“A public profile?” she echoed, because she had to say something, and she had an inkling that flatly refusing to do anything Rodolfo suggested simply because it had come from him wouldn’t exactly fly as far as the king was concerned.
“I rather like the idea.” King Geoffrey’s attention had returned to his own plate. “It is a sad fact that in these modern times, a public figure is judged as much on the image he presents to the world as his contributions to it. More, perhaps.”
He didn’t order her to do as Rodolfo asked. But then, he didn’t have to issue direct orders. And that was how Natalie found herself flying off to Rome to attend a star-studded charity gala the very next day, because Rodolfo had decided it was an excellent opportunity to “boost their profile” in the eyes of the international press corps.
If she ignored the reason she was taking the trip and the man who’d engineered it, Natalie had to admit that it was lovely to have her every need attended to, for a change. All she had to do was wake up the following morning. Everything else was sorted out by a fleet of others. Her wardrobe attendant asked if she had any particular requests and, when Natalie said she didn’t, nodded decisively and returned with tidily packed luggage in less than an hour. Which footmen then whisked away. Natalie was swept off to the same private jet as before, where she was fed a lovely lunch of a complicated, savory salad and served sparkling water infused with cucumber. Things she didn’t know she craved, deeply, until they were presented to her.
“Your chocolate, Your Highness,” the air steward said with a smile after clearing away the salad dishes, presenting her with two rich, dark squares on a gold-embossed plate. “From the finest chocolatiers in all of the kingdom.”
“I do like my chocolate,” Natalie murmured.
More than that, she liked the princess’s style, she thought as she let each rich, almost sweet square dissolve on her tongue, as if it had been crafted precisely to appeal to her.
Which, if she and Valentina were identical twins after all, she supposed it had.
And the pampering continued. The hotel she was delivered to in Rome, located at the top of the Spanish Steps to command the finest view possible over the ancient, vibrant city, had been arranged for and carefully screened by someone else. All she had to do was walk inside and smile as the staff all but kowtowed before her. Once in her sprawling penthouse suite, Natalie was required to do nothing but relax as her attendants bustled around, unpacking her things in one of the lavishly appointed rooms while they got to work on getting the princess ready for the gala in another. A job that required the undivided attention of a team of five stylists, apparently, when Natalie was used to tossing something on in the five minutes between crises and making the best of it.
Her fingernails were painted, her hair washed and cut and styled just so, and even her makeup was deftly applied. When they were done, Natalie was dressed like a fairy-tale princess all ready for her ball.
And her prince, something inside her murmured.
She shoved that away. Hard. There’d been no room for fairy tales in her life, only hard work and dedication. Her mother had told her stories that always ended badly, and Natalie had given up wishing for happier conclusions to such tales a long, long time ago. Even if she and Valentina really were sisters, it hardly mattered now. She was a grown woman. There was no being swept off in a pumpkin and spending the rest of her life surrounded by dancing mice. That ship had sailed.
She had no time for fairy tales. Not even if she happened to be living one.
Natalie concentrated on the fact that she looked like someone else tonight. Someone she recognized, yet didn’t. Someone far more sophisticated than she’d ever been, and she’d thought her constant exposure to billionaires like Mr. Casilieris had given her a bit of polish.
You look like someone beautiful, she thought in a kind of wonder as she studied herself in the big, round mirror that graced the wall in her room. Objectively beautiful.
Her hair was swept up into a chignon and secured with pins that gleamed with quietly elegant jewels. Her dress was a dove-gray color that seemed to make her skin glow, cascading from a strapless bodice to a wide, gorgeous skirt that moved of its own accord when she walked and made her look very nearly celestial. Her shoes were high sandals festooned with straps, there was a clasp of impossible sapphires and diamonds at her throat that matched the ring she wore on her hand and her eyes looked fathomless.
Natalie looked like a princess. Not just Princess Valentina, but the sort of magical, fantasy princess she’d have told anyone who asked she’d never, ever imagined when she was a child, because she’d been taught better than that.
Never ever. Not once.
She nodded and smiled her thanks at her waiting attendants, but Natalie didn’t dare speak. She was afraid that if she did, that faint catch in her throat would tip over into something far more embarrassing, and then worse, she’d have to explain it. And Natalie had no idea how to explain the emotions that buffeted her then.
Because the truth was, she didn’t know how to be beautiful. She knew how to stick to the shadows and more, how to excel in them. She knew how to disappear in plain sight and use that to her—and her employer’s—advantage. Natalie had no idea how to be the center of attention. How to be seen. In fact, she’d actively avoided it. Princess Valentina turned heads wherever she went, and Natalie had no idea how she was going to handle it. If she could handle it.
But it was more than her shocking appearance, so princessy and pretty. This was the first time in all her life that she hadn’t had to be responsible for a thing. Not one thing. Not even her own sugar consumption, apparently. This was the first time in recent memory that she hadn’t had to fix things for someone else or exhaust herself while making sure that others could relax and enjoy themselves.
No one had ever taken care of Natalie Monette. Not once. She’d had to become Princess Valentina for that to happen. And while she hadn’t exactly expected that impersonating royalty would feel like a delightful vacation from her life, she hadn’t anticipated that it would feel a bit more like an earthquake, shaking her apart from within.
It isn’t real, a hard voice deep inside of her snapped, sounding a great deal like her chilly mother. It’s temporary and deeply stupid, as you should have known before you tried on that ring.
Natalie knew that, of course. She flexed her hand at her side and watched the ring Prince Rodolfo had given another woman spill light here and there. None of this was real. Because none of this was hers. It was a short, confusing break from real life, that was all, and there was no use getting all soppy about it. There was only surviving it without blowing up the real princess’s life while she was mucking around in it.
But all the bracing lectures in the world couldn’t keep that glowing thing inside her chest from expanding as she gazed at the princess in the mirror, until it felt as if it was a part of every breath she took. Until she couldn’t tell where the light of it ended and that shaking thing began. And she didn’t need little voices inside of her to tell her how dangerous that was. She could feel it deep in her bones, knitting them into new shapes she was very much afraid she would have to break into pieces when she left.
Because whatever else this was, it was temporary. She needed to remember that above all.
“Your Highness.” It was the most senior of the aides who traveled with the princess, something Natalie had known at a glance because she recognized the older woman’s particular blend of sharp focus and efficient movement. “His Royal Highness Prince Rodolfo has arrived to escort you to the gala.”
“Thank you,” Natalie murmured, as serenely and princessy as possible.
And this was the trouble with dressing up like a beautiful princess who could be whisked off to a ball at a moment’s notice. Natalie started to imagine that was exactly who she was. It was so hard to keep her head, and then she walked into the large, comfortably elegant living room of her hotel suite to find Prince Rodolfo waiting for her, decked out
in evening clothes, and everything troubling became that much harder.
He stood at the great glass doors that slid open to one of the terraces that offered up stunning views of Rome at all times, but particularly now, as the sun inched toward the horizon and the city was bathed in a dancing, liquid gold.
More to the point, so was Rodolfo.
Natalie hadn’t seen him since that unfortunate kissing incident. Not in person, anyway. And once again she was struck by the vast, unconquerable distance between pictures of the man on a computer screen and the reality before her. He stood tall and strong with his hands thrust into the pockets of trousers that had clearly been lovingly crafted to his precise, athletic measurements. His attention was on the red-and-gold sunset happening there before him, fanciful and lovely, taking over the Roman sky as if it was trying to court his favor.
He wasn’t even looking at her. And still he somehow stole all the air from the room.
Natalie felt herself flush as she stood in the doorway, a long, deep roll of heat that scared her, it was so intense. Her pulse was a wild fluttering, everywhere. Her temples. Her throat. Her chest.
And deep between her legs, like an invitation she had no right to offer. Not this man. Not ever this man. If he was Prince Charming after all, and she was skeptical on that point, it didn’t matter. He certainly wasn’t hers.
She must have made some noise through that dry, clutching thing in her throat, because he turned to face her. And that wasn’t any better. In her head, she’d downgraded the situation. She’d chalked it up to excusable nerves and understandable adrenaline over switching places with Valentina. That was the only explanation that had made any sense to her. She’d been so sure that when she saw Rodolfo again, all that power and compulsion that had sparked the air around him would be gone. He would just be another wealthy man for her to handle. Just another problem for her to solve.
But she’d been kidding herself.
If anything, tonight he was even worse, all dressed up in an Italian sunset.
Because you know, something inside her whispered. You know, now.
How he tasted. The feel of those lean, hard arms around her. The sensation of that marvelous mouth against hers. She had to fight back the shudder that she feared might bring her to her knees right there on the absurdly lush rug, but she had the sneaking suspicion he knew anyway. There was something about the curve of his mouth as he inclined his head.
“Princess,” he murmured.
And God help her, but she felt that everywhere. Everywhere. As if he’d used his mouth directly against her heated skin.
“I hear you wish to build our public profile, whatever that is,” she said, rather more severely than necessary. She made herself move forward, deeper into the room, when what she wanted to do was turn and run. She seated herself in an armchair because it meant he couldn’t sit on either side of her, and his fascinating mouth twitched as if he knew exactly why she’d done it. “King Geoffrey—” She couldn’t bring herself to say my father, not even if Valentina would have and not even if it was true “—was impressed. That is obviously the only reason I am here.”
“Obviously.” He threw himself onto the couch opposite her with the same reckless disregard for the lifespan of the average piece of furniture that he’d displayed back in Murin. She told herself that was reflective of his character. “Happily, it makes no difference to me if you are here of your own volition or not, so long as you are here.”
“What a lovely sentiment. Every bride dreams of such poetry, I am certain. I am certainly aflutter.”
“There is no need for sarcasm.” But he sounded amused. “All that is required is that we appear in front of the paparazzi and look as if this wedding is our idea because we are a couple in love like any other, not simply a corporate merger with crowns.”
Natalie eyed him, wishing the Roman sunset was not taking quite so long, nor quite so many liberties with Rodolfo’s already impossible good looks. He was bathed in gold and russet now, and it made him glow, as if he was the sort of dream maidens might have had in this city thousands of years ago in feverish anticipation of their fierce gods descending from on high.
She tried to cast that fanciful nonsense out of her head, but it was impossible. Especially when he was making no particular effort to hide the hungry look in his dark gaze as he trained it on her. She could feel it shiver through her, lighting her on fire. Making it as hard to sit still as it was to breathe.
“I don’t think anyone is going to believe that we were swept away by passion,” she managed to say. She folded her hands in her lap the way she’d seen Valentina do in the videos she’d watched of the princess these past few nights, so worried was she that someone would be able to see right through her because she forgot to do some or other princessy thing. Though she thought she gripped her own fingers a bit more tightly than the princess had. “Seeing as how our engagement has been markedly free of any hint of it until now.”
“But that’s the beauty of it.” Rodolfo shrugged. “The story could be that we were promised to each other and were prepared to do our duty, only to trip over the fact we were made for each other all along. Or it could be that it was never arranged at all and that we met, kept everything secret, and are now close enough to our wedding that we can let the world see what our hearts have always known.”
“You sound like a tabloid.”
“Thank you.”
Natalie glared at him. “There is no possible way that could be construed as a compliment.”
“I’ve starred in so many tabloid scandals I could write the headlines myself. And that is what we will do, starting tonight. We will rewrite whatever story is out there and make it into a grand romance. The Playboy Prince and His Perfect Princess, etcetera.” That half smile of his deepened. “You get the idea, I’m sure.”
“Why would we want to do something so silly? You are going to be a king, not a Hollywood star. Surely a restrained, distant competence is more the package you should be presenting to the world.” Natalie aimed her coolest smile at him. “Though I grant you, that might well be another difficult reach.”
The sun finally dripped below the city as she spoke, leaving strands of soft pink and deep gold in its wake. But it also made it a lot easier to see Prince Rodolfo’s dark, measuring expression. And much too easy to feel the way it clattered through her, making her feel...jittery.
It occurred to her that the way he lounged there, so carelessly, was an optical illusion. Because there wasn’t a single thing about him that wasn’t hard and taut, as if he not only kept all his brooding power on a tight leash—but could explode into action at any moment. That notion was not exactly soothing.
Neither was his smile. “We will spend the rest of the night in public, princess. Fawned over by the masses. So perhaps you will do me the favor of telling me here, in private, exactly what it is that has made you imagine I deserve a steady stream of insult. One after the next, without end, since I last saw you.”
Natalie felt chastened by that, and hated herself for it in the next instant. Because her own feelings didn’t matter here. She shouldn’t even have feelings where this man was concerned. Valentina might have given her blessing to whatever happened between her betrothed and Natalie, but that was neither here nor there. Natalie knew better than to let a man like this beguile her. She’d been taught to see through this sort of thing at her mother’s knee. It appalled her that his brand of patented princely charm was actually working.
“Are you not deserving?” she asked quietly. She made herself meet his dark gaze, though something inside her quailed at it. And possibly died a little bit, too. But she didn’t look away. “Are you sure?”
“Am I a vicious man?” Rodolfo’s voice was no louder than hers, but there was an intensity to it that made that lick of shame inside of her shimmer, then expand. It made the air in the room seem thin. It made Natalie’s heart hit at her ribs, hard enough to bruise. “A brute? A monster in some fashion?”
> “Only you can answer that question, I think.”
“I am unaware of any instance in which I have deliberately hurt another person, but perhaps you, princess, know something I do not about my own life.”
It turned out the Prince was as effective with a slap down as her boss. Natalie sat a bit straighter, but she didn’t back down. “Everyone knows a little too much about your life, Your Highness. Entirely too much, one might argue.”
“Tabloid fantasies are not life. They are a game. You should know that better than anyone, as we sit here discussing a new story we plan to sell ourselves.”
“How would I know this, exactly?” She felt her head tilt to one side in a manner she thought was more her than Valentina. She corrected it. “I do not appear in the tabloids. Not with any frequency, and only on the society pages. Never the front-page stories.” Natalie knew. She’d checked.
“You are a paragon, indeed.” Rodolfo’s voice was low and dark and not remotely complimentary. “But a rather judgmental one, I fear.”
Natalie clasped her hands tighter together. “That word has always bothered me. There is nothing wrong with rendering judgment. It’s even lauded in some circles. How did judgmental become an insult?”
“When rendering judgment became a blood sport,” Rodolfo replied, with a soft menace that drew blood on its own.
But Natalie couldn’t stop to catalog the wounds it left behind, all over her body, or she was afraid she’d simply...collapse.
“It is neither bloody nor sporting to commit yourself to a woman in the eyes of the world and then continue to date others, Your Highness,” she said crisply. “It is simply unsavory. Perhaps childish. And certainly dishonorable. I think you’ll find that there are very few women on the planet who will judge that behavior favorably.”
Rodolfo inclined his head, though she had the sense his jaw was tighter than it had been. “Fair enough. I will say in my defense that you never seemed to care one way or the other what I did, much less with whom, before last week. We talked about it at length and you said nothing. Not one word.”
The Prince's Nine-Month Scandal Page 7
