by Holly Hart
Should I tell him? The longer this charade goes on, the sicker I get of keeping secrets.
“Ike,” I sigh. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
He stares at me for a full minute after I finish telling him the story. Long enough for me to wonder if he’s choosing which shotgun he’s going to pull down from the rack on the wall and use on me.
“Are you tellin’ me my daughter is in an arranged marriage?”
“No!” I say. “Well, sort of, but not really. It started out as a marriage of convenience, yes, but Ike, I love Amanda.”
“Well, that much I know,” he grumbles.
He does?
“How?” I ask.
“I can see it in the way you look at her, stupid. Trust me, if I hadn’t seen that the first time I met you, I woulda taken you aside and had some words with you, face to fist.”
Part of me wants to laugh out loud. The rest of me wonders if there are any bodies buried here on the ranch.
“I gotta say, son, that is one fucked up situation you’re bringin’ me.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“You’re askin’ me?” His eyes go wide – well, as wide as they can. “What the hell do I know about that kinda shit?”
“You’re possibly the wisest person I know,” I say.
“Well then, you need to meet more people,” he says.
He walks into the kitchen and returns with two open bottles of Budweiser.
“I always think better with a cold one,” he says. “All right, so when the rubber hits the road, what’re your options?”
“I can fight for a ‘no’ vote on the referendum and hope it goes my way.”
“And the other?”
“I can concede the monarchy to my cousin and avoid the referendum altogether.”
He takes a pull off his beer and scratches his chin thoughtfully.
“What happens with that? He takes over runnin’ things?”
“It’s complicated, but essentially, yes. The government will have more control over the Trentini billions, though, and can use the fortune as they see fit. All they need is Emilio’s signature, which I’m sure Isabella will be more than happy to provide.”
He scowls. “I know she’s your aunt ‘n’ all, but that bitch is a piece of work.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“So let’s say that happens – are you broke, then?”
“No, it’s virtually impossible for me to be broke. I have land, investments, art. I’ll always be wealthy, just not at the level I am now.”
“So why bust your hump? Who gives a shit if the people turf you? If they don’t like you, fuck ‘em.”
He makes a good point. I talk a good game about being the servant of the people of Morova, but in the end, if they vote to get rid of me, what do I really owe them? You get the government you deserve, and if they vote to bring in Emilio, it’s on them.
So why am I still so set on fighting? Because I’m finally forcing myself to acknowledge something that I refused to think about ever since the referendum was announced.
“It’s the children, Ike,” I say, swallowing hard.
Ike’s ears prick up. “The rugrats? What about ‘em?”
“There’s a chance that, if Emilio and Isabella win, she’ll petition for custody of them.”
“What?!” he barks. “You gotta be shittin’ me!”
“I shit you not,” I say, but there’s no humor in our running joke right now.
“How the hell would that work?”
“The same reason they’re calling for a referendum in the first place,” I say. “The councils think I’m not fit to be a parent. They see Isabella as more stable, especially in light of the bachelor party scandal.”
“All right, I get that. But why does your aunt want custody of the kids? She ain’t exactly mother material.”
“For the same reason she acted as my regent until I turned twenty-one: she wants control of the Trentini heir. In this case, once I’m out of the picture, that will be Vito.”
“Wait a minute,” he says. “I thought Emilio would take over?”
“He’s not actually a Trentini, he’s a Steiger. Isabella was my mother’s sister, so neither of them are technically royals.”
Ike shakes his head. “This shit makes my brain hurt.”
“I know how you and Amanda feel about the children.”
He straightens up. “Anyone who tries to hurt them is gonna get my boot so far up their ass they’ll be shining it with their tongue.”
I nod, trying swallow my emotions. I’ve never had many people on my side. I mean totally on my side, people I can trust with my life. Maria and Carlo, yes, but they work for me. Adriana and Albert, but they were gone far too soon.
To know that I can count on Ike to have my back, and take care of my children, after only knowing him a couple of months – it’s indescribable. Just like my feelings for his daughter. I’ve never been a religious man, but it’s hard not to make a case for God when you’ve been blessed the way I have.
I drain my beer and drop the empty on the table beside me.
“So we’re going to fight?” I ask.
“For Oriana and Vito? You’re goddamn right we are. Did you tell Amanda about this?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I didn’t want to scare her. And I didn’t want her to make a decision about me based solely on the children.”
Ike nods. “I can understand that. I love Amanda more ‘n’ anything in this world, but she can be a dog with a bone sometimes when it comes to kids and animals. If she knew the kids were at stake, she’d stay married to Hitler himself.”
“I hope that’s not a comparison,” I say with a wan smile.
He chucks me on the shoulder. “Nah,” he says. “I always figured you for more of a Mussolini type.”
I laugh. The man knows how to lighten a mood.
“Will you come back and fight with me, Ike?”
“’Course I will. My daughter and grandkids are in trouble. They need their nonno.”
“Yes, they do.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow. We can drive my truck back up to Calgary, and then you can charter a private jet back to Morova.”
I raise my eyebrows. “A private jet?” I ask.
“Duh,” he says. “You don’t expect me to fly on a commercial airline, do ya?”
He pops open another bottle of Budweiser and tilts it towards me in a salute.
“Or didn’t y’hear? My daughter married the friggin’ Prince of Morova.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
52. AMANDA
“I can’t believe he brought you into this!”
Dad looks at me the way he used to when I was in high school and I’d unleash my full teenage fury on him.
“Look here, Amanda,” he says sternly. “Nobody ‘brings me’ into anything. I came on my own, for my own reasons. That clear?”
Damned if he doesn’t make me feel like a kid again, too.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “I just think it was irresponsible of him to take off at the last hour like he did.”
The two of us are in one of the palace’s hundred or so sitting rooms. Dante and I haven’t really spoken since he got back from the States. The children have been eager to see Dad since they heard he was coming back, but I needed to talk to him first.
“Honey, you gotta give the boy the benefit of the doubt. He’s got a lot goin’ on in his head right now.”
“And I don’t?” I snap. Teenage Amanda makes an appearance again.
“I didn’t say that. I know this has been hard on you. But you’re not on the verge of losin’ everything that ever defined who you are. Can’t blame the boy for bein’ distracted.”
He’s right. As usual. Dad has always had a way of cutting to the chase and making me see exactly what the real problem is.
I sigh. “Things have been… not good between us, Dad. We put on a face for the twins, but we’ve been sleeping in separate rooms sinc
e the photos came out.”
“I kinda figured that,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “You got a raw deal, pumpkin, I know that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, but I think I know the answer.
“Dante told me everything,” he says. “About your marriage, and the decree thing.”
For a moment, I’m furious with Dante for telling him, but just as quickly I’m overcome with relief. I’m so sick of keeping the secret. I feel hot tears in my eyes as I bury my face in Dad’s shoulder.
“It’s all so crazy,” I sob. “Why couldn’t I have found a nice boy back home? I could have stayed and helped you on the ranch and my life would have been normal.”
I feel his shoulder move up and down against my face. Is he – is he laughing?
“Dad!”
“I’m sorry, hon,” he chuckles. “I really am. I know you been through a lot. But sweetie, you were never gonna be normal.”
“Gee, thanks a lot!” I fume.
“I don’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that I always knew your future wasn’t gonna be on the ranch. You went through school on a rocket sled. And the way you used to pause your Disney DVDs to show me all the things the cartoon got wrong about medieval history and royal protocol… yeah, you weren’t gonna have a normal life.”
He’s right, dammit. He’s always right.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I didn’t deserve to end up in this mess.”
“No, you sure didn’t, sweetie. But neither did Dante. And neither did those kids.”
He wraps my hands in his big, warm ones.
“Speakin’ of them, there’s something that’s been weighin’ on Dante that he hasn’t told you about.”
There are probably a lot of things Dante hasn’t talked to me about. I haven’t exactly been receptive the past few weeks.
“What is it?”
“He’s worried that Isabella will get custody of the children if the vote goes against him.”
My heart drops. That never even occurred to me, but now that it does, it’s terrifying.
“I can’t let that happen,” I say. “I’m amazed at how normal Dante managed to be living with such a bizarre family. I don’t even want to think what it would be like for the twins in that kind of a life, especially if Dante isn’t around for them.”
As if on cue, Oriana and Vito come bounding into the room.
“Nonno!” they holler. “You’re back!”
They jump into his lap and he wraps his big bear arms around them, laughing.
“’Course I’m back,” he says. “Somebody has to keep you two brats in line, and I know Amanda here’s not up to it. You got her wrapped around your little fingers.”
“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes and smiling at the kids. “If anyone’s wrapped up, it’s you, you old leather boot.”
Dad holds up Oriana’s hand and tugs at her pinky finger.
“I think she’s fibbin,’” he says. “I wouldn’t fit around that little thing.”
She giggles, but Vito’s face is serious.
“Are you here because of the refern – the fref – the vote tomorrow?” he asks.
“The vote? What vote?”
“Uncle and Amanda said there’s a government thing tomorrow where the people are going to vote.”
“Aw, that’s boring stuff. I was thinkin’ that the three of us should do somethin’ fun tomorrow and then the grown-ups can do that government thing on their own.”
Oriana’s eyes light up. She turns to me: “Can we, Amanda? Please? I don’t want to do government stuff.”
Dad’s always known how to fix things, God love him.
“Sure,” I say. “Then, when our stuff is over with, we’ll come find you and we can all have a late supper. How does that sound?”
“Perfect!” she says.
“Good. Now go find something to do, okay? I need to talk with nonno alone.”
They say their good-byes and scurry back out the way they always do. I marvel at how much energy they have. Then again, even though I’m only twenty-seven, I’ve been feeling a lot older lately.
“I can’t let them end up under Isabella’s thumb,” I say. “I won’t. There’s going to be a live debate tomorrow morning before the polls open. I’m going to tell Dante I want to be there with him for it.”
“That’s my girl,” he says. “But I want you to think about something before you do that.”
“Think about what?”
“I want you to ask yourself why you’re doin’ it.”
“What do you mean, why? I just told you.”
He nods. “For the kids, I heard you. But I want you to really think about that.”
“There’s nothing to think about.”
“Yeah, there is. Honey, do you remember that time when you were little and you tried to get that old cat in the barn to come be your pet?”
Old Duffy. I tried for months to get that smelly old bugger to be a house cat, but he refused. Mom was still alive then; she called Duffy “that damned cat.”
“Of course I do. But what does that have to do with this?”
“You didn’t even like that little bastard,” he says. “He was always hissin’ at you, he stunk to high heaven. Every time you tried to pick him up, he’d just wriggle out of your arms and run away.”
“I still don’t see your point.”
“My point is that you thought he should be an indoor cat because then he’d be safe and warm and always have food to eat. You didn’t even really like him. You didn’t want to pet him or have him sleep on your bed or anything like that. You just thought it was the right thing to do.”
“So?” I’m getting angry now. “It was the right thing to do. Are you comparing the twins to Duffy?”
“’Course not. I’m sayin’ that you were always thinkin’ about Duffy’s welfare, not your own.”
“And?”
“And you’re doin’ it again. Sacrificing what you want for the sake of doin’ the right thing. At some point, honey, you gotta put yourself first. This is the rest of your life you’re talkin’ about here. As much as we both care about those kids, they’re not a good enough reason to give up your life.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that.
“You think you’d be doin’ those kids a favor by stayin’ with a man just for their sake? Believe me, I seen enough couples who fought like cats in a sack but stayed together for the kids. You talk to those grown kids today, they’d tell you they wish their folks had split up instead.”
I want to yell at him that he’s wrong, that everything he just said is bullshit. But I can’t. He’s right; Dante took care of those kids for ten years before I showed up. He doesn’t need me to save them.
And if we were to turn into one of those couples that fights in front of the kids, or worse, plays manipulative games against each other with the kids as pawns, we’d be no better than the types of people Dante’s been fighting his whole life.
By trying to do the right thing, I could end up becoming Isabella myself.
I don’t want to play the Game of Thrones. I just want to live my life and be happy.
Dad lets out a huge yawn and rubs his eyes.
“I need to catch a nap,” he says. “Jet lag is a bitch. Heh, listen to me. Ike Sparks talkin’ about jet lag. Ever think you’d see the day?”
“No,” I say with a half-smile. “Then again, I never thought I’d see the day when I married Prince Charming, either.”
He kisses my cheek. “Think about what I said, honey.”
“I will, Dad,” I say as he heads off for his quarters.
I may not get any sleep tonight, because it’s all I can think about.
Chapter Fifty-Four
53. DANTE
“I’m not sure how the Crown Council building can be considered neutral ground,” I gripe.
Carlo leans in close. “Remember, sir,” he whispers. “There are cameras everywhere here, and you’re not exactly anyone’s fav
orite person right now.”
He’s right, of course, I’m just letting off steam. The foyer of the council building is large and open, perfect for the debate that’s about to happen. And I need to make sure I don’t come off as an asshole, the way I did with Lorenzo Ricci. Maria showed me the social media numbers after that – they weren’t pretty.
There are dozens of people milling around the foyer as the media set up to broadcast the debate live. Huber and I will spar, then we each get a closing statement. After that, the people of Morova go to the polls and decide my future.
“I hate giving speeches,” I say to Carlo.
“Then learn to like it,” he says. “And learn it very quickly. I have no desire to begin working for your aunt, in the unlikely event she would allow me to keep my job.”
Speaking of Isabella, she’s sucking up to a gang of council members on Huber’s side of the stage. She refuses to look in my direction. I have no idea where Emilio is.
In the distance, I see Amanda come through the main entrance, Maria and Ike by her side. She’s dressed in a dark dress with a suit jacket, her hair pulled up in a conservative style. She looks every bit the prim and proper lady. All she’s missing is a hat and she could be one of the British royals.
It’s a strategy, of course – make her appear dignified and serious, a perfect, proper princess of Morova. But it’s jarring how different she looks. Nothing like the wide-eyed young woman in the tight, soaking wet blouse who captured my heart that day outside my office.
Was it only a couple of months ago? God, it seems like forever.
She greets me with a chaste peck on the cheek.
“I think we may just pull this off,” Maria says, nodding her approval of the kiss. “Amanda in her finest, you in your uniform, sword by your side.”
“I figured it was the beginning of this whole thing,” I say. “Might as well have it beside me at the end.”
“Keep your pecker up,” Ike says, shaking my hand. He’s dressed in his typical mash-up of cowboy chic and Italian style. “We ain’t licked yet.”
I take Amanda’s arm and lead her to an alcove so we can speak away from prying eyes.
