Gio stared blankly out of his office window replaying the words he had screamed at the top of lungs yesterday as the black car drove his heart away from his body.
Yesterday. When the world was a different place. Because Luci was in it. Luci, the whip-smart, fun-loving, sensual breath of fresh air that had shaken Gio to his core, was gone forever. Oh, certainly Princess Luciana de la Isla de Izerote still lived and breathed. To marry and bear children, and hopefully remain healthy and strong for decades to come. But the part of her that had spent this enchanting week with Gio had disappeared into thin air as quickly as she had arrived.
What was she doing right now? Begging her father’s and her fiancé’s forgiveness? For stealing seven days? Who could blame her for wanting that? How could that be considered an offense? Gio’s fists clenched at the injustice.
For her.
For him.
She was supposed to have three weeks. He’d been planning to take her to his family’s vineyard in Chianti. To show her the charming coastal towns of the Cinque Terra. The lush terrain of the Emilio Romagna region. Perhaps a few days in Venice.
Cruelly, their time together was cut short. But the week they’d had changed the course of his life. Because once you loved, you could no longer pretend that it wasn’t important. That it was something you could live without. That it wasn’t worth the risk.
That it wouldn’t destroy a person once it was gone.
Destruction wasn’t an option for Gio. Family loyalty demanded that he run this empire. The responsibility was on him.
He turned his concentration to work. As he drafted a public statement to announce the next generation of DDR SDRAM that would render everything currently on the market obsolete, Princess Luciana’s suggestions to him came to mind. She’d remind him that it wasn’t technical mumbo jumbo that the public would respond to. It was people being their genuine selves that made an impression.
How right she was. His fingers flew over the keys as he typed. Grasstech might be a leader in the computer industry, but it was a company started by one man and now under the care of his sons. With thousands of employees throughout the world, each of whose diligent work contributed to the company’s success. For the new RAM, Park Baek Yeol in Seoul had worked for years on its development. Adil Pannu’s group in Mumbai tested hundreds of designs until they found one that could be produced at much less expense than its predecessor.
Once Gio had crafted a statement he was pleased with, he was ready to share it with his marketing team. After hitting the send button, he shut down his computer for the night.
As he was leaving the office, Samuele locked in step with him in the corridor. “Mio amico, we must decide where we are going to manufacture the biometric products. This is an enormous undertaking for us. Have you given it any thought?”
“I will, Samuele. Thank you. I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”
“Why are you so wistful?”
Gio couldn’t bring himself to explain about Luciana. Not yet, anyway.
At home, he pushed open the door to the villa. There was no doubt that the envelope on the table in the courtyard was for him. Luciana had left it, hoping to make a clean exit without having to say goodbye. Luck, or serendipity, spoiled her plot. As bad as it was to watch her being driven away by her keepers, it would have been far worse not to have bid her farewell. After she’d been transported long out of sight, he’d shuffled back to the villa but couldn’t bear to read her note.
Recognizing the Grasstech logo embossed on the top left corner of the envelope, Gio nodded to himself. Of course, even in order to leave him a message, she’d had to borrow an envelope and probably the piece of paper it was written on. Which of his pens had she used? Anything he had was hers for the asking, yet it brought a crinkle to his face that she hadn’t brought royal stationery with her from Izerote. No, she was too busy bringing wigs and palace jewels in her attempt to clinch time without her tiara for just one holiday.
Gio slid his finger under the flap to open the envelope. Having never seen her handwriting, he was awed by its feminine and stately precision. Every line symmetrical, every word incorporating as many swirly flourishes as it could hold.
Ache pushed through him as he appreciated the beauty in the way Luciana had written his name.
Gio.
You have no idea how much you have given me in addition to your generosity. You have shown me a modern world full of excitement and potential, where ambition and innovation are celebrated.
I vow to you now that I will find a way to teach that to my children, and to tell them about the brilliant man in Florence who taught it to me.
You are the only man I will ever love, and I will love you until my dying day.
Yours forever, Luci.
Uncharacteristic mist filled Gio’s eyes as he peered up to the Juliet balcony of Luciana’s guest cottage, knowing only too painfully that she wouldn’t be appearing. Because darn if the words he yelled as he tried in vain to catch up to that car weren’t true. He loved her. And now that he knew what love was, he was sure it was something he’d never known before.
With Francesca, until she betrayed him, there was lust. And the commonality of working in the same industry. A similar lifestyle. Work came first, and there was never any worry about dividing his energies.
But his heart never lurched out of his chest at the mere thought of Francesca. He’d surely never had sunny visions of a home built together and children to share it with. A foundation that sparked his creativity. Celebrating successes and enduring challenges as one, an entity stronger than the sum of its parts.
Luciana made those possibilities dance through his head. In fact, he couldn’t stop obsessing over them. So much so that those visions had bent to include royal life. It would take adjustment, but he could see himself accepting the obligations and rules that would come with being at the princess’s side. They’d find a way to protect some amount of a private life for themselves. Love gave everything potential.
After sitting down at the courtyard table to pick at the pasta left over from their cooking class, Gio let his mind travel to faraway places. To the island of Izerote. To imagine what his heart was doing at this very moment. To miss her.
When he had wallowed for as long as he could stand, he forced his mind to turn a corner. The next issue on his agenda was where the biometric products were to be produced. He could give them to one of the India plants, although the crews there already had plenty to do. In fact, he’d like to shift some of the ongoing manufacturing he had operating out of Mumbai to somewhere else. The Tokyo plants were overworked, too. A new location might be what was in order. The components were all small parts that didn’t require massive production equipment, so that opened up a lot of options.
The strangest germ of an idea popped into his mind. With some research and phone calls, he began to envision a prospect. The next morning, he summoned Samuele to his office and included his father at the winery in the discussion via FaceTime. Gio announced where he was taking new manufacturing.
If he had his way.
Which he was about to find out.
“Samuele, I have no idea how to reach my destination. Book a trip for me.”
* * *
“Your Royal Highness, may I ask you to lift up your arms?” Three dress fitters swarmed around Luciana. She obliged, although the tight lace sleeves of the wedding gown didn’t allow much flexibility of movement. “Just a bit higher, Princess, please. Most appreciated.”
With the three-paneled mirror set up in front of a dais that provided easy access for alterations to the gown, Luciana was on display like a pirouetting ballerina in a child’s wind-up jewelry box. One tailor slowly circled the bottom of the gown, pinning it for a perfect hemline. The other two attended to the rest of the fit.
“Would you prefer us to add a large lace flower at the waistline
?” one of them asked. The question caught Luciana by surprised as it was the first one anyone had asked her since she was returned to the palace yesterday. Every last detail of her upcoming wedding had been decided on by the royal wedding planners and her father. She supposed that having disappeared for seven days she had further forfeited her right to any say in the matter. Although she was the bride, she felt like a mannequin that was only one element in the whole of the affair, of equal importance to the cake or the table settings. The fitter held a lace rose to the waistband of the gown. Then withdrew it for comparison.
The dress was so undeniably hideous the princess didn’t think it much mattered whether yet one more adornment was added. At her father’s request, the design had been modeled on the one worn by her great-great-grandmother at her own wedding. While a style that was hopelessly out of date could have a kind of retro charm, this one did not. She was reminded that the unbearable confines of this gown were what propelled her to finally stow away on that supply boat, and to take her fateful trip to Italy.
A stiff collar led to a fitted lace bodice and sleeves. The silk layer under the lace extended upward almost to the neckline, eliminating any hint of sexiness or even femininity to the décolleté area. Past the waistband, the skirt portion was full-on poof, round with gigantic petticoats that made her think she might be wearing a hot air balloon. Perhaps she could float up toward the clouds and be carried away.
A veil was affixed to her head. It was long enough to hoist beachcombers from Barcelona onto Izerote. The ensemble was finished off with uncomfortable matching pumps with decorative buckles—yes, buckles—encrusted with crystals.
“Princess?” The fitter was still waiting on her opinion about the lace rose at the waistband.
Luciana lazily shrugged her shoulders. She was defeated. Gio was right. She’d never been independent and she never would be. Why should she decide if the gown should have a flower on it? Let the dresser choose.
The royal planners had buzzed themselves into a tizzy as soon as the princess had been delivered back to the palace, with everyone told that she had been temporarily called off the island to lend her support to an urgent humanitarian crisis. A palace public relations spin, in action. But which, in essence, was accurate as far as she was concerned. Although, even if they knew the truth, she wouldn’t have expected any sympathy from anyone at the palace about her own human need to soul search before she dedicated the rest of her life to the service of the crown.
Returning wasn’t so easy, as she’d been changed by her journey. So her new goal would be to become more like her mother. To shut down, check out, not have an opinion about anything. She’d keep the life she wished she led alive in her mind, but walk through her real one.
“Kindly allow me a few minutes of privacy with my daughter.” King Mario de la Isla de Izerote’s stomp, then voice, reverberated off the walls as he shooed away the wedding staff. They assisted the princess down from the alterations dais before taking their leave.
Surely Luciana’s father was the person least able to understand why she had to go to Florence. In fact, he hadn’t even welcomed her back last night, merely sending a representative to convey his relief at her safe return. His wrath was to be one of the prices she’d pay for her defiance.
It was worth it, though, she confirmed to herself with a bite of her lower lip. “Father,” she exhaled bravely.
“What have you done to your hair?”
“I had it cut and colored.”
“That much is obvious.”
As was expected of her, Luciana had always shown her father the utmost respect and deference. She loved him. If only he’d been a perceptive enough parent to see that spending her life isolated on this island where time stood still was a fate his daughter couldn’t bear.
“I didn’t mean to cause you worry,” she stated with her head slightly bowed so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “That’s why I left you a note promising my return.”
“It would have been proper protocol to ask my permission, not to stow away on a supply boat.”
As she suspected, she’d been surveilled from the very beginning of her voyage.
“If you were following my every move, Father, why didn’t you allow me the three weeks my note to you promised?”
“I received information that you were keeping company with a man. There was an incident involving gelato,” he spat, as if it were a bitter taste in his mouth, “that my operatives interpreted as highly improper. I decided it best to sever that liaison as soon as possible, in your own best interest.”
The princess brought her hand over her mouth in absolute mortification.
After a painful silence she said, “My best interest. I’ve tried to be a perfect daughter and a perfect princess.”
“Is your idea of a perfect princess who is soon to be married one who cavorts around Florence with a man who isn’t her fiancé?”
“That wasn’t something I had planned.” Nor was falling in love.
“Perhaps. But it was most undignified. We all have rules we must abide by, girl.”
“I’m not a girl.”
“You have acted like one.”
No, he was wrong. For the first time in her life, Luciana had been a steel-eyed, rock-solid adult. Gio had taught her that. In seven short days, she’d learned more about being an adult from him than she had in her entire life.
Amazing Gio. Who thought for himself. From big-picture revelations to infinitesimal technological solutions. How often during her too-brief time with him had he asked her what she wanted and, if she didn’t know, challenged her to find her answer? He shaped her into the woman she would now be. Which ruined her at the same time. As it was the man before her now to whom she was truly bound.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. We live like museum pieces. We’re fossils. I’ll just turn to stone like mother did.”
“Don’t you think I know what you’re feeling? I’m not so old that I don’t remember what it was to be young. To crave drama and abandon. But I came to accept, as my forefathers did and as you will, too, that the honor and onus of the crown is far more important than any selfish goals that might try to lure us away.”
Deep down, Luciana knew that her father was not the enemy. She could blame her fates if she wanted to. What good would that do her in the end?
“You will marry. And bear children. Your days will be full. These longings you have will pass. In time, you’ll forget them.”
“I don’t love King Agustin.” She loved Giovanni Grassi. And although she would never see him again, she would hold her love for him like a precious jewel in her hand until her last breath.
“And your mother did not love me.” King Mario spoke a truth they both already knew. “Duty, Luciana. You’ll truly be an adult when you stop battling your destiny.”
Luciana shifted her eyes to the three panels of the dressing mirrors. There she stood in the ugly wedding gown she was to wear when her father would escort her down the aisle. Her father, who’d endured a loveless marriage that produced only one, ungrateful heir. A man who had to receive the middle-of-the-night phone call that his wife had been crushed to death in a car accident. Who did what he thought was his best with his only child.
“King Agustin will bring the jobs to our island we so desperately need,” he reminded.
“Eroding our natural resources with tourist resorts? Is that really what’s good for our subjects in the long run?”
“Without industry, we have no means to employ our people. It might not be the most inventive idea. However, it’s what we’re being offered.”
Luciana studied her father’s reflection in the three mirrors. His hair was still more pepper than salt. Shoulders that had always stood straight outlined a king with many decades left on the throne.
“Father, we have to think bigger.”
“There is no oth
er way.”
There simply had to be. Despite her outward resignation, a whisper inside her heart told her she would not walk down that aisle to marry the widower king.
That evening after she’d changed into her nightgown and slippers, Luciana unpacked the suitcase she’d brought to Florence, refusing to let an assistant do it for her. As if they were as fragile as eggshells, she placed the two pairs of boyfriend jeans, the emerald green scarf from the San Lorenzo market and the bottle of Luci perfume in the back of the bottom drawer of her bureau. On top of them, she stacked a pillow and a blanket in the hope that her treasures wouldn’t be discovered.
Slipping on her dressing gown, she stepped out onto the terrace of her sitting room. From this vantage point she could survey the north side of the island, facing toward the Spanish mainland.
It was a quiet night on the island, as always, with the crash of the waves against the rock bluffs the only sound to be heard. The sea was rough, water bursting over and over again upon itself with turbulence similar to what she felt in her own center.
No matter how hard she tried, Luciana could not get her mind off Gio. It would eternally haunt her to ponder what it was that he had mouthed to her as the security detail forced her into that black car and squired her away from him. She knew what she hoped he had said. The same words she had screamed out to him, the last words she would ever speak to him.
What was he doing at this very moment? She allowed herself to imagine that it wasn’t a palace terrace she looked out from tonight but, instead, the wrought iron Juliet balcony overlooking the courtyard of his villa. With its fragrant lavender and colorful flowers. That he was standing in the midst of it, gazing up at her, his sparkling eyes bright in the dark of night. Beckoning her to come down to him. To his embrace, to his kiss.
The moon tonight was high above the sea. Its distance made her think of a movie plot she’d heard of in which a woman had to be separated from her child. To ease her young son’s mind, she promised him that every evening they would each look up to see the same moon. That no matter their distance, because they could both see the moon that would mean they were together.
The Italian's Runaway Princess Page 14
