Keeping Her

by Holly Hart

  I wrap an arm around her neck and pull her into a hug.

  “Anyone with eyes can see how much you love them, and how much they love you,” I whisper. “It’s hard to grow up without a mother – believe me, I know – and you’ve helped fill that void for them.”

  She sobs quietly in my ear. I wonder how long she’s been holding onto this, trying to always keep that stiff upper lip for the sake of the monarchy. Another reminder of how bizarre this royal lifestyle can be.

  “Thank you,” she says. Her handkerchief is soaked and streaked with mascara now, but at least she stopped crying before I started myself.

  She composes herself and takes a deep breath.

  “The twins have certainly taken to you,” she says with a brave attempt at a smile. “I’ve never seen them become so attached to anyone so quickly. Or ever, really. You seem to have a natural way with them.”

  “That’s because I still haven’t grown up myself,” I say. “I feel like an imposter in this palace, like everyone else can see how much I don’t belong here with the adults.”

  Maria frowns. “On the contrary. You’re the most real person within these walls, present company and your fiancé included. I appreciate your candor very much.”

  I bite my lip to keep my own tears from flowing. Maybe the craziest part of this whole crazy week has been finding such a wonderful new friend in the last place I expected.

  “Well, if you ever want someone to just bring a bottle of wine to your room and binge watch Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix with you, just ask.”

  She laughs, hopefully signaling the end of our little cryfest. We’ve still got a lot of work to do. And I need to dive into it to keep myself from something that I didn’t mention to Maria: what happens in a year?

  As if things with Dante weren’t complicated enough, I’ve already fallen in love with Oriana and Vito. If things don’t work out, what happens? Will I lose them forever?

  I can’t let my mind go down that road. It has to work out, because I can’t lose them. I just can’t.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Three

  28. DANTE

  It’s come down to this: the world-renowned Prince Dante, monarch of Morova and executor of the Trentini fortune, is bargaining with a pair of ten-year-olds. Over a Disney movie.

  “You can watch it again tomorrow,” I say. “Once is enough for tonight.”

  The sun has long since set outside the window of my television room, leaving us in the dark except for the glow of the hundred-inch screen on the wall. The twins are sitting between Amanda and me on the wide, low-backed sofa that serves as our theater seats.

  “But Lion King is our favorite,” Oriana whines.

  “I’m like Simba!” Vito shouts. “I can’t wait to be king!”

  “Then you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” I say, plucking the remote control from his butter-soaked little hand. The popcorn was Amanda’s idea, and it was brilliant.

  She’s brilliant.

  As if to make my point for me, she grabs Vito around the torso and starts tickling him like mad.

  “How many times do we have to tell you?” she hollers as Vito shrieks. “You’ve never going to be king, you little street urchin!”

  “Tell me why!” cries Oriana, eager to get in on the fun.

  “I told you a hundred times!” I say, gripping her sides and poking my fingers gently into the muscles along her little ribs. “Because I bought you both from the gypsies!”

  The storm of giggles goes on and on, until they finally drop onto their backs, breathing heavily. Vito drops his head into Amanda’s lap and looks up at her.

  “Are you going to move in here with Uncle after the wedding?” he asks.

  “Why yes, I am. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes,” the twins say in unison.

  “Which is why Amanda gets to stay while you two go off to your rooms to bed,” I say, dropping Oriana onto the sofa beside her brother.

  Vito opens his mouth to complain but I silence him with a raised finger.

  “The sun is down, the moon is high,” I say.

  They both look at the floor.

  “And off to my waiting bed go I,” they recite glumly. It’s a ritual I’ve been sending them to sleep with since they could talk.

  “And in the morning, if you’re good,” Amanda chimes in.

  The twins look to her with hopeful eyes.

  “You can have some breakfast… uh, fud,” she finishes.

  They stare at her, uncomprehending.

  “Sorry,” Amanda says sheepishly. “Food doesn’t really rhyme with good…”

  They roll their eyes comically as they march over to me, each planting a kiss on one cheek.

  “Goodnight, Uncle,” they say.

  To my surprise and her delight, they do the same to Amanda.

  “Goodnight, Amanda.”

  A shimmer of tears lights up her eyes in the glow of the television screen as the children head off to their own chambers on the other side of the hall.

  I slide next to her on the sofa and wrap an arm around her shoulders. Sometimes I think this all has to be a dream, that it’s impossible for this crazy American cowgirl to have become such a key part of our lives in such a short time.

  Then again, Emilio pointed out that the gods seem to be fond of monarchs.

  “That was amazing,” Amanda says, swallowing hard.

  “I know I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but get used to it. They adore you.”

  “And I adore them. Times a million.”

  She reaches up and clasps the hand wrapped around her shoulder, snuggling in closer.

  “Are you excited to see your father in the morning?” I ask.

  “You know I am,” she says with a wide grin. “We haven’t been in the same room together for months.”

  “Any last-minute advice for me before I meet him?” I wince to show I’m properly concerned.

  “He has guns. Lots of them.”

  I nod. “Right. I’ll warn Marco.”

  “He acts tough, but he’s a pussycat. Someone once said that having daughters softens a man. I think having to raise a daughter alone softened him even more.”

  “Right,” I say. “Pussycat with guns.”

  She elbows me softly.

  “Keep in mind that this pussycat can carry a seventy-five-pound calf under each arm.”

  “Good lord. I spend an hour a day in my private gymnasium and I’m not entirely sure I could pull off that feat.”

  Amanda turns towards me and slides a hand under my shirt.

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate that,” she says, stroking my abs. “But you’re built for looks. Dad is built for work.”

  I feign shock. “Are you implying that I don’t work?”

  “Hey, if the shoe fits,” she says. “Or in your case, the ceremonial sword.”

  That sword. I never gave it a second thought until it suddenly reappeared and turned my life upside down. At first, I thought it was some ancient curse being revisited on the family.

  Now I don’t want to think about what might have happened if it hadn’t turned up again. If I hadn’t met this incredible creature in front of me, running her fingernails along my torso.

  “I’m not going to sit here and be insulted simply for having the good sense to be born into a royal family,” I say.

  “Oh yeah?” she smiles. “Then what are you gonna sit there and do?”

  I caress her ivory cheek with my palm and draw her face to mine, planting a slow, deep kiss on her delicious lips.

  “That’ll work,” she sighs. “But I think maybe we should end it there. Is that okay?”

  “Is everything all right?” I ask.

  “Everything’s perfect,” she says, giving me another peck. “But with Dad coming tomorrow, I’ve got a lot on my mind. And to be honest… I’m worried that if we start, we won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to stop.”

  She glances down at the stiff bulge under my pan
ts and bites her lower lip.

  “I know I won’t be able to stop,” she says. “And that would violate the decree.”

  “No one needs to know,” I offer. “You’ve already passed the test.”

  “We would know. And if, for some crazy reason, we ever ended up having to take a polygraph, well… it’s not worth the risk. The stakes are too high.”

  I sigh. “You’re right. The wedding is only a few days from now. Only an animal can’t control himself for a few days.”

  “I don’t know,” she says with a lusty grin. “You were definitely an animal in the jet.”

  I need to put the brakes on this now, before my cock snaps through my fly and takes on a life of its own.

  “Let’s focus on something else to help cool things down,” I say, shifting in my seat to get my erection in a more comfortable position.

  “Definitely,” she says, frowning. “Serious stuff. There’s a wedding going on. Lots to talk about.”

  “My bachelor party, for instance.”

  Here eyes narrow. “Is that so?”

  “Emilio offered to organize it for a few nights from now. Knowing him, he’ll probably kidnap me and fly me to some unknown destination to meet our regular crowd of reprobates. In my jet, of course.”

  Amanda’s look is suddenly serious.

  “It won’t be anything… y’know, crazy, will it? I mean, you do have a reputation.”

  “I won’t let it be,” I say, taking her hand in mine and kissing her delicate palm.

  “You promise?”

  How can I convince her? Even now, she has lingering doubts about who I was before we met. My tabloid image isn’t an easy thing to erase.

  Then it hits me.

  “What if I were to invite your father along?”

  Her eyes sparkle. “Really? You would do that for me?”

  “Of course. What better way to get to know each other than with some drinking, gambling and cigars?”

  “Those are definitely three of his favorite things,” she says with a laugh. “He’s quite the shark on poker night down at the American Legion hall.”

  It could actually be fun to show him some of the European games. I’d provide the stakes, of course. Ike Sparks won’t have to worry about paying for anything again in his life, if I have anything to say about it.

  “There’s only one problem,” Amanda says. “His wardrobe is, let’s say, limited. As in a half-dozen plaid shirts and a few pairs of jeans.”

  I snap my fingers. “He needs a tux for the wedding anyway, so we’ll use that as an excuse to get him some new clothes.”

  Next thing I know, her arms are around my neck and her sweet lips are pressing against mine again. We explore each other for a few wonderful moments.

  “Thank you,” she says. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I know it will be a pain in the butt dragging him around with you guys.”

  “From what you’ve told me, I highly doubt that. I’m looking forward to it.”

  She grins and pats my leg as she rises to leave.

  “We’ll see if you’re still saying that after you meet him in the morning.”

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Four

  29. INTERLUDE

  “Did he agree?”

  Emilio sighs as he closes the door behind him and flops down on the sofa in his quarters. He closes his bloodshot eyes as his head drops back on the cushions.

  “I’m fine, Mother, how are you? Oh, and thanks for letting yourself in. Saves me the effort.”

  “You’re not fine, you’re drunk,” Isabella snipes from her seat near the fireplace. “Answer the question.”

  “Yes, he agreed to let me plan his bachelor party.”

  “Perfect,” she says. “And he’ll have no idea what’s waiting for him there?”

  “I’m not an idiot. It shouldn’t be too hard to set up.”

  “You act as if you’re being sent to prison. Why can’t you realize that this is all for you?”

  Emilio opens his eyes and glares at her.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Mother. Maybe someday you’ll believe it. I, however, won’t.”

  She clucks her tongue.

  “How I ever produced such an ungrateful child is beyond me. After all, how many people have the chance to become the head of a royal family?”

  And all I have to do for it, Emilio thinks, is sell my soul.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Five

  30. AMANDA

  Watching my dad walk down the stairs of a private jet to the tarmac will go down as one of the strangest moments of my life.

  My heart leaps at the sight of him, but I can’t hold back a giggle at seeing this giant in his Levi’s jeans and Wrangler shirt being seen off the plane by royal staff in formalwear. Even without his cowboy hat, he still sticks out like a sore thumb.

  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Dad!” I squeal, giving in to my urge to just run to him. It’s been far too long.

  “Pumpkin!” he hollers, sweeping me up off the tarmac in those powerful arms. I grip my own around his bull neck and lay a wet kiss on his stubbly cheek.

  “I missed you so much!” I say as he sets me back down. The tears are hot in my eyes.

  “Not as much as I missed you. The cows have been askin’ about you.”

  “Cows can’t talk,” I say, reciting my part of the ritual.

  “But they sure can smell!” we shout together.

  Yeah, I know, it’s lame as hell. But it’s ours.

  I grip his hand and lead him to the limousine where Dante stands fidgeting. Marco, as always, stands ready in the background.

  Dante is tall, but my dad is taller. And about fifty pounds heavier. The look on Dante’s face says he wasn’t quite ready for just how intimidating his father-in-law-to-be really is.

  Dad offers him his best Clint Eastwood look as we reach the car.

  “Isaac Sparks,” I say, “It’s my great pleasure to have you meet my fiancé, His Highness, Prince Dante, monarch of the principality of Morova.”

  “Sir,” Dante says, reaching for Dad’s big, leathery hand. “It’s a privilege. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time.”

  His smile turns into a grimace as Dad grips his hand and squeezes.

  Dad turns to me, his face stone, his hand still clutching Dante’s.

  “So am I supposed to bow to this clown, or what?” he drawls.

  I look at him, then at Dante. Dante looks at me, and then at Dad. None of us says a word for three full seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marco take a tentative step forward.

  Then the grin I knew was coming finally spreads across my father’s face, and Clint is immediately replaced by the goofy old cuss that is my dad. He claps a hand on Dante’s back, making him stumble just the tiniest bit.

  “I’m just messin’ with you, kid!” Dad hoots. “But you stood your ground, I respect that. Call me Ike. I dunno why Amanda always introduces me by my given name. Only my ma ever called me Isaac, and even then it was only when she was givin’ me shit.”

  Dante keeps the winning smile plastered to his face through it all, God bless him. My dad knows how to fill a room, even when the room is a private airstrip.

  “Ike it is, then,” says Dante, surreptitiously stretching his hand in agony as Dad lets it go. “Did your flight go well?”

  “Ho-lee sheepshit, did it ever,” Dad says. “That bird is nicer than the best hotel room I ever stayed in. There’s even cold Bud in the fridge!”

  “Wait until you see the palace,” I say, laughing. “It’s going to blow your mind.”

  The airstrip is only a handful of miles from the private hovercraft launch to Isola D’ora. Dad marvels at the scenery that flows past outside the limo’s windows: low, emerald green hills, thousand-year-old villas and cobblestone streets share the vista with gleaming modern buildings of granite and glass.

  He lets out a low whistle. “This is really somethin.’ What do you folks grow
around here? Oilseeds?”

  Dante glances at me and I smile. It’s his show now.

  “Actually, Ike, there is no agriculture in Morova,” he says. “Outside of a few vegetable growers, that is. The majority of food is imported from Italy.”

  “Huh,” Dad grunts. “Then how’d you make your money?”

  “The Trentini family’s banking interests go back centuries. The entirety of Morova is essentially a hub for the financial industry.”

  I see Dad’s face darken. Shit, it should have occurred to me that this would be a sensitive subject.

  “I ain’t exactly a fan of banks,” he grumbles.

  “Neither am I,” Dante says earnestly. “That’s why I’ve invested so much of the family fortune in sustainable resources, international aid and leading-edge technology research.”

  I smile. Dante’s a pro at this. I never should have doubted his ability to handle things.

  “My father once told me that gold on its own means nothing,” he says. “You can’t eat it or drink it, and it can’t keep you warm. It’s our duty as Trentinis to turn that gold into something substantial that can have a real impact on people.”

  Dad’s overgrown eyebrows go up.

  “Sounds like a smart man,” he says. “Amanda tells me you lost your parents young. That’s rough.”

  “You and she lost her mother at a young age, as well. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you both.”

  Turn the conversation back to make it about the other person. Machiavelli would be proud. I know I am.

  “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Dad says. “But we made out okay. Didn’t we, pumpkin?”

  I grab his big meaty mitt. “We sure did.”

  “Ike, if I may,” Dante says. “Your daughter is a woman of singular character. Her honest and genuine nature has been a breath of fresh air in the palace, especially since so many of the people there seem to have inherited their ancestors’ ability keep their heads firmly up their own asses.”