She stared at him. ‘How can I be sensible when you’re still touching me?’
Before he could pull his hand away from her cheek, she twisted her head to the side, just as he’d done to her, and pressed a kiss into his palm.
He sucked in a breath. ‘What do we do about this, Vittoria?’
She was glad he hadn’t called her by that ridiculous borrowed name. He saw her for who she was. Vittoria. Not the princess, but the woman. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘We might not be able to have for ever—but we can have tonight. A moment out of time.’
There was a deep slash of colour across his cheeks as he thought about what she’d just said and clearly came to the right conclusion.
‘Do you have a condom?’ she asked.
He inclined his head.
‘Then what I want,’ she said, just in case it wasn’t clear enough, ‘is to spend tonight with you. To make love with you. To wake in your arms.’
‘And Giorgio?’
‘He wouldn’t come into my room. He’d knock and maybe talk to me through my door, but he wouldn’t come in—not unless he had reason to think I was in danger.’ In a way, she was in danger. In danger of losing her heart to Liam. When she was with him, she didn’t feel stifled under the weight of duty. She was herself.
But she’d made the terms of this clear. It was just for tonight. A moment out of their real lives, for both of them. One night with no future. And, even though it scared her that doing this might mean that no man would ever match up to him and she’d have to settle for second best, that was still better than never being with him at all.
‘Your room?’ he asked softly.
‘That’s actually your room, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He stole a kiss. ‘Are you telling me you were thinking about that? About me sleeping in your bed?’
She felt the colour flood into her cheeks. ‘Yes.’
He stole another kiss. ‘I did the same.’
‘And I thought of you, this morning,’ she whispered. ‘I imagined taking a photograph of you asleep. In my bed. Face down, with a sheet thrown casually over you, and your back...’ Her mouth dried.
‘I don’t do nudes, even arty ones,’ he said. ‘But that’s how I’d want to photograph you, too. Your hair loose and tumbled over my pillow, a sheet drawn up with one hand, looking all shy and adorable.’
‘Take me to bed, Liam,’ she said.
He didn’t need a second urging, though he did pause long enough in the kitchen to kiss her and then to lock the back door. ‘Because, once I’m in bed with you,’ he said, his voice low and husky, ‘I don’t want to have to leave until the morning.’
‘That works for me.’
And a delicious shiver of excitement rippled down her spine when he picked her up in the living room and carried her up two flights of stairs to her room.
‘Caveman,’ she teased.
‘Better believe it,’ he teased back, and held her close as he set her back on her feet, leaving her in no doubt about how much he wanted her.
And then he kissed her again, and she stopped thinking about anything at all.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT MORNING, Vittoria was woken by the dawn light filtering through the curtains, even though they were lined. She lay on her side in the wide bed, with Liam curled protectively round her, his arm wrapped round her and drawing her close to his body.
He’d been a gentle but intense lover, exploring and discovering where she liked being kissed or touched, what made her catch her breath with desire.
Last night had been a revelation.
Nobody, even Rufus, had ever made her feel like this.
But she knew Liam was right. This thing between them didn’t stand a chance of working out. Her background was what had made Rufus break up with her all those years ago. If you weren’t from that kind of background, life in a royal family would be tough to cope with. Even if you were used to fame and dealing with the media in a different arena, it wasn’t the same as living in a goldfish bowl. Plus, Liam had explicitly told her that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. His career came first.
She lay there for a few precious minutes, savouring the feel of his skin against hers and wishing things could be different. That there was a way for them to be together. But, whatever way she looked at it, she couldn’t find a solution.
Eventually she felt him stir and draw her closer. His breathing changed, signalling to her that he’d woken. When his lips grazed her shoulder, she turned round to face him.
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’ And it was more than good, waking in his arms.
‘I need to go back to my own room,’ he said.
Before Giorgio realised what had happened. Yeah. She knew. ‘I wish...’ Though it was pointless saying it out loud; it would only make her feel miserable, because things couldn’t be different.
‘Me, too.’ He kissed her one last time. ‘You know your favourite poem? Just for the record, my mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun. They’re this amazing, amazing blue. Until yesterday, I would’ve said violet blue—but, actually, they’re the shade of a newly unfurled English bluebell. I really wish I’d asked you to remove those contact lenses yesterday, so I could’ve taken a proper shot to showcase your eyes.’
The compliment made her feel warm all over. Nobody had ever said something like that to her. Liam saw her with an artist’s eye—the woman, not the princess. And she loved the fact he actually quoted poetry. Particularly as he knew her favourite poem; again, it made her feel that he understood what made her tick.
It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest they went back to London this morning via the bluebell wood, but she knew it would be a mistake. Yesterday was yesterday. Last night was last night. A one-off. Never to be repeated.
He twirled one unruly curl round his finger. ‘And this. I knew you’d look cute with your hair all messy in the morning.’ He grinned. ‘Shakespeare’s black wires, I think.’
This was goodbye. So she let herself twine her fingers through his hair. ‘You look cute and messy this morning, too. And your eyes are the same blue as cornflowers.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘I’d be worried if this was a damask red rose, though.’
‘Hard-drinking photographer, face pasty white from a nocturnal partying lifestyle and starting to get broken veins in my face from all the alcohol,’ he said.
Which made her laugh. From what she’d seen, Liam MacCarthy worked hard rather than drank hard. He didn’t give her the impression that he was a party animal—if anything, she rather thought he’d find them dull—and during this week he’d been up early rather than staying awake all night and sleeping all day. ‘Yeah.’
‘Coral.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘I always thought that was an orangey colour. Your mouth is more rose-coloured. By which I mean pink.’
She really didn’t want the day to start. She definitely didn’t want him to leave her bed.
But she had a plane to catch, and he had a life to get back to.
Dragging out their parting would only make both of them miserable. Better to cut it short now.
‘I’m not very good at goodbyes,’ she said.
‘Me, neither.’ He paused. ‘So let’s say goodbye now. When I drop you off at Izzy’s place—as Vicky—I won’t see you again before you leave for San Rocello.’
‘I know.’ And how that made her ache.
‘You and me—it can’t work. Not in the real world. You have responsibilities and I have my career.’ His eyes were filled with regret.
‘I know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We probably won’t see each other again.’ They moved in different worlds. And anyway, she’d hate having to be a polite stranger with him, pretending that last night had never happened. It was pointless trying to cling
on to something that didn’t have a foundation, something that would just make them both miserable.
‘The last few days—they were a moment out of time for both of us,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t sell you out to the press.’
She stroked his face. ‘I already knew that. I just wish...’
‘...it could be different. So do I,’ he said softly. ‘But we both have to be sensible.’
Sometimes sex just wasn’t enough. Right now, she wanted to remember the feel of Liam holding her, the shape of his body round hers, the touch of his skin. She held him tightly, without speaking. And he was holding her just as tightly, so she was pretty sure he felt the same way. Both of them wanting what they couldn’t have, and neither of them able to see a solution that worked for both of them. She couldn’t give up her job, and she knew it would break his heart to give up his. There was no middle ground, no compromise.
Finally, he kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast,’ he said softly.
She knew she ought to say something witty. Make a joke. Even though right at the moment it felt as if her heart was cracking. ‘Just as long as Giorgio’s the one in charge of making the coffee,’ she said lightly.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She knew he was teasing, but his words also put the official distance back between Princess Vittoria di Sarda of San Rocello and Liam MacCarthy. The royal and the commoner. The photographer and his subject.
After he’d gone she showered, changed into her borrowed wig and clothes and the contact lenses, packed, and stripped the bedding.
She kept everything light over a breakfast of toast, local lemon curd and coffee; Liam drove them back to London and dropped her and Giorgio at Izzy’s flat. There were no photographers around to notice her, so her disguise wasn’t really needed. But she damped down her longing for more time with Liam and enjoyed spending the rest of her time in London making a fuss of her little sister.
Once at Izzy’s flat, she asked Giorgio to go to a bookshop for her to buy a copy of the new biography of Karsh. She wrote a brief message inside the flyleaf.
Liam. Thank you for everything. Vittoria.
She posted it on the way to the airport, and she was sitting on the plane back to San Rocello when she checked her email. There was one from Liam, sending her a link to his website and giving her an access code.
The web page made it very clear that this was a private portfolio, one which you could only log into if you had the access code. She typed in the code he’d given her, and as soon as she opened the gallery she realised that Liam had sent her all the photographs from her time with him in Norfolk—the ones he’d taken of her, and the ones she’d taken of him—as well as that very private one he’d taken of her in the palace library.
This felt like a message. Maybe she was just presuming things, but it felt as if this was his way of confirming to her what he’d promised earlier: that what had happened between them would stay private. The photographs, the closeness, the things she’d told him. And the fact he’d sent her that private photograph told her that she could trust him.
She studied the photographs carefully. He was right; she did look carefree and happy. But the camera had also picked up something else, something she really hoped he hadn’t seen for himself: that she’d lost her heart to him. Because the look on her face was definitely the look of someone in love. She looked all starry-eyed, even behind those ridiculous contact lenses. If she was honest with herself, that was exactly how she felt about him. She liked him as a person—his dependability, his strength, the way he noticed things. Physically, he made her heart beat faster just with a look or a smile. But it was more than simple liking or physical attraction. During those few days at the coast she’d fallen in love with him.
What was she going to do?
She and Liam had already agreed that things simply couldn’t work out between them. They didn’t have a future.
But she really couldn’t accept an arranged marriage with José: a man she didn’t love now and didn’t think she ever would.
She knew she was expected to get married, for the sake of her duty—if nothing else, she needed to produce an heir—but she remembered what Liam had said about her needing a consort she could rely on. Someone she could talk to, who understood her. He’d advised her to talk to her family, explain that she needed more time. Negotiate.
To negotiate well, you needed to be clear on all your facts. She was going to approach this in the same way as she did all her other royal duties: with care and consideration. So she spent the rest of the flight reading San Rocello’s constitution very closely, rather than mooning over photos of Liam MacCarthy.
By the time the plane touched down, she was smiling, armed with the facts she needed: certain clauses in the constitution were very explicit about the fact that the king or queen didn’t have to be married before he or she could accede the throne.
And this gave her the confidence to stand up to the pressure.
* * *
Liam made another print of a photograph from the bluebell woods shoot, this time making a really tight crop.
Vittoria di Sarda was beautiful.
Beyond beautiful.
Even with the wrong hair and the wrong eyes, she captivated him. It was in the curve of her mouth, the tiny laughter lines beginning to fan out from the corners of her eyes, the way she tilted her head.
And how he wished he’d taken some shots of her, this morning. When he’d been teasing her with her favourite poem, and she’d laughed up at him from the pillow.
The only images he had from that were in his mind’s eye, and it wasn’t enough. How long would it be before the images faded, before he forgot the feel of her skin against his and the scent of her hair?
He never usually let himself get that close to his girlfriends. Balancing his family and his job was hard enough; he’d found adding a relationship and all its demands into the mix led to feeling guilty that he wasn’t focusing well enough on any area of his life.
And now he’d fallen for a woman who was completely out of his reach. He’d fallen for the woman with her cool, calm, collected carapace. He’d fallen even harder for the woman beneath that carapace: the woman who’d asked for an on-the-fly photography lesson and cheekily taken his portrait, the woman who’d walked barefoot at the edge of the sea with him.
The woman who’d kissed him underneath the stars.
‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...’
The words bounced into his head. Forget the name. Vittoria was still a princess and always would be. But roses... He wanted to photograph her in a rose garden. He wanted to kiss her in a rose garden. He wanted to scatter rose petals on the crisp white sheets of a wide, wide bed and make love with her by the light of the moon.
And how weird was it that his aim of being the best portrait photographer of his generation suddenly felt so empty and pointless? The images weren’t enough for him any more. He wanted something else: he wanted Vittoria. In his arms. Always.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ he told himself out loud. ‘So just snap out of it and get on with your work.’
* * *
‘What do you mean, you’re not going to marry José?’ Princess Maria demanded, looking aghast at her eldest daughter.
‘Exactly what I said, Mamma.’ One good thing about learning to look composed in public, no matter how you felt inside, was that you could do it just as successfully in your private life. So Vittoria sipped her coffee casually, making it look as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Inwardly, she was a churning mess.
‘You know you have to get married before you accede the throne,’ Queen Giulia, her grandmother, added.
‘Mamma, Nonna—I love you both dearly and I respect you,’ Vittoria said quietly, ‘but in this case I can’t do what you ask of me. I don’t want to marry someone I
barely know and who has nothing in common with me other than his background. I want the time and space to choose who I marry, rather than rushing in. And I’ve read the constitution. Very thoroughly. There isn’t actually a legal requirement for the monarch to be married.’
Maria’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t care what the constitution says. It’s like Nonna says. Our people expect their ruler to be settled. So you need to get married and show them you’re settled.’
‘Mamma, they already know I’m settled. I’m not the sort to spend my life partying and gadding about. I’ve taken on more and more duties from Nonno every year, representing our country on numerous occasions, and I’ve done the job well.’
‘But you need an heir,’ Maria said.
‘And a spare. I know. But there isn’t a legal requirement for me to marry before I become queen, and it would be so much more sensible not to rush things. We need to find the right consort for the country—and for me.’
‘I think there’s more to this than meets the eye,’ Maria said darkly. ‘This secret getaway of yours—did you meet up with Rufus again? Is that what all this is about?’
‘No. I haven’t seen Rufus in years.’ Looking back now, Vittoria was pretty sure that her mother and grandmother had tried to show Rufus that he’d never fit in to the palace. No wonder he’d backed away. It would take someone much stronger than Rufus to stand up to her family.
‘Is there someone else?’ Giulia asked.
Yes. Liam’s face flashed into her head. Liam, in her bed, that last morning, teasing her with Shakespeare and then kissing her until they were both dizzy. ‘No.’ And it was the truth: Liam had made it very clear that he couldn’t and wouldn’t offer her for ever. She’d fallen for a man who was out of reach, so effectively there wasn’t someone else. ‘I’m simply saying that I’m ready to be queen but I’m not rushing into marriage. I want time to get to know my future husband and fall in love with him before I get married.’
Maria’s mouth thinned. ‘Marriages aren’t about love.’
Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set Page 39
