But it was about to get worse.
Her parents were walking arm in arm towards her, and both were startled when they saw her.
‘Mamma!’ Antonietta called.
But together they looked away and crossed to the other side of the street. For Antonietta it was a new version of hell. That they should cross the road to avoid her was not only painful and humiliating, it made her angry too, and hurt words tumbled out.
‘I tried to tell you, Mamma!’
Her voice was strangled then, but the words were true, for she had tried to reveal her fears about Sylvester to her mother. Antonietta watched as Tulia Ricci’s shoulders stiffened. She stopped walking, and slowly turned around.
‘You know I tried to tell you.’
‘Antonietta.’ Her father spoke then. ‘What are you doing back here?’
And as she saw his cold expression she wondered the very same thing.
It was Antonietta who walked off, refusing to cry.
Even at the hotel she felt an anger building that was unfamiliar to her.
But her shift would start soon, and Antonietta decided she could not think about her family situation and do her work, so she fought to set it aside. Tonight she would examine it. Tonight she would sit down and decide whether to stay long enough to complete her training, to give them a chance for a Christmas reunion, but she would not think of it now.
She changed quickly into her uniform and then, with her heart fluttering in her chest and her breath coming too shallow and too fast, she crossed the monastery grounds.
Antonietta was usually a full fifteen minutes early for work, but so shaken was she by the morning’s events that she got there only just in time.
‘There you are!’ Francesca said by way of greeting. ‘Signor Dupont has requested that his suite be serviced at midday, when he is out.’
Antonietta nodded and made her way up to the suite. After knocking and getting no answer, she let herself in. There was the scent of him in the air, but not his presence, and she was relieved to be alone and not have to make small talk. She set to work, ticking things off her list, trying to banish all thoughts of this morning.
Except Antonietta could not.
As she smoothed the sheets on the bed all she could see was the sight of her parents, crossing the street to avoid her. She plumped the pillow but found she was crushing it between her hands as the tears started to come thick and fast.
And they were angry tears!
She had come here to make amends.
To say sorry to her parents for not marrying a man who had treated her less than gently. A man who had tried to force her to do that more than once.
She had held on to her anger for so long, but it was more than seeping out now, and she buried her face in the pillow and let out a muffled scream.
‘Agh!’
It felt good.
So good that she did it again.
‘Agh!’
And again.
That was how Rafe found her.
He had finally gone for a run—in part to avoid her, for such was his cabin fever that he was getting a little too interested in a certain maid.
And that would never do.
However, he had not been for a run since his accident, and his endurance was not quite what it had been. He would soon get it back, he told himself, and the next run would be longer.
He made his way up the stone stairs to the private beach entrance of the balcony.
And then he saw her shouting into a pillow.
Rafe did not get involved with the dramas of maids.
Ever.
But when she stopped shouting into the pillow and sobbed into it instead, something twisted inside him even though generally tears did not move him.
She was not crying for an audience; he was aware that he was witnessing something private that she would rather no one saw.
Indeed, Antonietta was mortified when she removed the pillow and saw Rafe.
He was breathing heavily from running, and he looked displeased.
‘I apologise,’ Antonietta said immediately, for an esteemed guest did not need anything other than quiet efficiency. She wiped her cheeks with her hands and started to peel off the pillowcase as her words tumbled out. ‘I thought you were out.’
‘It’s fine.’ Rafe shrugged.
‘I ran into my parents...’ She attempted to explain. ‘They crossed the street to avoid me.’
‘I see.’ Rafe tried to remain unmoved. No, he did not get involved with the dramas of maids.
‘I can send someone else up...’ Antonietta hiccoughed, frantically trying to regain control. Except her tears would not stop.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Rafe said. ‘Carry on.’
‘But, as you can see, I can’t stop crying...’
‘I said,’ Rafe snapped, ‘carry on.’
And though she did carry on with her work, she found that the tears carried on too, and the anger did not abate.
No pillow was left unthumped!
He ignored her.
Well, not quite. At one point, when anger gave way to sorrow, he gave a slight roll of his eyes and handed his weeping maid a handkerchief.
She carried on with her work.
She just dribbled tears, and she was so grateful for his lack of words, that there was no attempt at comfort, for there was nothing he could say.
She would never have her family back. Of that Antonietta was certain. And it was there in the August Suite that she finally mourned them. Oh, there was no howling. Antonietta just quietly let the tears roll.
Rafe did not involve himself.
He would have liked to have a shower, given he had just been for a run, except he did not want to have a shower while the weeping maid was here.
Of course he could dismiss her.
And yet he did not.
Instead Rafe stood on the balcony and looked out towards the temple ruins, wondering about his teary maid.
He recalled the slight triumph he had felt when she’d smiled, and he found he would like her to smile again.
In turn, she liked the silence he gave her. It did not feel as if she was crying alone, as she had done so many times. And neither did she feel patronised, for there had been no there, there or invasive questions.
He let her be, and finally she was done with both her work and her tears.
Every last thing on her list was ticked off and Antonietta felt surprisingly calm as she gathered her things and finally addressed Rafe. ‘I am finished.’
‘Perhaps before you go down you should go and splash your face with cold water...take a moment.’
She did as she was told, appalled to see her swollen eyes and red nose, but she appreciated the opportunity to calm down, and retied her hair before heading out.
‘If you need anything else, please page me.’
‘I shan’t,’ Rafe said, but then he reconsidered, for Antonietta really was proving to be the brightest part of his day... But, no, he would not make up reasons to call her. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’
‘Just a half-day,’ Antonietta said. ‘Then I have a day off.’
‘Well, I might see you tomorrow, then?’
He hoped so.
So did she.
‘Thank you,’ Antonietta said as she turned to leave, instead of the other way around.
‘No problem.’
Except there clearly was.
‘Antonietta.’
He called her name as she headed for the door. And his summons hit her deep and low, and the word felt like a hand coming down on her shoulder. How could the sound of her own name make her tremble and feel almost scared to turn around?
Or rather nervous to turn around.
Slowly she did turn, and she knew in that second tha
t she was not scared or even nervous to face him. She was fighting her own desire.
In the room behind him she could see the vast bed, and she wanted to lie with him on white sheets that smelt of summer. To know the bliss not just of a man, but of him.
Rafe.
Whoever he was.
‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded all wrong. It was too breathless and low and so she said it again—except it came out no better, was a mere croak. ‘Yes?’
Rafe rarely—extremely rarely—did not know how to proceed. Not only did he not get involved with maids’ dramas, neither did he take maids to bed.
Added to that, she had been crying for the best part of an hour. He never took advantage.
Yet the air was charged. She looked as if he’d just kissed her, and he could feel the energy between them and her increasing awareness of him.
His sad maid looked exactly as she might if he had her pressed against the wall.
‘I could have one of my security detail come and speak with you?’
‘Why would they need to speak with me?’ She frowned, trying to untangle her thoughts from his words. Trying to remind herself that she was at work. ‘Is there a problem with security in the suite?’ She was desperately trying to hold a normal conversation as her body screamed for contact with his. ‘If that’s the case I can let Francesca know.’
She knew nothing about his ways, Rafe realised.
‘It’s fine,’ Rafe said. ‘My mistake.’
‘Mistake?’ Antonietta checked, and he could see that her eyes were perturbed, that she assumed she’d said something wrong.
But she’d said everything right.
For this was far more straightforward and yet way more complicated than a contracted affair.
This was pure, unadulterated lust.
From both of them.
And he actually believed now that she had no idea who he was.
Crown Prince Rafael of Tulano.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘RAFAEL, BY ALL accounts you could have been killed.’
Rafe had spoken with his father since the accident, but the King hadn’t called to enquire as to his health. ‘Had you died as my sole heir,’ the King continued in reprimand, ‘the country would have been plunged into turmoil and well you know it. Did you think of that as you hurled yourself down the mountain?’
‘Actually,’ Rafe responded, ‘I did.’
As he had fallen—as he had realised the seriousness of the unfolding incident—it had dawned on him that this might well be it and he had thought of his country. He had thought of the royal lineage shifting to his father’s brother, of his idle, ignorant, spoiled cousins ruling the land that Rafe loved and their undoubted glee that finally the reckless Crown Prince had succumbed.
‘Thank God it has been kept out of the press,’ the King went on. ‘Our people have thankfully been spared from knowing how close this country came again to losing its Crown Prince. But it is not enough, Rafe. You need to temper your ways.’
‘Then give me more responsibility. Transition some of your power to me.’
It was the same argument they had had of old. Rafe was a natural-born leader who had been raised to be King and already wanted a more prominent role than merely making staged appearances. He did not want to be a pin-up prince; he wanted active power and to be a voice amongst world leaders, yet his father resisted.
‘You know the answer to that,’ the King responded tartly.
Yes.
Marriage.
And a suitable bride chosen for him by his father the King.
Rafe did not trust his father with that decision. After all, he had witnessed first-hand the hell of his parents’ suitable marriage.
There was a reason that Rafe was the only heir to the Tulano throne—after he had been born his father had resumed his rakish ways.
His mother understood her duty to the country, and the impact of a divorce, and so it had never been considered. Emotions and feelings were rarely taken into account at the palace. The King and Queen’s marriage was a working relationship only. The Queen met with the King daily, accompanied him on formal occasions and hosted functions with grace, but she had her own wing at the palace and had long ago removed herself from his bed.
And there was no ‘family life’ as such. Rafe had been raised by palace nannies and had later attended boarding school.
No, there was nothing Rafe had witnessed that endeared him to marriage or to the idea of starting a family of his own.
‘I expect you back here on Christmas Eve,’ the King said. ‘Preferably in one piece and without scandal attached. Do you think you can possibly manage that?’
Rafe wasn’t sure.
As luxurious as the Old Monastery was, he was already climbing the walls and ready to check out. In fact, he had been about to call Nico to thank him for his hospitality when the call from the palace had come.
‘I shall put your mother on.’
To his mother, he was an afterthought. She would never think to call him herself. Instead, when he spoke to his father, she occasionally deigned to come to the phone.
As he awaited the Queen, Rafe decided that if he was going to hide from the public eye then it might as well be on a yacht. Somewhere warm, with requisite beauties. The Caribbean was calling, Rafe thought as he heard his mother’s icy tone.
‘Rafe.’
‘Mother.’
‘What a foolish waste of a great ruler it would have been had you been killed.’
‘What a foolish waste it is now,’ Rafe responded. ‘I am told I’m expected to return for Christmas to inspect an army I can no longer fight alongside because you both deem it too dangerous. Perhaps the balcony I have to stand on and wave from is too high? Too much of a risk.’
‘Don’t be facetious.’
‘I am not,’ Rafe responded. ‘I am bored with being an idle prince...’
‘Then act accordingly and you will be given the responsibility you crave.’
Marriage.
All conversations, all rows, all roads led to that. And the pressure did not come solely from his family but from the people, who longed to see their reckless Prince settled.
‘I don’t require a wife in order to make decisions.’
‘You need to temper your ways. At least in the eyes of the public.’
‘So as long as I am discreet I can carry on as before?’ Rafe checked, and there was no disguising the disgust in his tone.
But his mother was unmoved. ‘You have your father’s heart, Rafe,’ Queen Marcelle responded matter-of-factly. ‘No one expects you to be faithful—we all know that your love is reserved for your country. And that country wants to see its Prince married and with heirs.’
‘I decide when.’
‘Fine,’ said his mother. ‘Until then, enjoy waving from the balcony!’
They had had this discussion on many occasions, though the news that he could take mistresses, like his father did, was a new development. But not a welcome one. Rafe admired many things about the King, but abhorred plenty.
He had the last word, Rafe knew. But he could not force him to marry.
And yet he could feel the pressure to conform tightening.
Rafe had not been lying when he’d told the King that his country had been on his mind as he’d fallen. Perhaps it was time to take a break from his partying ways, for Rafe was surprised to find himself growing tired of them.
Back on the balcony, he was thinking of one particular beauty. It was too confined here. That must be the reason why his thoughts had again wandered to Antonietta, for usually he allowed himself to get close to no one.
Her tears had moved him.
He wanted to spoil her. He wanted that smile he had seen so briefly to return to her lips.
One more night in Silibri, Rafe told himself.
And he would not be spending it alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHO WAS HE?
For the first time Antonietta truly wanted to know more about a guest—or rather, she corrected herself, about a man.
Her no-gossip rule wasn’t serving her well now.
But the Internet service in her tiny cottage really was terrible.
To her own slight bemusement, an hour after her shift had ended Antonietta found herself heading out of her cottage and standing on a cliff, typing Rafe and Tulano into her laptop.
No service.
Agh!
She stomped back to her cottage and told herself she was being ridiculous. Whoever Rafe really was, it was irrelevant, given he’d be gone in a matter of days.
Yet, she wanted to know.
She was too embarrassed to ask Pino, who would generally be her main source of information, having shut down his conversation that first morning. And Chi-Chi, who usually daydreamed aloud about any male she saw as a potential suitor, was unusually quiet. Vincenzo was too discreet.
Oh, how she regretted refusing to let Francesca reveal his identify to her. She could hardly ask her for more information now—it would only raise suspicion. Nico, and in turn Francesca, were very strict about staff keeping a professional distance from their guests.
It was why she was doing so well.
A knock at the door startled her. No one ever came and visited her at the cottage. Well, except for Aurora, but usually she would text to say that she was on her way. Could it be her parents, feeling guilty about avoiding her earlier in the village? Was she finally going to get the Christmas she had craved?
There was a spark of hope as she pulled open the door. But that tiny ray of hope dimmed when she saw who it was.
Rafe!
Actually, it didn’t dim. That little spark shrank and regrouped and then reignited, hot, white and blue, as if the collar of a Bunsen burner had been altered.
‘Rafe!’
And it was a Rafe she had never seen before. He looked more like the man in the photo attached to his profile except in that he was scowling. In fact, he was smiling, making no attempt to hide his pleasure at her shock.
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