The Bachelor Prince

by Debbie Macomber

  The prince couldn’t have been more surprised if his secretary and friend had pulled a pistol on him. The betrayal was shocking.

  Stefano sank onto the sofa cushions, hardly able to believe what he was reading. Pietro had been with him for years. He was far more than his secretary and companion. Pietro was his friend. The best he’d ever had.

  “Is there a reason for your resignation, other than my tardiness this evening?” he managed to ask after a strained moment.

  Pietro whirled around to face him. Their gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. It felt as if they breathed simultaneously, each harboring his own grief.

  “Yes,” Pietro admitted reluctantly.

  “You are free to tell me what I’ve done to offend you.” He wanted this confrontation to be man to man, not prince to subject, not employer to employee.

  Pietro chose to sit in the chair across from him. His friend was a large man, and when he leaned forward their knees almost touched.

  “I cannot. I will not,” he amended heatedly, “allow you to treat Priscilla Rutherford in such an insulting manner. She is a woman worthy of being your bride.”

  “I fully intend to marry the woman,” Stefano argued, but he could see that his reassurances did little to appease Pietro. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Stefano asked.

  “Yes,” he barked. “But give me one good reason she would want you after the horrible way you’ve treated her.”

  Stefano didn’t have a clue what Pietro was speaking about. “Forgive me for being obtuse, but what terrible sin have I committed against the woman?”

  It didn’t take Pietro long to answer.

  “First off, you visit her home and meet her family and completely ignore Priscilla.”

  Now that Pietro mentioned it, Stefano did recall becoming heavily involved in a conversation with James Rutherford. He’d been distracted, but as he remembered it, Priscilla hadn’t seemed to mind.

  “Nor can there be any excuse for this evening, “ Pietro continued.

  “This evening at the banquet?” Stefano had thought he’d been attentive and thoughtful. It was apparent from the beginning that Priscilla had been ill. Rather than detain her while he dealt with the many women who sought an audience, he’d had Pietro escort her home.

  “I never intended to insult her. I assumed she wasn’t feeling well and thought to see to her comfort as quickly as possible.”

  True, he’d been eager to escape the banquet so he could meet Hope, but that had nothing to do with his time with Priscilla. “First thing in the morning, I’ll send flowers and beg her indulgence,” Stefano offered, hoping that would appease his secretary.

  Pietro rubbed a hand down his face, and Stefano couldn’t remember seeing his friend look more tired. “I’ve already seen to that.”

  “Thank you,” Stefano murmured, inclining his head.

  Pietro clenched his hands over his knees. “Answer me one thing.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you care for Priscilla?”

  If asked if he loved her, Stefano would have been honest. He liked Priscilla Rutherford, and was comfortable enough with her that in time he was confident he would grow to feel a deep tenderness for her. “Yes, I care for her.”

  “Then you intend to marry her?”

  Stefano had no option. Pietro knew that better than anyone. “If she agrees to be my bride, then we will be married at the first opportunity.”

  Pietro lowered his gaze and after a long moment, said, “Good.”

  “My hope is that once we return to San Lorenzo, she wül follow with her family. Once she stays at the palace and samples what her life would be like there, I’ll court her seriously.” He hesitated, wondering if the heiress had said something to Pietro that he should know. “Do you know what her feelings are toward me?”

  “No,” came the stark answer.

  Stefano waited a moment more, and tore Pietro’s letter of resignation in half. “Now, can we forget this nonsense? It’s late and we’re both tired.”,

  Pietro studied the torn piece of paper. “I will stay with you until we return to San Lorenzo,” he said, his look both troubled and thoughtful. “If you want, I’ll interview the applicants for my replacement, and leave as soon as one can be trained.”

  Stunned, Stefano nodded. “As you wish.”

  Stefano woke with a heavy heart. Unfortunately, the morning didn’t bring any better news. He dressed, and when his breakfast arrived, he sat alone at the table and sipped his first cup of coffee.

  From habit, he reached for the morning newspaper, and scanned the headlines. As he reached for a baguette, his gaze fell upon the society page. The image of his own face smiled up benignly greeted him. It wasn’t as though he were unaccustomed to finding his picture in the paper. Cameras routinely followed him.

  But this photograph was different because Priscilla Rutherford was standing next to him. The lens had caught them at an opportune moment in which they happened to be gazing at each other. For all intents and purposes it looked as if they were deeply in love. The headlines gave way to speculation that an American had laid claim to Prince Stefano’s heart.

  The speculation in the article was even worse. The more he read, the more alarmed Stefano became. The entire piece was geared toward Stefano’s attention to the heiress, and speculation as to where the romance would lead.

  Stefano feared Hope would read this article and think terrible things of him. He must talk to her, assure her he wasn’t playing her for a fool. But just as he reached for the telephone, Pietro brought him in some documents that required his signature.

  Stefano didn’t dare risk contacting Hope with Pietro in the room. As much as it was possible, he wanted to keep his relationship with Hope a secret. Later, when it became necessary for him to leave, he wanted to spare her any unnecessary attention, and/or embarrassment.

  His only opportunity to speak privately with Hope was to find some errand on which to send Pietro. “I need you to do something for me at your earliest convenience,” Stefano said, reaching for his gold pen and a monogrammed sheet of paper.

  “Of course,” Pietro replied stiffly.

  Stefano wrote out a message as quickly as his hand would move the pen. He folded the note and inserted it inside an envelope. “Personally deliver this to Miss Rutherford for me,” he said, “and await her response.”

  Pietro hesitated long enough to attract Stefano’s attention. “Would you like me to leave right away?” Pietro asked.

  “Please,” Stefano said. He didn’t know what was wrong with Pietro, but his tone implied that he’d rather walk off a gangplank than carry out this errand. If he wasn’t so anxious to speak to Hope, he would have questioned his friend.

  Pietro reluctantly accepted the envelope. Stefano waited until his secretary had left the room before reaching for the telephone. An eternity passed before the first ring. A second, third and a fourth followed before voice mail came on.

  He listened to Hope’s voice and even though it came through the device, Stefano’s spirits lifted just hearing her speak. She sounded upbeat and energetic, giving instructions to wait for the long beep.

  “Hope, my princess…” Stefano hated machines. Now that he could speak, he didn’t know what to say. “Please, my darling, don’t be influenced by anything you read in the papers. You own my heart. Meet me this evening as we arranged. It’s vital that we speak.” With that he replaced the telephone receiver, convinced his message was grossly inadequate.

  He covered his eyes with one hand and sighed heavily, if she hadn’t already read the article, she would now. With one phone call he might have destroyed his relationship with the only woman he’d ever loved.

  Priscilla endured breakfast with her parents while they touted the virtues of Prince Stefano as if he were a god. As far as either of them were concerned, the man was perfect in every way.

  Neither bothered to ask about her evening. Apparently they assumed everything had been wonderful fro
m beginning to end. But then Priscilla hadn’t volunteered any information, either, and if the truth be known, she didn’t know what she’d say if they asked.

  The fever pitch accelerated when her mother read the morning paper and found Priscilla pictured with the prince taking up almost half of the society page.

  By midmorning, the phone was ringing off the hook, and Elizabeth was in heaven delivering tidbits of speculation to her dearest friends.

  As soon as she was able, Priscilla escaped with a book to the gazebo, one of her favorite hiding places. Her intention was to bury herself in the carefree world of a good story, but try as she might to concentrate, her attention repeatedly wandered from the printed page.

  Instead of becoming absorbed in the novel, her thoughts continually reviewed the time she’d spent with Pietro. The man confused her more than anyone she’d ever known. But it didn’t stop there. He intrigued her, as well. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did, as if she were a rare beauty, as if she were brilliant and utterly charming.

  Priscilla discovered that all the things Pietro had told her about the prince were true for himself, as well. He was a gentle, kind and caring man.

  “‘I wondered if I’d find you out here, miss,” Mrs. Daily, the cook said, sounding winded. She wore a black dress that rounded nicely over her ample hips and a white apron. “I swear I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching for you.”

  Disheartened, Priscilla closed the novel. She’d been found. “Is my mother looking for me?”

  “No. A gentleman came to call. He gave me this card.”

  Priscilla examined the name and sat upright so fast she nearly toppled out of the chair. Pietro. Her heart pounded with excitement. “Has he left?”

  “No. Apparently he has a letter and has been instructed to give it to you personally. He explained that he needs a reply. He’s waiting in your father’s den.”

  “Does…anyone else know he’s here?”

  Mrs. Daily wiped the perspiration from her brow. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Daily,” she said and impulsively kissed the older woman’s flushed cheek. “You’re an angel.” With that, Priscilla raced across the wide expanse of groomed lawn, taking a shortcut through the garden. Breathless, she came upon the den from the outside entrance.

  She stood on the other side of the double wide French doors and watched Pietro, who was standing in front of the fireplace. He seemed to be examining the carved wooden ducks her father displayed on the mantel.

  Pietro turned at the sound of the door opening.

  “Hello,” she said, terribly conscious of her shorts and T-shirt. Her mother would most definitely disapprove, but Priscilla hadn’t wanted to waste time changing clothes.

  “Priscilla.” She surprised him and he appeared to brace himself. At once he became stiff and businesslike. Opening his suit jacket, he withdrew an envelope.

  “How are you this fine day?” she asked cheerfully.

  “Very good, thank you,” he returned crisply. “And yourself?”

  “Great.” Especially now, although it was hard to believe that the dignified man who stood before her was the same one who’d held and kissed her the night before.

  “You might wish to read what’s inside the envelope,” he offered after a moment.

  “Of course,” she said, laughing inwardly at herself. It had been enough just to see him. Nothing Prince Stefano had written could rival that.

  Priscilla felt his scrutiny as she read over the few scribbled lines. Either the prince had poor penmanship or he’d been in a terrible hurry. “I can’t seem to make out a few lines,” she said, using that as an excuse to move closer to him. “Can you?”

  Pietro reluctantly read over the note. He frowned as if he were having difficulty reading the message, as well. “He apologizes for any embarrassment the article in this morning’s paper has caused you.”

  “Did you see it?” she asked Pietro.

  “No.”

  “Trust me, you didn’t miss much. Frankly the prince is far more photogenic than I am. The article is nothing but speculation about our supposed romance, and nothing anyone with a whit of sense would take seriously. I know I’m not.” She motioned toward the deep burgundy chairs that were positioned next to the fireplace. They both sat.

  “Unfortunately,” she confided, “that’s not the case with my mother. You’d think I’d been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize from the way she’s acting.”

  “So your parents are pleased with the attention the prince is paying you.”

  She wrinkled her nose and nodded. “I suppose I should let them enjoy it while they can. You see, I haven’t given them much to brag to their friends about. I’m not the least bit gifted.”

  His eyes snapped with disagreement. “That is most certainly not true.”

  If Priscilla hadn’t already been in love with Pietro, she would have fallen head over heels right then. “I mean I’m not talented musically, or athletically or in some other way that parents like to brag to their friends about. With one exception/’ she amended, “I always achieved top grades. For years mother wanted to test my intelligence quota so she could boast to her friends that I had a genius IQ.”

  “Do you?” He made it sound like a distinct possibility.

  “I don’t know. I refused to be tested. I mean, what does it really matter if have a high IQ or don’t? Knowing my test score doesn’t change who or what I am, does it?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I didn’t think so, either. Bless her heart, my mother never understood that. And so, if she can stand in the limelight with her friends because of the attention Prince Stefano’s giving me, well, I figure she’s waited a long time.”

  Pietro’s gaze found hers and she smiled at him. “What was the last part of his message? I couldn’t make it out.”

  “He’s invited you and your parents to brunch tomorrow morning at eleven.”

  “Oh, dear,” Priscilla said with a ragged sigh. “I’d hoped the banquet might be the last of it.”

  Pietro frowned. “The last of it?”

  “The prince’s attention,” Priscilla explained. “Frankly, I haven’t figured out what he sees in me.”

  Pietro’s eyes snapped the way they had earlier when she claimed she was without talent. “Can you accept Prince Stefano’s invitation?” he asked brusquely.

  “I’m sure we can.” The truth was she’d much prefer for the prince to leave Seattle, so she could quietly return to her life. But that would mean that Pietro would be leaving, as well, so she was torn.

  “Before you accept, don’t you think you should speak with your parents first?”

  “No,” she said with frank honesty. “Because if they have a conflict, I’m sure they’ll make other arrangements. It isn’t every day a father has a chance to foist his daughter off on royalty.” It was a joke, but Pietro didn’t laugh.

  “If Prince Stefano chooses you as his bride, he will be the fortunate one. How is it your parents don’t recognize the rare jewel you are?” He frowned, sincerely puzzled. His words were so genuine that Priscilla developed a lump in her throat. Several moments passed before it dissolved enough for her to speak.

  “Oh, Pietro, you make me feel like a princess.”

  He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, when the door to the den opened and her mother abruptly appeared.

  “Priscilla, I’ve been looking for you for a solid hour. You’ve been hiding from me again,” she said disapprovingly until she noticed Pietro.

  He stood. “Good day, Mrs. Rutherford.”

  “Hello, Pietro,” she greeted warmly, clasping her hands together. “I wasn’t told you were here.”

  “Prince Stefano sent me to deliver a letter to Priscilla.”

  “A letter?” Elizabeth Rutherford’s eyes brightened. “I was just looking to tell Priscilla a gorgeous bouquet of flowers arrived from the prince. Why, it’s one of the largest arrangements I believe I’ve
ever seen.” She handed Priscilla the card and then gracefully slipped the prince’s letter from Pietro’s fingers.

  Instead of reading the card, Priscilla watched her mother’s eyes quickly scan the letter. Elizabeth seemed to have no problem deciphering Stefano’s handwriting. “He’s invited us to brunch,” she cooed.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I hope you told him we’d be most honored to accept his invitation.”

  “Priscilla has already accepted on your behalf.”

  “Very good,” her mother said, and the “look” came over her as she studied Priscilla—one that Priscilla recognized all too well. The look that claimed there was nothing in three wardrobes full of clothes that was appropriate for her to wear. The look that said Priscilla was doomed to spend the entire day shopping.

  “It was good to see you again, Pietro,” Elizabeth said.

  It demanded everything for Priscilla not to protest. She didn’t want him to leave so soon. They’d barely had a chance to talk.

  “Perhaps Pietro would like some refreshment, Mother,” Priscilla said hurriedly.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said, recovering quickly. “You must forgive my thoughtlessness. It was just that we’re so very pleased to have met you and the prince. I was overcome with excitement to receive his latest invitation.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I must be leaving.”

  “So soon?” Silently Priscilla pleaded with him to stay, but he looked away, ignoring her entreaty.

  “I must return to the hotel to make our travel preparations.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “When…will you be leaving for San Lorenzo?” Priscilla asked, her voice hardly above a whisper. He’d casually dropped a bomb and then left her to deal with the aftermath. Not once had he mentioned returning to San Lorenzo. She knew, of course, now that the Romance Lovers’ Convention was over, the prince and Pietro would be leaving, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be for a few days.

  “We’ll be returning to San Lorenzo as soon as I can make all the necessary arrangements,” Pietro announced.

  “And that will be…?” her mother pressed.

  Pietro hesitated. “Two days, possibly three.”