The Royal Bastard

by Nicole Burnham

  “She didn’t threaten to go public?” Bruno asked, finally stirring to life.

  Fabrizia shook her head. “As devious and controlling as she might’ve been, she loved her children enough not to put them through that. She also recognized what going public would mean for her from a legal standpoint. However, she refused to let your father see the children and left Cateri to take a government position on the other side of the island. Not long afterward she met another man, an American her own age. She married him and moved to Italy, then to Croatia. Your father never saw Rocco again, nor did he ever meet the twins.”

  To Fabrizia’s surprise, Carlo put his arm around her, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. Much as he showed affection when they were alone, it was rare for him to do it in public, even in front of the family.

  “Your mother,” he spoke to his children, but his gaze remained squarely on Fabrizia, “deserves a better man than me. I cannot imagine my life without her. Despite everything we went through in those early days of our marriage—with your mother taking the brunt of the strain—we are happy.”

  Fabrizia smiled up at her husband, then looked at each of her children in turn. “We realize that this is life-changing information for each of you. We want you to be able to talk to each other about it, and then talk to us. Ask us whatever you wish, whenever you are ready. This isn’t a secret we wished to keep from you, but as you can imagine, it’s not a tale easily told. The ramifications if it were discovered would be momentous. Now that you’re all adults and Teresa has passed away, the time is right. And given that Rocco Cornaro has reached out to your father, we feel it may also be time to heal the wounds of the past.”

  “So you’re going to meet with him?” Sophia asked, her voice thready. “Do you expect all of us to meet him?”

  Carlo took the chair Fabrizia had occupied moments earlier. He leaned forward, making sure he had the full attention of each of his children. “He offered to come here, but after discussing security arrangements, we both felt it would be easiest if I were to fly to Croatia tonight and meet with him at a private location, where there are fewer eyes and ears than at the palace. It’s only two hundred and fifty miles or so to Dubrovnik, which means I can be there and back before morning. As to meeting all of you, it wasn’t mentioned. If tonight goes well and I’m confident he has no ulterior motives, then I shall leave it to each of you to decide for yourselves.”

  Bruno rose from his chair and strode to the fireplace. His back to the room, he said, “The older one…you said his name is Rocco.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about the twins? I assume you know their names.”

  “Lina and Enzo. Fraternal twins, born a few months after Alessandro and Vittorio.”

  Bruno ran one hand along the mantel. “Anyone else feel the need for a glass of wine?”

  “Forget wine. This calls for the hard stuff. I’ll pour.” Sophia stood and rounded the sofa to open an antique sideboard that housed liquor. After splashing a few fingers of Scotch into a glass for Bruno—from Carlo’s favorite bottle, Fabrizia noted—Sophia looked over her shoulder to survey the room. Most were either nodding or raising a hand. “How about I just keep pouring?”

  Fabrizia approached the sideboard, took the first two crystal tumblers, and handed them to Vittorio and Emily. As Fabrizia returned for another two tumblers, Sophia whispered, “You’re really okay with this?”

  “I’ve never been okay with it. What that woman did to your father is reprehensible.”

  “I can’t believe he’d be so gullible, even at seventeen. It’s not like him at all.”

  Fabrizia took a tumbler in each hand and walked one to Massimo, then the second to his wife, Kelly. Upon returning to Sophia’s side, she replied in a voice for Sophia’s ears only, “It’s not like him because he learned. The man you know now is as strong as he is because he extricated himself from Teresa. The personal cost was very, very high.”

  Sophia’s gaze was thoughtful as she handed Fabrizia two more tumblers, which Fabrizia delivered to Alessandro and Bruno after Megan and Stefano declined, given that they were busy with Dario. Sophia poured a glass for herself and one for Alessandro, then carried her brother’s tumbler to where he stood on the opposite side of the room while Fabrizia remained at the sideboard.

  “Carlo?” She held the near-empty bottle aloft.

  “Nothing, my dear, thank you.” His tone indicated he wished to remain clear-headed for his trip to Croatia.

  “In that case, why don’t we take a walk in the garden? It’ll be good to stretch your legs before your flight.” Returning to her husband’s side, she looped her arm through his. To the children, she said, “Stay here as long as you like,” then walked out with Carlo.

  The moment the door closed behind them, she let go of his arm to allow him to cross the space to the hallway’s tall windows, which overlooked the palace gardens. As he stared into the falling night, it struck her that this was exactly how she’d first seen Rocco at his villa. He’d had his back to her, staring out at his own gardens, and for all the world he’d appeared like a young Carlo, deep in thought.

  “I feel I’ve sinned against my family all over again,” Carlo said at last. “Not one of them would look at me as we walked out.”

  “You’ve done no such thing, though I understand why it feels that way.” She joined him at the windows, then followed his gaze to the heavens. A lone star blinked in the darkening sky, high above the palace and Cateri’s city lights. “It will take them time to come to terms with it all, but I have faith in our children. At the end of the day, they know the kind of man you are.”

  Carlo’s eyes moistened and she pretended not to notice as he blinked to clear them. His voice unusually gruff, he said, “I meant what I said in there. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Oh, stop it. You deserve everything you have and more or you wouldn’t have it. Your country trusts you. Your staff would do anything for you. And your family loves you. For you.”

  When he remained quiet, she directed her attention out the window. “I was serious about the garden. Let’s walk for a while. When we’re ready, we’ll sit on a bench, listen to the fountain, and enjoy the scent of the early-blooming roses.”

  A droll expression lit his features. “You plan to sit under the stars and tell me to count my blessings.”

  “Perhaps. And to consider that this is a new beginning.”

  A slow, warm smile spread across his face. He turned it on her as he extended his elbow. “In that case, I’d be honored to accompany you to the garden, Your Highness. If you’re not careful, though, I might steal a kiss.”

  She wrapped her hands around the crook of his arm. “You wouldn’t have to steal it.”

  * * *

  Rocco had to hand it to Kos. The man knew how to arrange a meeting far from the public eye, yet within easy driving distance of Dubrovnik.

  Justine stood across the room from Rocco, eyeing the screen of a small video monitor in the living room of Kos’s parents’ vacation home. The modest stone dwelling stood high in the hills of Croatia’s scenic Konavle region, surrounded by a plethora of olive, pine, and cypress tress. Kos had set up cameras and motion sensors around the perimeter years ago, making it impossible for anyone to approach without being detected. He’d explained to Rocco and Justine that he used the home as a test site for the security measures he’d instituted for Rocco and all his previous employers. It was ideal as a meeting location because no one would tie it to Rocco, yet the controls to the security system were identical to those in Rocco’s villa, making it easy for him to monitor.

  Rocco and Justine had arrived a few hours earlier to ensure no one else was in the area, but once their survey was complete, the torture of waiting for King Carlo to arrive made Rocco want to crawl out of his skin.

  “I forgot to ask when we were talking about Kos and his cruise on the way here…did he ever find out whether Radich installed your mother’s system?”

  “Looks like it,”
Rocco answered. “He’s the sole owner of the company my mother hired. He has fifteen employees, most of whom do system installation and maintenance. Kos called my mother’s neighbor, Mrs. Metzger, on the off-chance she knew anything. Turns out Mrs. Metzger went over the day the system was installed because she was interested in getting an estimate for her own condo. She gave a description of the guy that sounded a lot like Viktor Radich. She remembered that my mother knew the man from her coffee shop and that he had a daughter with Type I diabetes.”

  “Unreal.” Justine grimaced. “Of all the people for your mother to trust, it’s the one who wanted to steal for the Russian mafia. I’m glad Kos got to the bottom of it.”

  “I am, too, though I hate to imagine Radich cozying up to my mother to learn more about me.”

  “I’m glad he never hurt her.” Justine leaned closer to the monitor. “Looks like headlights in the trees.”

  By the time Rocco joined her at the screen, a nondescript black sedan had come into view. The driver wore a flat hat that obscured his features, but his build was enough to identify him as he rolled to a stop near the gate, then lowered his window to push the buzzer.

  A disconcerting feeling of déjà vu washed over Rocco. It didn’t take a genius to tie the sensation to the moment Fabrizia parked outside his villa, intent on waiting him out from the back of a dark sedan while Umberto planted himself at Rocco’s front gate. Although in this case, as Carlo had said he would, the monarch had come alone.

  “I’ll let him in,” Justine ran her hand over Rocco’s back before heading for the panel beside the front door. “Why don’t you find a comfortable place to wait while I go out front to greet him?”

  He nodded, grateful she understood him so well. Carlo might be a king, and could very well be a victim of an unspeakable crime, but Rocco wanted to maintain the upper hand as long as possible during this meeting.

  After Justine disappeared through the front door, Rocco strode to the television and cut the video, leaving only the audible alarm engaged. If anyone approached, he’d know it, but he didn’t want to be distracted by the various visual feeds while he talked to the king. After double-checking that his shirt was neatly tucked in, Rocco went to the center of the family room, where Kos’s mother had a collection of floral armchairs arranged around a large, hand-hewn coffee table made of local hardwood. It was anchored by a blush pink rug, giving the home an old world feminine feel Rocco never would’ve associated with Kos. Rocco imagined it was unlike any home in which Carlo spent time, either.

  “Rocco?”

  Rocco spun at the sound of Justine’s soft voice. King Carlo stood at her side.

  “King Carlo.” Rocco gave a brief nod of greeting, suddenly unsure of the etiquette demanded by the situation. “You found the place easily, I hope?”

  “Mr. Horvat gave excellent directions.”

  They lapsed into silence as each man sized up the other. For Rocco, it was like looking at an older version of himself. He’d always known he took after Carlo physically, but seeing the man in the flesh was unnerving. The king’s eye color and shape were identical to Rocco’s, though the lines at the edges were deeper. They shared a jawline and their noses were similarly shaped. The king’s graying hair was the only difference in their coloring. Rocco was certain if they put their arms next to each other, the skin tone would be identical.

  What surprised Rocco most about the king’s appearance, however, was his dress. Rocco had never seen Carlo on television or photographs wearing anything but a well-tailored suit, but this evening he wore a neat pair of gray slacks and a lightweight black sweater. In his hand, he held the cap Rocco had seen on the surveillance screen. In casual dress, the king appeared less intimidating.

  Rocco wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  Justine surprised them both by speaking first. “Why don’t I go out back and throw a few logs in the fire pit? If you decide to, you can come outside and join me when you’re finished talking. The moon is out and there’s a beautiful view out to the sea.”

  Before Rocco could respond, she smiled at the king and vanished down the rear hallway, which led to a mudroom and the stone patio at the rear of the house.

  Carlo watched her go with a thoughtful expression on his face. When the back door closed, he turned to Rocco. “I’ve been a fan of your wife’s for many years. I missed seeing her race this season.”

  “You follow alpine skiing?”

  “When possible.” The king moved a few steps closer, though the tension between them remained palpable. “I saw her in person two years ago in Bulgaria. I was on a state visit and had the opportunity to watch the Super G competition at Bansko.”

  Rocco thought back. “She won that race, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. And took fourth in the alpine combined the next day.”

  He remembered that part well. “She was upset she’d missed being on the podium twice.”

  “She’s a fierce competitor. It’s why I became a fan.” Carlo gestured to the armchair in front of him. “May I?”

  “Of course.” Rocco waited for the king to sit, then took the chair opposite him.

  “Thank you for inviting me here. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you.”

  Understatement of the year. “I was hoping you could tell me about my mother.”

  “You’re direct.” Carlo’s brows rose, and Rocco could swear he caught a hint of admiration in the king’s voice.

  “Your wife told me that you are, too.”

  “She would.” The king leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs so his ankle rested on his opposite knee. Despite the fact he was out of his element, far from his palace lodgings or his custom-built private jet, Carlo seemed perfectly at ease. More so than Rocco, even.

  After regarding Rocco for several long seconds, the king said, “What is it you wish to know?”

  “All of it.”

  The king’s shoulders lifted, then dropped. “I’m aware she told you and your siblings that I’m your father. Other than that” —he spread his hands— “I can tell you that I wanted to be in your lives, or at least give you financial support, but she steadfastly refused. Given my position and that both of us wished for you to live a life out of the spotlight, I was compelled to respect her choice.”

  “That’s you. I want to know about her.” Rocco rarely spoke in such curt tones, but this was his one opportunity to get answers. “How old was she when you met? How old were you? And how old when I was born?”

  “She was twenty-nine and I was seventeen. You were conceived when I was seventeen. Born when I was eighteen.” Carlo’s gaze sharpened. “Surely you know this already?”

  “No, not until a week ago when I went through her papers and saw her birth certificate. All our lives we believed her to be ten years younger.”

  “She lied about her age?” The king’s brows knit and his countenance darkened. “When she informed me that she and Jack Cornaro had told you about your paternity, it didn’t occur to me…” He dragged his hand along his thigh, leaving tracks in the fabric of his gray slacks. “I’m sorry, Rocco. I had no idea. The discovery must have been a shock.”

  “That’s putting it lightly. She lied to Jack, too.”

  “You believed us both to be teenagers.” Carlo’s expression grew increasingly grim. “That certainly changes things.”

  “She took advantage of you. She broke the law.” It turned Rocco inside out to say it, but he wanted to hear confirmation from the king’s own lips.

  “Perhaps.”

  “From where I sit, there’s no perhaps about it. Yet you kept the relationship going even after you married. That, I don’t begin to understand.”

  The king exhaled, then braced his elbows on his knees and templed his fingers. “Despite our age gap, I believed myself to be mature. Whether that is true or not, it was how I felt at the time. Your mother is—was—a compelling woman. So did she manipulate me? Perhaps. But I allowed it. It took spending time with my wife to learn what a real relation
ship looked like, felt like. What real love looks and feels like.”

  “But to father three children—”

  “I cannot tell you that I regret it, because I don’t.” Carlo leveled his gaze at Rocco. “I regret the pain it caused my wife. I regret that I didn’t know you or spend time with you, as I did my children with Fabrizia. And I regret that you have had to live with the circumstances of your birth. But how can one regret three wonderful human beings who otherwise wouldn’t exist?”

  “Did you use birth control?”

  Rocco hadn’t planned the question. Asking it of this man, who held a position respected around the world, seemed the highest breach of propriety. But now that it hung in the air, Rocco realized he needed to hear the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “We weren’t planned.”

  Carlo considered his answer for a moment, then said, “I did not plan to have children with Teresa, no.”

  The set of Carlo’s jaw put Rocco on edge. “You didn’t want us. You believe she got pregnant on purpose.”

  “What do you want from me, Rocco?”

  “The truth!” Rocco shot from his chair, propelled by the anger and frustration that’d dogged him from the moment he’d opened his mother’s letter. “I want the damned truth! My mother was nothing but loving to me and the twins. She protected us, she encouraged us, she spent countless hours working her fingers to the bone to give us better lives. And I never saw a moment of deception in her relationship with Jack. Not one. All I knew was that you made her promises, then reneged once you married Fabrizia and had your heirs.”

  “That’s what you knew because that’s what she told you. What do you know now?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carlo leaned forward in the floral chair, his commanding, masculine aura a stark contrast to the homey fabric, just as his steady demeanor was the polar opposite of the Rocco’s swirling rage.