The Princess and the Player (Royal House of Leone Book 5)

by Jennifer Lewis

  Yes, it would definitely be better to leave. He’d probably decide that he’d mistaken her identity and she was just someone who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Carolina he once knew.

  “What does it say?” Callista’s whisper startled her.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Callista gave her a disbelieving look but went back to watching the concert.

  Now Lina’s heart was pounding. She barely dared look at Amadou’s face and tried to distract herself by staring at the members of his band, or his hands moving over his instrument. Every song brought them closer to the end of the concert, when she planned to betray him for a second time by sneaking off without seeing him.

  She should never have left Altaleone. At this hour she should be lying quietly in her bed in the palace, finishing that mystery novel with the missing cat.

  Her agony dragged on as the concert appeared to end, then Amadou kept coming back for encores. The entire crowd was now on its feet, cheering, and she had to do the same so as not to stand out, though inside she was dying of embarrassment and misgivings and looking everywhere but at the tall, imposing man in the center of the stage, only a few yards from her face.

  Finally—she’d begun to think it would never happen—he exited and a big curtain closed and people started to gather their bags.

  Thank goodness! She prodded Callista, who was putting on her jacket far too slowly. “Let’s hurry. We don’t want to get stuck in here.”

  “Mom, we’re stuck anyway. We’re way up front.” The aisles had filled with people from the rows behind them. “Just relax. And tell me what that note said.”

  “I can’t. We need to—” Panic surged through her as the short man materialized again, with a serious expression on his face.

  “Please accompany me backstage. Mr. Khadem has invited you to his dressing room.”

  “Wow! Awesome!” Callista’s thrilled exclamation would have made her jump if she wasn’t frozen to the spot. “I wonder why? Could he have recognized you just from you meeting him before?”

  “Uh…” Lina wracked her brain for a way to get out of this. If they went upstairs Callista would quickly find out that they’d done a whole lot more than meet. Her family had told Emil’s that she was a virgin when they married, though luckily he’d had the decency never to even joke about it. Amadou could easily reveal that she was very far from being a virgin by the time she’d walked away from him.

  And the way she’d done it. Her breath caught at the bottom of her lungs when she thought of the carefully typed letter she’d sent him. With no forwarding address. And he’d had the decency never to try to track her down. He must have known her crazy story was true when he saw the royal wedding pictures in the papers.

  “C’mon, Mom, let’s go.” Callista pushed her forward. The man smiled, though it was a rather uncertain one, given her hesitation, and ushered them through the crowd off toward the side of the stage. “Isn’t this exciting?” her daughter breathed, as he led them into the wings, where technicians and other staffers rushed around pulling cords and packing up instruments.

  Lina couldn’t gather enough sensible thoughts to respond. What would Amadou say when he saw her? Was he still angry? Or did he just think of her as an old friend? Really old. With reading glasses and a silver streak in her blonde hair.

  They passed through a cluttered corridor, then up to a door with a crowd of people gathered outside. Their guide muttered something in French, and the crowd parted. Lina held her breath as they headed into the dressing room under the gaze of his entourage.

  Amadou sat in a chair facing away from them, wiping his face with a towel. His shirt was drenched with perspiration and clung to his muscled shoulders. Lina wanted to blush at catching him so unprepared, but as soon as his man spoke, he sprang to his feet, dropped the towel and pressed his hands around hers.

  She must have stuck her hand out to shake or something. She wasn’t even sure. “Hi,” she stammered, trying to act like she wasn’t about to explode. How did he still look so young? He didn’t even look ten years older than when she’d last seen him. Darker-skinned people often did age better. And barely a sprinkle of gray hair. She could see the silver more in the stubble on his hard chin.

  Still so handsome.

  She cursed that thought and tried to pack it off to some unused recess of her brain. He still hadn’t spoken yet. He stared at her face as if unable to believe his eyes.

  Probably shocked by how different she looked. A matronly mother of ten. She’d never have predicted it herself.

  “My God, Carolina.” He squeezed her hand. She could feel emotion roll off him, or maybe it was just heat. The dressing room was hot and filled with nervous energy, probably from the exhausting and exhilarating performance. “My God.”

  Wow, this was the most awkward exchange ever. All her years of diplomatic training hadn’t prepared her for this. “The performance was wonderful.” Her attempt at appropriate speech came out sounding clipped and forced.

  He stared at her for a moment longer, then, still holding tight to her hand, let out a loud laugh that shocked her and almost made her jump.

  She felt like such a phony. Heck, she was a professional phony. It was her job to smile and make polite conversation with people she would just as soon never see again.

  At last he released his grip on her hand, and it shook as she took it back.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your husband.” His deep measured voice sounded sincere. “A terrible tragedy.”

  “Yes. We hope to bring the killers to justice.” This was getting more awkward by the second. Then she remembered her daughter! “This is my daughter Callista. She lives and works here in Paris.”

  Now he seized Callista’s hand in both of his, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. Callista looked like she was about to pass out with delight. Luckily, he let her daughter have her hand back right away. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I can see you have your mother’s beauty.”

  Callista wasn’t usually the blushing type, but her cheeks grew pink. Lina wanted to laugh. She’d probably looked much the same the first time Amadou swept her off her feet with his practiced charm. “I’ve been a huge fan of yours for years. I have all your albums.”

  “She bought our tickets as a birthday present for me,” offered Lina, keen to offer an innocuous conversational gambit. She didn’t want him thinking it was her idea to come here tonight.

  “Today is your birthday?” He frowned at Lina. “No. Your birthday is Tuesday. May ninth.”

  “I can’t believe you remember.” Uh-oh, they were wading into dangerous territory here. “It’s been a long time. More than thirty years.”

  Callista’s expression revealed that she’d figured out they were more than acquaintances. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

  A slow smile tilted one corner of Amadou’s expressive mouth. “It’s a long story. Perhaps we can tell it to your daughter over dinner?”

  “No!” the word shot out of Lina’s mouth. “I mean, it’s late. She has a big meeting tomorrow.”

  “Just you, then. My favorite restaurant is only steps away, and I’m always starving after a concert. I’ll be deeply offended if you don’t join me.” Just enough humor shone in his dark eyes to suggest—at least to others—that he was joking.

  But she knew he wasn’t joking. If she turned him down, she’d give him yet another reason to never forgive her.

  “Go on, Mom. You can walk back to your hotel afterward. It’s so close.”

  “I’ll escort your mother back safely,” assured Amadou, already looking confident. “Just give me a few moments to change. Mustafa, please look after Mme. Leone while I shower.” He disappeared into an anteroom. This might have been a good moment to make a speedy exit if it weren’t for Mustafa and the still-gathered throng now talking among themselves in more than one language.

  Trapped, she made awkward conversation about nothing with Callista and smiled grimly at Mustafa, who loo
ked very suspicious of her and the whole situation. As well he might.

  In less than two minutes Amadou emerged dressed in black pants and a bright white shirt, also slightly damp but this time with fresh water from the shower. He toweled off his hair and looked relieved that she was still there.

  This was so weird, being backstage while he showered. Far too intimate. He never had been the type to stand on ceremony, but still. He pulled on some sharp-looking leather shoes and placed a dark fedora onto his head. Then he extended his arm.

  Lina gulped, then took it. How could she not?

  Callista stared. Lina could tell that her daughter would have stayed up all night and missed her meeting if she thought for even one second that she’d be welcome at this dinner. But she knew she wasn’t, and so did everyone else there.

  Amadou had claimed her.

  Again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The restaurant he took her to was less than two blocks away and totally invisible from the street. They entered through a large carriage door into a tidy cobbled courtyard—like so many buildings in Paris—with just four tables set for dinner. A couple and a laughing group of four were the only customers.

  “This looks rather exclusive,” she murmured, more to make conversation than anything else.

  “It’s the best. I come here every time I’m in town.” His gaze lingered, as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was right here with him.

  The maître d’ led them to a table, and she removed her jacket while the waiter poured water and Amadou ordered wine.

  “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

  “Why? You’re in the social pages of the papers quite often.”

  “You read the social pages?”

  A wry smile crossed his mouth. “Only to catch a glimpse of you.”

  “I don’t believe it for a minute. You’re far too busy. You seem to spend each year circling the globe and performing on every continent except Antarctica.”

  “I performed in Antarctica two years ago. For the scientists.” His cheek creased as he grinned. She’d always loved his smile, so quick and warm. That hadn’t changed. “Of course I mostly went because I wanted to see the place.”

  “You always loved to travel. Do you have a home base these days?”

  “This is it.” He gestured around them.

  “This restaurant?” She sipped her wine.

  He laughed. “No, this city. Paris. It’s where I grew up, remember.”

  “I didn’t know you back then. And you didn’t talk about it much.” He’d seemed kind of bitter about his life back then and—young and shallow—she hadn’t wanted to hear depressing details about his impoverished childhood. She was more interested in the dynamic musician he’d blossomed into. “It’s great that you’re still performing after all these years. Do you know how unusual that is?”

  “And you’re still royal after all these years. That’s rather offbeat, too.”

  “We always did dream big.” She smiled, then wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. Becoming a royal wife was hardly something one aspired to. That sounded tacky. Though probably no one married a future king by mistake either.

  “Your husband never became king.”

  “No. His mother was still going strong when they were killed. He didn’t mind not being king. He wasn’t too interested in pomp and ceremony. He liked to focus on hunting and the vineyards. He enjoyed his life, short as it was.”

  “With you at his side, how could he not?” Amadou lifted his freshly poured glass of wine. “Salut.”

  She raised her glass and sipped, then resolved to drink as little wine as possible. She didn’t want to get tipsy around this man. He already had a dangerously intoxicating effect on her.

  He’d removed his fedora so she could see his face clearly. His brow was smooth and unlined—the face of a man with a clear conscience. A man who enjoyed his life. “You look happy.”

  “I am happy. I make sure of it.” He smiled slowly, his gaze wandering over her face. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

  She felt an awkward expression pass over her face. “I’m happy! Very happy.” Her words sounded rushed, forced. “I mean, of course I miss my husband. And my children are all grown and busy with their lives, so I’m in a transitional phase, but—”

  “I understand. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. Sometimes I’m too frank.”

  “You always were. You never could keep your opinion to yourself. Remember when you told that huge bouncer he was an ass because he wouldn’t let you perform outside his club?”

  “And he picked me up by the front of my shirt and hurled me against the wall.” He laughed. “And he only held back from punching me because you begged him to.”

  “Exciting times.” She laughed, too. Though she hadn’t laughed at the time. She’d cried and been angry with him for being too rash. “Too exciting for me, really.”

  “Is that why you left me?” His question, on the tail of their laughter, was so serious, so clear and bold, that she knew he wanted a real answer.

  She sighed. “I left because I was done with school and my family had other plans for me.”

  “You could have defied them.”

  “That’s not who I am.”

  “You’re very loyal.” His eyes glittered. “To them, not to me.”

  “They were my family.” Had she even thought about arguing with them? Not really. She’d always known her interlude with Amadou was just that—an exciting adventure that would have to end so her real life would begin.

  She half expected him to accuse her of weakness and braced herself for defense.

  “Family is important.” He held his glass, not drinking but peering over it at her. “The happiest day of my life was when I finally bought my mother the house she’d always dreamed of. She still lives there. It’s in the countryside outside Paris.”

  “That’s wonderful. She must be so proud of you.”

  He shrugged. “She wishes I would settle down.”

  “And why don’t you? You must be a wealthy man by now.”

  He laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone always asks that sooner or later.”

  “You don’t want to settle down. Is that why you never married?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them and wished she could take them back. Who was she to ask such a personal question?

  “It’s part of it. I can’t settle down. It’s not in me. I’m a nomad by heritage and inclination.”

  She wanted to argue that his mom presumably shared his nomadic heritage yet she was apparently happily settled in France.

  But she knew better. She’d always been good at knowing what not to say. The skill came in handy in the social circles she moved in. “So you spend most of the year on the road.”

  “It’s what I love best. So of course we could never have been together for long. You had dreams of castles and a large family, and I had dreams of the road.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

  She nodded. “True. All good things must come to an end.” She uttered the platitude just wanting to agree with him and smooth the conversation.

  But he didn’t reply. And his silence stretched out until an awkward space for thought opened up. A space that echoed with the words “what if?”

  “We should order.” She wanted to fill the air with sound, though they’d barely glanced at their menus. “I think I’ll have the boeuf en croute.”

  “A very traditional choice.” His comment sounded slightly scolding.

  She rose to the bait. “I am a very traditional girl.”

  His mouth hitched into a half smile. “Yes. You always were, deep down. I suppose that was one of the things that attracted me to you. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when you walked away from a poor street musician to marry a prince.”

  “Were you really surprised?” She hadn’t let herself think too much about how he would feel. The end was always written into t
heir relationship—at least for her—and she’d assumed he felt the same.

  He stared at her long enough to make her heart pound. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and flashed with unexpected emotion. “I was devastated.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Amadou leaned back in his chair, appraising the effect of his admission.

  He’d silenced her. Did she really think she was just another notch on his bedpost?

  She had the decency to look shocked for a moment. Then she laughed. A polite tinkle of a laugh. The kind of laugh you’d trot out at a royal tea party. “You’re teasing me.”

  “If only I were.” He let his words sit in the air for a moment. Just long enough to make her uncomfortable.

  Why did he want to make her uncomfortable? All of this was so long ago even he had almost forgotten it. Until he saw her face in the first row of his audience. Then something had roared back to life inside him with fearsome power that threatened to unman him.

  “I should have known you were out of reach,” he said at last, after she’d reached nervously for her wine glass. “But I never was one to accept any limits in myself or others. Naïve, I suppose.”

  “You seemed so worldly to me. I thought I was the naïve one.”

  “I guess we were both wrong.” Looking at her right now, he could almost taste the cherry apple flavor of her mouth. Amazing that he still remembered it after all these years. He wondered if she’d taste the same.

  He wanted to find out.

  “I guess it’s lucky you’d seen my picture in the papers. I must look so different.” She touched her elegantly coiffed hair. It looked like it had been set by a stylist. Maybe she had one come to her room every morning.

  “In some ways you do.” He let his gaze wander over her hair—not a strand out of place—and across the elegant planes of her face. “You look more…established.”

  “Matronly.” Her quiet exclamation startled him. “It’s okay. I know I do. You can’t have ten children and not look matronly.” A pink flush appeared above her cheekbones.