The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance

by Styles, Peter

  “Very well, Your Highness.”

  After I hung up, I pinched the bridge of my nose. I desperately wanted the American to be innocent in all of this.

  7

  Daniel

  “I have two tickets to the sunset concert,” I reminded Ricard. “Are you sure you won’t go?”

  It had been two days since my run-in with his older brother, and in that time I had barely seen either one of them. Amand, I assumed was busy. He appeared to be the person around whom the palace ran. Ricard, though, was sulking. I had to make an effort. He was my best friend. I was a guest of his family. Both those commodities weren’t plentiful in my world.

  “Amand’s the concert buff, not me. Besides, if I go out, I’ll have the royal goons trailing me. No. Go. Have fun.”

  “Ricard, you need to be straight with me. What is going on? If you’re in some kind of trouble, I’ve had to sneak out of places before. I’m sure I could get us both out of here.”

  “It’s family stuff, Daniel. You’re a good friend, but I can’t run out on this. Enjoy yourself, and don’t get hung up if we can’t spend much time together. I need to smooth things over with my parents and my brothers.”

  Not really much of an answer. I gave up.

  The weather was warm and the day had been bright and sunny, so the evening held a promise of being beautiful. After grabbing my camera off the table next to my laptop, I began the walk into town. Sure, I could have hitched a ride in the royal limo, but who needed all that leather interior and added security when I walking would at least feel as though no one was following me.

  I wasn’t sure why I needed protection, but if Prince Amand wanted to waste money and resources, who was I—a lowly, poverty-stricken American travel writer—to argue?

  I halted partway down the long road downhill from the palace to get a shot looking out over the city. With the sun beginning to lower behind the surrounding mountains, it created some spectacular rays of light and shadow.

  The crowd was already gathering—couples, families, and teenagers—mixing together in laughter and smiles. Stately trees ringed the central, grassy area in front of the stage. On either side, small pavilions were set up, no doubt for patrons who had paid a lot more for their seats than I had for mine. People were spreading out picnic blankets and hampers as the orchestra tuned their instruments. I found a spot to lean against a tree trunk. It would provide additional steadiness as I began to capture pictures in the lower light of sunset.

  The orchestra began with Berlioz’s “Roman Carnival,” and the crowd hushed as the woodwinds captured their attention. Violins and cellos joined in and the pace of the music picked up. The crashing of the cymbals made me feel as though I were indeed at a carnival. Trombones, flutes, clarinets, tambourines all ran frantically along with the strings. I leaned back against the tree trunk, folded my arms across my chest, and enjoyed myself.

  As the audience erupted in applause, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned to see the two security guards who had been following me. The older of the two bowed.

  “Prince Amand would like you to join him.”

  “Wouldn’t that put one of you out of a job?”

  They both looked confused. I shrugged. It wasn’t as though I could really refuse an invitation from the Prince.

  “Never mind. Where might I find His Royal Highness?”

  “If you will follow us, we will escort you to his private pavilion.”

  So now I knew who was not occupying the cheap seats. As I followed the men in black, the symphony began with Mozart’s “Eine kleine Nachtmusik.”

  It seemed somehow fitting to be checking in with the royal cellist during a strings-only performance. The younger guard held back the curtain that kept the pavilion where Prince Amand was seated somewhat sequestered from the rest of the rabble. It fit him. Even in his enjoyment, he still isolated himself. On the heels of my immediate snarky thought followed a hollowness.

  Did he isolate himself because he chose to or was that the only way he could enjoy life?

  Surprising me, he stood with a smile and gestured to the seat next to him.

  “Please, join me.”

  There were other well-heeled patrons in another part of the pavilion, but they kept their distance. I wondered if his life was always like this. He had a family upon whom to rely, but did he have friends? I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want him to have a human, vulnerable side

  “Thank you.” I sat as he seated himself. The orchestra began one of my favorites, “Scheherazade.”

  I was glad when the Prince settled in to listen rather than converse. As the intensity of the music built, I stole a glance at Amand’s profile. He was immersed, his head leaned slightly forward and to one side as he listened to the music. For once, the suit was also not in evidence. Oh, he still wasn’t what I would call casual. No jeans for royalty, apparently, but his slacks and open-collared cotton shirt were the Prince Amand equivalent of me in sweats and a t-shirt.

  In the pause between the first and second movement, he glanced over at me, his gaze warmer, softer. “You are enjoying yourself?”

  “I enjoy Rimsky-Korsakov, and this piece is one of my favorites.”

  He smiled. “Mine too. You certainly know your music. I saw you taking photos earlier.”

  Was he trying to figure out if I was snooping? Or was he hoping to catch me at something? I didn’t trust him enough to believe there wasn’t some sort of agenda.

  “I like studying people with my photography. I have always admired the work of professionals like Dorothea Lange and Steve McCurry.”

  “Was he the man who took that photograph of the Afghan girl with the haunting green eyes?”

  “That’s him. He has other work that is equally fascinating.” I stopped, slightly embarrassed that I was going on and on about it. “I’m sorry. This can’t possibly interest you.”

  Amand’s dark gaze warmed me, and I could still feel the intensity of his interest. “But I am interested. I believe you must like photography the way that I admire the work of musicians.”

  His smile grew somewhat wider. I had never seen the flash of his straight, white teeth, or the faint dimples that appeared in his cheeks when he smiled so genuinely. “It is not just classical music either, old though I am.”

  “Old?” I was astonished. “I wouldn’t say that. You can’t be older than early to mid-thirties. So what other music do you enjoy?”

  The orchestra’s performance faded into the background as I focused on Amand.

  “Have you ever heard jazz cello?” he wanted to know.

  I grinned. It seemed like such an oxymoron when I stared at the serious-faced string performers on stage.

  Amand chuckled and my gaze jerked back to him. Serious Prince Amand had laughed?

  “Check it out,” he said. “Stephan Braun. I think you would enjoy it.”

  “Do you play jazz?”

  A shadow crossed the Prince’s face. “No.”

  He turned his attention back to the stage, but now his expression was once more somber. He didn’t speak again until intermission. At a wave of his hand, a waiter appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. After pouring, the waiter discreetly faded into the background.

  “Tell me more about your photography,” the Prince said. “You say you admire this McCurry. Why?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment as I thought of some of my favorite photos. “He is able to see into people’s souls—through their eyes, their interactions, the character lines that life has etched into their faces.”

  When I glanced at Prince Amand, I caught a somewhat arrested look on his face, as if he had seen something unique. I dropped my gaze.

  We sipped our wine in silence, waiting for the music to begin once more. As the concert neared its end, the Prince spoke again.

  “If you like, I will introduce you to the Maestro, Dr. Rinzky.”

  He knew the conductor? Well, of course he did. He’d probably hired him.


  “I would enjoy that.”

  The crowd parted before Prince Amand as we made our way backstage. A half-step behind him, I couldn’t see his expression, but it did seem that people greeted him pleasantly enough, nodding and bowing as we passed. I wondered that he was not even more arrogant than he was with such fawning attention all of the time.

  I also wondered how difficult it must be to get past all of that to a point where people accepted him as a person. Probably almost impossible. Maybe almost as lonely as being an orphan. With perks.

  As soon as the Maestro spotted the Prince, he hurried over, a smile lighting his weathered features.

  “Your Highness! I am delighted you have joined us. I was just telling my concertmaster that you had contacted me to renew instruction after so many years. A talent such as yours should never be wasted. The symphony missed your presence when you left so abruptly.”

  I glanced sidelong at Amand. Sure, his mother had praised his musical ability, but what parent does not think their child hangs the sun and moon? To have confirmation of that from no less than the Maestro was a revelation. The musician’s last sentence intrigued me, but I had little time to think about it as the Prince introduced me to the old music master.

  “Mr. Leifsson is a guest at the palace. He is a photographer and travel writer. I believe the Crown Prince hopes to lure him into staying long enough to feature our lovely country in one of his books. I hope to.”

  That was news to me. Every morning when I awoke, I expected to find my bags packed and a ride to the train station waiting.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leifsson.” The Maestro bowed and shook my hand before turning his attention to Amand. “I shall see you at the palace soon so we can dust the cobwebs off your cello.”

  The Prince smiled. “I await your convenience, Maestro.”

  As we walked back along the now emptying park, Amand spoke. “You are welcome to ride back to the palace with me. The limo is parked along the street next to the pavilion.”

  He tempted me. I had discovered another side to Prince Amand this evening that I’d like to explore, but I couldn’t trust it.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to take the opportunity to explore the city on an evening when people are sure to be out and about. It offers some wonderful opportunities for photographs.”

  For a second, I thought he might offer to come with me. Desire was there in his gaze, but then his expression went blank. He bowed slightly, once more every inch the stuffed shirt aristocrat.

  “Enjoy yourself, then. Good evening.”

  I watched him walk away, unable to resolve the many facets I had seen tonight into a man that made any sense to me at all. And why would I even want to? He had made it more than obvious every time we met that he had little regard for me…except for hoping I would stay to write about Calonia.

  I wandered the crowded streets, gathering pictures, finding dinner at a crowded café off the main square, and then catching a ride part way home on the back of a scooter. Yet, everywhere I had gone after the concert, my thoughts continued to circle back to Prince Amand.

  By all accounts, his musical talent had been phenomenal. He certainly seemed knowledgeable. So why had he stopped playing? A couple of times, I had seen flashes of a man who shared many of my own interests, but he locked that side of himself down as tightly as any prisoner might be who was held in the palace dungeon—if there was one.

  As soon as I entered the palace, I checked for servants. With no disapproving stares in sight, I jogged up the stairs to my rooms to drop off my camera. I wanted answers. I headed straight for Ricard’s rooms. For once, no servants seemed to be anywhere about. Maybe it was their night off, although you’d think there’d be a second shift or something so no one with highness attached to their name would need to actually open a door.

  I knocked softly and heard his command to enter. Ricard lounged in a chair near the French doors leading to the balcony outside his window.

  “The weather was beautiful in the city tonight,” I commented. “You should have come.”

  “Amand was there, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured he would be, so not exactly where I wanted to be.”

  I leaned against the doorframe. “He invited me into the pavilion and introduced me to the Maestro afterward. Dr. Rinzky said the Prince not playing any longer was a waste of a great talent.”

  Ricard shrugged, but it seemed more an avoidance of revealing any information about his elder brother rather than indifference. Obviously subtlety wasn’t going to work here.

  “Why doesn’t he play if he’s such a great musician? Against the royal rules?”

  “No. He was a brilliant musician, just like he’s a brilliant mathematician.”

  “So he handles the money now but not the music? Doesn’t seem like a fair trade to me. All work and no play.”

  “Something happened. I don’t know exactly. I was away at school. He quit playing.” Ricard’s expression was sulky. “He’d be a hell of a lot easier to get along with if he would take up playing the cello again…maybe get laid, too.” He arched a brow. “You could help him with that.”

  We’d never talked much about my preferences in sex partners, but it was there now in Ricard’s expression.

  I narrowed my gaze, knowing Ricard well enough to see through his attempt to piss me off. “I’m nobody’s mood booster, Your Highness.”

  * * *

  Amand

  I stared out the limousine window at the lights of the city as we climbed the road back to the palace. Going to the concert tonight was a mistake. Listening to the music and talking to Daniel overloaded my brain with emotion. The passion in his voice as he spoke of his photography and the work he admired made me stop and take notice. Then his interest and knowledge about music had sparked something else. I wanted him as I hadn’t desired anyone else in years, but it was impossible.

  Yet, why did it seem that out of Constantin, Ricard, and me, I was the only one constrained from having what I wanted? Constantin had his wife and children. Ricard had been allowed freedom that I had never had. Why shouldn’t I have what I desired?

  I strode straight through the hallway to my study. There to the side was my cello. My fingers itched to hold it again, to play until the emotion clogging my chest and my throat eased off.

  I grabbed it, grabbed my bow, and stalked out the doors to the terrace. From there, I followed the walkway to a spot in the family gardens that had once been a favorite of mine. Surrounded by trees but still with a view of the fountain, I seated myself on a small stone bench and thought about what to play, not the vibrant playful pieces I had been experimenting with before… before I stopped. Instead, I positioned my instrument between my thighs and began the haunting notes of one of Bach’s Cello Suites.

  At first stiff and halting, I gradually relaxed into the music and let it flow through me, filling the aching emptiness with sounds that called to my heart. I was bleeding inside. For too long I had cut myself off from everything that had brought me joy, everything but the math and money, but without the music to counterbalance days filled with the logic of finance, without love, I was slowly dying inside.

  As I finished, I sat in silence. Listening to the concert this evening, watching Daniel so intent on it—the way it had momentarily soothed the restlessness I always sensed inside him—all of it called to me. What was it he yearned for? Talking to him, watching him, had shown me his passion for art and music rivaled my own. It drew me to him.

  I wanted…I swallowed and let my head fall back until I stared into the boughs of the trees above me. I wanted what I shouldn’t have. Daniel wasn’t for me. My head dropped forward again. It was impossible.

  A slow clapping began from the direction of the fountain. For an instant I looked about me in hopes of seeing...But, no. It was only Uncle Bernat.

  “Bravo, nephew.”

  “Uncle. Have you been here long?”

  The
older man approached, stopping short of the alcove where I was seated. “I was about to return to my apartments after my walk around the gardens when I saw you come out with your cello. It has been a long time since I have heard you play, so I decided to stay and listen. I had thought you had given it up, so I am curious. After such a long time, what…or who…has reawakened your interest?”

  I studied him for a moment, keeping my expression blank. Even if I were able, I would not answer. Without a word, I stood, bowed, and walked past him. It was time to put away the things I could not have.

  8

  Amand

  Two days later and I had still not been able to get the American off my mind. Only one person came close to accomplishing it, and he now sat in the chair before my desk looking supremely uncomfortable.

  “Ricard,” I said, unable to keep the impatience from my voice. “You have been shifting like a five-year-old since you sat several minutes ago. If there is something you must say, then I beg you to say it. I have work to get done.”

  “I have been contacted again.”

  I tapped my pen on the desk blotter. “Indeed.”

  While it was not news to me, after all, we had Ricard under close surveillance, I did wish to see what he would reveal. However, it needed to be to more than just me.

  “Let us call in the Crown Prince before this discussion goes further.”

  While we waited on Constantin, Ricard said, “Daniel enjoyed listening to the concert with you.”

  I turned from where I had gone to stand at the terrace doors, catching a sly look on Ricard’s lean face. The days when we shared brotherly confidences were over. This was not a conversation I wished to have.

  “Indeed.” I repeated and turned back to gaze out onto the gardens.

  My tension was back, relaxing only a slight bit as the Crown Prince entered the room. I returned to my desk, waiting for Constantin to sit before following suit. I waved my hand at Ricard.