The crew opened the door. “I never asked your father officially for your hand before we married.”
“He said yes at the wedding.”
“Not the same thing.”
“Relax. He’s happy for us.” They walked side by side onto the stairs that led down to the waiting limo to bring them home. She looped her arm with Matteo’s as she said, “Papa’s always busy in his restaurant though I know he loves me.”
Matteo waved for her to go first into the air conditioned limo. “Most men love my wife it seems.”
Her tanned skin retained the warmth of Fiji. As he slipped in beside her she asked, “What are you talking about?”
Matteo pinned her with his gaze. “Charles was fighting to get you back.”
For weeks neither one of them had said his name. She pressed her lips together and wondered if something was in the air here? She sucked in her bottom lip. “I thought we were never discussing him again.”
He kissed her hand. “We aren’t. I’m nervous about your father, I suppose.”
Her father was super nice and loved by everyone. “Why?”
He massaged her arm and goosebumps grew again as he said, “Because I… I love you.”
She laughed. This was awesome. Of course. She nodded and patted her belly. “Then we can tell him together about the baby in person.”
Truthfully though being pregnant still felt like she was in some dream and it wasn’t real.
* * *
As soon as Simone opened the door of the Villa for them, they stepped inside and she could smell the savory lamb shank stew that her father always made for her. Her nose would never forget that smell.
Matteo walked with her as they headed into the dining room. Her mouth watered, recalling that certain taste of spice and meat. As she glanced at the buffet offerings, she knew her father was close by. She stepped back and called out, “Papa, what’s all this?”
He came in from the servant’s entrance wearing his chef’s gear and walking next to Fiona, who had an uncharacteristic redness to her face as her father said, “I’ve been showing your chef how to properly make my daughter’s favorite foods.”
Matteo lifted a ceramic dish of creme brûlée. “This looks amazing, sir.”
Hmm. Her father and Fiona were still next to each other. He’d not shown interest in any woman in years from what she remembered.
“Call me Nicoli, please.” He patted Matteo on the shoulder like they were close friends. Sheena took another whiff of burnt sugar and winced, turning away. She breathed through her nose and thankfully the nausea passed.
Her father’s eyes rounded with concern. “What’s wrong with my daughter?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, Papa. Just pregnant.”
Her father’s eyes welled with tears that poured down his cheeks. He hugged her and glanced over her head as he rocked her. “Pregnant…I’m glad I came to give you this.”
He let her go and pulled a letter out of his back pocket, handing her an envelope of faded ivory. She read the dainty handwriting of her name. “What is it?”
He kissed her forehead. “It’s from your mother. She wanted you to have this letter after you married and planned on having children. She wrote it in the hospital bed, knowing she didn’t have much time and would never know you.”
Tears rolled down her face.
And then in his usual fashion, he left to stir the stew at the buffet and check on his creations.
Sheena swallowed and carefully opened the envelope to not tear it as she said, “Let me sit and read this.”
She cried as she read her mother’s words. She’d been just a tiny infant when her mom had written this, and she probably knew she’d die. She wiped her tears as she finished, fearful of ruining the old paper. Then she stood and walked over to her father as she said, “Papa, this is wonderful. Thank you.”
Matteo had his hands in his pockets and asked, “What does your mother say?”
She read aloud:
My darling Sheena,
Not getting to know you is my biggest regret in dying. Your father will take care of you and I will watch over you from the next world. I will make sure you are blessed with love like I had with your father and hope one day you get to have a family. I will love you forever.
P.S. Tell your father to move on and marry again. He deserves to be loved.
She sniffled and tucked the paper back in the envelope as she said, “I wish I’d have known her.”
“That’s a beautiful letter,” Matteo said with a glassy-eyed expression.
She hugged her father and said, “Thank you, Papa.”
“Now let’s eat.” Papa held out a chair for her. She waved for Matteo and once again her father decided to serve instead of join. He stalked off with the head chef.
Matteo picked up his fork. “Sheena?”
“Yes, Matteo?” She smiled at her husband. All this good in her life was because they had gotten married.
He glared into his soup. “You’re lucky to have a great father.”
And he hadn’t, but that didn’t matter. She squeezed his hand. “I know, and you will be one too.”
He met her gaze and nodded. “As long as I don’t take after my father, we’re good.”
She picked up her spoon and sighed. “No chance of that, my love.”
“Why do you say that?” His spoon hovered midway from his bowl to his mouth.
She imitated his cute wink and said, “Because you took a chance on love.”
He kissed her cheek, but that wasn’t enough. She turned in her chair and kissed him full on the lips. Today they were home, together, where their lives truly began.
The End. I hope you enjoyed Matteo and Sheena’s story as much as I did. Sheena was seriously one of my favorites to write and Matteo surprised me when he told me skateboarded. The next book the the Princes of Avce novel goes backwards in time so we get the love story that started the saga of when King Leo married his secretary, the now Queen Anna. Order Forbidden King now.
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Thirty Years Ago…
* * *
In the country of Avce, a noble must marry before his thirtieth birthday or lose his status. Leo, technically Leopoldo Aussa, as the crown prince and only son of the royal family, demanded that his parents change the archaic rules for him, but as the calendar counted down to doomsday, only three weeks away, they did nothing.
Leo had threatened to vacate his responsibilities, refuse the throne and leave Avce. But where could he go without wealth and privilege?
He’d traveled to the United States at eighteen, where his wallet had been stolen. Those few hours without money or identification in Los Angeles, California had scarred him.
Deep down, he knew he would accept the throne and marry, but his first law as king would be to change this ancient rule of the land. No son of his should face down a clock. Or marry a stranger just to keep his birthright.
Leo couldn’t imagine having a son, but when the time came, he hoped to have a relationship with the next heir, like some of his friends had with their fathers. They would build trust and understanding an
d not be ignored.
Summoned to the throne room, where he’d been kept waiting for over an hour, Leo was sure his parents were about to apply more guilt, saying that he’d ruined their chances for a shipping alliance with a northern country nowhere near Avce by not marrying the princess of said country. He had no choice but to sit straight in the high-backed wooden chairs meant to intimidate royal visitors.
The dong of the swinging clock near the door went off, signaling another half hour had passed and once again his parents paid little regard for his time or his schedule.
His pulled at his tight collar. He probably shouldn’t have slept with Francesca at the bride-finding ball his parents had thrown two nights ago, but he hadn’t wanted to be Prince Charming to some Cinderella waltzing through the palace door.
So, he’d disappeared with the pretty model who’d wanted nothing more than a one-night stand.
The infernal tick-tock of the huge gilded clock needed to be removed from this antechamber. One day, if he ever did have any power, he’d dismantle that sound so no one else had to suffer.
He’d spent too much of his life staring at that gilded clock waiting for his parents to give him a royal decree for his life rather than discuss anything, ever.
Perhaps if his parents had had more sons, then he wouldn’t carry this weight on his shoulder. His younger sister had done her duty, married and left the kingdom that Leo was supposed to inherit. If he abdicated, an odious cousin took over. He stood from the chair and paced.
If not the princess, maybe his parents planned to ream him over Francesca, and then send him on his way like he was still a boy they’d scold.
Franz, the court Marshal, opened and closed the door to the throne room, carrying a long staff. Leo crossed his hands and ignored the heat in his cheeks as the play of his life continued. Franz tapped the marble floor with his symbolic staff. Without a word, the gesture meant ‘stand and be ready to meet the king and queen.’
Even as the only son, he didn’t get a pass around traditions. Luckily his father was healthy and should rule Avce for decades more without any issues.
Now if he’d rescind the law that nobles must marry by thirty, everything would be fine. Had Leo been called to meet them because they’d finally relented?
He followed behind the servant, who stepped back when they reached the final door and Leo entered the room normally filled with royal hangers-on. Today it was just his parents, both dressed in royal blue and gold as they held court and sat on their thrones.
Their positions meant they were in charge, they set the rules and he obeyed.
Leo walked to the lowest step of the dais. His father declared, “Leopoldo Aussa, the laws cannot be changed because you want to keep flirting with models, son.”
Francesca was to be the subject then. He met his father’s gaze and squared his shoulders. “Francesca is more than just a model.”
“Model and aspiring actress?” His mother, Queen Anastasia, stood from her throne and stared down the steps as if he was a peasant. “She’s not fit to be a queen. You know that, son, which is why you haven’t considered marrying her, yet your action put all the eligible women who might be good for you on notice that you weren’t available.”
Her tone was clipped. So they knew he’d known Francesca for more than one night—they didn’t have to say. His mother’s raised eyebrow conveyed her disapproval without words. Yes, Francesca was reckless and wild. She didn’t care about anything which was the exact opposite of what everyone thought he should be.
Queen Anastasia continued in her litany, “And once again you cause your own problems and once again I find the solution. Hopefully one day you’ll learn to take some responsibility in life and not just flit around and never think things through.”
No one had ever asked Leo to solve anything before.
It might be nice, but it wasn’t important now. Leo wanted one thing in his life… a choice. So, he took a single step up the dais like he was ascending into godliness. It was time to show them how reckless he was and force them to change the stupid law. He met the cold stare of his father. “Time is almost up for me. If you truly want me to be king, then you’ll accept Francesca.”
“She’s unacceptable and you’ll be stripped of any power if you do.” His father hadn’t budged from his throne as he decreed, “Your secretary Anna is a better choice for queen.”
Anna Camila? Leo kept her close because she did whatever he needed, without fuss; she wasn’t bad to look at with her tight bun and ever-present notepad. She anticipated his every whim, and ran his events perfectly.
But she wasn’t a noble.
Neither was Francesca.
He hadn’t once thought his parents would accept anyone that wouldn’t help grow Avce’s power. Francesca certainly didn’t but Anna Camila? “You want me to marry my secretary?”
His mother nodded her regal head. “At every event for the past year, where she has been at your side, your manner and behavior is above reproach.”
“What happened to making a match that brings a contract or treaty to Avce?”
“Your two sisters handled that for us, protecting our small nation,” his father said.
His mother folded her arms. “You’re running out of time. Ask Anna. At least I like Anna Camila.”
Interesting. This must have been his parents’ plan—they knew very well the clock was ticking. They didn’t approve of Francesca, and had offered a solution that he might not have considered.
All that was missing was Anna. Was she in on it? No. Yet for all he knew, she might have a boyfriend who ran a shipping company in Avce, or worse, a man who operated a ski chalet.
The thought of Anna with a cocky ski instructor made his body grow cold. He bowed and said, “Let’s ask her then, right now.”
His parents descended the stairs of the dais together. Once they reached the bottom, his mother cupped his face and said, “You can talk to her alone.”
Today made no sense and his parents were mistaken if they thought he and Anna would match.
Anna had a way of staring through him until he capitulated because she thought he was better than he was. A lifetime of expectation might be too hard to handle when no one, not even his parents, expected anything of him.
He kept his head high. She’d say no. And when she said no, then they needed to let him make his own mistakes. He shook his head and motioned toward the door. “No. As she was the group choice, let’s have you both there to hear her answer.”
He strode down the vaulted halls of the palace, hemmed in by portraits of his ancestors all dressed in black, each with penetrating eyes.
He turned and climbed a wide stairwell leading to his wing of the palace, the red carpet quieting their steps. Normally, his heart calmed by this point of his journey after being dismissed from the throne room, but not today. His belly burned with fire.
Perhaps Francesca wasn’t a lady like his mother, but his mistakes were supposed to be his own and not a reflection against ancestors from the Roman Empire.
In his almost thirty years, he’d never assumed once that his parents, his royal parents, would suggest a peasant. If he’d have thought they’d bend this much, he might have held out for love—or something like that.
His mind swirled as they neared his office door. Why would they approve of Anna but not Francesca?
* * *
Leo peeked into his office.
Anna’s brown eyes shone with intelligence behind her black-framed spectacles she wore to read his mail. She laughed at his dry commentary that most people didn’t get.
And unlike most women, he was easy and himself with her.
Her uniform of choice was a black knee-length pencil skirt, a button-down shirt, pearls around her neck, her hair tied up in a tight bun, and no makeup at all.
He’d never seen her in anything else. He pushed open the door fully and she was right where he’d left her, at her desk, in front of her desktop computer, typing away on a document.
He heard the shwish sound of the printer, and cleared his throat.
Her brown eyes widened and she jumped out of her seat to curtsy as his parents followed him into his office, their blue and gold attire flashing.
His father pressed his hand on his chest like this was a formal meeting and she was his equal as he said, “Anna Camila.”
She didn’t end her curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness?”
Leo tapped her shoulder to get her to straighten up and a spark rushed in his veins. He’d touched her before, but never felt this. Of course, he hadn’t considered marrying her before now. He put his arms to his side the moment she stood and glanced at him. He said, “My father believes you’ll make me an excellent queen one day. Do you want the job?”
She blinked. Anna lost all the color in her face as she raised her eyebrow and asked, “What job? I don’t understand.”
Perhaps if he’d thought Anna was a possibility in the past, he’d have at least glanced at her full lips. Would they be sweet? He’d been shocked by his father’s suggestion and still wasn’t sure so he pivoted toward his parents. “Father…”
His mother took Anna’s hands as if they were friends. “My son is asking you to marry him though he’s being extremely rude.”
And there it was. The same as always. His parents still made his choices and expected him to do as told.
No discussion allowed.
And yet, he hadn’t protested at all. Asking Anna had never been his idea. He wouldn’t have broken the class structure, but he pressed his lips when Anna’s cheeks pinkened. “Mother,” he said. “Stop.”
Anna’s lips hadn’t quite closed, but she turned toward him, fixed that infernal bun to keep it straight and asked him, “Your Highness?”
This was a shot in the dark that showed his parents’ desperation to get him married. She probably had a fiancé or a life outside the palace once she left him every day at five o’clock. At his mother’s glare, he went down on one knee, took Anna’s hand, and kissed the back of it. In the most serious tone he could muster he asked, “Will you marry me, Anna Camila?”
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