by Holly Rayner
A little shudder went through her, as if I had slapped her. “Oh,” she said in a soft, pained tone that dragged fingernails across my heart. She removed her hand from mine and went very quiet, watching the city lights grow in front of us.
No. This is not right. It isn’t right at all. As we roared along, I looked over at her…and then reached over and gently took her hand.
She turned her face back to me, and I saw the disappointed tears in her eyes. My throat tightened, but I gave her the best reassuring smile I could.
I lowered my voice to a whisper, not sure how much English our companions knew. “All this time, it has been easier for me to be alone. Moving on to the next challenge was always easy because there was nothing to tie me to a particular place. Yes, I will have the duties of a king someday, but in the end…I have wings. It has been very important to me up until now.”
“So…has something changed now?” she asked in a tiny, trembling voice.
“Everything. Or only one thing, but everything else hinges on it now.” I squeezed her hand gently, a little worried she would pull away again as I struggled to get the right words out. “I…feel that if I leave without you, whether I return to Sordonna now or keep to my wanderings, it will be as if I left a piece of myself here with you. Without it, I will feel as if I am still wandering this desert, but without an oasis in sight.”
She started trembling harder, her eyes alarmingly bright, and I backed off at once. “Am I being too forward? I apologize.”
“No,” she said suddenly, almost sharply. “No. It’s all right. I…I’ve been feeling the same thing.”
I stared at her as tears started to leak unabashedly down her cheeks.
She spoke quietly with earnest. “I can’t lose another person I care for. It’s too much to lose you on top of everything. This…this whole time I have wanted you to stay with me…or take me with you. The idea of being left alone again is too much! Not after…after everything we’ve been through, all we know about each other…” She swallowed hard, eyes still streaming.
I cupped her face, and she sniffed and looked up at me again. I thumbed the tears off her cheeks, smiling down at her tenderly. “Rose,” I said softly. “Rose. Don’t cry. There’s no need anymore.”
This time, we kissed until we both lost our breath and had to come up for air.
“Where…will we go then?” she asked me as the city loomed in the distance. “Back to Sordonna?”
I shook my head, chuckling. “No, no. Not yet. I have something else in mind.”
Chapter 25
Rose
Six Months Later
Six months after we left Al-Rasmah behind, I woke up to the sound of seabirds calling. I sat up, yawning and looking around the beach house’s tiled, arch-windowed bedroom. The sea air softened the already hot morning; no matter how sweaty I got here, I never got that withered feeling that had dogged me in the desert.
I sat up and spied a visitor out on the balcony, sunning itself on the railing. The giant green iguana was a cheeky creature, and kept returning no matter how many times the pesky humans came out to have their coffee next to its favorite sunning spot. Now and again, it hung around while we took our meals out there, yellow eyes as hopeful as a dog’s that we would drop something tasty.
Miami didn’t hurt anymore. I no longer felt Karla’s absence everywhere I went. Perhaps it would have been different without Vincenzo by my side. Perhaps, alone, the loss would still have gnawed at me daily. But keeping my promise to her, going out and making the sacrifice of doing aid work in a war zone, had done me more good than I had possibly imagined. And chief among those improvements was Vincenzo.
I stretched happily and then slipped out of bed, putting on the flowered silk robe he had gifted me for mornings like this. I could smell the coffee brewing; that was what had awakened me. Stifling a yawn, I padded out the door and downstairs to our kitchen.
In that bright, expansive room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw Vincenzo laboring at the counter at something while coffee brewed. Over his shoulder, I could see the beach through the windows. The sea was unsettled, and far out over the sparkling water, a heavy bank of clouds loomed.
Just a regular storm. Not even a named one. I turned my attention back to the love of my life and snuck up on him while he bent over the counter, engrossed in chopping something.
I slipped behind him, quiet on bare feet, and surprised him with a hug from behind. “Good morning!”
He jumped a little, but his hands stayed steady chopping green onions. “Good morning!” he said cheerfully, then laid the knife down and turned around to embrace me. “Did you sleep well?”
I grinned. “Oh yes, perfectly.”
“Good. But I think I forgot what a light sleeper you are. I was planning to bring you breakfast in bed and a little serenade.” He gestured to the bed tray on the counter, which already had toasted lox bagels, a glass of orange juice, and an apple on it. Next to the plate was the chalil I had bought him in Al-Rasmah the day we had left.
“Let’s just eat at the table and then go back to bed for a while,” I suggested saucily. “I don’t want to be rolling around in breakfast crumbs.”
His chuckle deepened, and he nuzzled my hair. “Not the morning off that I planned, but it sounds lovely.” And he obligingly brought my tray to the table.
Founding the new clinic had been a labor of love for both of us. His wealth and my connections in Miami had made it relatively easy, but between renovating the space, hiring personnel, and obtaining supplies, it had still taken us the better part of that six months. But now, finally, the doors were open, and people were getting the help they needed.
It was a good life. It was neither the lonely grind of working as an ER nurse, or the constant strain and risk of the aid center’s work. I looked forward to going in to work on Monday. I looked forward to seeing my patients. And of course, living and working with Vincenzo meant I had one more thing to look forward to at work and at home.
We nibbled the bagels and had our coffee and juice while watching the storm slowly roll in.
“I got an email from Yvonne last night,” I said before draining my coffee cup.
“Did you? What did she say?” He lifted an eyebrow before eating a bite of lox.
“The insurgents have agreed to a cease-fire. Seems that spies like Iyad were successful in determining many of their leaders’ identities and locations. Too many of them are being arrested or suffering attacks. They have been forced to come to the table.”
“Well, it’s about bloody time. Has anyone heard from Iyad? Yusuf, or any of the others?” He drank a few swallows of juice.
“Not particularly. Last I heard was a month ago, and you already know about that one.” Yusuf’s grandson was growing fast. His father had come back from the front to a nine-pound, eleven-ounce surprise who was already disconcertingly good at grabbing noses. We had even gotten a few photographs.
Once coffee and our light breakfast were done, Vincenzo chased me upstairs, laughing.
Curled up in bed together a while later, Vincenzo ran his hand down my thigh and brushed his fingers over the little round scar where he had removed that bit of shrapnel. It hadn’t hurt since a few days after our return. I still had to rub cream on it regularly, and it still pulled a little when I did yoga. Mostly, though, it now stood as a reminder that I had survived something terrifying, and come through better off for it. It was a mark of my journey.
“I hate any reminder that you were hurt,” Vincenzo said softly as he gazed at the scar. “But I love remembering that we came through all of that together.”
I took his face in my hands. “No matter how crazy the journey to get here was, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.”
He smiled faintly…sadly. I knew that the duties looming in his future—back in Sordonna, a decade or two off depending on his father’s health—would always be there. But for now, far away from his father, his father’s disapproval, and th
e demands of his future office, we had a wonderful life together.
“I sometimes regret that I cannot give you the life of a true princess,” he said softly. “But had we not gone to your home, and instead to my own, I’m certain my father would have tried to split us up already.”
I lifted my chin in defiance of the faceless, sour old man who would have threatened our relationship if he had only known about it. “Neither one of us is ever going to let that happen.”
“No,” he replied firmly. “Of course not. And once he is gone and I am king, no one can pretend to have control over my heart and prospects. We will be able to do what we please.”
“And in the meantime?” I tilted my head, looking at him, seeing the faint hesitation in his eyes that told me he was hiding something.
“In the meantime, I may not be able to make you a princess in title, but I can still make you the queen of my heart.”
Stunned into silence, I clapped a hand to my mouth as he reached into his nightstand and pulled out a small box. Before I could do anything but look from his eyes to the box, he had already taken a knee at my bedside.
“Marry me, Rose. Be my bride. What is bound before God and the law cannot be undone by my father or anyone else.”
I beamed down at him as he opened the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring.
“I can’t think of anyone better to be my king,” I told him softly. “I accept.”
We kissed as he slipped on the ring.
The End
The Prince’s Long Lost Baby
Holly Rayner
Copyright 2020 by Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Matteo
The crisp bite of tequila tantalized Matteo’s tongue as he threw back a shot and reached for a lime. Sour juice exploded in his mouth as he bit down, enhancing the flavor of the expensive liquor.
“Mat-te-o! Mat-te-o!” the crowd chanted his name as Matteo flashed a devilish grin, knowing that his right dimple could really shine when he cocked his head just so.
A slender woman in a miniscule gold bikini sidled up against him and ran her fingers through his thick, black hair.
“You can’t smile like that and expect to be alone, baby,” she purred against his neck.
Matteo reached for her wandering hands and laced his fingers with hers. He’d always wondered if he would ever feel an emotional connection with a woman when he did that. He knew that hand-holding could be a very intimate thing, but it never felt that way to him.
He felt nothing.
“And yet here I remain, pleasantly single,” he replied. He stepped back and ignored her pout, though he couldn’t quite ignore the fullness of her lips as she did so.
He also couldn’t remember the last woman he’d met that hadn’t had some work done to enhance her face.
“You’re such a tease. I suppose men that look as perfect as you simply must be unattainable, like a Greek god,” the woman said, crossing her arms over her well-exposed bosom.
Matteo shrugged.
“Nah, just a prince from Golina,” he said.
Why did he have to bring that up?
Matteo was not one to rely on his status to make friends. Golina was a small island nation off the coast of Italy, not far from Greece, but small enough to generally go unnoticed by the rest of the world. They made plenty in trade with their fisheries to provide enough wealth for his family to live in the lap of luxury without costing the people their own happiness.
He was proud of his country, and his people. He just didn’t want to be there right now.
As if on cue, his phone rang, vibrating against his leg from inside his pocket. He pulled it from his shorts and glanced at the screen, then glowered. He tapped the decline button with his thumb and replaced the phone, shaking off the wave of emotion with another tequila shot.
“Hey now, leave some for everyone else on the yacht,” his friend Hans said.
Matteo had met Hans at the elite university they’d attended together, and they were fast friends. Hans was from a very wealthy family in Germany, and his slick blond hair and striking blue eyes had him on every woman’s list. Matteo was certain his friend’s wealth didn’t hurt either, and beyond that, Hans was the life of every party, and he loved to party.
He was an escape for Matteo, when he had desperately needed to get out from beneath his father’s kingly thumb.
Matteo grinned at Hans as he poured amber liquid into two more shot glasses and shoved one into his friend’s hand, lifting his own.
“To the good life,” he said.
Hans nodded, glancing around with appreciation at the group of attractive, glamorous people surrounding them. Somehow when they vacationed in the south of France, there always seemed to be a group of people just waiting to join them for a yacht party. Matteo wondered what those people did when he and his friend weren’t there, but quickly dismissed the thought as Hans clinked his glass and downed another drink.
A warm buzz infiltrated his mind as he gazed out at the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean. The sun was setting, casting an orange and pink glow on the beautiful village around them. On the dock, a long line of expensive yachts bobbed, waiting for their owners to enjoy the sea. A bubble of excitement sprung up in Matteo’s belly at the thought of a night out on the boat. He loved sailing.
“Okay,” Hans said, his accent a little stronger after that shot. “We have room to sleep twelve people comfortably on the yacht. Who wants to come?”
Hans laughed as he was nearly barreled down by a tidal wave of toned, tan, bikini-clad women. His hands rested appreciatively on the hips of the two closest to him as he carefully picked out their party guests for the evening. Uninterested, Matteo headed toward the yacht to make sure everything was primed and ready to go. The echo of twittering female voices and Hans’ laughter washed over him as he stepped onto the dock and walked the short distance to his boat.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” the captain said from the deck.
“‘Matteo’ is fine when we’re here, Georges,” Matteo said, glancing back to see if anyone had heard.
Georges lifted one thick, black eyebrow at his employer.
“I’m pretty sure everyone here knows who you are, sir,” he said.
Matteo grabbed a rope and hopped onto the deck, planting his feet to adjust to the wobble of the sea beneath them.
“Probably. I don’t doubt the paparazzi are out there somewhere snapping pictures too, but I’d rather keep it casual out here. I’m not a ruler,” Matteo said, a little too emphatically.
Georges made a face that clearly showed his skepticism.
“As you wish, sir. Matteo it is.”
“Thank you.”
“And how many guests will we be expecting this evening?” Georges asked.
Matteo held a hand over his sea-green eyes as he observed Hans practically skipping down the dock with a small gaggle of women. He bit back a groan.
He was all for a party, but he would have liked at least some mixed company. He knew exactly the kind of conversations he’d be having, and none of them would hold much weight. Just once, he wouldn’t mind having a meaningful conversation that didn’t feel forced.
“Looks like there will be twelve altogether,” Matteo said, counting the partygoers one more time for good measure.
“A full boat,” Georges said. “I will let the staff know to prepare all the rooms. Would you like us to set up the bar on the front deck now?”
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“Yes, thank you,” Matteo said. With that, Georges nodded and disappeared below deck just as the boisterous group arrived.
“We have our entourage for the evening, Mat!” Hans said, his arms draped around two women. Matteo bit back a sigh as he held out a hand and began lifting woman after woman onto the deck. Each of them batted her eyes at him, each pair more beautiful than the last.
His phone rang in his pocket again. Matteo pulled it out, saw the number again, and considered blocking it. He pressed the decline button and shoved the offending device back into his pocket. After a minute, it buzzed again, but it was a shorter sensation. Not a call.
A voicemail.
Matteo deleted it.
“Why the long face, handsome?” a girl with bright red hair asked as she looped her arm inside his. Matteo’s lip twitched, hinting at a smile.
“Duty calls, and sometimes I don’t like to answer,” he said.
“Good. Because tonight is all about having a good time. Work can wait,” she said, tugging him in the direction of the fully stocked bar that Georges had quickly set up. A deck hand pulled the anchor rope from the dock and the yacht slid out into the sea, gliding on smooth waters as Hans connected to the Bluetooth speakers and put on his party playlist.
“We’re young and alive, rich and sexy!” Hans said, another glass held high in the air.
A chorus of “woos” erupted all around the boat as every girl held up her drink. Matteo knew there would likely be at least seventy more speeches and cheers before the night was over. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat back in a plush seat. Instantly there was a woman on his lap.
“Hey, hot stuff. Tell me your story,” she breathed against his ear.
Matteo sipped his whiskey and leaned back into the cushion of his seat as he considered his answer. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
