The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance

by Styles, Peter

  As soon as it could be done without calling undo attention, I excused myself on the pretext of needing to make a business call before the end of the business day in the United States.

  Free of the dining room, I strode along the hall to my study. Once the door closed behind me, only the dim glow of the lamp on my desk illuminated the room. I stripped the tie from my throat and loosened my collar before running my fingers through my slicked back hair. The faint tremor to my hand infuriated me. So much time and effort to control myself only to find it threatened as soon as I saw glimpses of who I had once been in the blue, blue eyes of an American.

  After pouring a snifter of brandy, I turned off the light, leaving the room in darkness. One sip became two, then a second glass. I needed to find a way to make Daniel Leifsson leave. I told myself it was so Ricard wouldn’t be distracted by him and by the life I needed Ricard to leave behind, but the pit of desire burning in my belly told me I had a lot more to fear from the American. I set the glass next to the decanter, crossed the thick Oriental rug to the stereo and flipped a switch.

  The soulful, sometimes sorrowful sound of the cello filled the room. Faintly in the background was my accompaniment from the city orchestra. I had played often with them in those days, and this performance had been recorded. To me, there was no instrument quite as expressive. Some people even described it as being the closest in sound to the human voice, and in my hands it had been a way to express all the wild emotion swirling inside me.

  I yearned for it now, yearned for a chance to be free even if it lasted only a moment. But those yearnings had only led to heartbreak before. I didn’t want that for me and especially not for my brother.

  I turned the music off.

  After returning to my desk, I touched my laptop to awaken it and sent an email to my assistant.

  Check Ricard’s finances and his activities in the United States. Find out what work we can dangle in front of him to keep him in Calonia for several years.

  Ricard would stay, but the American must go. I had only to figure out how to make him leave.

  4

  Daniel

  I had tossed and turned all night, my mind unwilling to let go of the apparent hostility from Prince Amand. I had always imagined an older, more serious version of Ricard as my ideal partner. Now I’d met him, and he couldn’t stand me. Did he dislike me so because of my profession or my background? The latter spurred me to rise early, determined to expand on the genealogy work I had already started.

  I sipped my morning coffee, brought to me by Nicolai, the young servant who had shown me to my room and later to the study. As I booted up my laptop, guilt niggled at me that I had yet to even begin the text for my newest travel book. I had dozens of excellent photos and stories, but researching my family history was proving a distraction.

  Perhaps, if I addressed the family research first, I could put it behind me and move forward. Given Prince Amand’s comments, it seemed I might not have much time in Calonia before the welcome mat was pulled from beneath my feet. How exactly did one employ the royal boot? Somehow, I didn’t think the limo driver would be escorting me back to the airport when the time came.

  In a matter of minutes, I transferred the list of names and possible numbers into my phone. I added the addresses of places like the courthouse and library, where I might find out more specific information. Ricard had told me before we retired to our rooms last night that he would be tied up with family matters for most of the day, so I must feel free to go wherever I wished. Good thing I had plenty of experience serving as my own tour guide.

  Turning down the offer of a limo ride, I walked the distance from the palace into the heart of town. I wanted to keep my search for my family somewhat private. Everywhere I looked around the narrow, cobbled streets, flowers spilled from window boxes in bright splashes of color against white stucco walls.

  I followed the GPS directions on my phone to the public library and began to track down possible connections. I pared my list of possible relatives to five, including phone numbers. Now it was time to call, which made me nervous. My Calonian wasn’t strong. Without the added benefit of facial expressions and body language, talking by phone was very difficult, but if I didn’t try, I might never know if I really had any family here.

  After finding a quiet place outside the library, I screwed up my nerve to make the first call. No luck. No one had heard of either Annalisa or Vasile Petrovny, my grandparents. By the time I had finished, I had two definite negatives and three more that were possibilities only because they actually had the last name of Petrovny, not because I had spoken to anyone other than an answering machine.

  I left messages, but had to do so in English. No way was I going to attempt to explain why I was calling in my limited Calonian. With my luck the message would have translated into something like ‘I am calling about the possibility of enslaving your children,’ and I would find myself being hunted down by the Calonian Royal Guard.

  At somewhat of a dead end for the moment, I removed my camera from my backpack and decided I would tour the city. In the heart of the oldest part, I stumbled upon a market set up around the perimeter of a square. In the center of it was yet another fountain. They seemed to be a hallmark of the city, but this one reminded me of the one in the private gardens at the palace.

  Seated on the edge of the wall surrounding the fountain was an older gentleman, his hat pulled on at an angle. Lines of character creased his cheeks and feathered out from the corners of his eyes.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” I asked in his native language.

  He shook his head. “Not at all. You are visiting Calonia?”

  “Yes. I was just noticing…” Words failed me, so I pointed at the fountain.

  “Ah, yes. The fountain is a reminder of our ties to the sea. The river runs through the valley to our port on the Ispian. Have you been there yet?”

  “No.” I handed him one of my cards. “I’m a photographer and travel writer. Would you mind if I took your picture with the fountain in the background?”

  “Not at all.”

  I found the people to be outgoing and friendly. As I ate lunch in a café at one corner of the market, the number of families enjoying the day together startled me. Like any families back home, they had their cell phones, but did not seem so glued to them that they tuned out their parents or their children.

  How could Ricard take all of this for granted? It was more than the amazing architecture and the vivid colors of the flowers that seemed to be everywhere I looked. It had much more to do with the feeling of family. Even I was never treated as a stranger, as much as I must stick out as an American.

  I checked my voicemail, hoping I might have missed a return call in my search for my family, but my phone contained no messages or missed calls. Was it too much to ask to be able to find roots, some ties that would bind me to Calonia and finally give me a place I to claim as my own?

  * * *

  Amand

  I was a coward. After listening to Ricard’s American recount his travels through the city after his first, full day in our capital, his vivid details of wandering the market had filled me with envy, and I retreated to my study yet again. I was no longer free to do that, no longer able to hide myself in a crowd and experience just a moment of freedom, of being able to shake off the responsibilities that had come when I turned my back on my former life to assume all the duties that went with being a son of the King, even if I was not the Crown Prince.

  Daniel was still not dressed in a tux. He had paired his jacket with a blue shirt this evening, bringing out the vividness of his eyes. I tossed back a swallow of brandy as if it was nothing more than cheap whisky.

  What was it about the American that I found so endlessly fascinating? He was not so different from the mass of shiftless students who hitchhiked their way across Europe during the summer. Why on earth would I even want to find any common ground with the man? The only reason could be as a way to get him away from Ricard,
a way to have him take his careless style and his colorfully admiring descriptions of our country and leave.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come,” I snapped, not wanting company and yet needing a distraction from thoughts of Daniel Leifsson.

  Ricard entered, his tie undone and his hair mussed as if he might have been heading upstairs to change following dinner, but had changed his mind at the last minute and detoured here…to irritate me.

  “What is it, Ricard? Is there something you need?”

  Without bothering to ask permission, Ricard slouched into the chair on the opposite side of the hearth where I was seated and poured himself a brandy.

  “I just wondered what you thought of Daniel?”

  “I barely know him, so I can’t honestly say that I have formed any opinion of him whatsoever.” Oh, that was such a lie.

  “You must admit he is amusing. His descriptions of what he sees and the people he meets are entertaining. It’s why his books do so well. More than that, though, he is fun, Amand. Daniel knows how to live life—”

  “Fun?” I snapped. “Is that all you think of? You are perfectly content to fritter your time away while Papa, Constantin, and I shoulder the burden of all that our family represents.”

  “And you are perfectly content to hide what you really want in life behind your business suits and your duties.” Ricard laughed. “When is the last time you actually had any fun Amand? You haven’t even dated anyone since—”

  “My life is not the one under discussion.”

  Ricard studied me with something almost like pity in his expression. I made myself relax the fingers clenching the arms of my chair. Ricard leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “Seriously. You need to do something to relax. Mama was right when she spoke last night of your gift with the cello. You should play again.”

  I couldn’t meet his gaze, staring at the amber liquid in my snifter and swirling it gently before taking a sip and swallowing.

  “I have no time for it.”

  “You make time, Amand. You make time to do what keeps you human. Who was that maestro who used to give you lessons?”

  “Dr. Rinzky.”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  I shook my head. “He is busy with his duties as conductor of the symphony.”

  Ricard laughed again. “So busy he would not make time for a Prince of Calonia? Call him to the palace. Take up your studies again.”

  “And how much of your suddenly solicitous interest is spurred by a need to get me off your back?”

  Ricard stood with a smirk. “Nearly every little bit, my dear brother.” And with that, he left.

  I swirled the remaining brandy before finishing it. As the liquid warmed my throat, I leaned my head against the tall back of the chair and closed my eyes. As it always had, strains of music filled my brain.

  What would it be like to once more move the bow across the strings, movements that had once been as natural as breathing to me?

  Setting my empty snifter on the table next to my chair, I crossed to a small side chamber, hesitating only for a moment before gathering my determination and stepping inside the small room with its window overlooking the garden. The lights outside clearly illuminated Poseidon, the trees and shrubs mere shadows in the background. The water sprayed from the fountain like trails from fireworks that lighted the night sky.

  I glanced sideways, away from the window. My cello rested on its stand, the bow hanging from the hook on the back as if I had left it for only a moment instead of years. I plucked at the strings and grimaced. It was horribly out of tune, but who other than me knew how to tune it?

  Unable to resist the allure, I sat and drew the instrument between my thighs as gently as if it were a lover. Second nature took over. In a matter of minutes, I had used the fine tuners and the pegs to adjust the strings to their proper pitch. I took a deep breath and slid the bow back and forth, the fingers of my left hand struggling to find notes that had once come so easily.

  Memories flooded my consciousness, bitter and sweet, of when life had been filled with passion. I had tasted it with every sense, savoring its sweetness as I indulged whatever desire or whim held sway. But I had treated the love I had found with carelessness and self-indulgence, and when my attention wandered—as it always did when I was Ricard’s age—the young man who had given me every ounce of his love and passion couldn’t live with the ending of it.

  The bow hit an off note, and the music that had been slowly pushing its way out of my reluctant brain crashed. I set the cello on its stand, hung the bow on its hook, and gazed once more out the window, filled with a yearning to release the feelings I had held in check for so long but no longer able to do so.

  Ricard was right. Music had always been my outlet, and I needed it now. I checked my watch. Ten o’clock. Dr. Rinzky never retired before midnight. I took my phone from my pocket and tapped in a number I still knew by heart.

  5

  Amand

  Almost a week had passed since Ricard returned to the palace, yet I seemed no closer to solving any of the questions plaguing me. My younger brother, rather than continuing to rail against being brought home, was curiously acquiescent to every request from the King. Papa had not made any great demands, so perhaps Ricard’s willingness to do what was asked would decrease as Papa asked more of him. I did wonder why, after being so elusive for so long, Ricard was being brought to heel so easily.

  Daniel was yet another puzzle. After appearing not to have enough resources to dress correctly for dinner, he had appeared last evening in expertly tailored dinner dress. It certainly didn’t look like my tailor’s handiwork, but then my attire had always skewed toward the classics. Daniel’s cobalt blue, closely-fitted tux had served to bring out the blue of his eyes and the gold of his hair. Maybe Ricard had found a tailor in their jaunts around the city and the coast.

  I spun my chair toward my computer screen, frustrated that I would notice every detail of the American, yet another mystery at a time I had too much on my plate already. As a knock sounded at the door, I barked a command to enter.

  My assistant stepped in and shut the carved wooden panel carefully behind him before turning and bowing.

  “Good day, Your Highness.”

  “Stephano. You have some update for me?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. If I may, I will need to have you pull some information up on your computer. I did not wish to either print it or email it, so I will need to direct you to the sites.”

  My tension increased, tightness radiating along my shoulders. Calonia had several sensitive trade deals in the works. Recently, they all seemed to have hit hitches that were too much of a coincidence. As head of the country’s finances, I knew any bad news could have a severe impact on our economy.

  “You may come around to assist me.”

  He bowed before walking around the desk.

  “As you requested, I have looked into the finances of Prince Ricard. I regret to report that some of the deposits to his account do not seem quite right.”

  “In what way?”

  “In addition to the Prince’s regular allowance, in the past year, there have also been regular payments from an outside source.”

  “And yet, he still claims to be in debt?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. That is correct. I believe these deposits to be an extension of credit.”

  “What leads you to that idea?” Ricard must be gambling again.

  “The source, I am afraid.”

  Stephano proceeded to walk me through the necessary steps to access Ricard’s account information. As I studied the figures, my eyes narrowed. Ricard’s spending was out of control. He appeared to have gone through his allowance, the loans, and there was no evidence he had made any attempt to make payment.

  “Who loaned him the money?” The faintest tic began at the corner of my right eye.

  “I traced the deposits back to sources we believe are fronts for some of the E
uropean mafia, Tsaledonian to be exact.”

  The tightness in my shoulders increased. “The very groups that would most benefit from the collapse of the trade deals I have been brokering to utilize our deep water port.”

  I closed out the banking information. As Stephano retreated to the opposite side of the desk once more, I waved him to the chair in front.

  “Thank you for your hard work and discretion. You have had some time to go through this. I should like to hear your ideas on where we go from here.”

  Stephano shifted in his seat, his expression uneasy. “Your Highness. I am hesitant…”

  As he trailed off, I tapped my steepled fingers against my lips before placing my hands flat on the leather desk blotter in front of me. “You hesitate to recommend that we have Prince Ricard followed. Would that be it?”

  Stephano nodded, regret drawing his brows together.

  I leaned back as my mind continued to work through what might be going on. “I rely on your loyalty and discretion, Stephano, never more so than now. In addition to the Prince, I wish you to also assign our most trusted agents to surveil the American. Neither Ricard nor Daniel must be aware they are being followed. That will be all.”

  Stephano arose and bowed once more. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  I would have to go to the Finance Ministry myself. Any time I did so, it caused such a stir, I tried to conduct most of my business from the palace. However, this was one time it could not be avoided. Perhaps I had been too distant in my oversight. That needed to change. Dropping in unannounced was not easy. On this day, though, I would drive myself and tell everyone I was merely making a visit to my tailor.