by Kathryn Shay
“Oh, Ryder. Yes. Yes, I do.”
They’d been in bed and he’d confessed his entire history to her, then asked her for honesty in return.
“Any publisher would have paid five times what you offered her for books written by a princess.”
“She deserves it.”
Emma cocked her head. “Something’s wrong with all this. What don’t I understand, Ryder?”
“A myriad of things that I have to keep private. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do before I go back to the hospital.”
Emma left in a huff. So be it. He didn’t deserve anything more than disgust from her. After all, she was out for Alexandra’s welfare, and Ryder had practically shredded that.
* * *
Barefoot, wearing a sun dress, Lexy headed out of the porch, through the pool area to a grassy knoll about forty yards into the lawn. She dropped down under large maple trees and removed the canvas which tightly covered a 4x6 area. Her heart tripped in her chest when she saw again what she’d done while she planned her book—created the garden for Pickles. Her home was in the left corner. Lexy had rolled grass around to make the cucumber patch. In the next corner was the hole where Tater emerged from. Mr. String Bean’s area across from those two consisted of sticks with real strings hanging down. And next to him, Miss Lovely Lettuce’s leaves, ones from the trees, occupied their own little patch.
Alexandra had been so happy then, lost in her own creativity, never imagining the book would be bought, or that she’d go to New York, or especially that she’d fall in love.
With whom? Ah, that was the question. Who was Ryder Reynolds? The man who ran his knuckles down her cheek in a caress as tender as a summer wind? The man who touched her everywhere and stole her heart? Or the callous, plotting publisher who’d used any means to trick her?
Go by the facts, Alexandra. Look at what really happened.
Was she as naïve as everyone thought she was? She’d refused to accept his motives as nefarious as long as she could, but when he wouldn’t return her calls, she’d given up. If he’d phoned her back, if he’d done this for a reason...but she couldn’t fathom what would be enough to make her understand.
You can’t do this to yourself.
Alexandra came up on her knees. Leaning over the small fencing she’d put up, she tore up the patch where Pickles lived, stuffed Tater’s hole, ripped up Miss Lovely Lettuce’s leaves and knocked down all of Mr. String Bean’s stalks. Then she found a large stick lying on the ground and finished razing the garden she’d created for Pickles.
* * *
It took forty-eight hours for Richard’s head to clear from the anesthesia and for the shock to his body from major surgery to abate enough for him to be moved to a private room. That night, sitting up in bed, obviously still in pain, he asked Ryder, “So, what have you done with the princess business?”
“Hell, Dad, you had major surgery. We aren’t going to talk about books.”
“Why?”
“You need to concentrate on healing.”
“So the word isn’t out yet?”
“Of course it is. You called Jacob Adams at The Literary Forum right before your surgery. He called me back for more information. I had no choice but to confirm. They would have investigated further and discovered the truth.”
“I’m not ashamed of what I did.”
“Well, I am. Our word means nothing now. We promised our author we wouldn’t investigate her, and then betrayed her.”
“Again with the romantic words.”
A nurse came into the room. “It’s time for some sleeping pills.”
Ryder stood, unable to tolerate being with the man before him. “I’ll be leaving then. Goodbye, Dad.”
“Wait.” To the nurse, Richard asked, “When can I go home?”
“The soonest you’d be released is six days.”
“We’ll see. I’ll still be here tomorrow, Ryder. We’ll play it by ear from there.”
When he got outside the hospital, a wave of emotion shook Ryder. Primary among them was anger. He’d given up a woman he loved to convince his father to have life-saving surgery, a father who probably didn’t even love him. His depression over that was almost intolerable.
* * *
Sitting on the padded window seat where she’d spent much of her childhood, Lexy peered out at the palace grounds. She’d dearly loved spring in Casarina, and forced herself to take pleasure in the green grass, the sun sparkling off the pool and the cheerful chirps of birds. Soon, she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want to go to the carnevale, Mamá.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother lay a dress she’d brought with her on the back of the chair. “You’ve come every year. The people so look forward to seeing you.”
“I know it’s a special event. But I’m not in the mood for festivities.”
“Darling, you have to grieve. It’s the way of these things. But you don’t have to wallow in the bad feelings with no respite. If you stay closed in here, you’ll have nothing to distract you. Come with us and allow yourself a few hours of pleasure.”
Covering her mother’s hand with hers, Lexy sighed. “You’re probably right.” She went for a smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “Will they have those fire-swallowers again this year?”
“Yes. Try the dress on. Maybe a pretty frock will cheer you up.”
Two hours later, the royal family entered the Casarina Carnevale di Primivera. The king was handsome in his royal guard uniform and the queen beautiful in a gown of gold from head to toe. She’d picked out deep pink for Lexy, and the feel of silk on her skin felt good. Held on the first day of spring, as the name suggested, this was a time for the people to see their royalty and socialize with them.
The capital city square was lined with entertainers interspersed with artists and musicians and theater performers from the entire country. As they walked among the variety of fire-swallowers, fortune-tellers, story-tellers, singers, snake charmers, dancers, acrobats, craftsmen, and trick horse riders, the murmur of greetings and a chorus of Dio ti benedicia warmed Lexy. She felt her spirits lift. She was well-loved here.
They arrived at the tented gazebo and took seats on fancy chairs that were not thrones. Lexy said aloud, “Someone wrote a book about a princess sitting on a gilded throne granting favors to her subjects.”
“I’m afraid she did not do her homework on modern royalty,” her father put in.
“How demeaning,” her mother added. “Is this the book series by the author challenging you?”
Lexy’s head snapped around. “You know about that, Mamá?”
“Yes. I read it on the Internet.”
“I don’t want to know what’s happening with the suit. Or any news from New York.”
“I won’t mention it again.”
In most ways, modern Europe had changed, but in one way they had not: the food tasting. From the very start of their reign, Alessio and Renata had insisted on eating the dishes of the peasants. The royal guards objected, but at Alessio’s urging, the food brought in was tested. Never once in the years they attended had anyone gotten ill.
The first course was a variety of sausage and cheese, followed by pastiera, a creamy deep dish pie made with Ricotta cheese and the juices of lemon and orange. Little pizzas and small servings of lasagna were provided. The last course was dessert.
Lexy favored the crispats, often called zeppole—fried dough that had been dusted with sugar. It practically melted in her mouth. Each year, the princesses in attendance stood and were presented the treat. Lexy lifted her chin, took a bite and practically swooned. Onlookers loved it.
When the belly dancers took the stage, Mamá was expected to make a comment. “Close your eyes, Alessio. I don’t want competition.”
“Mogile,” he said kissing her hand. “There is no competition for you.”
Word of their exchange would make it around the square and the people would laugh heartily. The exact st
atement would change each year but the tradition continued.
One of the last things to occur was the king and queen’s participation in the Italian dance, the Tarantella. Young men were allowed to ask the princesses to accompany them. A beautiful boy of about nineteen approached Lexy. He held out his hand. “May I, Princess?”
More in the mood now, she nodded, stood and linked his arm. She picked up the skirt to her long gown and paraded into the square. Though the guards surrounded them, people were allowed to watch them dance on a raised dais.
On the way home, Papá said, “Did you enjoy yourself, little one?”
“Yes, Papá. I did.” Leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder, she made the trip in silence until they were almost home. Then she asked, “Is the injunction still in effect, Mamá?”
“No, my dearest. The suit was dropped when your background was revealed.”
“I’m glad.”
And Lexy was glad. Ryder could publish the books. Without her there, of course, but they’d sell even more copies now. He could get his shares in the company, buy his bookstore and live happily ever after. Because he hadn’t called or tried to contact her in the five days she’d been in Casarina, the notion made her very sad.
Chapter 15
Ryder sat at his desk, buried in a potential manuscript he thought he might buy. Maybe work could keep his mind off his Alexandra.
Willy the Whale isn’t happy today. The big mouth of the whale was turned down, and a tear filled one eye. There were some okay details in the illustration but it needed more...zip. Like Pickles.
“Don’t think about her.” He had to say the words aloud, now, a full week after the last time he’d seen Alexandra. Mostly, during the day, the method worked. But at night, dreams of them together seared his unconscious mind.
His phone buzzed. Irritated, he asked, “What is it, Mary?”
“Sorry to bother you. But The Morning Show is on the line.
“I’ll take that. I didn’t mean to bark at you.”
“You have a lot on your mind.”
“Thanks.” He pushed a button.
“Ryder, this is Laura Lincoln. Quite a bit of news has dropped in the last few days.”
“It has.”
“We’d like to move up our interview with Alexandra Marcello to next week.”
“That’s a long time until publication.” The show wasn’t scheduled until the end of July.
“We’d have her back nearer the pub date. But right now, viewers are adamant about seeing her.”
He knew Mary had fielded innumerable calls from news stations. “Why didn’t you ask her agent?”
“I did. She said Princess Alexandra is out of the country.”
Princess Alexandra. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe it. “She is.”
“Doesn’t she have to come back to deal with promo?”
“At some point.”
“Well, could you tell her we’d love to have her next week?”
“All right.”
After he disconnected, he sat back and rubbed his eyes. He knew he couldn’t avoid calls and questions from reporters and news channels forever. But...
Oh, hell. He clicked into his contacts and punched in a number.
“Emma Wilder.”
“Emma, it’s Ryder.”
“Ah, are you finally sick of being pestered by reporters? Because I am.”
“We’ve had a request from The Morning Show. They want to feature Alexandra some day next week.”
“Alexandra’s out of town.”
Getting exasperated, Ryder said, “She has to return sometime.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
“Because we had a falling out. I’m positive she won’t talk to me.” He hesitated again. “The better these books do, the better off we all are, Emma.”
The agent sighed.
“Please, call her.”
“All right. Any message from you?”
“Just mention The Morning Show.”
After he put down the phone, Mary opened the door again. “I’m going to lunch. Do you want your father’s office to get your calls? Oh, wait. His assistant took a few days off.”
“No need. I’ll let everything go to voice mail. And leave the door open, please.”
He was back into the story in minutes, trying to guess what the whale would do next. He didn’t know how long after he heard, “Ryder?”
Glancing up, Ryder saw the firefighter in his doorway, fit and healthy in denims and an FDNY T-shirt. “Hi, Adam.”
“Do you have a second?”
No. “Sure.”
Quinn came inside. “I was wondering if you know how I can get in touch with Alexandra Marcello.”
Fuck, this was all he needed!
* * *
Alexandra had gone riding with her father, and Renata stayed back to give them some time alone. When her daughter’s phone buzzed, from where she’d left it in the salon, Renata checked the caller ID. Renata recognized the area code for New York City. Hmm, none of her children lived there.
She punched accept. “Alexandra Marcello’s phone.”
“Hello. This is Emma Wilder. I’d like to speak to Alexandra.”
“This is her mother, Renata.”
Silence. Then “The queen?”
“Yes.” Humor laced her voice.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
“Hi, Emma. Alexandra speaks very highly of you.”
“I’m glad. I like her. I’m calling to talk to her about returning to New York.”
“She isn’t at the residence. She’s horseback riding with her father.”
“We need her in New York. A very popular television show would like to interview her sooner than she agreed to.”
“I’ll give her the message.”
Not long after, father and daughter came in through the patio. Dressed in riding gear, they were both flushed and smiling.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yes, Mamá. We raced.”
“Who won?”
Alessio put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Alexandra, of course.”
“Papá let me, like he used to when I was little and upset.”
“I did not!”
“I’m going upstairs to change, then I’d like to bask in the sun a bit by the pool.”
When Alexandra left, Alessio crossed to Renata. “She’s sad. Even the rigorous ride could not erase it from her eyes.”
“Did you try to talk to her?”
“She asked at the outset that we not discuss anything about that man.”
“And you listened, husband?”
He kissed her nose. “As I promised I would, after the events with Calla. But you can try.”
“I don’t have much choice, now. Her agent called. She’s wanted back in New York.”
Renata gave her daughter some time by herself at the pool, then put on a hat and walked out to her. “May I join you?”
“Of course.” She gestured to an empty chaise.
When Renata sat she gave her daughter a smile. “How are you today?”
“I liked the ride.”
“I didn’t ask you that.”
“Please, Mamá, I don’t want to talk about my feelings.”
“I’m afraid we have to talk some. Your phone rang. I answered because I thought it might be one of your sisters. But it was Emma Wilder.”
Alexandra sat up straighter and took off her sunglasses. “What did she want?”
Renata conveyed the message.
“I can’t face Ryder. He hurt me badly, Mamá.”
“I know. Why do you think he hasn’t called to explain what happened?”
“Probably because there was only one explanation—he chose his company over me.”
“Because of the injunction?”
“I would guess.”
Renata then said the hardest words she’d ever said to this child. “Do you think he misled you?”
“You mean that he p
retended to fall in love with me and bought me an engagement ring hoping to convince me to reveal my background?”
“Well, when you put it that way...”
“I don’t think he was lying to me about his feelings. But it doesn’t matter. Actually, it’s worse if he does love me. He still picked his company over me after what we had together.”
“Will you stay in Casarina then?”
“I’d like to.”
“You have legal responsibilities back there.”
“Yes, but those aren’t binding over in Casarina.”
“Hmm.”
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s not like you to go back on your word, is it?”
“Sometimes scruples have to be ignored to survive a situation.”
“I wonder if that’s how Ryder felt when he did what he did.”
* * *
Ryder sat on his back porch letting a warm breeze caress his face and the smell of bushes beginning to bloom fill his head. But the beautiful Saturday evening didn’t lighten his mood. Instead he engaged in what ifs. What would it have been like to see Alexandra in sundresses and sandals, in bathing suits and shorts? What would it have been like to watch her eat ice cream on a hot summer day? He’d given up so much. Oh, he knew why he did it, but that didn’t make him any happier.
So he knocked back his third gin and tonic. Maybe he’d get rip-roaring drunk tonight. Nothing else had helped, so perhaps alcohol would. The doorbell rang. The caller was probably a salesman. He knew it wasn’t one of his sisters who were busy tonight, and he didn’t have any real friends except them. He couldn’t pal around with people at work because he was their boss. And he’d lost track of his cohorts from Wall Street. Something else to be depressed about.
“Stop,” he finally yelled at the doorbell.
Silence.
A few minutes later, he heard behind him, “Here he is.” Millie’s voice.
Then Suzanne came in to view. “Why didn’t you answer?”
