by Holly Hart
“God, I love you,” I whisper as he doubles the speed of his thrusts. “I want it to be like this every time.”
He props himself on his hands as I wrap my legs around his waist. He doubles his speed again, until he’s thrusting so fast I can barely keep up with my hips. I bite my bottom lip, waiting for the tsunami of pleasure that’s about to hit.
“Amanda,” he pants. “Oh, my love. Everything I have is yours.”
“Give it to me,” I say, feeling my body on the point of release. “Give it all to me.”
One last lift of his hips and we both begin to tremble. I feel his muscles tense against my skin as his eruption fills me with warmth. I ride my own wave by burying my face in his shoulder, whimpering in ecstasy.
We lie there, skin to skin, sweat to sweat, breathing in each other’s exhaled breaths, until our hearts finally slow and resume their normal pace.
“God, I just want to do that all the time,” I say.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he says. “There are over 200 rooms in this palace.”
I giggle as he gently kisses my throat.
“Did we really win?” I ask. “When we walk out of here, are we really free to just live our lives?”
“Yes,” he says. “At least as free as we can be while ‘Amandante’ is still a thing.”
“I love that word. It’s the two of us coming together. Just like now.”
He looks at me with feigned shock. “Your Highness,” he says. “That’s no way for a princess to talk.”
“Stick around, Prince Charming,” I say, pulling him to me again. “I’ll teach you all sorts of words you’ll never hear in a Disney movie.”
Chapter Two Hundred Three
58. DANTE
The palace’s south terrace is a great spot to eat lunch: it has the best view of the lake, and the stone helps catch the sun’s heat and radiate it back, which is perfect for cooler days like today.
Emilio sips his coffee, silently staring out at the lake and the Morovan shoreline beyond.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Amanda says.
He turns toward us with a half-smile. He’s looking much better these days.
“One of the things they tell us to do in the program is to make amends with the people we’ve hurt along the way,” he says. “I was thinking about how I would broach that subject with you two. An apology just doesn’t seem like enough.”
“It’s enough,” I say.
“I suppose it has to be. There’s nothing I could possibly do to balance the scales. I almost ruined your life.” He looks to Amanda. “Both your lives.”
“You already balanced them,” I say. “The day of the referendum. If you hadn’t showed up when you did, I don’t know what might have happened.”
“Showed up drunk out of my mind,” he says ruefully.
“You weren’t yourself,” says Amanda. “If it wasn’t for your mother, none of it would have happened.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But if it weren’t for me losing all our money and falling into the bottle, she might not have felt the need to do it.”
“You don’t honestly believe that,” I say.
He sighs. “I suppose not. But she is my mother; I have to try to be kind.”
“Have you heard from her?” Amanda asks.
“She’s staying with a cousin in Lichtenstein. Even though she’s technically not in exile, I doubt we’ll ever see her set foot in Morova again. She’s too embarrassed.”
The three of us look out at the lake for several moments, just soaking up the late summer sun. It won’t be long before it will be too cold to eat outside.
“Can I tell you two something?” Emilio asks.
“Of course,” says Amanda. “Anything.”
“I had a feeling about you two,” he says with a smile. “That day when Dante came crashing into you outside his office.”
I give him a sidelong look. “You did not.”
“I did,” he says, nodding. “There was something there. I could see it in your eyes. Both of you.”
Amanda takes my hand.
“I knew it. You couldn’t resist my cowgirl charms.”
“I admit it,” I say. “I looked at you and said to myself, she’s the one – ”
Amanda smiles shyly.
“ – to clean out the palace stables. They were filthy.”
Emilio chuckles as Amanda wallops me on the shoulder.
“I knew I was right,” he says. “That’s a win for me, and God knows I can use as many as I can get right now.”
“You were right,” says Amanda, toasting him with her coffee. “To Emilio being right.”
“To being right,” I say, lifting my own cup.
“You shouldn’t bother them,” I hear Oriana say behind us.
“I just have a question,” says Vito. “They’re not even talking anymore.”
Emilio smiles as the twins approach the table. Amanda and I turn to greet them.
“What are you two on about now?” Amanda asks, pulling Oriana into her lap.
“I just want to know if I can ask Nonno for a belt buckle like his when we go,” says Vito.
“I told him he can’t,” says Oriana.
“For any particular reason?” I ask. “Or just because you always have to say the opposite of what he says?”
Amanda giggles as Oriana shakes her little fist at me.
“I’m afraid she’s right, honey,” Amanda says to Vito. “You have to win a buckle like his in the rodeo.”
His eyes light up. “Can I rodeo when we visit?”
“I think we can get you started, at least,” she says with a grin.
“When do you leave?” Emilio asks.
“In four days!” the twins answer together.
“You’re more than welcome to join us,” says Amanda. “Dad’s got a pull-out couch.”
The image of Emilio sleeping on a sofa is enough to make me have to stifle a laugh.
“I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he says. “I’m not exactly in your father’s good books, I think.”
“I guarantee you’d be welcome,” I say. “Ike isn’t one to hold a grudge. He’s not that kind of man.”
“Still,” he says, finishing his coffee. “Best not to tempt fate.”
“Do you believe in magic?”
I’m rinsing the last of the shampoo from Amanda’s hair in the giant tub in our quarters. Her bare back feels smooth and soft against my chest, and my cock very much appreciates its spot in the cleft of her buttocks.
“That’s an odd question,” I say. “What makes you ask that?”
“It would explain a lot. I mean, the last few months have been like a fairy tale – the prince and the commoner girl meet and fall in love, they get torn apart by circumstance, but in the end they live happily ever after.”
“First,” I say, kissing the back of her neck, “we have a long way to go before we qualify for happily ever after. Second, I don’t remember any virgin decrees in the fairy tales I read as a child.”
“Still. You have to wonder, don’t you?”
I do have to wonder. What did I ever do to deserve a woman like her? A life like this? A family like ours?
“I do believe in magic,” I say. “I’ve just decided.”
“Good,” she says, turning to face me. Her breasts bob on the surface of the water, prompting an involuntary throb in my cock. “Because I believe in it, too. And it has to be both of us, or the magic won’t work.”
“Then let’s get together and make some magic,” I say, pulling her to me.
“Don’t I have to try on a glass slipper or something?” she giggles.
“Trust me,” I say as she gasps at my hard shaft slipping inside of her. “I already know that everything fits perfectly.”
204
EPILOGUE: AMANDA
Three Years Later
“Sir, I don’t believe this is a prudent course of action,” Carlo says. I’ve nev
er seen him fret like this before.
Dante smiles. “I’m not asking for your opinion, Carlo. You wanted to see this.”
“Yes, sir. But I want it on the record that your father would not have approved of this.”
“Maybe not,” I say. “But my father’s busting at the seams with pride.”
I point across the dirt field to Dad as he helps tie Vito onto his bull, an ornery little cuss named Spitfire. They’re safely behind the gate right now, but in a couple of minutes, it’ll open and Spitfire will come charging out, twisting and bucking until he sends Vito flying into the dirt.
“I still don’t understand why he can’t do something sensible,” says Carlo. “Perhaps barrel racing, like the princess.”
Oriana rolls her eyes in the way only a thirteen-year-old girl can.
“Barrel racing is for girls, Carlo,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe.
“Hey,” Maria snaps from beside her, beating me to the punch. “Respect.”
Oriana flashes her a sheepish look and turns to Carlo.
“I beg your pardon, Carlo,” she says.
He smiles, sending up fans of laugh lines at the corner of his eyes.
“There’s nothing to pardon, Your Highness.”
From the stands behind me, I hear a young boy say: “Mom, that old guy called that girl ‘your highness.’ What does that mean?”
“He’s probably drunk,” Mom says absently. “Just stay away from him.”
Dante squeezes my hand as the announcer comes over the public address system: “Up next is Vito Trentini on Spitfire!”
“Here we go,” Dante says.
He’s trying to hide it, but I see the tension in his face.
“Sure,” I whisper. “Big tough guy when Carlo shows concern, but you’re really just as nervous as he is.”
His eyes widen. “That bull is about to trample my kid!” he hisses.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carlo make the sign of the cross over himself.
“AND THEY’RE OFF!”
Dad lets go of Vito as the gate opens. Spitfire’s having none of this shit and starts kicking the second his front hooves hit the dirt. Vito holds on like a champ, moving his body back and forth in time with the bull’s kicks so that he can absorb some of the momentum.
I watch the clock on the electronic scoreboard count off the seconds: four, five…
Come on, sweetie, you can do it…
His hand is still in the rope, but now Spitfire is spinning. Vito slides to the side but keeps his grip tight.
Six, seven… EIGHT! Vito lets go and tumbles to the ground, rolling with the impact and jogging back towards the gate.
I leap to my feet, spilling my soda on the floor of the old grandstand.
“Woo-hoo!” I wail. The crowd behind us claps, but their lack of enthusiasm is pissing me off. That’s my boy out there! Didn’t they see that incredible ride?
When things calm down, Maria climbs out of her seat and into the empty stand behind me, leaning in towards me.
“So Vito wins, correct?” she says. “He stayed on for eight seconds.”
“You have to stay on for eight to qualify,” I say. “His score is based on the ride. He gets points for technique and for how hard the bull fought.”
“That sounds needlessly complicated.”
I turn to face her. “Hey, at least he had a reason to fall on the ground. Not like a European soccer flopper who drops because someone looks at him wrong.”
She grins and flicks my earlobe with her finger. For some reason it makes me think of the first time I met her: how poised she was, how professional and sophisticated. Goes to show we’re all a lot more complex than we let on.
The hissing static of the microphone comes on again.
“Our judges have their score: it’s a 78 for Vito Trentini!”
There’s an appreciative smattering of applause behind us, but all of us Morovans are on our feet cheering.
“The heir to the Morovan monarchy just rode a bull in a Montana junior rodeo,” Dante says, shaking his head. “You couldn’t make this stuff up.”
I plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Just another page in our storybook,” I say.
“Who wants theirs well-done?” Dad hollers from the grill.
“I would, please,” Maria calls from her seat at the table on the patio.
“All right, then,” he says. “There’s a Sizzler ‘bout forty miles south of here. Go tell them you want ‘em to ruin your steak. Medium’s as high as we go at Chateau Sparks, and even then I’m gonna give you a dirty look.”
Maria grins at me and shakes her head. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do, I suppose.”
That draws a belly laugh out of me. When Dad comes to Rome, he’s constantly telling the chefs how to prepare the beef.
“By the way, how are your shoes?” I ask.
She crosses her legs to get a look at them.
“Still remarkably shit-free,” she says with a grin.
It’s a beautiful afternoon to be out in the sun. Living in a palace on an island is incredible, of course, but there’s something about wide-open spaces and the sound of cattle in the distance that just feeds my soul in a way nothing else can.
Dad’s only used a tiny portion of the money he gets from the Trentini fortune on the ranch itself. Most of it has gone into a stability fund for other ranchers in Montana who’ve been hard hit by drought and low prices. They can borrow against it at zero interest to help them through the hard times.
But a little of it has gone into the house. It’s still the place I grew up in, just a bit bigger, with a half-dozen new bedrooms to accommodate the kids, and guests like Carlo and Maria. Marco, of course, has his own permanent room on the main floor, even though he’s still never had to lift a finger to protect any of us.
“Sometimes I think we should set up an attack on you,” I whisper to Dante.
“What?!”
I nod towards Marco, who’s standing in the big door of the hayloft on top of the barn, surveying the situation.
“I mean hire a stuntman to take a swing at you sometime. It would make Marco so happy.”
“So I get to take a punch just to make sure my security chief feels like he has a purpose in life?” He sighs. “Fine. I live to serve, and all that nonsense.”
As if reading our minds, Dad calls up to Marco in the hayloft.
“Hey Terminator, you want your rib-eye smoked?”
“Yes, sir!” he calls back.
“He may not have a purpose,” Dante chuckles, “but at least he’s well-fed.”
“Are we late for supper?” Vito calls from the gate.
He and Oriana amble into the yard on the backs of their horses, with Carlo riding pillion behind Vito. The old fellow refused to wear the cowboy clothes we bought him for the trip, but he’s at least wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no jacket or tie. That’s a step in the right direction.
“Just puttin’ the steaks on now,” Dad hollers. “Did you close the gate behind you?”
“No,” Oriana says.
“Well then get back there’n do it, Your Highness. This ain’t Morova; I don’t got a staff to cater to your every whim.”
Oriana rolls her eyes again – the girl could teach a class in it, I swear – but she does as she’s told. At times like this, I can see the woman she’s on the verge of becoming – passionate and willful, but tempered with respect.
After they’ve taken care of their horses, the twins go supervise Dad at the grill. Oriana climbs on his back so that she can look over his shoulder.
“I think that one’s ready to turn,” she says, pointing at a steak.
“You do, you ya? Why’s that?”
“Because it’s not smoking anymore.”
“Good girl,” he says, handing her the tongs. “Git ‘er done.”
“Is Spitfire going to end up as a steak someday?” Vito asks.
“Nah.”
“T
hat’s good,” Vito says, clearly relieved.
“Bulls are tougher’n boiled owl shit,” Dad says. “They’re only good for hamburger.”
I put a hand over my mouth to cover my giggles. This is my crazy family, ladies and gentlemen: royals, cowboys, and the Terminator in the hayloft, keeping a watchful eye over all of us.
Dante takes my other hand in his.
“What’s so funny?” he whispers.
“Life,” I say. “Especially ours.”
With supper over and dishes done, all that’s left is the cake. Dad carries it out from the kitchen, lit up by thirteen sparklers instead of candles – his idea of a joke, since it’s a play on words with the family name.
“Happy birthday to you,” he croons in his bass-baritone. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, you spoiled rotten little royal beggars. Happy birthday to you.”
He kisses Oriana on the cheek as he sets the cake down in front of them (she rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face) and takes Vito’s hand, pumping it twice.
Dante looks at me and raises his eyebrows. I nod and smile.
“Okay, everyone,” he says. “I know we have a no-gift policy in this family, for obvious reasons. But Amanda and I thought, since thirteen is a major milestone, we’d do something special for the two of you”
They give us matching skeptical looks. After all, what do you get the kids who have literally everything? Meanwhile, Dad takes his seat at the table beside Maria and Carlo, all of them sporting wide grins. We told them about this beforehand.
But we didn’t tell them everything.
“Are you going to let us drink wine?” Oriana says hopefully.
“I don’t want wine,” Vito says, making a face. “I’ll have a Budweiser.”
“You’ll have a glass of milk,” Dante says. “Now stop talking about drinking. This is serious.”
They glance at each other and giggle, their telepathy obviously sharing some private joke.
I reach into my purse and retrieve a manila envelope. Dante takes it and slides it across the table towards them.
“Open it,” he says.
They look at each other again, then at the envelope. Vito finally picks it up and opens the flap. He pulls out a sheaf of papers and the two of them look at the cover page.
