by Holly Hart
“And I adore them. Times a million.”
She reaches up and clasps the hand wrapped around her shoulder, snuggling in closer.
“Are you excited to see your father in the morning?” I ask.
“You know I am,” she says with a wide grin. “We haven’t been in the same room together for months.”
“Any last-minute advice for me before I meet him?” I wince to show I’m properly concerned.
“He has guns. Lots of them.”
I nod. “Right. I’ll warn Marco.”
“He acts tough, but he’s a pussycat. Someone once said that having daughters softens a man. I think having to raise a daughter alone softened him even more.”
“Right,” I say. “Pussycat with guns.”
She elbows me softly.
“Keep in mind that this pussycat can carry a seventy-five-pound calf under each arm.”
“Good lord. I spend an hour a day in my private gymnasium and I’m not entirely sure I could pull off that feat.”
Amanda turns towards me and slides a hand under my shirt.
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate that,” she says, stroking my abs. “But you’re built for looks. Dad is built for work.”
I feign shock. “Are you implying that I don’t work?”
“Hey, if the shoe fits,” she says. “Or in your case, the ceremonial sword.”
That sword. I never gave it a second thought until it suddenly reappeared and turned my life upside down. At first, I thought it was some ancient curse being revisited on the family.
Now I don’t want to think about what might have happened if it hadn’t turned up again. If I hadn’t met this incredible creature in front of me, running her fingernails along my torso.
“I’m not going to sit here and be insulted simply for having the good sense to be born into a royal family,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” she smiles. “Then what are you gonna sit there and do?”
I caress her ivory cheek with my palm and draw her face to mine, planting a slow, deep kiss on her delicious lips.
“That’ll work,” she sighs. “But I think maybe we should end it there. Is that okay?”
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Everything’s perfect,” she says, giving me another peck. “But with Dad coming tomorrow, I’ve got a lot on my mind. And to be honest… I’m worried that if we start, we won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to stop.”
She glances down at the stiff bulge under my pants and bites her lower lip.
“I know I won’t be able to stop,” she says. “And that would violate the decree.”
“No one needs to know,” I offer. “You’ve already passed the test.”
“We would know. And if, for some crazy reason, we ever ended up having to take a polygraph, well… it’s not worth the risk. The stakes are too high.”
I sigh. “You’re right. The wedding is only a few days from now. Only an animal can’t control himself for a few days.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a lusty grin. “You were definitely an animal in the jet.”
I need to put the brakes on this now, before my cock snaps through my fly and takes on a life of its own.
“Let’s focus on something else to help cool things down,” I say, shifting in my seat to get my erection in a more comfortable position.
“Definitely,” she says, frowning. “Serious stuff. There’s a wedding going on. Lots to talk about.”
“My bachelor party, for instance.”
Here eyes narrow. “Is that so?”
“Emilio offered to organize it for a few nights from now. Knowing him, he’ll probably kidnap me and fly me to some unknown destination to meet our regular crowd of reprobates. In my jet, of course.”
Amanda’s look is suddenly serious.
“It won’t be anything… y’know, crazy, will it? I mean, you do have a reputation.”
“I won’t let it be,” I say, taking her hand in mine and kissing her delicate palm.
“You promise?”
How can I convince her? Even now, she has lingering doubts about who I was before we met. My tabloid image isn’t an easy thing to erase.
Then it hits me.
“What if I were to invite your father along?”
Her eyes sparkle. “Really? You would do that for me?”
“Of course. What better way to get to know each other than with some drinking, gambling and cigars?”
“Those are definitely three of his favorite things,” she says with a laugh. “He’s quite the shark on poker night down at the American Legion hall.”
It could actually be fun to show him some of the European games. I’d provide the stakes, of course. Ike Sparks won’t have to worry about paying for anything again in his life, if I have anything to say about it.
“There’s only one problem,” Amanda says. “His wardrobe is, let’s say, limited. As in a half-dozen plaid shirts and a few pairs of jeans.”
I snap my fingers. “He needs a tux for the wedding anyway, so we’ll use that as an excuse to get him some new clothes.”
Next thing I know, her arms are around my neck and her sweet lips are pressing against mine again. We explore each other for a few wonderful moments.
“Thank you,” she says. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I know it will be a pain in the butt dragging him around with you guys.”
“From what you’ve told me, I highly doubt that. I’m looking forward to it.”
She grins and pats my leg as she rises to leave.
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that after you meet him in the morning.”
Chapter Thirty
29. INTERLUDE
“Did he agree?”
Emilio sighs as he closes the door behind him and flops down on the sofa in his quarters. He closes his bloodshot eyes as his head drops back on the cushions.
“I’m fine, Mother, how are you? Oh, and thanks for letting yourself in. Saves me the effort.”
“You’re not fine, you’re drunk,” Isabella snipes from her seat near the fireplace. “Answer the question.”
“Yes, he agreed to let me plan his bachelor party.”
“Perfect,” she says. “And he’ll have no idea what’s waiting for him there?”
“I’m not an idiot. It shouldn’t be too hard to set up.”
“You act as if you’re being sent to prison. Why can’t you realize that this is all for you?”
Emilio opens his eyes and glares at her.
“Keep telling yourself that, Mother. Maybe someday you’ll believe it. I, however, won’t.”
She clucks her tongue.
“How I ever produced such an ungrateful child is beyond me. After all, how many people have the chance to become the head of a royal family?”
And all I have to do for it, Emilio thinks, is sell my soul.
Chapter Thirty-One
30. AMANDA
Watching my dad walk down the stairs of a private jet to the tarmac will go down as one of the strangest moments of my life.
My heart leaps at the sight of him, but I can’t hold back a giggle at seeing this giant in his Levi’s jeans and Wrangler shirt being seen off the plane by royal staff in formalwear. Even without his cowboy hat, he still sticks out like a sore thumb.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Dad!” I squeal, giving in to my urge to just run to him. It’s been far too long.
“Pumpkin!” he hollers, sweeping me up off the tarmac in those powerful arms. I grip my own around his bull neck and lay a wet kiss on his stubbly cheek.
“I missed you so much!” I say as he sets me back down. The tears are hot in my eyes.
“Not as much as I missed you. The cows have been askin’ about you.”
“Cows can’t talk,” I say, reciting my part of the ritual.
“But they sure can smell!” we shout together.
Yeah, I know, it’s lame as hell. But it’s ours.
I g
rip his hand and lead him to the limousine where Dante stands fidgeting. Marco, as always, stands ready in the background.
Dante is tall, but my dad is taller. And about fifty pounds heavier. The look on Dante’s face says he wasn’t quite ready for just how intimidating his father-in-law-to-be really is.
Dad offers him his best Clint Eastwood look as we reach the car.
“Isaac Sparks,” I say, “It’s my great pleasure to have you meet my fiancé, His Highness, Prince Dante, monarch of the principality of Morova.”
“Sir,” Dante says, reaching for Dad’s big, leathery hand. “It’s a privilege. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time.”
His smile turns into a grimace as Dad grips his hand and squeezes.
Dad turns to me, his face stone, his hand still clutching Dante’s.
“So am I supposed to bow to this clown, or what?” he drawls.
I look at him, then at Dante. Dante looks at me, and then at Dad. None of us says a word for three full seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marco take a tentative step forward.
Then the grin I knew was coming finally spreads across my father’s face, and Clint is immediately replaced by the goofy old cuss that is my dad. He claps a hand on Dante’s back, making him stumble just the tiniest bit.
“I’m just messin’ with you, kid!” Dad hoots. “But you stood your ground, I respect that. Call me Ike. I dunno why Amanda always introduces me by my given name. Only my ma ever called me Isaac, and even then it was only when she was givin’ me shit.”
Dante keeps the winning smile plastered to his face through it all, God bless him. My dad knows how to fill a room, even when the room is a private airstrip.
“Ike it is, then,” says Dante, surreptitiously stretching his hand in agony as Dad lets it go. “Did your flight go well?”
“Ho-lee sheepshit, did it ever,” Dad says. “That bird is nicer than the best hotel room I ever stayed in. There’s even cold Bud in the fridge!”
“Wait until you see the palace,” I say, laughing. “It’s going to blow your mind.”
The airstrip is only a handful of miles from the private hovercraft launch to Isola D’ora. Dad marvels at the scenery that flows past outside the limo’s windows: low, emerald green hills, thousand-year-old villas and cobblestone streets share the vista with gleaming modern buildings of granite and glass.
He lets out a low whistle. “This is really somethin.’ What do you folks grow around here? Oilseeds?”
Dante glances at me and I smile. It’s his show now.
“Actually, Ike, there is no agriculture in Morova,” he says. “Outside of a few vegetable growers, that is. The majority of food is imported from Italy.”
“Huh,” Dad grunts. “Then how’d you make your money?”
“The Trentini family’s banking interests go back centuries. The entirety of Morova is essentially a hub for the financial industry.”
I see Dad’s face darken. Shit, it should have occurred to me that this would be a sensitive subject.
“I ain’t exactly a fan of banks,” he grumbles.
“Neither am I,” Dante says earnestly. “That’s why I’ve invested so much of the family fortune in sustainable resources, international aid and leading-edge technology research.”
I smile. Dante’s a pro at this. I never should have doubted his ability to handle things.
“My father once told me that gold on its own means nothing,” he says. “You can’t eat it or drink it, and it can’t keep you warm. It’s our duty as Trentinis to turn that gold into something substantial that can have a real impact on people.”
Dad’s overgrown eyebrows go up.
“Sounds like a smart man,” he says. “Amanda tells me you lost your parents young. That’s rough.”
“You and she lost her mother at a young age, as well. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you both.”
Turn the conversation back to make it about the other person. Machiavelli would be proud. I know I am.
“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Dad says. “But we made out okay. Didn’t we, pumpkin?”
I grab his big meaty mitt. “We sure did.”
“Ike, if I may,” Dante says. “Your daughter is a woman of singular character. Her honest and genuine nature has been a breath of fresh air in the palace, especially since so many of the people there seem to have inherited their ancestors’ ability keep their heads firmly up their own asses.”
Dad snorts a laugh.
“I have you to thank for that,” Dante continues. “Amanda has utterly captured my heart, and I deeply appreciate your blessing on our marriage. I also beg your forgiveness for speeding the wedding along so quickly.”
“He always talk like that?” Dad asks, looking at me.
“Most of the time,” I chuckle.
“Probably doesn’t cuss, either,” he says, laying a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Look, son, I appreciate what you’re sayin.’ But you don’t have to use big words to convince me you’re good enough for my daughter. I trust her. If she says you’re the one, that’s all I need.”
Dante glances at me, then back at Dad.
“Well,” he shrugs. “Fuck the both of you, then.”
Dad’s eyes go wide. So do mine.
“Just messin’ with you,” Dante says with a grin.
The limo rings out with laughter as it pulls onto the deck of the hovercraft that will ferry us over to the shores of an island that doesn’t know what’s about to hit it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
31. DANTE
“So what d’you boys think of this stuff?” Ike asks, draining the remaining half of his Budweiser in a single pull.
“It’s quite good,” I say. “I’ve never had an American lager before.”
Emilio’s eyebrows go up. He’s been making a face since he downed his first swallow.
“It’s quite … unique,” he says with a pained smile.
“King of beers,” Ike says as he pulls another bottle from the Falcon’s fridge and pops the cap with the twist of two sausage fingers. “Should be good enough for a prince, hey?”
He’s got his bulk in the lounger next to mine while Emilio takes up the sofa. My cousin still hasn’t told us where we’re going for the bachelor party, and I couldn’t cajole it out of Marco or the pilots.
“I gotta say, this get-up is pretty comfortable,” Ike says, picking at the collar of his silk shirt. “Feels weird havin’ so many buttons open on m’shirt, though.”
Amanda and I managed to fill a whole new wardrobe for him at Renco, one of the top big-and-tall stores in Milan. The rest of today’s outfit consists of a stone-color jacket and khakis with a dark brown Zegna belt. He refused the scarf, and chose to stick with his custom-made cowboy boots, which I have to admit look remarkably stylish with the ensemble.
It’s probably for the best, since we couldn’t find any size twenty Gucci loafers anywhere.
“There will be plenty of ladies at the party tonight,” I say. “Once they find out you’re a real cowboy, you’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”
Ike chuckles but shakes his head.
“I got my eye on a gal back home,” he says. “We’re not really datin’ just yet, but we always talk awhile whenever we run into each other.”
“How long has this been going on?” I ask.
“Oh, couple years now, I guess.”
“Why don’t you make a move?” Emilio asks.
Ike takes another pull from his beer. “Can’t all be like Speedy Gonzalez here,” he says, tilting his bottle at me.
His acceptance of this whole crazy scheme still amazes me. The wedding is still on the front pages of every newspaper in Europe: we’re moving too fast, Amanda is pregnant, it’s irresponsible. And I don’t even want to think about the chatter behind closed doors in Morovan high society.
But Ike couldn’t care less. All he wants is for his daughter to be happy.
“What can I say?” I
shrug. “I didn’t want her to slip through my fingers.”
He drops a wink. “Good answer, kid.”
The slight hissing sound of the cockpit radio fills the cabin as the captain informs us we’ll be starting our final descent in about fifteen minutes.
“Final descent into where?” I ask Emilio.
He’s already up and walking through the cabin, pulling down the shades in every window. This may be maddening, but it will certainly be a surprise. We’ve only been in the air less than two hours, so there are a limited number of places we could be.
“This is crazy,” Ike says with a grin. “I never flew anywhere before a few days ago and now I’m on a private jet headin’ someplace I don’t even know.”
“Welcome to the life of a prince,” I sigh. “The bloom falls off the rose very quickly.”
“I’ll bet,” he says, finishing his Budweiser. “I suppose this kinda stuff would start to wear on me after awhile, too.”
He reaches into the fridge and pulls out three more beers. He hands one to Emilio and me and pops his own.
“But for right now,” he says with a toast, “let’s git ‘er done!”
Turns out the secret destination was Ibiza. It’s not like I haven’t been here before, but as Ike is so fond of saying, he’s never been anywhere, so it’s cool.
Even now, after sundown, the beach is still hot, so we’ve taken the party into an air-conditioned beachside nightclub called Loco. As with all Ibiza clubs, it’s frenetic and over-full, but the music is good and the company is great.
“I can’t believe you got the old gang back together,” I say to Emilio. We’re in the largest of the VIP rooms, overlooking the dance floor, but shielded from the throbbing music, so we can still hear each other.
I won’t name names, but a lot of the people in this room routinely make the Forbes list, and several are on the list of the world’s most eligible royals. All of them grew up in the same circumstances as Emilio and I, under the burden of wealth and titles. It sounds like a first-world problem, but when your fate is tied to that of your nation, sometimes you just need to let off some steam.
