by Donna Alward
Then he turned and watched her face.
“Ohhh.” She drew out the word, a note of awe trailing on the breeze.
He followed her gaze, taking in the effect of his handiwork.
Lights twinkled in potted shrubs and trees, and hurricane lanterns were placed around the square space, casting a cozy, intimate glow. A thick candle sat on a café table, surrounded by a glass globe to keep the wind from blowing it out. On a stand beside the table was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne inside it. And on the table stood a single rose, which he’d cut from the gardens himself. An assortment of strawberries, figs, grapes, and cheeses sat in crystal dishes.
“You did this?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t take you out somewhere fancy, so I brought it to you. I’ve lived in this castle since I was a boy. I know where things are kept. I just had to convince Senora Ortiz to let me sneak some food out of the kitchen and the dishes from the crystal cabinet. She told me she’s going to count it all in the morning.” He grinned at Rose, who smiled back. Senora Ortiz was stern, but a softie underneath. She wouldn’t bother counting anything. She would, however, worry.
“Does she know who this is for?” Rose asked, and he heard the hesitation in her tone.
“Probably. Maybe not. She won’t talk, though, Rose. You can be sure of that.”
Rose took a step forward, then spun around in a circle. “This is beautiful, Diego. And I’m not afraid of her talking.” She smiled a little, one corner of her mouth turning up as her eyes twinkled. “I’m more worried about her disapproval. I don’t think anyone would want to be on her wrong side.” Her gaze softened. “She’s been more than kind to me since my arrival.”
“Everyone loves you,” he said, stepping forward to take her hands. “Ernestina told me as much yesterday. If anything goes wrong, they won’t place the blame on you.”
She lifted her chin, like she was about to protest, but he shook his head. “No, enough of that sort of talk. Come over here and have a glass of champagne. I’m going to show you the kingdom.”
He poured her a glass of bubbly and then one for himself, touched his rim to hers, and drank. Damn, she was beautiful. When she shivered, he put down his glass, took her wrap from her hand, and spread it over her shoulders. Together they walked to the edge of the wall where he showed her the shadowy view—the faint lights blinking as a plane took off from the island airport, the glow in the sky where the streetlights from the city cast a rosy blush on the horizon. On the other side, they could see past the black line of the trees to the fields and undulating hills beyond, the countryside where farmers grew their lemons, grapes, olives, and much more. He explained how there was another city on the island, farther inland, that was more industrial in nature, that most of their trade was with Spain and Italy, and that tourism played an important part of their economy. “We’re a small principality,” Diego explained, “and we have challenges to meet to stay vital. To stay independent. A lot of people say that monarchies are outdated, but they still like the idea of castles and kings and queens. Now, though, we have to prove our usefulness. It’s not enough to be a figurehead.”
She tilted her head up so she could look at him. “Your insight and talents are underrated, you know.”
He sighed. “I know. I did that to myself. I’m the spare heir. I didn’t have responsibilities the same as Raoul. I went away to school. Played polo. Partied. Showed up in the tabloids too much. For a few years now, I’ve been trying show Raoul and my father that I’m more capable than I get credit for. But living down my reputation has proven harder than I expected.” He rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. “More champagne?”
“Of course.” She held out her glass, and they went to the table for a refill.
“Diego, have you asked Raoul if you could assume some of his duties? Maybe if he knew you wanted to help . . .”
Diego laughed. “I’ve offered. Raoul’s not good at delegating. And besides, he spent the better part of his life trying to shelter me from the burden of the crown, ever since our mother’s death. I was spoiled. I acted like it. I can’t expect his attitude to change overnight.”
“So you what? Manage the polo ponies?”
He nodded. “Lucy did it for a while, when I was still in England and Ireland most of the time. She comes from a racetrack background, you know.” He held out the bowl of strawberries and watched as she selected one. “That was how my father met her mother. And when father sent Lucy to Canada to negotiate some breeding stock . . . well, she ended up staying. I had come home and needed something to do, and I knew horses.”
He loved it, even though it was one of the more frivolous concerns of the monarchy. “Our reputation remains strong. A pony from Marazurian stock commands big dollars.”
He held out her chair so she could sit. “But enough about me. What about you?”
She laughed. “What about me?”
“Tell me everything.” He grinned, but he wasn’t exactly teasing. He did want to know everything. “You grew up in Guildford. You have a brother and sister.”
“And a niece, and two parents, and some old friends I haven’t seen in a very long time. My upbringing was pretty boring, really. I did all right on my A levels. Went to church every Sunday—I notice your palace doesn’t have a chapel, incidentally. I’m Church of England, which must make the Catholic in you shudder.” She winked at him and he laughed. She could do that so easily, he realized. Make him laugh. Smile. She was just easy to be with. She had no expectations of what he should be like, no false glamour. She was simply Rose, no matter where they were or who they were with. He loved that about her.
There was that word again. It was sneaking into his vocabulary more and more.
A gust of wind skimmed over the top of the candle globe, and the flame bobbed and flickered for a minute before settling again. Diego looked at Rose in the candlelight and felt his chest constrict. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and she tucked it behind her ear to get it out of the way. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want the evening to end. He wanted to stay right here, looking at her.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she observed, taking a drink of champagne.
“I was just thinking how lovely you are,” he replied. “And how this might be the nicest date I’ve ever had.”
“Now I know you’re talking nonsense.” She popped a grape into her mouth and smiled wickedly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Yes, but this is the first time I’ve meant it.”
“And you probably say that, too,” she laughed.
He looked into her eyes. “No,” he answered, his heart thumping madly, anticipating his next words. “Rose, this date with you makes me not want to have any dates with anyone else.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rose stared at him, unsure of what to say. The last hour had been utterly perfect. Candles, twinkling lights, champagne under the stars . . . what more could a girl ever ask for? And Diego, sitting across from her, so devastatingly gorgeous and sexy that she felt like an awkward, naïve schoolgirl. She didn’t belong here . . . and yet he insisted she did.
And now he was saying things that made her hope for the fairy tale. And fairy tales were the one thing she didn’t believe in. It wasn’t that she was bitter. It was more a case of knowing how the world worked, and knowing that happiness had to be earned. Girls like her didn’t have a prince fall into their lap.
“You don’t believe me,” he said gently. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s not you. It’s that . . . I don’t believe something like this could happen to someone like me. I don’t trust it. It’s too surreal.”
“And yet here we are. And you don’t have to trust it. You just have to trust me. Can you?”
Her heart stuttered. “I want to,” she admitted. “And that scares me.”
“Because of our differences.”
“Because I’m not princess material. I’m the help. Even Cec
ilia . . . she was from a wealthy family, was she not? She fit into this world nicely. I’d simply be awkward and always worried about doing the wrong thing. Saying the wrong thing.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been working for the upper class for years and have more class in your little finger than most women do in their whole body. This almost sounds like reverse snobbery, Rosalie Walters.” He lifted his brows, challenging her.
She held out her glass and he drained the last few drops of the champagne into it. If she was going to confide in him at all, she needed a touch more liquid courage.
“And what would people say if they knew my background?” She drank deeply, ran her tongue over her lips, and savored the last taste. “I’m from a working-class family. My address isn’t in the swanky part of town. My brother is a vicar, and he and his wife barely make ends meet. Then there’s my sister . . .”
“What about her?” Diego leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“She had a baby when she was still in school. The father took off and left her alone, and she thought that I should be her nanny, considering I had all the training. When I said no, that I was signing on with an agency, she was furious.” More than furious, Rose remembered. She’d said all kinds of hurtful things. “She said that I’d never find a man of my own to give me babies so I was going to look after someone else’s. And that I wouldn’t look after hers because I was jealous because at least someone had wanted her. The press could easily dig that up and make a case about Hayley’s sour grapes. It’s better for everyone if I stay in the background.” It hurt her deeply to say it, but it was the truth.
She swallowed against the bitter taste in her mouth. Hayley knew how to be vicious. Rose had always been a bit of a wallflower. She’d had a few brief relationships in university but no one, ever, had fallen head over heels in love with her. Hayley’s words hit a sore spot because they’d felt true.
All the same, Rose loved her work. It was incredibly fulfilling.
“So you don’t have a good relationship,” Diego said, frowning a little. “Is that really a problem?”
“We get along better now. But she’s young, and trying to make ends meet in London. I send what I can so that they . . . so they have enough. And I try to spend some quality time with Alice when I’m in the city. But Diego, don’t you see? If you want to stay out of the rags, dating someone like me isn’t the way to do it. The press is sure to dig up stuff on my family and our working-class roots.” Her heart sank as she realized her faith in her sister wasn’t that strong. “And despite getting along better, I wouldn’t put it past Hayley to make the most of it, either. I have a freedom that she doesn’t. And even though she loves me, she resents that. As much as I hate to say it, I know she could be bought.”
Diego reached over and took her hand in his. His fingers were strong and warm, and he rubbed his thumb over her wrist.
“The thing about the tabloids is that they’ll write stories anyway, whether they have a basis in fact or not. So no matter who I date, there’s a certain level of damage control to be done. And Rose? I’m finished letting the paparazzi dictate my life. I decided that the moment I saw the news of the car wreck on the pub TV screen. There were camera flashes going the whole time, using our tragedy for their profit. My life decisions are not going to be made based on what the press might say. And they certainly won’t keep me from being happy. Life is too short.” He held her gaze. “Too precious.”
Nothing he’d said was as comforting as his last words. There was a strength and integrity to them that she appreciated, and they showed her once more who the real Diego was. He was a strong, behind-the-scenes man who put family first, with a definite romantic side. How could she be immune to that, particularly when he didn’t seem to care one bit about her background?
“I’m glad to hear it,” she answered, relaxing a little.
“Rose, I want to be with you. Is that so bad?”
“Of course not.”
“Then let’s see how it goes, shall we?”
“And what if it doesn’t work out, Diego? What then?” She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about working at the palace, having Diego coming and going, and not hers. Not . . . friends.
He twined his fingers with hers. “Then I will do what I’ve been threatening to do for a long time, and set up my office elsewhere. Outside the palace.” His gaze searched hers. “Before you arrived, I was hardly ever here. I never had a reason to stay.”
“The children . . .”
“They had Ceci and Mariana, and their father. And once you arrived, I didn’t need to be here anymore. But I am. And it’s because of you, Rose.”
He was very good at giving speeches, and at making her all mushy and sappy. “It strikes me as surreal every day. Like I’m going to wake up and find that I’ve only imagined that you really care for me. That this is really happening. But it’s real. And I’m scared, Diego. The idea of this working out is too huge to comprehend. And the idea that it won’t hurts my heart.”
“Then don’t think about that. Just think about this.”
He stood and tugged at her hand, pulling her into his arms. She expected him to kiss her, but he didn’t. He just folded her into his arms and held her close.
And in that moment, with her face against the crisp fabric of his shirt, the scent of him filling her nostrils, and the warmth of his arms around her body, she felt herself fall into love for the first time in her life.
* * *
For two weeks, Rose and Diego caught stolen moments alone. Once, when he brought her coffee while the children were napping after a vigorous swim in the pool, he fed her little almond cookies and kissed the crumbs off her face. Another time he took her on a proper tour of the palace, pointing out the works of art lining the hallways and the impressive ballroom that was used for parties. His sister had been presented at a state ball there, he told her, and accepted as a princess even though she was the illegitimate daughter of King Alexander. He squeezed her hand when he told her that story, as if to say she wouldn’t be the first to challenge the royal status quo.
There were long talks over glasses of red wine in the evenings, but after a while Rose knew that eventually the sneaking around would have to stop. She had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, she felt guilty about hiding their relationship, and it was difficult to steal time together. On the other hand, she knew that once they went public, everything would change.
Diego came to her one evening and sat across from her in her suite. “So, next week is Raoul’s birthday, and we’ve decided to throw a party. Nothing too fancy.”
“What’s your definition of too fancy?” she asked, crossing her leg over her knee and taking a sip of a particularly nice tempranillo.
He grinned. “Well, there will be . . . people. Probably a hundred or so. But not official like a state dinner or anything. We’ll have food. A giant cake. Some dancing. The children are requested to attend through the dinner, but then they can go to bed after that.”
“And Raoul isn’t telling me this why?” She wondered why Diego was the one letting her know the plans for the children instead of their father. Most communication regarding specific requests came from him or through Stephani.
“Oh, he will. Tomorrow. We’ve been discussing it for a few weeks now. Invitations have gone out. The menu’s been decided.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to have the children ready. Will they be needing new outfits?” She smiled softly. “Emilia would probably love a new dress. Maybe we could go shopping.”
“You should get one for you, too,” he suggested. “You’ll be accompanying the children.”
“I will?” Her brows pulled together. “But surely I’ll just deliver them to the party, as I always do, and retrieve them after dinner?”
“Not this time.” He sat back against the sofa cushions. “Before, they always had Cecilia to keep them in line at a big function. Not three bachelors. They need a steadying hand.”
&
nbsp; She imagined going to such a party and instantly felt overwhelmed. “You want me to sit with the children?”
“Yes. At the head table, to keep an eye on them.”
To keep an eye on the children. Not as his date. Strictly as the nanny. Which was as it should be, so why was she disappointed?
This together / not together thing was more difficult than she’d expected. What were they even doing? Playing at a relationship? The kind where he put on his tuxedo, sash, and medals and sat to the left of the king, and she sat at the end of the table, making sure children used their napkins and otherwise being invisible? And then getting together behind closed doors and talking about how much they cared about each other? It was no way to run anything.
“You don’t look happy,” he observed, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up and met his gaze. “Diego, what are we doing?” she whispered, unable to keep the note of longing out of her voice. “We can’t be together in public, we can’t keep going on like this. It sounded all right in the beginning, but weren’t we just fooling ourselves?”
He reached out for her hand. “Don’t say that. You know I care about you. You’re not just the nanny, you know that.” He turned her hand over and kissed the base of her palm. “There’s something special between us. And going to the party makes you visible, yes? Why not ease you into the spotlight? We already have the pictures from the market that day. A few more family appearances will make it seem like you’re one of the family more and more . . . to everyone.”
“You mean, to Raoul and your father. To ease them into the idea.”
He smiled. “Yes, now you’re getting it.”
Her heart trembled. She should have listened to her gut all along. It wasn’t even that Diego was a bad guy—he wasn’t. But she’d been in lukewarm relationships before. Easing into anything sounded lackluster at best, and certainly not the action of a man who was ready to stand up and make her his.
