Royal Scandals: Scandal With A Prince Part 10

"She was as surprised as I was by the manner in which our co-hosting duties were being discussed at the party, as if we were an item. On the other hand, her parents were thrilled with the attention. Knowing my parents, I suspect they made Ariana's parents feel as though they were performing a service to their country by having her stand by my side at such a prestigious event."

"Ouch."

That was probably the best word to describe the entire afternoon. "Luckily, Ariana was a good sport. When no one was listening, she cracked jokes about being scouted as a brood mare due to her bloodlines."

One side of Megan's mouth lifted into a smile. "I think I like this woman."

He didn't point out that everyone liked Ariana. That had been the problem. Witty, poised, well-educated, beautiful...everyone in attendance considered her the perfect princess candidate. "The awkward setup and party gossip weren't the worst part of the day. That I could handle. It wasn't as if my parents hadn't tried to set me up before, even if it hadn't been done in such a public manner."

He set his unopened water bottle on the table, then waited until he caught Megan's gaze with his own before continuing. "Since press from across Europe attended the event, there was far more attention paid to the gossip than usual. The evening news carried a story portraying Ariana as my date and showed sensationalized photos of every moment we were together. For instance, when I stepped behind her to move a chair out of the way, a photo was snapped from an angle that hid the chair and made it look like I had my hands on her lower back. Worse, both of us had idiotic grins on our faces. It looked like we were smiling because I was grabbing her in a rather inappropriate manner, not because we were amused by the woman across the table who regaled us with stories about her dogs. Of course, she was cut out of the pictures."

"Of course."

"By morning, the entire country was mad with marriage gossip. One tabloid speculated that I'd come home early to be with her. Another ran a wild story saying she'd pined away while I was gone because we'd had a secret relationship for years. They reported that the palace would never have had us co-host a table unless we planned to wed. All nonsense, all with quotes from unnamed and so-called insider sources, but the lies sold papers and gave the newscasters something salacious to report. No one seemed able to resist a cooked-up story about a returning prince and a high society girl."

Megan's upper lip pinched. "Slow news day in Sarcaccia, huh?"

"That's one explanation." He was glad Megan could find humor in the situation. To this day the cascade of events boggled his mind. "My father woke me at five a.m. to warn me that I would be overwhelmed if I stepped outside the palace gates. Dozens of reporters had staked out the main entry. Apparently the media were set up outside Ariana's apartment before she even made it home from the party that night. She couldn't get into her building without running a gauntlet of cameras, so she called her parents from her car for help. They checked her into a hotel near the palace until security could be arranged. The press set up on the sidewalk outside the hotel within minutes of her arrival, essentially trapping her there."

"That's crazy." Megan's eyes widened as she finally grasped the enormity of the situation. "I had no idea. Gossip about European royalty doesn't exactly make headlines in the States. Not unless it's about the British, of course." Her tone made it clear that, though she realized the mess wasn't one of his own creation, she didn't see how he'd gone from overwhelmed party host to royal fiance.

That part was hard to explain, even now.

"I couldn't quite believe it, either. I turned on the morning news to see for myself. I was stunned. The whole story was blown out of proportion. My father, on the other hand, seemed extraordinarily pleased with the coverage. Downright gleeful, in fact, and if you've ever watched an interview with my father, you know 'gleeful' isn't a word one a.s.sociates with King Carlo. When he tried to convince me that the publicity was good for the country, I realized how carefully he'd orchestrated the whole thing. He'd even ensured that the press in attendance were those most likely to sensationalize the story. Given my level of exhaustion and the fact I was twenty-two and full of fire, I raged at him as I never had before and never have since. After hurling a few choice four-letter words his way, I stormed out of the palace in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and walked right past the gate guards and across the street to Ariana's hotel to make sure she was all right and to apologize for my abominable family."

"Ah." Megan sucked in her lower lip.

"Saw those photos, did you?" He wondered if anyone on the planet hadn't seen the shots. He'd looked a fool-barefoot, shirtless, unshaven, with pillow-flattened hair-and his lack of forethought gave the photographers everything they craved. In railing against the situation, he'd made it worse by tenfold. "I can only imagine what you thought."

The look on her face made it clear that he couldn't. Not unless his imagination went to murder.

Chapter Fifteen.

"Well...I take it you weren't making an early morning run to see your lady love," she said, paraphrasing the caption that had appeared with several of the shots. Her tone was light, but the hastily-covered flash of pain in her eyes let him know that whether she considered their time in Venezuela was a fling or not, the photos wounded her deeply, and it was the kind of pain that came only after one experienced the all-consuming anger of betrayal.

It finally occurred to him that those shots had to be the first thing that popped up when she'd searched the Internet in her attempt to contact him. Back then, they were everywhere.

He fought the urge to reach across the sofa, pull her into his arms and tell her that now he understood, truly understood, how hard it must've been for her when she learned of her pregnancy, then discovered he'd become engaged. He doubted the act would be welcome at the moment. Less so when he finished his explanation.

"Not even close," he said. "The hotel doorman saw me coming and hustled me up to Ariana's suite, despite the fact I'd bloodied my feet on the courtyard gravel and looked like a vagrant."

He gritted his teeth for a moment, remembering how nauseated he'd felt when Mrs. Ba.s.si opened the door, gave him a crisp nod, then left him alone with Ariana without comment. "Ariana was standing to the side of her hotel room window trying to see the reason for the sudden commotion without letting the photographers spot her. She was still wearing her dress from the afternoon before and looked completely overwhelmed by it all. At that moment, I realized what an idiot I'd been to do something so-dare I say it-impetuous by crossing the street, thinking I was going to somehow protect her with my presence."

Megan finished her water and crossed the room to set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. "I take it she didn't throw you out?"

"No. It wasn't really an option, given the crush outside. We ordered room service and had breakfast while I bandaged my feet and tried to figure out how I was going to get back to the palace without making things worse."

"She must've been as cranky as you were," she said as she returned to the sitting area.

"She was." He let out a curt laugh. "But we bonded over the fact we'd allowed ourselves to be manipulated by our own parents. I finally made it back to the palace a few hours later, when my sister took pity on me and sent a car to the hotel's rear entrance so I could escape. I avoided my father for the rest of the day by shutting myself in my brother Alessandro's palace apartment and drinking obscene amounts of his Scotch. When I called Ariana that night to check on her, we ended up talking about our childhoods, the upbringing children of privilege have as opposed to the way the other ninety-nine percent of the world is raised-a difference that was made clear to me in Venezuela-and I ended up saying that we were good enough friends, we should just get married and make our families happy. At least we'd never torture our children the way our parents tortured us. And she said, 'Why not?'"

Megan's jaw slackened. "Why not? That was her answer?"

"Romantic, isn't it? Like a fairy tale." Unable to hold still any longer, he levered himself from his seat and paced. All these years later, his anger still burned. Not at his parents, or even at the situation, but at himself. His foolish, rash, rebellious young self. "I wasn't serious when I asked. I doubt she was when she accepted. If you call that an acceptance. We were young and incredibly reckless in many ways. But neither of us could take it back once it was said, and the next thing we knew, our parents arranged a press conference and we were standing in the palace drawing room answering questions about how much we had in common, how we'd attended school together as children, how she would continue to train for dressage compet.i.tion even if she became a royal...all while flashbulbs blinded us. Ariana and I went through it in a daze."

He stopped pacing long enough to face Megan. "It wasn't until I left the palace a few days later to start my military training that I was able to think clearly and realize what a complete mess I'd made of my life. And of Ariana's."

Megan had the same pensive look as when she accused him of wanting to spoil Anna.

"What?" he asked.

"I suspect you were serious when you asked."

Hadn't she heard a word he'd said? "How could you-"

"Not because you were in love with her, but because you wanted to take control of the situation. Oh, you wanted to protect her, too. But even your need to protect those around you often boils down to a need for control. It's the same reason you stormed out of the palace and walked to Ariana's hotel. You didn't want your parents or even your duties as a royal to steer your private life. But the results of your actions weren't what you hoped."

He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, he retrieved his water from the coffee table and took a long, slow drink. How could this woman, a woman who hadn't seen him in ages, make him question everything he believed about himself?

Worse, her observations could be right.

His parents had made a strong case for a marriage to Ariana. The two of them had much in common, her parents were well-respected and moved in the same circles as the royal family, and the country would greatly benefit. He'd known, on a common sense level, that it was a good match for him as a royal. But he'd wanted to dictate the terms. To control things.

Then-too late-he'd realized he felt no pa.s.sion for Ariana, nor she for him. Common sense alone couldn't make a marriage. d.a.m.n his twenty-two year-old self.

He rolled the water bottle between his palms, contemplating how best to respond.

"Never thought of it like that?" Megan asked, her voice low.

"No. And I'm not saying it's true. It was a long time ago. Who knows anymore?"

"I do. You were born to a unique family, where virtually every move you make is public. You lack control in so many things, but you crave it like any other human being." She eased off the sofa and came to stand beside him. Gently, she put her hands to his chest, fanning her fingers before gazing up at him. "Do you remember when I told you about Anna and you said we'd talk in twenty-four hours? I mentioned that you had a flight home in the morning, and you said-"

"The flight goes when I say it goes," he repeated, surprised at her memory. "At least that I can control."

"When things aren't going the way you want, it's your first instinct."

"There wasn't anything wrong with asking for time," he argued. "I needed to cool off. It was the right thing to do."

"In that instance. But is it always?" Her hands dropped from his chest after giving him a firm pat, but she kept her face upturned to his. "As touched as I am that you proposed to me, I suspect it's for the same reason. To gain control of an uncontrollable situation."

He grinned at that, pointedly looking her up and down to emphasize the fact she wore nothing more than a hotel robe, one he could remove with a single flick of the wrist. "You don't think having the best s.e.x of his life might drive a man to propose?"

"Perhaps." A blush tinged her cheeks. He could swear her eyes glistened before she looked down to the floor.

"Then think about it." He reached for her chin and tipped her face up to his once more. Her skin felt soft and supple beneath his fingertips. He could caress her face all day and never tire of it. "Ariana and I both knew we'd made a mistake. It took us a while to untangle it, but we did. I knew then that I'd never make that mistake again. I knew when I proposed to a woman, really proposed, it would have nothing to do with my parents or my duty to my country. It would have everything to do with the woman."

She covered his hands with her own, squeezed his fingers, then stepped back. Once again, she seemed to need physical s.p.a.ce to think. He waited several painful seconds before she spoke. "I'm going to take that as a great compliment, Stefano, but everything you told me convinces me that a marriage between us could never be the dream you envision. The media went crazy over nothing more than an apparent date at a palace party. What will happen if they discover you fathered a child? I could never protect myself from that, let alone protect Anna. You'll want to control that story, but it can't be controlled. And that's setting aside any discussion of the obvious reasons people get married."

How could he convince her he'd never allow her to come to harm? That in this case, the risk would be worth the reward? "I learned what not to do from that experience. So did my family. My missteps with the press-and by missteps, I don't mean the fact I literally bloodied my feet-taught me how to handle myself in public better than years of parental lectures ever did. I can enjoy my life the way I want to enjoy it, but by making careful decisions rather than sprinting before I think. We only have to want it to make it work."

On the last sentence, she looked as stricken as if he'd hit her. "Megan?"

Before she could answer, chimes pealed from a small clock near the television, marking the pa.s.sing of another hour. She squared her shoulders at the sound. In a tone more suited to discussion of a budget proposal than a marriage proposal, she said, "You've given me a lot to think about, but the answer is no."

Frustration boiled in his gut. Did she truly believe he'd asked on a whim? She should see that, given all that had happened between them, marriage was the most logical course of action.

And dammit, he meant it when he told her she was the best s.e.x of his life. Never in his thirty-two years had a woman affected him as Megan did, either physically or emotionally. He'd tell her that, too, if it would make a difference. But given that she'd accused him of saying whatever it might take to get his way, he doubted she'd believe it.

He studied her for a moment, but her planted feet, crossed arms, and resolute expression showed no signs of changing. He shot a pointed look at the clock. "How about if I change out of this robe, give you a very proper kiss goodnight before Anna returns, and promise to call? Would that be acceptable?"

Her nod was barely perceptible. His instinct was to tell her everything would work out, that he knew in his gut this was for the best. Instead, he turned toward the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. He had given her a lot to think about. Perhaps she needed time to a.n.a.lyze the pros and the cons herself so she could come to the same conclusion he did. She'd change her mind.

When he emerged from the bedroom, she stood staring sightlessly out the windows, uncharacteristic furrows etching her forehead. He flashed a grin when she twisted to face him, hoping to lighten her mood. "What are you doing next weekend?"

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "I have no idea. I've been so busy with the grand reopening, I haven't thought about it."

"Let's spend Sat.u.r.day together. You, me, and Anna. I'll stay at another hotel, one where no one will a.s.sociate you with me. I'll call once I'm in town and we'll find a place to meet. It'll give me a chance to get to know Anna better and I'll show you how I've learned to deal with the media when I need to do so."

"The media?"

"There won't be any. Trust me."

He felt like a teenager finagling a date with the prom queen as he waited for her response. Thankfully, she nodded.

"Good. Then it's settled. In the meantime, think about what I said."

"Stefano-"

"What's the baseball phrase? Three strikes and you're out?" He couldn't resist. He reached for her waist and held her fast. The smell of her freshly-washed, warm skin combined with the scent that was uniquely hers, making him want to take her to the bedroom again. He smoothed her hair back from her face. "My first strike was leaving you in Venezuela. The second was being so young and naive as to believe I should satisfy my family's and my country's needs before my personal ones, and convincing myself that doing so would make everyone happy. I don't want to have a strike three. I want you in my life. I want Anna in my life. I want the home run. I want what's right for all of us."

She blinked. "Did you just use a baseball a.n.a.logy?"

"I did. Did I get it wrong?"

"Not the a.n.a.logy, no." He could see desire in her eyes, along with an internal battle that made her hold back.

Her gaze dropped to his chest and her hands followed. He stilled as she spread her fingers wide, sending a wave of heat through him. He could feel her breath against his neck as her hands moved to his arms. "All I can commit to is the weekend. And for Anna's sake, I'd prefer it if we don't let on that anything happened between us. All right?"

He leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, resisting the urge to linger with his lips against hers. "Good night, Megan."

If he read her correctly, it would leave her wanting more.

Chapter Sixteen.

Stretching nearly a mile from Placa Catalunya to the Barcelona waterfront, where a statue of Christopher Columbus commemorated Spain's expedition to the New World, the wide boulevard known as La Rambla attracted both locals and tourists at all hours. During the day, tourists walked, maps in hand, as they searched for the side streets that would take them to the Gothic Quarter or one of the city's numerous museums. Street performers draped in metallic cloth positioned themselves atop painted silver boxes, motionlessly mimicking the Statue of Liberty or King Tut, waiting in silence for tips as music wafted over the crowd. Shoppers perused the flower stands, selecting the blooms that would grace their tables that evening. Artists hawked their wares, tour operators handed out pamphlets, and restaurateurs invited pa.s.sersby to have a seat at their tables. In the meantime, groups of women paused for refreshments while shopping at one of the nearby department stores, purchased fresh vegetables at the local market, or picked up coffee on their way to work.

At night, as lights twinkled from high in the trees that framed the street's central cobblestone strip, families strolled, window shopping between stops for dinner and dessert. Jugglers and musicians practiced their craft while teenagers threaded skateboards through the crowd and lovers paused to steal kisses.

However, at seven a.m. on a Sat.u.r.day, quiet reigned over most of the street. Catalans preferred to sleep in on weekends, so other than Megan and Anna, the only people about were those quietly preparing for the late morning onslaught of tourists. A street performer perched on an upside down milk crate, studying his cheekbones in a handheld mirror as he applied face paint. Behind him, a city employee hummed softly as he brushed a discarded candy wrapper into his long-handled dustpan. Down the street, a garbage collector heaved bags filled with the previous night's waste into his truck.

It was Megan's favorite time to explore the city, when the light breeze carried scents of fresh-baked bread and brewed coffee rather than rush hour car exhaust. This morning, however, the further she walked the more unsettled she became. She hoped she'd made the right decision in agreeing to meet Stefano.

She wasn't exaggerating when she'd accused the man of being pushy. That goodbye kiss he'd given her last weekend...oh, he'd known exactly what he was doing when he pulled away with only a slight touch of his lips to hers. He'd made her want. And wanting was the one thing that would sink her.

No woman in her right mind should want a prince. A prince could never, ever belong to anyone but the public, even if during those hours spent wrapped in her sheets, making love over and over, he'd made her feel as if they belonged to no one but each other.

He'd fallen to his knees and proposed to Megan claiming it was the "right" thing to do and that they shared a connection. That he'd had the best s.e.x of his life. As much as hearing him say those words set her skin to flame, mind-blowing weekend s.e.x wouldn't overcome the hurdles they'd face if they were to pursue a serious relationship, let alone a marriage.

He'd figured out that "right" wasn't enough reason to marry Ariana. He'd soon decide that amazing s.e.x plus "right" wasn't enough, either.

A shame, because even a week later, she couldn't get the hours they'd spent together out of her mind. Nor could she forget that his engagement to Ariana was nothing like what she'd a.s.sumed for the last ten years, a love match made before he'd even arrived in Venezuela. He hadn't run half-naked in front of photographers because he was crazy in love. He'd done it because he'd been crazy with the need to protect someone and to throw off the shackles with which his family and duty held him.

The knowledge made her want him all the more, which made her equally crazy.

This is for Anna, she reminded herself as they made their way from the Placa Catalunya bus stop toward La Boqueria. Anna should get to know her father, regardless of any feelings Megan might have for the man. Because as much as she tried not to, she definitely had feelings. Feelings that would go far deeper than l.u.s.t or infatuation if she wasn't careful.

She smiled down at her daughter, who'd taken more time than usual styling her hair and choosing an outfit this morning, nearly making them late. Anna had quite the task ahead of her cleaning up the piles of clothing that now littered her bedroom floor. Megan wondered if it would get worse when Anna started middle school.

"It's an entirely different street at this time of day, isn't it?"

"I guess. But how come Stefano-um, Mr. Jones-couldn't meet us at our hotel?" Anna complained. "Is he going to be able to find us? It can get kinda crowded."

"There won't be many people this early. Besides, he's tall enough to see over any crowds, so I'm sure he'll be fine," Megan replied, ignoring Anna's first question.

They pa.s.sed a quiet cafe, its lights off and outdoor tables empty save for the pigeons, then paused at one of Anna's regular stops on La Rambla, a small area in the cobblestoned center of the boulevard where an elderly Catalan woman sold birds. As the tiny, bent woman removed the overnight coverings from each of her cages, she made cooing noises to the winged creatures in greeting. Without fail, they singsonged back to her as they did every morning.

The sight of birds for sale in the middle of a city street never ceased to amaze Megan. She often wondered if the birds-as with the sketch artists and street performers-were a carryover from the medieval markets that stood on this same spot. She imagined the scene then wasn't so different, with local villagers arriving early each morning to hawk their wares or their talents.

A deep sense of calm spread through her. The timelessness of La Rambla felt incredibly grounding.

"I love that little blue one, Mom." Anna pointed to one of the cages, where a lively bird twittered to welcome the morning. "It's a parakeet, right?"

As Megan nodded, the bird woman smiled and waved Anna to the cage, then handed her a few pellets to drop into the parakeet's dish. Anna thanked the woman in Catalan, then stepped back to watch as the parakeet hopped to the bowl to sample the food. The vendor murmured her approval and patted Anna on the shoulder before moving to uncover the rest of her cages.

"It's too bad we can't have pets, Mom. I'd love to have this little guy in my room."