by Holly Hart
And that’s all we’ll be doing – talking, I tell myself as they disappear from sight.
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Six
12. AMANDA
Isabella’s voice is like Charlie Brown’s teacher in my ear: Wah wah, wah wah wah waaaahh.
I make out just enough of what’s she’s saying to know when to nod, but my mind is still in the arborvitae shrubs with Dante, his skin still hot against mine, our breath still mingling together.
How do I feel about it? I mean, the most eligible bachelor in the world just gave me the first orgasm outside of my own hand. We were this close to sealing the deal. I spent my prime sexual years moldering away in dusty old libraries, and then, out of the blue, my first time is almost with Prince Freaking Dante of Morova!
Where do we go from here? My heart knows what it wants – so does my body – but it’s all too much to wrap my brain around.
“What do you think, dear?”
Shit. The old bird asked me a question. What do I do?
“Oh,” I say, nodding. “I agree, a hundred percent.”
“Excellent.”
I hope I didn’t just commit myself to clipping her toenails or something equally horrendous. Pay attention, girl! This is no time for distractions.
Distractions like a prince’s hard cock bringing you to climax…
I manage to suppress the urge to slap myself, but just barely.
The halls of the palace are bustling as usual: people milling about, doing the seemingly infinite number of jobs that are required to maintain the palace, the monarchy and the illusion that it’s all easy.
“I don’t know how I managed to lose track of the sword,” Isabella says as we turn down the hallway that leads to Carlo Ferrare’s office. “It’s been in my charge since I was named regent. I love my nephew, but I swear, if it was left to him, the sword would have been gambled away in a card game long ago.”
I wonder. I probably would have agreed a few days ago, but after getting to know him – and seeing him with the twins – I’m inclined to believe Maria. The image is made up. Maybe he plays it so close to the vest that his aunt never figured it out.
Or maybe I’m the one who’s being played. That hadn’t occurred to me until right now.
“I’m sure the prince realizes how important the sword is to protocol,” I say. “After all, it turned the tide of the battle that ultimately led to Morova becoming a principality.”
There’s very little humor in Isabella’s smile.
“Yes,” she says. “At least as far as the popular history is concerned. Of course, the real weapon has always been the gold in the Trentini vaults. Or in their computers nowadays, I suppose.”
She has a point. The family banking interests go back to the Middle Ages, having survived countless wars through diplomacy, warfare, or a combination of the two. Some scholars believe Napoleon came close to stealing the fortune during his campaigns, but there’s never been any concrete proof of that.
“I made the mistake of leaving the sword in the care of the Trentini family’s chief historian a couple of years ago,” Isabella continues. “Now we need it for the ceremony, and here I am searching for it in a panic like I imagine a commoner would search for his missing car keys when he’s late for work.”
Commoner. Well, I guess I know where a Montana girl with shit-stained boots stands with the former regent. Actually, that’s unkind. It’s the proper term to describe those without titles. It just tends to stick in the craws of the people on the receiving end. Like me.
I open my mouth to tell her the story of Peter and me in the vault in Malta, but she walks straight into Carlo’s office without knocking. If he’s put out by such rudeness, I can’t see it in his face.
“Your Grace,” he intones, standing slowly. I imagine those big, knobby joints of his aren’t his friends at this age.
He turns to me and smiles. “Ms. Sparks. What a pleasure to see you again.”
“Signore Ferrare,” I smile back.
“Feel free to call him Carlo,” Isabella says absently as she takes a seat in front of his desk.
“I couldn’t,” I say shyly.
“Please do,” he says. “I’ve no title, outside of Chief Cook and Bottle Washer. In fact, I insist.”
“All right, then I’m Amanda.”
He nods his agreement.
Isabella sighs. “If we have that all straightened out, can we please discuss the sword?”
Carlo reaches into a huge teak cabinet behind his desk and emerges with the item that’s been at the center of all this fuss.
“I believe this is what you’ve both been looking for.”
He holds up the Trentini schiavona, a type of broadsword with a basket-style guard of polished silver that protects the user’s hand in battle. The gleaming steel blade ends in a handle sheathed in ironwood, which has been wrapped in the finest kid leather. It’s an absolute work of art.
You know – if you’re into post-Renaissance swords, which I totally am.
“Excellent,” Isabella beams. The look on her face makes me think of a mother admiring her child. She reaches out to Carlo, who returns the sword to its tooled leather scabbard and hands it to her.
“Where did you end up finding it?” she asks, running a hand along the scabbard to the handle.
“Actually, I was going to answer that before we came in,” I say. “A colleague of mine was studying it at a vault in the royal archives in Malta. I don’t know how it came to be there, but –”
“But find it he did,” says Carlo. “And he returned it to me. I, in turn, have given it back to you.”
There’s more to the story, but I guess Carlo’s not interested in discussing it with Isabella. I don’t blame him – I get the sense she can be a bit of a shrew under the right circumstances.
“Well, I’m just glad to have it back,” she says, then turns to me. “I’ll return it to our own archives, unless you need it right away?”
“Not until the prince’s birthday, ma’am. I just needed to know where I could find it.”
“Very good.” She turns to Carlo. “Again, many thanks. You’ve eased an old woman’s worries, signore.”
“I don’t know of whom you speak, Your Grace,” he says, bowing. “I see only beautiful young ladies in this room with me.”
Isabella clucks her tongue and sighs as she heads for the door with the sword.
“You’ve been hanging around Dante too long,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Amanda, it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
“Ma’am.”
“And you,” she says to Carlo. “Take a day off once in awhile, will you?”
He nods and Isabella leaves. As soon as she’s down the hall and back onto the main concourse, Carlo carefully closes and locks the door to his office.
“I appreciate your discretion, Ms. Sparks,” he says.
“Amanda.”
“Of course. Amanda. I wasn’t eager for the duchess to be privy to how the sword came to return to Isola D’ora.”
“I kind of got that vibe from you,” I say. “I was beginning to wonder if maybe Peter wasn’t supposed to have it in the first place, and that was what his big panic was about.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Scott is deep in the Morovan court’s good graces for returning the sword here when he did. His timing was impeccable.”
“Whew,” I say, wiping pretend sweat from my brow. “I was worried for a second.”
Carlo props his butt on the edge of his enormous antique desk and folds his arms over his chest.
“Tell me, Amanda, have you had the opportunity to spend any time with the prince?”
My heart thuds paiinfully in my chest. Did Carlo see us? No, that’s stupid. Or maybe not – there could be cameras in the gardens!
The easy smile on his face erases my worries. I’m just being paranoid. Better get over that real quick.
“Yes,” I say. “In fact, we had some, uh, quality time in the gardens just
a little while ago.”
“I trust he’s cooperating with you?”
He’s cooperating, all right.
“Absolutely. He’s shown me only the best royal manners.”
“Excellent. Then if you’ll excuse me, I have several matters that need attending. Thank you so much for stopping in to visit me.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine,” I say.
He drops a wink with one of those basset hound eyes.
“You’re learning quickly,” he says with a grin.
Yeah, I think. I’m learning a lot. And maybe a little too quickly.
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Seven
13. DANTE
“Why on earth do you need a registry of Morova’s convents?” Maria asks.
She’s looking at me like a suspicious mother: arms crossed, head cocked to once side. I suppose I can’t blame her – it’s a strange request coming from any boss, let alone a monarch.
“I’m not looking for a new challenge,” I sigh. “Well, not in the way you’re thinking, anyway.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
Should I tell her? I’m beginning to believe I don’t have a choice. Maria’s probably the smartest person I know, outside of Carlo, and Emilio certainly hasn’t been any help. He’s the reason I’m here now, making a hare-brained last-ditch effort to find a nun.
Maria has been my rock since I lost Adriana, and she’s proved her loyalty to me countless times. And I trust her implicitly, ever since she had the nerve to rebuff my advances early in our relationship. She was probably the first person in my adult life, outside of Carlo and Isabella, to tell me no. And, unlike Carlo, she has no problem calling me by my first name.
“Sit down,” I say.
She glares at me. “This is my office, I tell you to sit down. So sit down and explain yourself.”
We take seats on opposite sides of her desk. As my chief of staff, she has the best office in the palace, with one of the best views of Orta in the entire building.
I’ve also got a view of her perfect legs as she crosses them. They send my mind immediately to my encounter with Amanda yesterday. I’m still trying to process it – I had to practically sprint to my chambers directly from the gardens and masturbate furiously. If I hadn’t, there would have been a tent under my slacks for the rest of the day.
And I wouldn’t have been able to focus on my dilemma at all.
“I need you to hear me out before you speak,” I say, trying to keep my mind on the here and now. “And I want you to keep in mind that none of this is my fault.”
Maria rolls her eyes. “When you say something like that, I automatically think it’s your fault.”
“Your not speaking lasted all of two seconds,” I grouse. “Shall we try again?”
Her glare could stop a clock, but she stays quiet.
I tell her what Carlo told me, and about Emilio’s boneheaded idea to find a virgin in a convent.
When I’m finished, the only indication that she’s even heard my story is a single arched eyebrow. She stares at me, unblinking, for several long moments.
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” she says finally.
“The decree has been verified,” I sigh. “By four different experts.”
“Not that. I’m talking about your plan to scour convents for a bride. That would be infinitely worse than not marrying anyone.”
“Worse than losing the monarchy?” I ask. “How do you figure that?”
“You’d be marrying someone you didn’t love, and you’d be taking a young woman away from her calling. I have no doubt you could do it; you’re the most eligible bachelor in the world, and you’re their prince. What woman, even a nun, is going to say no to you?”
You did, I don’t say.
“I’m no Catholic,” she continues. “But I do know it would be a grave sin to use an innocent, devout woman as a pawn just so you can keep your money.”
My eyes turn to the floor as shame flows into my cheeks. She’s right. I was only looking at this situation from a public relations perspective: could I convince the people that we were actually in love? I never gave a thought to how such a deception would affect the poor girl.
“You’re absolutely right,” I say, not meeting her gaze. “The only excuse I can offer is that I’m desperate.”
Maria crosses to where I sit and lays a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re forgiven,” she says. “Barely. You should have come to me sooner. There has to be a way out of this.”
“Not that Carlo can see. We could challenge the decree in the courts, or we could ignore it, or we could simply defy it. All of those options come with huge potential risks.”
“Having your fortune revert to the government wouldn’t be the end of the world, Dante. It’s not like you’d end up on the streets. And who’s to say that you would lose a referendum? Perhaps you need to trust more in your subjects.”
I’ve been able to think of little else since Carlo first told me about the decree in the sword. Would it truly be so bad to lose the monarchy? To leave this palace and this island behind? To throw off the duties and the burden of being the prince? It would leave me free to pursue Amanda in the way that I so desperately want to.
But it always comes back to the twins.
“There’s something you’re not taking into account,” I say. “There’s a very real possibility that the Crown Council wouldn’t call for an end to the monarchy itself. They could call a referendum to depose me and hand the kingdom to Vito. That way, I’m out of the picture, the monarchy stands…”
“And the government would become the unofficial regent,” Maria finishes for me, shaking her head. “The children would essentially be wards of the state.”
“I’d be pushed out of their lives,” I say. “We’d be able to visit occasionally, but Chancellor Huber would almost certainly use my carefully crafted playboy image to show me as an unfit guardian. In the end, all my work to keep them out of the public eye would utterly backfire on me.”
I look in Maria’s eyes with a nakedness that I can’t show to anyone else.
“Losing the monarchy wouldn’t kill me,” I say. “But losing the children would. And I will not stand by and watch the weight of the monarchy crush Vito the way it almost crushed me. This I swear to any god that may be listening.”
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes.
“I understand,” she says softly. “And as bad as all that is, you’re not even touching on the worst part.”
“The worst part? What the hell could be worse than that?”
“I would lose my job.”
I stare at her blankly for a full two seconds before the laughter starts. One of the many things I love about Maria is her ability to shine a light into the gloom, no matter how bad things get.
“How selfish of me not to think of that,” I chuckle.
“I had to do that,” she says with a grin. “You were starting to get morbid, so I had to lighten the mood. Especially since I think I may have an idea on how we might be able to solve this.”
“Better than seducing a nun?” I say with mock surprise. “Well, let’s hear it.”
“It’s crazy, I’ll admit, and I’m probably clutching at straws. But it just might work.”
“Will you get to the damn point?” I growl.
Maria gets up from her desk and crosses the office to the entrance. She closes the door and returns to sit next to me.
“I happen to know a woman who is still a virgin,” she says, keeping her voice low. “And there’s a chance that she might be willing to help you in this.”
My heart jumps. Any possibility, however slim, is welcome at this point.
“Let’s say she agrees,” I whisper. “What would be in it for her?”
“Whatever she wants. You’re a billionaire, Dante, you can make things happen.”
That’s true.
“But can I convince the Morovan citizens that it’s a real royal marriage? If Hube
r were to use the decree against me, our relationship would have to stand up to scrutiny.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that your friend would have to be attractive, and not just physically. She’d have to be someone the public would believe was my type, and who was suitable for a prince.”
Maria’s widening grin fills me with hope I never would have believed possible even half an hour ago.
“Your Highness,” she says. “I think I just may have found you a princess.”
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Eight
14. AMANDA
“I’m sorry, I thought you asked me if I would marry Prince Dante,” I say, giggling and shaking my head. “My dad always says I’ve got beans in my ears.”
Maria isn’t smiling. Neither is Dante.
What the hell is going on here?
When Maria called me here to discuss the ceremonies, I was a little surprised to see Dante, especially since we hadn’t spoken a word since our… encounter in the gardens. Now he looks as confused as I feel.
Maria takes my hand in hers and looks deep into my eyes.
“I know that this is sudden and strange,” she soothes. “And I hope you can forgive us for that, because the last thing we want is for you to be feeling the way you’re probably feeling. But yes, that is exactly what we’re asking.”
Thoughts are whirring through my head like a swarm of locusts. I turn to look at Dante. Did he tell Maria about us? Is there some obscure Morovan law that says if a prince’s penis touches your vagina, you have to marry him? Sure, I came like an animal in heat, but it didn’t even go all the way in!
“You want me to marry you,” I say slowly and deliberately, trying to make sure I’m not on the receiving end of some colossal practical joke. “In less than two weeks. After knowing me for two days.”
The look in Dante’s eyes is unreadable as we stare at each other for a long moment.
“It would be a tremendous favor, not just to me, but to the monarchy itself,” he says finally.
Maria takes hold of my arms and turns me to face her. I trust her, but I feel like I’m adrift in the middle of the ocean here. Is she my life raft, or is she some kind of anchor that’s trying to drag down my sanity?
