Olivia Gates Bestseller Collection 2012

by Olivia Gates

  The king seemed to have trouble finding words. Then he rasped, “I have loved you since you were born, Leandro. Osvaldo would have been the proudest father had he lived to see you become who you are. But if I were unencumbered by the laws, by people’s expectations, don’t you think I would have wanted my own son to succeed me?”

  “Sure. If you dared approach him. Which you don’t.”

  “You judge our choice harshly. Won’t you even consider another point of view of why we made it?”

  “You mean there are reasons, apart from Durante’s hatred, and considering me the lesser evil, even when I was once considered public enemy number one? And you haven’t even mentioned Ferruccio. His stigma is the worst in your eyes, eh?”

  “There are factors that make you, if not the best, then the most logical choice. You’re the one who once believed it his destiny to be king, the one who worked not just to succeed but to succeed me. You were also a diplomat.”

  “Again…total crap. It’s just easier to reinstate an errant prince who has all criteria ticked off, rather than to recruit a prodigal prince, or—God forbid—an illegitimate one.”

  Silence fell. Phoebe could almost hear incredulity whistling long and loud in her head. And puzzle pieces clinking into place.

  She’d been scratching her head, thinking of a Ferruccio who fit the incredibly demanding bill of succession criteria. There wasn’t one. Not a D’Agostino. The only man she’d seen on Castaldini who was on par with Leandro’s demigodliness and who happened to be named Ferruccio was a Selvaggio. And now she knew he was a D’Agostino as well.

  “No convenient rationalizations?” Leandro asked. “But let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt, that you do believe I’m the best man for the right reasons—”

  The king interrupted, his voice the very sound of desolation. “Durante didn’t even call when I had my stroke. He didn’t care if I lived or died. He would never agree to be my crown prince.” He brought himself under control with obvious difficulty. “And yes, Ferruccio’s parentage makes him very…problematic. I don’t know how you come to know about him being a d’Agostino—”

  “Ferruccio sought me out and told me in confidence. He didn’t say exactly who his parents are. I’ve been wondering if you would have the guts to send the laws to hell and ask him or Durante to be your crown prince. But you’re taking the easy way out.”

  “It’s not that at all, Leandro. It’s one thing for it to be whispered that Ferruccio is a D’Agostino, another to validate it so that he can take the crown. It might be imperative to divulge his parentage for people to accept him. But exhuming buried secrets would have untold repercussions on the house he belongs to. The Council were reasonable to consider him our last possible choice, for the sake of those whose lives would be turned upside down if the truth came to light.”

  “I see.” It seemed Leandro was seeing this in a different light for the first time. He still didn’t like it. “So you don’t think much of depriving him of what he deserves—the recognition of his family, and the crown—based on nothing but fear of disrupting the self-righteousness of some over-privileged D’Agostinos and the sensibilities of the holier-than-thou masses?”

  The king seemed at a loss. He exhaled. “Compromises are never totally fair or acceptable. But the fact remains—neither Durante nor Ferruccio ever wanted to be king of Castaldini. By choosing you, I won’t be depriving them of something they never wanted in the first place.”

  Leandro shook his head, wry, resigned. “You know, we can go around in circles forever. So let’s narrow down the threads of discussion. What makes me salvation material all of a sudden?”

  “You were always that, Leandro. But you know exactly why I was forced to implement the measures I did in the past.”

  “I do know exactly why. I pushed you against a wall.”

  “You amassed power too fast, Leandro, juggled overwhelming agendas and goals. You pushed yourself beyond your limits.”

  “Oh, so now you’re maintaining that I was having some sort of breakdown at the time? But I was too powerful to risk letting me run around unchecked, so you performed damage control?”

  The king gave a grave nod. “That is basically the truth. Though you had worthwhile concepts, you wouldn’t take into consideration the hindrances of reality versus theory, or the suitability of planting what you were proposing in our socio-political soil. You wanted your way and you wanted it immediately, and you started acting with a volatility that shocked me for being so out of character. I dreaded your influence on the international community. You had its ears and hearts, and they started pushing for your policies to be installed, at once, for you to take over the crown. I never expected you to turn on me to get it.”

  Leandro’s volley was ready, lethal. “And I never expected you to commit an injustice to hang on to it.”

  The king didn’t contest the accusation. “It was one of the most difficult choices I’ve ever had to make. With your passion and power, what you were proposing was not so much a succession as a coup. You might think you would have been in control, but Castaldini’s enemies would have capitalized on your revolutionary policies, would have entrenched themselves into the kingdom by invoking the pretexts of globalism. I feared that once you made me step aside, your reign would be the beginning of the end—and that once it ended one way or the other, Castaldini itself would be no more.”

  An outcome she’d told him he was capable of causing. And coming from his king, it silenced Leandro.

  At last he drawled, “You really believed that? You really feared I’d be the end of the monarchy?”

  The king’s gaze was steady. Sad. “Si.”

  Leandro inhaled, shook his head. “What’s different now? I’m still the same man.”

  “But you’re not the same. Time has tempered you and the brutal prices and constant compromises of keeping your place at the top have taught you the multiplicity of points of view and the paramount importance of implementing what works, not what you personally think is right. I’m sure that now, even though your views remain unchanged, knowing the dangers, you will find a way to make your vision come true while keeping Castaldini sovereign. And intact.”

  Silence. It resounded off the soaring domed ceilings. The theatrical-echo effect gave Leandro’s laugh, when it burst from him, the force of a gunshot.

  “You’re good. In fact, I think you’re too good to step down now. You’ve got plenty more to give.”

  “You’ve always saddled me with worth beyond my true value, an image no one could live up to, and that was why you were so bitter in your disappointment in me. But forty years of tests are catching up with me and I’m holding on only until I can pass the baton. Take it now, Leandro. I have earned my rest. Let me have it.”

  Leandro gave him a challenging look. “As long as you’re not talking about the final, in-peace type that involves digging.”

  The king smiled. The first real smile she’d seen since his stroke. Leandro’s drollness had that effect. She would have, too, if what she’d witnessed between the two men who meant most to her in life wasn’t threatening to open the floodgates of her control.

  Leandro’s smile vanished, but his eyes remained almost…gentle. “Let me make my position clear, my plans clearer. I’ll take care of any immediate threats, even though you make it sound as if I have the damage potential of a nuclear bomb. Then I need to consider your views with fresh eyes. I need to know what taking the baton from you—even temporarily—would mean, to Castaldini and to my other interests.

  “But though you’ve managed something I thought impossible—made it almost a…pleasure to see you again—you’ll see me again only if I accept the role of crown prince and/or regent. If I decide not to, I’ll just leave. I would come to say goodbye properly this time, but you pack quite a wallop still, King B, and I’ve discovered I’m still as susceptible to your influence as ever. Seems I am as predictable as Ernesto always laments.”

  Then he turned to Phoe
be, extended his hand. She clutched it, desperate to reconnect with him, to siphon off the turmoil she could feel roiling inside him, even when he hid it so perfectly.

  He pulled her close as he turned to the king again. She gulped as she felt herself melt into his hold. The intimacy in his touch, in the way he hugged her to his side, was unmistakable. He was demonstrating the nature of their relationship for the first time ever.

  Self-conscious, tongue-tied at this unexpected move, she met King Benedetto’s eyes as she murmured the greetings she hadn’t had a chance to utter before. Before she had a moment to wonder what the acceptance, the approval she saw in their shrewd depths meant, Leandro said, “I do have to thank you for one thing, though. Knowing your business so well, you sent me Phoebe. She’s the only person who could help me make a sound decision. The best decision for all concerned.”

  He exchanged a long look filled with a lifetime of meaning with the king, then gathered her closer to him, turned her toward the door. “That’s one hurdle out of the way, ariana ’yooni.”

  A tremor passed through her. He’d called her his silver eyes. Did coming up with another of his unique endearments mean he wasn’t as disturbed as she feared over this face-off?

  Then he dropped a whisper in her ear, reminded her of what was coming, sent her world churning. “One more left, then I’ll have you to myself for as long as I want.”

  As she walked out with him, she wondered just how long that would be. But did it matter, when she had no choice? And her lack of choice wasn’t because he wasn’t giving her any. If she walked away now, he’d let her and still give Castaldini a second chance. His condition had been just to show her how much he wanted her.

  But she didn’t want to walk away. She couldn’t. She’d take anything she could have with him. Even if only one more time.

  The real problem would be when she had no choice but to walk away. Again. This time, forever.

  Eight

  Leandro was used to winning. Maledizione, he’d come to demand nothing less than victory. In anything, over anyone. And he always started by triumphing over himself.

  He was losing big-time right now.

  His evil thoughts were in control, tossing his emotions wherever they pleased. He threw all his vaunted self-mastery at them, tried to loosen their grip. He didn’t want to infect Phoebe with his tension.

  Too late. On the way to their destination, he caught glimpses of them in the massive mirrors placed in strategic spots. He looked like a man with serious damage on his mind. Phoebe looked like a woman walking to the guillotine.

  And it was all about that next hurdle, the one that was left in the way before he could have Phoebe to himself. Her sister.

  Phoebe had insisted she couldn’t move into his home and call Julia after the fact. She had to inform her sister of her plans, explain the situation and arrange this separation face-to-face.

  It was the “arrange this separation” that made him want to haul that tyrant from the chair from which she ruled her sister’s life and shake some consideration for others into her. He would extract Phoebe from her clutches, even if he had to cut off her tentacles while he was at it. He owed that woman a lot of pain.

  He believed that a big part of Phoebe’s rejection of him in the past had been caused by true panic at the idea of leaving her sister. He’d scoffed at Julia’s need then, but he’d long accepted that Phoebe believed that need to be real. And endless.

  Oh, he might try to tell himself that Phoebe had gained a lot by sticking by her sister, but he only bought that when he was on one of his bitterness binges and needed to paint Phoebe as dark a shade of exploitative as possible. What he’d spent years needing to believe didn’t mesh with reality. Reality said Julia had it all, and Phoebe, the strong one, the capable, nurturing one, had ended up living in her shadow, everything in her life a reflection of what filled Julia’s.

  He’d met Julia twice. On both occasions, he’d bristled with animosity. He hadn’t known why until he’d realized he’d been in the presence of tyranny of the weak in a wraith-like, female form.

  And they were two corridors away from said monster’s lair.

  Phoebe felt so taut she might snap. Maledizione, was she so deeply conditioned to put her sister’s so-called needs ahead of her own that she dreaded leaving Julia even for a short time…?

  Short time. Did she think it would be that? Did she want it to be? Did he? How could he, when he’d never get enough…? Never?

  Never. But…what about closure? Closure…

  The word churned in his mind, sickened him. And he had to face it. He didn’t want closure. He never had. All he wanted was a continuation. And he was no longer putting a definition or form to that continuation. Something as elemental as what they shared abided by no rules but its own. But that was how he felt. What about her?

  What if this tension wasn’t all about her mother complex over her sister? What if there was still an element of coercion here? What if being with him was what she wanted, but also what she’d rather not do? What if she felt cornered by both her need to help his kingdom, and her need for him? He couldn’t bear that he might be contributing to her turmoil.

  He reached for her, pulled her through the nearest doorway.

  The couple going about their business in their own quarters looked as if they’d been caught trespassing, started babbling apologies. He winced as he requested the kindness of the use of their quarters for a few minutes. They streaked out.

  The moment the door closed behind them, he took Phoebe by the shoulders. She stared up at him, her eyes alarmed, confused.

  He groaned. “I take back my condition. And my promise. I’ll stay in Castaldini and draw on your opinions and guidance in coming to a decision. We’ll work out a way to collaborate while we’re on opposite ends of the island.”

  The deluge of emotion that flooded her eyes inundated him. She seemed to stop breathing. She seemed…hurt? More…stricken?

  His lungs burned as he waited for her to put her reaction into words. They finally came from her lips, but felt like a trembling caress in his mind. “You don’t want me…to come with you anymore?”

  The barked laugh gashed something on its way out. “If I wanted you more, we’d have a medical emergency on our hands.”

  Her lower lip trembled. His whole body rioted. “Then why are you taking your invitation back?”

  “Because I didn’t exactly make it an invitation.”

  Her eyes—those eyes that dominated his fantasies—bombarded him with so much emotion, everything in him tensed. His thoughts and heart and guts and loins. Then she upped the ante. Comprehension, followed by delight, turned her face from the sum of his desires to the end of life as he knew it.

  She slowly, so slowly, imprinted her body on his, slid up against him, her lips open on pleasure-laden breaths until she whispered into his mouth, “Then make it one.”

  He was a super hero. He didn’t devour her. Or maybe he couldn’t. Because he was dying here. Not that rigor mortis would stop him from obeying her. He groaned.

  “Will you come with me, Phoebe? Unconnected with anything but what we both want? Will you bestow on me the pleasure of you?”

  “Yes.” The S lingered as she pressed all that reason-annihilating femininity against him. The world faded as the sound did, as she nestled her face into his open shirt. His heart did its best to tear open his ribs for a direct rub. “Now promise me again.”

  Was this survivable? He frankly didn’t care. “I’ll let you come to me. But I’ll keep showing you how much I want you to, how mind-blowingly better than ever it will be when you do.”

  Her giggle was a cocktail of distress, mirth and yearning. “This I have to experience to believe.”

  He still kept his hands to himself. Somehow. “You will. Experience. And believe. When you make up your mind.”

  She trembled as she leaned on him. He swayed. As they said in his hometown, sandadet ala haita mayla—she sought support from a collapsin
g wall.

  “Oh, my mind’s made up. It took you a whopping twenty-four hours to make it up for me. I need longer than that to follow conviction with action.”

  “Your pace this time. I might not have given you reason to believe that, but my stamina is legendary.” He paused, groaned. “And that sounded like so many famous last words.”

  Her laugh shook him. It contained something he’d never heard, not from her. Carefree cheerfulness. Its power was total. “Oh, you gave me every reason, in that sense. As for the one you meant now, I hope my stamina lasts long enough to give yours a workout.”

  “And I’m at once hoping it lasts as long as it takes for you to feel right about coming to me, and hoping it will crumble within the next three minutes so we can cut to just living this.”

  “Forty-eight hours ago I wouldn’t have believed it. But I’ve been hearing it with my own ears nonstop, so I have to sanction the verdict. You talk good. Too good. As I’m sure you know.”

  His lips twisted. “You’d be surprised what I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know…” she ran a finger of fire down his sternum and marked him for life yet again “…about you, but I want to get goodbyes out of the way. I’m dying to…see your home.”

  “And I’m dying—probably literally—to see you in it.”

  She hooked her arm through his. “Then come on.”

  Feeling like he could indeed sprout wings if he clucked hard enough, as she’d once said, or that he’d already sprouted them, he shared unfettered smiles with her as they hurried to her sister’s apartment. The sister he no longer felt like strangling.

  Until he laid eyes on her.

  The tinier—and in his eyes, off-putting—loosely-based-on-Phoebe variation was sitting in her wheelchair like a queen bee surrounded by her workers. Paolo, her doting idiot of a husband, the brood of children she’d shackled him with—and from the shape of her belly, she wasn’t done smothering him, not by a long shot—and an assortment of nannies and maids all flitted around her.

  As soon as they entered the sunset-drenched family room of the apartment that occupied a hefty part of the palace’s left wing, the two girls and the two boys, all dark-haired and healthy-looking, hurtled toward their aunt, yelping at her like excited puppies. Paolo targeted him with a smile.