The Ice Prince

by Sandra Marton

  Draco slapped his forehead. “Of course! Orsini Brothers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He chuckled. “It’s perfect. A crime boss rendered powerless in his own home. Nice work, bellissima.”

  Anna’s smile broadened. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Draco brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Did your sister rebel, too?”

  “In the most innocent-seeming way. Izzy took to digging in the soil. Getting her hands dirty. Father found that to be beneath one of his daughters. The more he objected, the more she dug.” Anna’s eyes danced. “Checkmate.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Okay. It’s your turn.”

  “At what?”

  “You know all about me, but I don’t know a thing about you. What were you like as a kid?”

  Draco’s smile faded. “I was not—what did you call it? I was not cool, Anna.”

  Her smile faded, too. “Draco,” she said softly, “I’m sorry. I should have realized. It must have been hard. Your father, your grandfather, whatever they’d done to lose everything …”

  Had he told her about that? Yes. He had. What for? He didn’t talk about his childhood, his family … Except that now, without planning to, he found himself talking about all of it.

  About his mother, who’d never been a mother to him at all. About his father, who had, literally, never noticed if he was there or not. About boarding school, and what it had taken to survive it …

  Finally he ran out of words.

  He fell silent. So did Anna. He couldn’t read her face at all.

  “Well,” he said after a minute, trying for a laugh he couldn’t quite muster, “so much for ruining the evening.”

  Anna shoved back her chair. A second later she was crouched beside him, her eyes suspiciously bright.

  Draco looked around. A score of interested people looked back.

  “Damnit, Anna,” he said.

  “Damnit, Draco,” she replied, her voice as soft as the petals of a flower, and right there, on the crowded terrace of a crowded restaurant, she clasped his face with her hands, brought it down to hers and put her lips against his.

  That was the moment he knew he could not possibly let her leave him at the end of the week.

  He lay awake that night long after she fell asleep.

  Two more days. Then Anna would fly to New York. She had a return ticket, she’d said when he’d suggested she use his plane, which was finally back in service. He’d argued, then given in. She was so damned stubborn, too stubborn even to agree to something when anyone could see that doing so would make sense.

  As for him, he’d stay on in Rome for a few days, take care of some business. Then he’d fly to San Francisco. And the week they’d spent together, their affair, if you could call seven nights and two days an affair, would be history.

  They would still see each other, of course. He’d fly east, she’d fly west. A weekend here, a weekend there. It was doable.

  For a while.

  Well, so what?

  These relationships never lasted. Hell, why would he want them to? The sex lost its excitement. Conversation lost its luster. Yes, this week had been different. Morning conversation. Late-night kisses. Things he’d never even considered with other women had become not just enjoyable but important.

  Damnit. He was not ready to let Anna walk out of his life.

  New York. San Francisco. Three thousand miles. If only his offices were on the East Coast, or hers on the West. He could not change that. He’d spent years building his company. Hundreds of people worked for him. Anna, on the other hand …

  Wait a minute.

  What had she said about her work? A hole-in-the-wall office. Sleazy clients. A walk-up flat.

  What if she had another opportunity? A much better one? She would, of course, accept it …

  And just that quickly, Draco knew what to do. And how to do it so it wouldn’t make her hackles rise. Underhanded? No. Clever, that was all. Clever and logical.

  Carefully he eased his arm from her. “Mmm.” She sighed, and he smiled, thinking of how now he’d be sure to hear that soft whisper again.

  He rose, pulled on his discarded trousers and went through the villa to his study. It took a while to make the necessary phone calls. Two hours, to be precise.

  And then the deed was done.

  No more East-Coast, West-Coast conundrum. One coast was all they’d need.

  A few days from now, Anna would be headhunted by Vernon, Bolton and Andover, a top-flight San Francisco law firm. The firm he used, as a matter of fact. They’d explain that they’d decided to expand their pro bono cases and they needed an experienced litigator. They’d offer her four times her current salary, a staff and all the indigent cases they believed had merit.

  And, as was often the case, the partner who recruited her would tell her they’d already scouted out an apartment she’d surely like.

  By happy coincidence, it would be in the same building as Draco’s condo.

  Draco had given that lots of thought. He really wanted her living with him, but maybe he wasn’t ready for that. Besides, he knew his Anna.

  She liked feeling independent.

  Having her own place, even if she spent most of her time in his, would make her happy. He’d let her pay the rent—she would believe the owner was renting it out—and Draco wouldn’t be fool enough to suggest letting him pay it. But she didn’t have to know that he was the owner, and that she was paying only half the actual monthly cost.

  Even with her new income, she’d never be able to afford the flat otherwise, and no way was he going to give her any excuse not to be with him.

  A tiny kernel of doubt crept in.

  What if it turned out she hated California? What if she didn’t want to leave her family?

  What if she didn’t want to spend her life with him?

  Well, not forever, of course. Nothing lasted forever. Still …

  Still, maybe some things did. Maybe what he really wanted of her was more than a move to the West Coast. Maybe this wasn’t simply about wanting her, but was about needing her. About—about—

  Dio, his head was spinning.

  Draco ran his hands through his hair until it stood up in unruly little peaks.

  Had he acted too impulsively? He couldn’t think.

  He needed coffee. Or brandy. Grappa. Yes. Excellent. Some good, strong grappa so he could think through this whole thing again.

  He walked quickly through the silent house, grabbed the bottle of grappa from the bar in the living room. The phone rang as he was pouring the fiery liquid, but he didn’t bother answering it. What for? He knew what it was. A fax from his lawyer, confirming everything they’d arranged: Anna’s new job, her new flat, the reduced monthly costs she’d never know about.

  He drank off half the grappa.

  He’d done the right thing. Surely he had …

  Hell.

  He had done a stupid thing!

  How could he have woven such a lie? You didn’t lie to the woman you loved, and he loved Anna. He didn’t want her to be his mistress, to be at his beck and call. He wanted to be with her always, for the rest of his life. He wanted—

  Something hit him, hard, in the center of his back.

  Draco swung around, the grappa flying from his hand … and saw the beautiful, furious face of the woman he loved. She’d slugged him with her fist. A fist that held what were, quite obviously, the pages of a fax.

  “Anna. Anna, I know what you must be thinking—”

  “You—you son of a bitch!”

  “Per favore, bellissima …”

  “Do not,” she snarled, “do not bellissima me, you bastard!”

  “Anna. Listen to me.”

  “Was this the plan all along? To tell me lies and lure me to California after I passed the—the tryout for the part of your new mistress?”

  “Look, I know how this must seem. But—”

  “Did you or did you not arrange for me to ge
t a new job and a new apartment?”

  How had it all come apart this quickly?

  “Answer me, damn you!”

  “Yes,” Draco said, “but—”

  “How could you be so stupid? How could you even dream I would ever be any man’s mistress? Especially yours!”

  “I made a mistake. I know that. I didn’t think. I was so—so intent on not losing you—”

  “On owning me, you mean.” Her voice broke. “What an idiot I was! How I could have let myself think that you—that I …”

  She spun away and ran from the room, Draco on her heels, but she reached the bedroom first, slammed and locked the door.

  “Anna!”

  Draco pounded on the door, but it remained closed until she flung it open. She was fully dressed: sneakers, jeans, the to-hell-with-men T-shirt, the carry-on over her shoulder, the bulging briefcase under her arm.

  “I phoned for a taxi. Make sure the gate opens for it.”

  “Anna—”

  “Damnit, Draco, did you hear what I said?”

  “Anna. I beg you—”

  “It was a great week,” she said, her eyes, her voice, everything about her as icy and unyielding as when they’d first met. “I’ve never had an Italian lover before. Thanks for giving me the chance to add you to my list.”

  It was a solid metaphorical blow, delivered by a tough street fighter.

  He had to admire her for it, even though she had just broken his heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “SO, what do you think, Iz? Too much color? Not enough? What?”

  Isabella Orsini stood in the center of her sister’s minuscule living room, arms folded, brow furrowed, watching as Anna held paint samples against the wall.

  “What I think is, it’s Friday night. You want to go to a movie?”

  “Answer the question. Too bright? Too dull? Which?”

  Isabella sighed. “Try that orange one again.”

  “Which orange one? Pumpkin Patch? Russet Red? Autumn Peach?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Peaches are a summer fruit. There are no peaches in autumn.”

  “Go over to the Whole Foods on Union Square. I’ll bet they have peaches.”

  “For goodness sake, Anna, you know what I mean.”

  “Just answer the question, okay? Pumpkin? Russet? Autumn?”

  Isabella sighed. “You want the truth, I don’t like any of them. Tell me again why we’re going to paint this room?”

  “So it looks different, that’s why. To shake things up, that’s why. Must there be a logical reason for everything?”

  “Just listen to you, lady lawyer. Since when aren’t you a stickler for logic?”

  “Change is logical. And what’s with calling me lady lawyer?”

  “I don’t know. I just did, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t do it again.” Anna edged out from behind the sagging sofa she’d picked up at a Bowery consignment shop the prior weekend. “Ugh! Why did I buy this gross-looking thing?”

  “I have no idea. I mean, it sags. It tilts. And baby-poo brown isn’t one of my favorite colors.”

  “Thank you. That really makes me feel better.”

  “Hey, you asked. Here’s an idea. You take one end, I’ll take the other, we’ll drag it downstairs, put it at the curb—”

  “We’d never move it. It weighs a ton. I had to pay the super fifty bucks to get it up here.”

  “And it cost you how much?”

  Anna sighed. “Fifty bucks.”

  “So a hundred dollars for a pile of sagging baby poo when you already had a perfectly acceptable sofa?”

  “It was ugly.”

  “Not like this.” The sisters sank down on opposite ends of the offending piece of furniture and looked at each other. Isabella cleared her throat. “So, you gonna tell me what’s happening?”

  “You know what’s happening. I have an interesting new client.”

  “Excellent way to describe a nut who shot out all the windows in his ex’s apartment so he wouldn’t have to see her and her new boyfriend through them.” Izzy snorted. “Anybody break the news to him yet? That, hello, you can see through windows even better when the glass is gone?”

  “And,” Anna said, choosing to ignore the remark, “in addition to an interesting new client, I have a new sofa. New for me, okay? This time tomorrow I’ll also have new paint on the walls. And let’s not forget the boots I bought last week.”

  “Right. Not boots. Snow boots. And it’s still summer.”

  “It’s the end of summer. That’s why they were on sale.”

  “Uh-huh. Maybe they were on sale ’cause only my sister would be crazy enough to buy snow boots with five-inch heels.”

  “Four-inch, and what’s so bad with me trying to make some changes in my life?”

  “Nothing,” Isabelle said, “if you weren’t doing it to try and bury something you don’t want to think about.”

  Anna snorted. “That’s crazy.”

  “That’s accurate. Remember you asked me about psych 101? About sexual fantasies?”

  “Isabella. I have no intention of—”

  “There was more to psych 101 than that. For instance, chapter twelve of that oversize textbook, remember? Ahem. ‘A sudden flurry of change-centered activity is often symptomatic of a desire to obliterate memory of a distressing situation.’”

  Anna stared at her sister. “You can remember reading that?”

  Iz shrugged. “Heck, no. I just made it up. But see, I’m right. I can tell. Just look at your face.”

  “Coffee,” Anna said briskly. She sprang to her feet and walked the six feet it took to reach the kitchen. “Get out the cream, would you? And the pink stuff.”

  “Anna. You went to Italy. ‘I’ll be gone a couple of days,’ you said. Instead, you were gone a week. And when you got back, you looked like crap.”

  “Baby poo. Now crap. What a fine sense for similes my sister has.” Anna’s words were brisk, but her hands trembled as she filled the coffeepot with water. “Want some cookies?”

  “I want some answers. What happened in Rome?”

  “Nothing,” Anna said. “Nothing at all. I saw the Trevi Fountain, the Coliseum, I did a little shopping and—”

  “And?” Isabella said, narrowing her hazel eyes.

  “And,” Anna said, turning her back to her sister, “and …”

  “Anna. Honey, you can tell me anything. You know that.”

  Anna nodded. She could. And, really, she had to. She couldn’t carry this around inside her anymore.

  “And,” she said in a low voice, “I fell in love.”

  Isabella all but collapsed onto a wooden kitchen chair.

  “Not you. Not you, Anna!”

  “I fell in love.” A sob broke from Anna’s throat. “With the coldest, cruelest, most hard-hearted bastard in the world.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Draco. Draco Valenti.” Anna sank into a chair across from Isabella. “Prince Draco Valenti, no less.”

  “A handsome prince?”

  “An ice prince. All sex, no heart.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a description.”

  “It’s accurate. But don’t worry. I fell out of love fast enough. I mean, I realized how I really felt two minutes after I walked out on him. I’m just upset, is all. With myself, for having been such a jerk.”

  “Oh, honey …”

  “Really. It’s okay.” Tears ran down her face as she looked at her sister. “I never actually loved him, Iz. I never would have. Never, not me, not in a billion years …”

  Anna folded her arms on the scarred wooden table, laid down her head and sobbed.

  Not too far away, in a much trendier part of Manhattan, in a bar that was still a bar and not a cocktail lounge or a club, Raffaele, Dante, Falco and Nicolo Orsini were having their usual Friday-night get-together.

  The bar—actually, The Bar—was theirs, which was why it was still a bar despite the fact that the neighbo
rhood, to their enormous distaste, had gone upscale.

  Once, this had been the place where they shared talk of dangerous dilemmas and beautiful women.

  Now they were all married. Very happily married, but they met anyway and talked sports and business, kids and family, and, yes, once in a while they even talked dangerous dilemmas.

  Tonight they were talking about one of their sisters.

  “Izzy agrees,” Rafe said. “Something’s up with Anna.”

  Nick bit into his burger, chewed, swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. But what?”

  Falco lifted his beer to his mouth. “Isabella’s going to try and find out.”

  “Could it be a man?” Dante said. His brothers looked at him, and he sighed. “Right. Not our Anna. There’s not a guy alive could bring our Anna down.”

  There was a sound from nearby. Somebody clearing his throat, maybe.

  “Agreed,” Rafe said. “A guy tried to upset our Anna, she’d take him out.”

  There it was. That same sound again. The four Orsinis looked up. A guy was standing next to their booth. He was big, like them. Dark haired, like them. Dressed in an expensive suit and handmade shoes, also like them, but his tie was crooked, his hair looked as if he’d combed it with his fingers and there was a glitter in his eyes that they all recognized as Trouble, definitely Trouble, and with a capital T.

  The brothers looked at each other. What the hell is this? those looks said and, as one, they rose to their feet.

  “Service is at the bar, pal,” Falco said.

  The guy nodded. Did that throat-clearing thing again.

  “Listen,” Rafe said, “you got a problem with the place or the food—”

  “I am Draco Valenti,” Draco blurted. “And she’s not your Anna, she is mine.”

  Silence. A heavy, awful silence. Then Nick jerked his chin toward the door that led to The Bar’s private office, and the five men marched to it, Draco surrounded by men he figured could grind him into dust if they decided that he was the problem, not the solution.

  He could fight back. He was pretty sure he was as tough as they were, but there were four of them, one of him, and besides …