Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

by Raye Morgan

  “I’d invite him to dinner, of course.” Lisa smiled. She knew she’d hit a nerve. “Can you imagine the promotional possibilities? I’m surprised you haven’t had him in to your place yet. But I suppose that’s to come. Isn’t it?”

  She shook her head. She really had to head off this thinking at the pass if she could.

  “It’s not like that, Aunt Lisa. I’ve been doing some consulting with him. He has some projects he’s thinking of tackling and I’m putting him in touch with local experts.”

  “Is he thinking of starting a restaurant? I can’t imagine you know much about anything else.”

  That did it. Lack of respect from relatives was a deal breaker as far as she was concerned. If her aunt couldn’t even pretend to have some deference for her, she was toast.

  “You’d be surprised what I know about, Aunt Lisa,” she said icily, turning away. “You might want to think about that before you get involved in things you don’t understand.” She looked back at Lisa. To her surprise, the woman was looking flustered. “I would hate to think certain rumors might come back to bite you where my cousins are concerned.”

  Lisa looked downright startled and Isabella had a twinge of guilt. She didn’t actually have a lot of juicy rumors about her aunt, but she was pretty sure there were some out there. So let her stew!

  “She’s just so arrogant,” she explained to Max later that day as they were riding out across the estate, heading for another feast of tapas at the Spanish stand outside the walls. “I can’t abide that.”

  “Forget about her,” he advised. “We have a long, lazy afternoon with no one else but each other. Let’s enjoy it.”

  That sounded good to her. He was in a good mood because work had started on the vineyards and he’d actually gone down and done a bit of supervising. No one had blanched at his scars. No one had turned green and gone behind a tree to vomit, something that had actually happened to him once at a seaside resort. He was feeling pretty good about prospects for the future. Maybe he could have something of a normal life after all.

  They tied the horses and he went to sit at a table overlooking the river, while Isabella headed for the stand to get the food. She went inside and greeted Señor Ortega. He began talking the moment she entered and she laughed because it was obvious he was going to go on talking even after she was out of sight. She picked out some spiced clams, some corn fritters, some fried black pudding, some stuffed mushrooms, and nice cold beer for Max. Señor Ortega fried up some special samosas for her, and as he did the most beautiful little girl came into the store. Tiny and small-boned, she had a halo of light curls that flew around her pretty face like a cloud of spun gold.

  “This is Ninita,” Señor Ortega told her proudly. “My first grandchild.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Ninita,” Isabella said, shaking the child’s hand and getting a solemn smile in return. “What a beautiful child,” she said sotto voce to the man behind the bar.

  “Yes, she is my angel,” he said. “Here, take this tray. You’ve ordered so much food, I’ll help you carry it out.”

  “Can I help too?” Ninita asked sweetly.

  “Of course, my darling,” said the older man. “Here, you can carry the napkins.”

  They formed a small train, carrying everything to the table where Max sat waiting.

  “We come bearing lots of delicious tapas,” Isabella said as they approached. “And we have help from Señor Ortega’s grandchild. Meet little Ninita. Ninita, this is Prince Max.”

  The little girl had been carefully carrying the napkins and now she looked up, eager to meet a real live prince. Her face registered her shock as she saw him. Isabella saw what was happening as if in slow motion. She knew she had to stop it. She tried. But it was too late. The little girl took in a loud, gasping breath, dropped the napkins and threw her hands over her face. Then she began to scream as though she’d seen something horrible. Turning, she ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, screaming all the way.

  Max sat very still. His face was drained of all color. Señor Ortega was apologizing profusely, and Max tried to smile as he waved away the older man’s regrets. But the gaze that met Isabella’s horrified eyes was full of self-loathing. As soon as Señor Ortega went back into the shop Max rose from where he was sitting. Without saying a word, he strode toward his horse and mounted, and before Isabella could say anything at all he was gone, too.

  She stood there, holding the tray, knowing something very terrible had just happened—knowing it was going to change things. Something deep inside her was clenched like a fist and she was afraid it was going to be a long time before that feeling went away.

  It was over an hour later before Isabella found Max, sitting by the river in a part of the estate she’d never seen before. She slid off Mimi’s back and went to sit beside him. But when she reached out to take his hand, he pulled it away, then looked at her with eyes as cold as ice.

  “It’s over, Isabella. Our idyllic interlude is done.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought I could elude my fate, but of course I was wrong. My crime is advertised on my face. I can’t escape. I may fool myself for a while, but in the end it comes back to haunt me.”

  “Max, don’t talk like that. It was my fault. I should have prepared her…”

  He swore. “Can you prepare the whole world, Bella? I think not.”

  “But, Max…”

  “Isabella, can’t you see?” He turned his dark, tragic eyes on her. “I can’t do this. I can’t go out and mix with the world if I’m going to make precious little girls scream. I don’t have the right to do that to them.”

  Suddenly it was clear to her that she had misunderstood his entire mental state. She’d thought he was shrinking from the pain of seeing how people reacted to his face. But he was way beyond that by now. It was evident to her that his motivations were very different. He was trying to avoid giving pain to others by inflicting his very disturbing scars on them.

  And what could she possibly do about that? She couldn’t control what others thought when they saw him. She stared into the water and felt a wave of hopelessness that wasn’t like her. She was done. She had no more ideas, no more plans and projects. She had tried. And now it was over.

  Turning so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes, she rose and went to where Mimi was tied. In a moment, she was over the ridge and out of his sight. And then she let the tears fall like rain.

  She spent the next week working hard at the restaurant, trying to develop some ideas for her father, ideas that would help brighten up the place. She hadn’t been able to generate much interest as yet, but she was determined to try harder. Something would come of it yet.

  She hadn’t heard anything at all from Max, but she hadn’t been able to think of much else. She missed him. She needed him. She was so in love…why hadn’t she realized that before? She’d been in denial. Now that she’d lost him, she knew it was true. She loved him with all her heart. But what could she do about it?

  She heard he’d paid off the workmen and sent everyone home. There were to be no more Rossi vineyards. She also heard a group from town had gone out to talk to him about using the estate for a fundraiser for the Monta Correnti Beautification Committee. He had refused to see them. He was doing just what he’d said he would do—reverting to his normal life. And that had no room for her in it.

  Could it really be all over so soon? It seemed so. It truly hurt to have finally found a man whom she knew she could love with all her heart and soul, a man whose mind and interests fit nicely into the scope of her own, a man whose touch sent thrills through her body and created an ache of longing where her feminine secrets lay—and then have to give him up this way. But her life, as usual, was a less than stellar existence.

  Okay, now she was whining and feeling very sorry for herself. But didn’t she deserve to? Yes—though she knew very well too much of that self-indulgence could ruin a good sum
mer if she didn’t watch out. She gave herself one more day to mope about and cry, and then she was going to move on and find a place for herself where she could count for something and make a difference.

  There. Just making a plan made her feel so much better.

  Unfortunately, life had made its own plans and they didn’t take hers into account. She was sitting in the kitchen, shelling peas with Susa, when a young man arrived to serve Luca with a writ of failure to comply with a permit ordinance. The warrant stated that he had been deemed to be in noncompliance and, unless he paid an exorbitant fine, he would have to vacate the restaurant premises within forty-eight hours.

  Isabella was numb as she read it over to her father again and he struggled to understand what it meant.

  “It means we lose the restaurant,” she told him, unable to think straight, unable to understand much of this herself. “There is a meeting of the licensing board in two days. Unless we pay the fine by then, we have to pack up and get out.”

  “No,” Luca said, banging his cane into the floor. “Not one cent for those bastards!”

  “But, Papa…”

  “I’ll never give in to Fredo’s blackmail. Never.”

  There wasn’t much point in arguing with him. They didn’t have the money to pay the fine anyway. She sighed and made plans to attend the meeting. All she could think of was to plead their case with the mayor. Surely he wouldn’t be so hard-hearted as to kick them out of their own restaurant, the only means of survival for their family!

  But a little place in her head told her there wasn’t going to be much hope.

  “Once your luck starts to go downhill,” Susa intoned gloomily, “it just doesn’t stop until it hits bottom.”

  Could Susa be right? Isabella shuddered and turned her head away.

  Max sat out on the veranda, staring into the sunset, his eyes clouded, brooding. He’d thought it would be effortless to slip back into his old life, but in actuality it wasn’t. In fact, it was hell on earth. He’d had a certain peace before, but now that was ruined. It sort of reminded him of that old World War I song, “How You Gonna Keep Them Down on the Farm, After They’ve Seen Paree?” He’d found out, once again, what it was to have a warm and wonderful woman in his life, and without her he felt as if a limb had been removed. Twenty times a day he started to call her. Twenty times a day he caught himself in time.

  This was very different from losing Laura. That had been so full of agonizing pain and deep, deep guilt, he’d felt as though he’d been torn apart by red-hot pokers nightly—and that had gone on for years. This pain had very little guilt attached to it. Lots of regret, but not much guilt. Laura had been the love of his youth. Isabella was the joy of his maturity.

  Strangely enough, he hadn’t felt very guilty about putting memories of Laura to one side while he went about the sweet torture of falling for Isabella. In a funny way, he’d actually thought Laura might approve.

  But that was all over now. He felt like a man re-condemned to a life sentence in a cold, lonely prison after he’d had a taste of freedom. It wasn’t pleasant.

  He looked at the bottle he’d brought out with him. He’d thought he would spend an evening drinking away his sorrows. But somehow he’d lost his thirst. He knew very well the bottom of a bottle was its own special hell. He didn’t need another one.

  Renzo came out to see if he needed anything, then lingered a moment, and Max could tell he wanted to say something.

  “What is it, Renzo? Spit it out, man.”

  Renzo coughed. “Sir, I thought I’d mention, I went into the village this afternoon to see Miss Isabella.”

  “What?” He turned to stare at the man. “What did you do that for?”

  “She had left some cooking equipment that I thought she might be missing, so I drove over to drop it by the restaurant.”

  “Oh.” He looked away. He shouldn’t ask. He knew the rules. A clean break was the best way. No, he wouldn’t ask. He drew his breath in deeply, and then the words came out as though on their own.

  “How…how did she seem? Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He sat up straighter. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “She wasn’t there. I talked to an old woman named Susa who works for Isabella and her father. She said the two of them were over at the town meeting room preparing for an important meeting where they will have to fight to keep those crooks who run the city council from taking their restaurant away.”

  “Oh, no.” Max swore and shook his head. “On what grounds?”

  “Something about forgetting to file a permit and the fine being too high to pay.”

  He nodded. “A put-up job,” he said bitterly.

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  “Poor Isabella.” A slight smile curled his lip. “Good thing she’s got spunk. I bet she’ll be able to save things on her own.”

  “You think so, sir?” Renzo said doubtfully.

  “Sure. She’s amazing.” He glanced at Renzo, then away again. “It will be interesting to see how she does it. Keep me informed any time you find out anything new. I want to know how this comes out.”

  “Very well, sir.” Renzo bowed out, looking puzzled.

  Max sighed. He knew Renzo wanted him to ride in to the rescue. Didn’t he understand how impossible that was? If he didn’t get it yet, he would soon. Because Max couldn’t have done anything even if he’d wanted to.

  Closing his eyes, he saw Isabella’s perfect face, and he groaned. The image seemed so real. She was saying something, trying to get him to do something, urging him to get up off his chair and…

  He couldn’t quite catch what it was, but the image stayed with him into the night, and the dreams he had were even clearer. Isabella needed help. He woke up and stared at the ceiling. Did he have the nerve to do what it would take to help her? That was the part that bothered him. He wasn’t sure he did.

  It was late in the afternoon of the next day that he received a visitor he wasn’t expecting. Of course, since he didn’t receive visitors at all, anyone would have been a surprise. But this one was special.

  Renzo interrupted him just as he was finishing up some Internet research.

  “There’s someone here who would like a word with you,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded, wondering if the man had lost his mind.

  Renzo hesitated. “Sir, I know this man. He is a very good man. He runs a small tapas stand—”

  “Señor Ortega?”

  “Yes. You know him, then?”

  “Of course.” Max frowned. What on earth could the man want? He thought for a moment. Really, it seemed silly to deny him a short visit. “Send him in,” he told Renzo. “I’ll be happy to see him.”

  Renzo looked a bit startled, but readily complied, and in another moment Señor Ortega was in the library and shaking Max’s hand effusively.

  “Thank you so much, your honor,” he said, bowing at the same time. “I have a small favor to ask of you. If you would be so kind.”

  “Por supuesto,” Max said, speaking in the man’s own language. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you remember the little girl who was there the last time you and Isabella came to eat at my stand?”

  Max stiffened. How could he forget? “Yes,” he said, his jaw tightening. “What about her?”

  “Do you remember that she had a bad reaction to your…” He made a gesture to indicate the scarring on Max’s face.

  Max stared at Señor Ortega. The man was talking easily about his scars, as though they were just a part of life, not something to be whispered about and avoided at all costs.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I remember.”

  “Well, she feels so badly about how she acted. She’s so ashamed. She asks me every day if we will see you again. She wants to apologize.”

  Max found himself smiling. “She has nothing to apologize for,” he noted dryly. “I’m the one who inflicted my face
on her.”

  Ortega frowned as though he didn’t understand and thought the translation in his head must be bad. “I have brought her here with me. If you would please allow her to come in and pay her respects…”

  Max swallowed hard. This was crazy. Was Señor Ortega making the girl do this? Surely she hadn’t really requested this on her own. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m afraid I can’t allow…”

  But Renzo had already escorted the girl to the library and she was coming in the door at that very moment. Max braced himself. It wasn’t that he was afraid she would scream again. He knew that wouldn’t happen. But if he saw horror in her face, he didn’t know if he could stand it.

  She was so pretty, and so small. As she entered her huge eyes turned on him and he saw the involuntary widening as she took in his face. But almost immediately, her angelic smile took over, and he felt a sense of relief pour through his body.

  “Your Highness,” she said, with a pretty curtsy. “I am so sorry for scaring you away that day. I cried and cried but my grandfather said not to bother you with such trivial things. But I begged him to let me come to see you again. And here I am.”

  Max laughed aloud, suddenly as relaxed and happy as he’d been in a long, long time. Could it be that he really wasn’t such a monster after all? Was there a chance that he could live a somewhat normal life? Why not? If precious little girls could get over his scars so quickly, why not challenge the rest of the world to do the same?

  It was over. Isabella sank into her seat at the end of the table and felt as though she were collapsing like a spent balloon. Her father was sitting with his head in his hands and she wasn’t sure if he was crying. Others at the table were shouting and arguing, but she knew there was no more hope. It was over. The beautiful little restaurant with the special sauces made with Monta Rosa Basil was no more. They’d come to meeting after meeting and the result continued to be the same. The mayor, as parliamentarian presiding over this meeting, had finally ruled that her family had to clear out the building in two days.