I had a home. I had a family.
* * *
Amand
“Your Highness, Dr. Rinzky is here.”
I had been standing near the terrace doors, rehashing my conversation with Daniel from the night before. Had I really taken the step to seducing him? It was a rhetorical question. I already knew the answer, but I still struggled with following through on an idea that seemed pure personal indulgence and a dereliction of my duty to my family and my country.
So the footman announcing that the Maestro had arrived was a welcome interruption.
“Show him in.”
I had a few moments to compose myself. Dr. Rinzky had always been an astute reader of mood and character in the musicians with whom he worked. It was how he motivated them so well and pulled so much emotion from their music.
My heart beat heavily as I awaited his entrance. I was taking a step that would pull me out of my carefully controlled world. Seeing Daniel, speaking to him, envying him his passion for life was the spark, but I was unsure if I would be able to control the resulting fire. A part of me feared it would rage as it had so many years ago, ultimately burning the very one I loved. As it had then.
“Prince Amand,” Dr. Rinzky greeted me with his hands outstretched as he strode across the room. “I am so pleased you are ready to begin again.”
I could not back out now, not in the face of my Maestro’s excitement.
“Are we working in here or the music room?” he asked.
“For this first lesson, I would prefer we work in here.”
While I had played a couple of times recently for my own enjoyment, playing for the Maestro would be far different. He waved me toward my cello and the chair I had placed next to it.
“Let us begin, then.”
For the next hour, he made work. Starting, stopping, repeating a measure until I had it right. At one point, he paused to shake his head and I wiped the sweat from my brow.
“Your technique is beyond rusty. It pains me to say that your playing is flawed, but the problem is not irreparable. It simply requires work. The question is if you are willing to spend the time to do that.”
Tired though I was, joy flowed through me. Playing had given me a freedom I had not felt since… I did not want to think about that now. I wanted to concentrate on the sheer joy of once again losing myself in the music.
Dr. Rinzky clapped his hands. “That is enough for today, Your Highness. While I know that you wish to play only beautiful musical compositions, you must spend some time in disciplining and refining your technique.”
“Your way of saying scales.”
The old Maestro’s eyes twinkled. “One should always strive for a balance between work and play, Your Highness.”
With a bow, he departed, leaving me standing near my cello. For the first time in recent memory, I was keyed up, excited, and wanting to share what had happened. Daniel would understand. With the artistry he funneled into his photography and his writing, he, better than anyone, would be able to relate to the passion flowing so freely through me right now.
I crossed to my desk and picked up the house phone, asking Stephano to locate Daniel and have him come to my office. After the shortest of pauses, he responded.
“I am sorry, Your Highness, but the American left the palace nearly two hours ago.”
“Ask whoever is following him to request his return to the palace.”
The throat clearing I heard on the other end of the line was not going to make me happy. “I am afraid that will not be possible. He managed to leave without anyone realizing.”
“What? Security is supposed to be keeping tabs on him and his movements. My God, someone has threatened his life! He must be found. Now!”
I slammed down the phone, barely resisting the urge to throw the damn thing across the room. For once, I actually wanted to share something with another human being and the one I most wanted to share my emotions with was nowhere to be found. He was off, yet again, somewhere in the city.
I raked my fingers through my hair, mad at Daniel and mad at myself for caring he might be in danger. That he might be with someone else. I had settled down only somewhat when the footman opened the door tentatively.
“Your Highness, Mr. Leifsson has returned safely to his rooms. I thought you might wish to know.”
I nodded and brushed past him, my pace hurried as I took the stairs two at a time. With only the most perfunctory of knocks, I turned the knob and pushed into Daniel’s room. He regarded me in some surprise and finished placing his backpack on the floor next to the desk where his laptop was set up.
“A little impatient, Amand?” His tone was casual, but a certain wariness lurked in his gaze.
“Get dressed. We are going out. Wear something decent.”
It was a low blow, and I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, but I wasn’t going to apologize. He should have been here when I wanted him.
“Give me an hour,” Daniel responded evenly enough. “I’ve been in the city all day and need to shower and shave.”
I nodded jerkily. “Meet me downstairs.”
12
Daniel
The limo was waiting out front when I jogged downstairs. Nicolai, the footman, bowed to me. “His Royal Highness is already awaiting you.”
As soon as I stepped outside, another servant was there to open the limo door for me. Did princes even know how to open doors? Perhaps they had to go through training with their nannies. Okay, I was nervous and my mind was pulling out every errant thought to distract me from the tall form already folded into the far corner of the rear seat.
“Good evening, Amand,” I greeted him as I slid onto the finely upholstered leather seat. His gaze was brooding, his look nearly as cold as when I had first met him. He nodded. A slight movement of his left hand indicated to the driver that we should be on our way.
What the hell was going on? As we rolled down the palace drive, I tried to figure out if there was something I had done to anger him, but I came up with nothing. Until his unprecedented arrival in my rooms, I hadn’t spoken with or seen him since the previous evening.
Maybe he was already regretting his offer. Maybe what he wanted was only some anonymous sex instead of a boyfriend, especially an American with no pedigree and no money. Well, we were already way past anonymous sex, and as much as Amand was behaving like an asshole, this appeared to be more of a date than a hookup.
“Where are we headed?” Why are you being so cold?
“It’s a surprise.” His tone didn’t invite any further comments, but that didn’t stop me.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Angry?” His brows rose. “I am merely hungry and looking forward to a meal with my date, the person I want to share my time with.”
Amand turned his face to the window. I stared at him as it began to dawn on me. His abrupt manner came on the heels of my spending the day in the capital. Had he missed me? Was he pissed because I hadn’t been at his beck and call? It seemed unlikely, yet that was where all the signals pointed. I relaxed against the seat, watching as the city unfolded outside.
The limo halted in front of a rather nondescript building with a discreet sign out front that read “Marrakesh.” A Moroccan restaurant seemed a bit outside Prince Amand’s staid demeanor, but then I had been in several during my travels. Some had been as conservative as any fine restaurant, but others had been like walking into a sultan’s harem. So which would my prince have chosen?
I studied his attire as he emerged from the darkened limo. Another surprise because he had exchanged his normal dark dinner suit for an open collared dark dress shirt beneath a dark gray jacket and black pants. Prince casual. He took my elbow as if to guide me. It was my turn to arch a brow.
After being given the nearly silent treatment, I wasn’t sure I wanted any PDAs , and was pretty positive he didn’t either. In fact, I wasn’t exactly sure what the protocol was for our public relationship, if there even was one.
Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping into the middle of the market in old Marrakesh. Color assaulted me from every angle. I hadn’t entered a building, I had entered a tent. Low couches bordered the walls with tables and ottomans clustered in groups around the edges where diners laughed and talked as they ate family style from heaping bowls of food.
The host led us through the main room to a quieter room at the back. As I glanced around, I had to assume that we had been escorted to the VIP section of the restaurant. Of course we had. What was I thinking?
Amand indicted the couch along the wall. I slid along the low velvet seat, surprised, but pleased when he joined me there. So maybe I was not going to get the cold shoulder all evening.
Unlike traditional restaurants in Morocco, this one served wine instead of tea. At least they did to the Prince. Dishes were brought to the table before we were left alone to enjoy our meal. Not seeing utensils, I followed the custom of washing my hands and using my right hand to pick up food from the bowls.
In the background of the conversation and laughter in the restaurant was the rhythmic beat of drums and cymbals, perfectly suited to the harem-like atmosphere. I glanced at Amand, who was choosing some beef from the plate in front of him. He looked slightly more relaxed, a faint flush to his lean cheeks.
“Pardon my saying so, Amand,” I commented, “But this doesn’t exactly seem like your style.”
He arched a brow as he popped the meat into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “And what would you know about my style, Daniel? Maybe this,” he gestured around him, “is who I really am. Maybe the suit, the tie, the formality are the illusions.”
A slight smirk curved his lips. He leaned forward with a dried apricot in his hand and popped it between my lips, which were probably gaping in surprise anyway. I chewed thoughtfully, holding his gaze.
“You are a puzzle tonight, Prince.”
He leaned back and smiled at me before sipping his wine and returning to his meal. It fascinated me to see this side of him. I had glimpsed it on a couple of occasions, but never had he seemed as unburdened as he did this evening. I wondered what had changed.
Amand gestured to the table. “Eat. I believe there will be entertainment later for us to enjoy.”
The food was delicious, the fragrance alone hinting at the wealth of spices there to tickle the palate. Cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, cumin—the list went on, and they were all my favorites. Amand poured more wine for us, and we both drank freely.
He sat back, his glass dangling from his fingertips, while he studied me. “I looked for you earlier today but was told you had gone into the city. Did you have a pleasant day?”
I set my glass on the table and turned slightly toward him. “You will never believe it. My search for relatives paid off!”
“You must be thrilled.” His gaze on me warmed.
“Oh, I am. My cousin even had pictures of my grandparents when they were young along with a letter my grandmother had written to my cousin’s older sister. It might seem ridiculous, but I feel as though I am finally grounded. I have roots and people who share my blood.”
Amand touched my forearm lightly with his fingertips. “Family is important, and I know this meant a lot to you. Will you be meeting more of your Calonian family?”
“We haven’t set up anything definite, but I have an open invitation to visit.”
Amand’s sincere pleasure in my discovery surprised me. Maybe I should have expected it. After all, he had demonstrated on numerous occasions how high a value he placed on family.
“So, tell me,” I said, pausing to take another sip from my wine, “what did you do today?”
“I took a music lesson.” He smiled so radiantly I nearly gasped. “The Maestro came to the palace and roundly critiqued every move I made with my cello. He is an exacting taskmaster.”
I grinned. “And you loved it. So perhaps I am not the only one who appreciates a firm hand?”
I could almost see the change in his demeanor, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that he was being far too animated. Not wanting this freer, more relaxed man to disappear, I reached out impulsively and took his hand.
“Taking up the cello again is a huge step for you.”
Amand went still, his eyes narrowing.
“What makes you say that? What exactly do you know about my giving up the cello?”
I shrugged, not wanting to go into what little I had gleaned from Ricard. After all, I really didn’t know any specifics. I certainly didn’t want to broach the subject of the something bad that his younger brother had alluded to. What I wanted was the smiling, relaxed man who had tucked a morsel of food into my mouth.
“Ricard only mentioned that you had turned your back on your music years ago, so you could focus on your position handling the country’s finances.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth of my discussion with Ricard either.
Amand shook off whatever shadows had threatened, popped a dried apricot into his mouth and motioned to a member of the staff. As the man crossed the dining area, the Prince said, “Would you like some more wine?”
I nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if either one of us had to get behind the wheel of a car. After Amand issued instructions in Calonian, the waiter nodded, bowed slightly and retreated.
“That sounded like a lot more than another bottle of wine,” I joked.
“I told him to bring a hookah too.”
I laughed. “What exactly are we smoking?”
“Nothing illegal,” he said with a laugh. “I thought it would be a nice way to end the meal.”
As we sipped wine and smoked—I couldn’t help feeling a bit like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland—Amand leaned slightly toward me on the couch. The intensity of the music increased, and clapping erupted as several belly dancers shimmied their way onto the middle of the floor.
They were all magnificent, but one dark-skinned man stole the show. His lithe body was nearly bare from the waist up save for a short, tasseled tunic that left his stomach bare. As he danced, his gaze seemed to lock on Amand and me. I don’t know if it was us or simply the realization that his audience was none other than a Prince of Calonia, but his sinuous movements appeared to be directed only at us.
In my travels around the world, I had two-stepped in Texas and spent a raucous evening dancing jigs in an Irish pub. This was some of the most sensuous dancing I had ever witnessed.
The dancer gestured to both of us to join him, and I noticed that other people had joined in from around the room and were learning some of the movements of the other dancers. I started to shake my head, figuring that Amand would never agree to such a public display, but he stood, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out onto the floor.
As if some of the other diners had just become aware of who was in their midst, there was laughter and clapping, urging us on. Amand bowed to them and then began to studiously follow the hip shaking, chest shimmying movements of our impromptu instructor.
Another glass of wine might have been in order before embarking on this adventure.
However, seeing Amand’s enjoyment, I threw myself into the experience. If this was the only night he would be like this, I wanted to take advantage of every moment and store it up for the future. When the time came for me to leave, as I was sure it would, I wanted this night to forever stand out in my memory.
Breathless and laughing, Amand and I attempted to replicate the expert movements of our instructor. It mattered little if we were not nearly as undulating or graceful. Our gazes met periodically, Amand’s obvious enjoyment a mirror of my own.
At long last, we bowed to the other diners and resumed our seats to finish our wine and smoke a little more.
I laid my head against the plump cushions. “I have had so much fun this evening, Amand. This was a fantastic surprise in so many ways.”
Every hair on my head stood at attention as he whispered in my ear, . “There is a small park with a lighted pathway across the s
treet. Would you like to walk for a bit and cool off before we return to the palace?”
His dark gaze was like banked embers waiting to be stirred to blazing life. What I wanted was for this evening to never end.
“A walk would be nice.”
As we left the restaurant, he murmured something to our driver, who bowed before getting behind the wheel of the limo.
“He’s going to meet us on the other side,” Amand clarified as we crossed the now deserted street to the lighted path that wound through the park. As soon as we were beyond view of the street, he took my hand in his.
I thought the gesture would make me uncomfortable, but instead, I found it…sweet. I had done more hookups than relationships, but even the men I had considered boyfriends had seldom been as openly affectionate and tactile as Amand had been this evening.
His fingers were lean, but strong as they intertwined with mine. Halfway through the small park was a stone bridge that arched over a brook. Amand stopped in the middle of it, turning me toward him, his hands now resting on my hips.
My entire body was on fire, and my cock began to swell. I had no idea where this was headed, but wherever it ended I wanted all of it.
“Earlier today, I was so pumped up from my music lesson,” Amand murmured, “and all I thought about was sharing that feeling with you.”
“Why me?” I asked, truly curious.
Amand’s fingers tightened on my flanks. “Of all the people I know, I felt like you would most understand the drive to find an outlet for my creativity. You do it with your photography and your writing…”
“And for you, it’s through music,” I finished for him. I searched his expression. In the light from the lampposts located at either end of the bridge, I saw his utter sincerity, but there was something else as well. His mouth curved with a sensuality I hadn’t before noticed.
“Daniel.” His voice was no more than a husky whisper.
We swayed toward the other. Our hands and arms locked in an embrace that brought us in full contact from chest to hip. His cock pushed against me. When his lips touched mine, I opened for him, feeling the slight scrape of his evening shadow as our mouths met and our breath mingled.
The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance Page 8
