by Donna Alward
“With Ryan, and very likely a few lovely ladies in a very public place.”
She pictured it and felt a little sick to her stomach. Just last night he’d said he loved her. Over the last few weeks, he’d convinced her that she made him a better man. That his reckless days were behind him and he wanted to be taken seriously. Now he was going to flaunt himself around on a whole other continent as if she meant nothing.
“He’ll hide your scandal by creating one of his own.”
“Exactly.” Raoul leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “It’s just for show, you know. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you before he left, but I know he loves you very much.”
She sat quietly for a few minutes. First of all, imagining him living it up at some exotic club with an exotic woman was like taking her biggest insecurity and stabbing her in the heart with it. And even if it was for “show,” as Raoul put it, she knew that he’d be back to square one, at least publicly, in shedding his bad-boy-prince image. It would be a hit to their relationship . . . if they even truly had one.
Because what hurt the most was that he’d gone without saying a word to her. Without letting her in on the plan, without consulting with her, without saying goodbye.
As if she wasn’t important enough to say goodbye to.
“I should get back to the children,” she said quietly. “I ordered one of the maids to stay with them until I returned. She’ll probably get in trouble with the housekeeper.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Raoul assured her.
“Rose,” Alexander said, “let’s keep this meeting between us, shall we? Until we find out where the picture came from? Our entire household staff signs a confidentiality agreement, as you know. It’s possible someone has violated those terms. Keep it between Raoul and Stephani and myself, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She looked at Raoul and felt her temper rise a bit. “I can’t imagine who would want to hurt you or the children after all you’ve been through. It’s despicable.”
“I agree. That’s why they need you, Rose. And I’m truly, truly sorry that you’ve been put in the middle of our family drama.”
She lifted her chin, indignation a welcome reprieve from the self-pity that had threatened her moments before. “I was already in the middle, sir, when I . . . when we . . . well, you know what I’m trying to say, I’m sure. Please excuse me. I’ll have the children ready for dinner shortly.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
She left the office and shut the door behind her, then let out a long, slow breath. Stephani came around the corner, and they shared a look that Rose translated as “what an ungodly mess.”
“You’re okay?” Stephani asked.
She wasn’t, not really. Not when she thought about Diego leaving without a word. There had to have been a better way to deal with the situation than to go to another continent and then head off to the nearest club to party it up.
Maybe he did find her dull. Maybe he missed the freedom he’d always enjoyed. Maybe she’d known better all along and had ignored those little voices because she’d so desperately wanted him to mean what he said.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, straightening her spine. “I’ve got to get back to the children.” She was halfway to the exit when she turned back. “Oh, Stephani, about the dress last night. What should I do with it?”
“Keep it.” Stephani smiled at her. “You looked lovely.”
But she didn’t want to keep it or even look at it again. It was a reminder of too many things. “I don’t have any use for it again,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you could . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what people usually do with these things.”
“Just put it in the garment bag for now and we’ll worry about it later,” she advised.
“All right.”
And then she made the long walk back to the nursery, relieved Ernestina, and got the children ready for the family dinner. Once they were delivered to the dining room, she went to the kitchen and got her own supper, but took it to her room to eat privately. Went through the motions of retrieving the children and getting them ready for bed.
And still no word from Diego. No call, no text, no . . . nothing.
She crawled beneath her covers and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She would simply get on with things, like she always did. The way she should have from the beginning. She’d put money in Hayley’s account for Alice. She’d write charming letters to her parents about how wonderful her life was. She’d send birthday and anniversary cards and presents because she never forgot anyone’s special occasion.
But she would not cry for herself. And she certainly wouldn’t cry over Diego Navarro.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thirty-six hours later, the first story appeared. Diego hadn’t wasted any time; the photo looked to be in some sort of club and he was holding a drink in one hand with his arm around a woman’s waist.
Rose angled her head and studied the red-haired beauty. There was no denying she was gorgeous, and she was leaning into him with what Rose could only interpret as familiarity. The desire to know who she was was overwhelming, and Rose tossed the paper aside as soon as she read the first line: Not to be outdone by his brother, Prince Diego appears in a Dar es Salaam club, partying with an unidentified beauty. That was the only mention of Raoul. The plan to deflect attention was already working, but she felt like a casualty in all of it. The worst of it was that she was partly to blame. She’d been the one to sit with Raoul and to help him inside.
Her mother always used to say, “No good deed goes unpunished.” Boy, had she been right. She never should have gone back down to the ball, or danced with Diego, or slept with him, or freaked out and gone walking in the gardens. If she hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened.
For the next two weeks, photos appeared online and in the tabloids. One night it was the redhead, another it was a stunning woman with flawless dark skin and the best set of cheekbones Rose had ever seen. Then there was the pic of him doing shots with a man identified as his friend Ryan, university mate and polo team member.
As almost an afterthought, his charity for women’s education was mentioned at the end of the articles. One questioned how much work he could possibly be doing if he was partying every night.
Nothing was mentioned about the source of the initial picture, but then another article appeared, this one on a prominent celebrity website. There was a picture of Diego, looking rather melancholy and sipping on something from a highball glass, and next to it the original picture of her and Raoul in their badly lit embrace. Getting over a broken heart: brothers torn over the nanny was printed in big font just below the photos.
This time she couldn’t look away. She read every single, salacious word. How the woman in the photo was the palace nanny, how she’d led Diego on only to betray him with his brother, and so on.
When she was done, she went to the bathroom and threw up.
Her sister would see this. And so would her mother, because someone wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to show her. And Raoul and the children . . . She wiped her mouth and ran herself a glass of water, the tumbler shaking in her hand. Her professional reputation was in tatters. There was no way she could stay on at the palace, and no one else would hire her now either.
Who in the household hated her so much? She couldn’t think of a single person who hadn’t been pleasant. Perhaps their motivation was money; gossip was a high-paying business. But to be so heartless . . .
She went back to her laptop and looked at the site again, studying Diego’s picture. He looked unhappy, with his arm resting on what appeared to be the bar, with a few empty glasses and an abandoned rose littered the top.
A white rose. Her chest cramped. This was too hard. And now she was frozen, unsure of what to do or where to go next. Crawl home with her tail between her legs, nursing what remained of her broken heart?
Her life had often been lonely, and it had never been parti
cularly easy, but she’d never really felt hopeless. Until now.
There was a knock at the door, which she didn’t want to answer, but she figured she’d better in case it had to do with this latest development. When she opened it, she was surprised to see Senora Ortiz on the other side, holding a tray.
“May I come in, Rose?”
“Of course.” She wasn’t in the mood for food, but Senora Ortiz had been the first friendly face here and there was something comforting and motherly about her that Rose needed very badly. She stepped aside and closed the door behind the cook.
“You’ve been avoiding the kitchen,” Senora Ortiz said plainly.
“I’ve been avoiding everyone,” Rose admitted. “It’s been a strange few weeks.”
“I brought you a few things.” Senora Ortiz took the cover off the little dish. “The orange cake you love so much. Some very English tea. A flower to brighten your day.”
Rose’s throat clogged at the thoughtfulness. “Gracias, Senora Ortiz.” She sniffed a little.
“Oh now, pequeña,” she murmured, coming over and giving her a hug. “It will all work out, I promise. And you should know that this wasn’t my idea. Someone suggested it.”
“Who?”
“Someone who knows you love my orange cake. And who specifically said I should put a white rose on the tray.”
Rose looked at the blossom and back at Senora Ortiz. Maybe it should make her feel better, but it didn’t. It just served as a reminder of painful feelings, and how Diego had left without a word. Why would he send this kind of message now? She found it hard to believe that he’d be that cruel, but she also didn’t trust her instincts or her feelings anymore.
“Rose,” the older woman whispered, “don’t cry. It will all work out, you’ll see. He loves you.”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. She hadn’t realized she’d started crying, but a touch of her fingers to her cheek confirmed it.
“Have some faith. And don’t give up yet.” She patted her hand. “I need to get back.”
“Thank you for trying,” Rose said softly. “I do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Eat the cake. You’ve barely eaten enough to feed a bird these last days.”
When Senora Ortiz was gone, Rose poured herself a little tea. Then the aroma of the cake hit her nostrils and she tried a tiny bite. Before long the whole piece was gone and Rose was crying, the stress of it all finally coming out. Desolate, she opened a bottle of wine and poured a large glass. If she was going to resign her post, she might as well enjoy a fine vintage before giving her notice.
And if she managed to drown her sorrows in the process, all the better.
* * *
Diego sat at the plain, makeshift desk and ran his hand through his hair again, staring at the papers before him. This nearly made sense now, and the proper permits had all been filed. Two weeks of being visible at night and working all day had taken their toll.
“Diego. For God’s sake, man, shave or something.” Ryan stepped into the office, looking clean and trim and not at all like he’d polished off the remainder of the whiskey last night.
“I will. As soon as I’m done here. I can’t go out tonight. I need to get one night of decent sleep.”
“Then maybe you can do it on the plane, eh? I have a message for you. Your brother says you’re to go home.”
Diego lifted his head at the surprising news. “Really?”
“He didn’t say much, but he did say that he’s got all the information you need and that you should be there.” Ryan raised his eyebrows. “And he also said that I was to tell you thank you. Seemed a bit odd to me.”
“It is.” Diego sighed as relief flooded him. “Raoul hasn’t always appreciated my . . . efforts on behalf of the family.”
“Maybe he knows this time there was a personal cost. You still haven’t heard from her?”
That was the one thing that kept bothering him. He’d left his private number for Rose in the letter that explained everything. Her silence had troubled him for days. When Senora Ortiz had said she was barely eating, he’d sent her a message in the best way he knew how. Senora Ortiz, at least, he trusted.
“So go back.” Ryan came over and put his hand on his shoulder. “Brenna and I will stay here and oversee things for a week or so if you want. It’s so close to going forward that things will be fine.”
Diego looked up at his friend and felt a wave of affection and gratitude. “You and Bren have been amazing,” he said. “Through everything.” The fact that Ryan’s little sister had agreed to come along and be a romantic decoy was friendship above and beyond. That she’d proved an incredible asset working with the authorities to finalize all the legalities was a pleasant surprise. Diego was considering putting her on his staff, if she could be enticed away from her job in Dublin.
Ryan handed over a paper. “The assistant—Steph, I think she said—gave me these details for your travel.”
Diego frowned. “Hmmm. She’s Raoul’s assistant, not mine.”
“Don’t ask me, mate. Just get packed and in the air. You know you’re dying to get back to her.”
He was. He and Rose had a lot to discuss that had been postponed for over two weeks while he put out fires and played the part of the playboy.
“Call me at any time,” he said to Ryan, signing the last piece of documentation needed today. “And if you and Brenna can stay a bit longer, and liaise with the office staff here, that’d be fantastic.”
“Gives me something useful to do.” Not to mention Ryan had taken on the responsibility of security for the school as well as acting as Diego’s personal bodyguard.
Diego got up and gave Ryan a quick man hug. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“What are friends for?” Ryan asked, and then chuckled. “Besides spending your money, that is . . .”
Diego was still laughing when he left the office, but his laugh settled into an apprehensive frown as he packed, headed to the airport, and settled on the jet headed back to Marazur.
If he was free to go back, it meant they’d found the source of the leak. And since he’d been provided with no details whatsoever, he could only assume it wasn’t good news.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Despite Stephani’s directive to report to Raoul’s office on his arrival, Diego got Marco to deliver him to the back of the castle and the staff entrance. It was still early—just past seven—and he snuck in the kitchen, knowing Senora Ortiz would already be at the day’s baking.
She was just taking a pan of hot rolls out of the oven. Diego leaned casually against the doorframe and waited for her to notice him. When she did, she put her hand to her heart. “You are just as sneaky now as you were as a boy!” she chided, then laughed. “Welcome home, Diego.”
“It’s good to be home.” He went forward and kissed her cheek, and she flapped her hand at him as she blushed. He grinned. The last two weeks had been so exhausting. Normally he came and went as he pleased, but now he was thrilled to be home. It felt right.
“I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” she observed, but then took a few rolls and put them on a plate. “Here. And there’s coffee if you want it.”
He buttered the rolls, watching the yellow goodness melt into the warm bread instantly. The first bite was pure, airy heaven.
“You flew all night?”
He nodded. “Most of it, yes. I was summoned.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Being summoned wasn’t the annoyance it used to be.
And then he let his smile fade. “How is Rose?”
“Quiet. She doesn’t come to the kitchen as much and takes her meals upstairs.”
“You took her the cake?”
“I did. I think she understood, but she’s upset, Diego. Seeing the pictures of you in the papers . . . and she feels responsible for everything. I can tell.”
“I’m going to see her first.”
“Better hurry, before she has to be up with the children.”<
br />
He crammed the last of the roll into his mouth, passed on the coffee, and headed to the stairwell. He couldn’t wait to see her. Hold her and kiss her and assure her it was all going to be okay now.
She answered his knock, but her face blanked in surprise when she saw him there. “Good morning,” he said, and smiled. She looked so beautiful. Nothing fancy or different than usual. But after two weeks of clubs and women—other than Brenna—who were anxious to get their five minutes of fame with the prince, Rose’s simple trousers, blouse, and topknot were pretty and refreshing.
“You’re back.”
His brows pulled together at her flat, unenthusiastic tone. “No one told you I was coming? Raoul sent for me yesterday. I’ve just arrived from the airport.”
“You must be tired. You had a busy few weeks.”
Alarm settled in the middle of his chest at her inflection of “busy.” “I did. But apparently the mystery of the photograph’s been solved. I don’t need to be away anymore.”
Rose smiled wanly. “You must be relieved. Is there anything else? I need to attend to the children soon.”
He went into her room and shut the door behind him. “What’s going on? I know it was rough, but are you . . . angry with me?”
“Really? You’re going to ask me that?” Her voice lifted, and she let out a breath and rolled her shoulders, as if trying to regain her composure.
“Is it the news stories? Those were all calculated, you know that. All on purpose, to form a diversion.”
“Oh, I’m aware. After the first day, the mystery woman in the garden was forgotten, replaced with the game of ‘who’s Diego out with tonight?’”
She was angry. Very. He hesitated a moment, trying to decide the best tack to proceed. “Nothing happened,” he assured her quietly. “I promise, Rose. It was all for show. Surely you believe me. I value our relationship more than that.”
The sound that came out of her mouth was surprising, considering he’d just been incredibly honest. It was a half-laugh, half-scoff suffused with incredulity, and he knew women well enough to know he’d somehow managed to step on a landmine.
