.
Amy spun to find him leaning in a doorway, regarding her. Her heart leaped a mile high. She had missed him. So much. Then her heart took another bounce because he was so fiercely beautiful. And a third time because there was no anger in his expression. No vilification.
But no smile, either. The one that tugged at her cheeks fell apart before it was fully formed, but she couldn’t help staring at him. Drinking him in.
His neat, stubbled beard was perfectly trimmed across his long cheeks. His mouth was not quite smiling, but wasn’t tense, either. Solemn. His blue eyes searched more than they offered any insight to his reason for bringing her here.
He had the ability to wear a blue button-down shirt and gray trousers as though it was a bespoke tuxedo. A suit of gleaming armor. Whether he called himself a king, a prince, or a man, he could lean in a doorway and command a room. He projected authority and strength, and despite his intimidating and unreadable expression and the
very unsettled way they’d left things, her instinct was to hurry toward him.
She touched the back of a chair to ground herself. To hold herself back.
They’d been apart only four days. Their relationship from “ruin me” to being ruined had been a short ten. How was it possible that her feelings toward him were paralyzing her? She was on a knife’s edge between hope and despair. There was no hope, she reminded herself.
But still he’d brought her here. Why?
“I—” she began, but had no clue what she wanted to say. Then his words struck her. “Wait. Did you just buy this?” She pointed at the floor to indicate the house.
“I did. Would you like a tour? It’s not a faithful restoration. It was gutted and modernized. I think you’ll agree that’s a good thing.”
He offered his hand.
She hesitated, then moved as though in a trance, desperate for this small contact. This was how miracles worked, wasn’t it? Without explanation? She took his hand, and the feel of his warm palm against hers as he interlaced their fingers nearly unhinged her knees.
“I thought you’d be angry with me,” she said shakily. “About the letter.” Each cell in her body was coming back to life.
“I am. But not with you. I’m angry that you had to write it. The kitchen.” He identified the room with a wave as they walked into an airy space of cutting blocks and stainless steel, pots and pans suspended from the ceiling, and French doors that led to a patio herb garden. “The chef has yet to be hired, but you remember Fabiana? I poached her from the palace.”
“Yes, of course. Hello,” Amy greeted the maid. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Ciao.” Fabiana gave a small curtsy before she went back to putting away groceries.
“You can access the stairs to the terrace out there. You’ve seen the garden through the windows. Staff quarters are downstairs. Dining room, office, powder room, you’ve seen the main lounge,” he said as he walked her through the various rooms, all bright and fresh and sumptuously decorated in a soft palette of rose and gray, ice blue and bone white. Shots of yellow and burnt orange, indigo and fern gave it life.
“It’s a charming touch to keep this,” she said as she paused on the landing to admire the window seat that looked over the road. “I can imagine callers waiting here to see if they would be allowed upstairs by the duke or—” Prince.
“There might have been a receiving room up here once, but it’s all master suite now.”
It was. There was a sumptuous yet intimate lounge with a television and a wet bar, a dining nook for breakfast and other casual meals, a beautiful office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a fitness room that would catch the morning light. The actual bedroom was enormous, and the master bath had a walk-in shower, two sinks, a makeup vanity and...
“That tub!” Amy exclaimed as she imagined stepping into what was more of a sunken pool. It was surrounded by tropical plants and candles, begging for an intimate night in.
“I thought you would like it. Look at the closet.” It had an access from the bathroom and was the size of a car garage. There was a bench in the middle and a full-length, three-way mirror at the back. Alongside his suits hung gowns and dresses and a pair of green pants with a mended fly.
It struck her then, why he’d bought this magnificent house. She’d seen the headlines since their breakup.
King’s Mistress Dethrones and Departs
Whatever magic had begun to surround her flashed into nothing. She was left with singed nostrils, and a bitter taste in the back of her throat.
She twisted her hand free of his and stalked through to the more neutral living area. Her adrenaline output had increased to such a degree that her limbs were twitching and her stomach ached. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to spit at him or run to Baz Rivets again.
“I’m not making any assumptions,” he began as he followed her.
“No?” she cried. “I won’t live here. I won’t be your—your piece in London, keeping your bed warm for when you happen to be in town.”
“Stop it,” he commanded sharply. “Think better of yourself.”
His tone snapped her head back. He’d never spoken to her like that.
She folded her arms defensively. “I am.”
“No, you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“What other conclusion is there?” She waved toward the closet.
In the most regal, pithy, arrogant way possible, he walked to a painting and gave it a light nudge to release a catch. It swung open, and he touched a sensor on a wall safe. It must have read his thumbprint because it released with a quiet snick.
He retrieved something before closing both the painting and the safe. Then he showed her a red velvet ring box and started to open it. “This was my grandmother’s.”
Amy was so shocked, so completely overwhelmed, she retreated in a stumble and nearly landed in an ignominious heap against the sofa.
She caught herself and managed to stay on her feet, then could only stare at him.
He gently closed the box. His expression became watchful, but there was tension around his mouth and a pull in his brows that was...hurt?
“As I said, I’m not making assumptions.” He set aside the box—which made her feel as though he was setting her heart over there on a side table and abandoning it as he took a few restless steps, then pushed his hands into his pockets.
He snorted in quiet realization.
“Am I making another mistake? I don’t like it,” he said ironically. “I hurt you, Amy,” he admitted gravely. “I know I did. I hate myself for it. Especially because I don’t know that I could have prevented it. As long as you were interested in me, I was going to pursue you and we would have wound up where we did. That’s been hard for me to accept. I don’t like thinking of myself as having such a deep streak of self-interest.”
He glanced at Amy for her reaction, but she had no words. He had hurt her. “I didn’t exactly run away.”
Until she had.
She bit her lip.
He nodded. “You hurt me when you left the way you did. That’s not a guilt trip. I only want you to know that you can. I stood there telling myself I was doing us both a favor by letting you go, but I was so damned hurt I could hardly stand it.”
“Nothing happened with Baz,” she muttered.
“I know. He’s a client and you don’t have relationships with clients.” He sounded only a little facetious. More of a chide at himself, she suspected. “It was genuinely shocking to me that anyone could hurt me so deeply just by standing next to another man, though.”
She was reminded of their spat about jealousy when they were at his villa on the lake. When he had pointed out they were too new to have confidence in their relationship.
“I want you to come to me when you’re hurt and scared and don’t know what to do.” He pointed to the middle of his chest, voice sharpening, then dying to sardonic. “And I want you by my side when I don’t know what to do. I’ve hardly slept, I was trying so hard to work out how to spin things so you wouldn’t be destroyed by all of this. I wanted to talk it out with you.” He laughed at the paradox.
“And then I threw you under the bus,” she said contritely, mentioning what was looming like a bright red double-decker between them.
“Don’t apologize for what you wrote.”
“I wasn’t going to.” But she clung to her elbows, deeply aware that she couldn’t do that to a man and not have him hate her a little.
Which made her gaze go to the velvet box. Maybe it wasn’t a ring. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. How mortifying.
She jerked her gaze back to his, but he had seen where her attention had strayed.
“I want to marry you, Amy.”
She ducked her face into her hands, all of her so exposed she couldn’t bear it, but there was nowhere to h
ide.
“We don’t even know each other, Luca!”
Gentle hands grazed her upper arms, raising goose bumps all over her body before he moved his hands to lightly encircle her wrists.
“I’m telling you what I want, that’s all. What I know to be true. You don’t have to answer me right now. I’ll propose properly when you’re more sure.”
“What would our marriage even look like?” she asked, letting him draw her hands from her face. “We’re not a match that people want to accept. We don’t even live in the same country!”
“We can work all that out,” he said, as if it was as simple as buying groceries. “My future is up in the air right now. The only thing I know for certain is that I want to be with you. So I bought a house here. We can date or you can move in. You can work or not. I’ll get started with my own ventures. Maybe we’ll move to Vallia at some point if it feels right. We can have a long engagement, so you have time to be sure. All of that is up for discussion, but I’d love for you to wear this ring when you’re ready. I want people to know how likely I am to kill them if they malign the woman I love.”
“You love me?” She began to shake.
“Of course, I love you.”
“But you said...” She tried to remember what he’d told her about marriage. “You said you’d only marry someone vetted by... I’m not exactly the best choice of bride, Luca.”
“If we make each other happy, that’s all that matters. No. Wait,” he corrected himself, cupping her face. “You are a bright, successful, badass of a woman who makes me a better man. How could anyone say that’s a bad choice?”
“I make you better?” she choked out. “Hardly. You’re perfect.” It was annoying as hell.
“Exactly,” he said with a shrug of casual arrogance. “I don’t make mistakes. How could the woman I choose to spend my life with be anything but a flawless decision?”
“Oh, my God,” she scoffed, giving him a little shove, before letting him catch her close. “You are a bit of a god, you know. It’s intimidating.” She petted his stubbled cheek before letting her hand rest on his shoulder.
