Royal Scandals: Scandal With A Prince Part 16

A sarcastic, barking laugh escaped him. He closed the folder and tapped it on the countertop as he stared at her. "This is what you call trust? Hiding this newspaper photo? Keeping the fact you have a job offer from me?"

She probably still didn't believe he hadn't put her name onto the shortlist for the conference center position, either.

Now it was her turn to look exasperated. "Stefano, I admit it. I didn't want you to see those, not yet. But not because I don't trust you. I didn't want them to weigh into our discussion of whether or not we should get married. Marriage shouldn't be about jobs. Or about what other people might think about our relationship, even if those opinions are broadcast on the evening news."

"I agree." So maybe trust wasn't the right word. But there had to be a certain level of openness. If there wasn't, it wouldn't work between them. It was bad enough he feared saying the words I love you to Megan might lead her to accuse him once more of saying anything to get his way.

He stared at her for a moment in silence.

After all these weeks, she still didn't grasp that he'd do anything for her. If she did, she'd have wanted him to know about the job offer, to have him be part of the discussion about what was best for her and Anna, and to ensure that no decision resulted in Megan or Anna being hurt. But she hadn't given him that benefit, despite the fact he'd done exactly that for her, showing her through his actions how he felt, and giving her all the time in the world to consider his marriage proposal.

He could tell from her body language that she wanted to say yes.

If she did, though, and she couldn't be open enough to make him part of the decision making where she and Anna were concerned, he could never be a true partner and husband to her. Worse, he couldn't protect them. One day, they would end up hurt.

From the moment he met Megan, he'd loved her sense of independence. Today, for the first time, he despised it for what that independence meant. No one could be that independent and married to royalty. But if that fierce sense of independence changed...well, she wouldn't be Megan any longer.

"All right," he acquiesced. "I suppose I can see things from your point of view." He set the folder on the counter and pushed it toward her. "You should hang on to this. I'm sorry I intruded. I shouldn't have. If you wanted to keep this to yourself, that's your call."

"Thank you."

He was about to prove to himself he could keep a promise-a promise he'd made in bed, in a hazy post-s.e.x afterglow, but one he'd meant all the same-even if Megan never realized that's what he was doing.

"On the other subject we were discussing...I know you're having a hard time telling me what you need to say. So how about if I ease the burden?"

Antic.i.p.ation made her mouth go soft. He took a step back, out of her reach, and squared his shoulders to draw up to his full height.

Dear G.o.d, this was going to be painful. He allowed a slow, rea.s.suring smile to form.

"Given what Jack Gladwell is offering you, plus the fact it means Anna can stay in her current school, I understand that it's best if you stay here and take the job at the Grandspire. Not only are the people who work in this building like a family to you, you've been incredibly successful here. There's no reason not to take the next step up the ladder. With Gladwell as a mentor, your potential is limitless."

"What?" She faltered, then opened her mouth as if to argue.

He deliberately ignored her and forged ahead. Only years of training kept his tone upbeat, as if he were speaking to a foreign diplomat over dinner about an upcoming event they both planned to attend. "I'll endeavor to keep my life as separate from yours as possible to ensure your privacy. That way, you won't have to worry about more photos like this appearing in the paper. Sound good?"

Her eyes widened, then glimmered with tears. She blinked them back and shook her head. "Stefano, I didn't mean to-"

"There's nothing further to discuss where marriage is concerned, so don't worry about hurting my feelings. You were absolutely right to hesitate when I proposed. I understand that now." He felt his emotions harden, as if a shard of ice pierced his heart before expanding outward and encasing it. He embraced the sensation. He needed it if he were to ignore the stricken look on her face and get through the next few minutes. "I'm just grateful that you gave me the opportunity to get to know you and Anna better while you considered it. Like you said the morning we had breakfast in the Jardin Alba, you and Anna have built a fantastic life here. You're an amazing mother. And you'll be the best possible manager for the Grandspire. They're lucky to have you."

He couldn't change who he was, his nationality, his t.i.tle, or the family into which he was born. He couldn't change the media or people's hunger for gossip. All he could do was choose how to handle the situation. He'd made some terrible mistakes in that regard in the past. Perhaps, in some small way, he was now righting those wrongs.

"You're misreading the entire situation." Her voice sounded hollow, as if she knew there was nothing she could do to change his mind but couldn't let go, either. "And Anna...Anna won't understand."

The hitch in her speech made it clear she was the one who didn't understand. One day, she would. And she'd be grateful he'd made the wise choice. It was the only choice that could keep both her and Anna safe.

He shrugged, as if it weren't a big deal. "Just tell her the truth, that it's wiser for you to stay in Barcelona while I stay in Sarcaccia. Let her know I'll continue to support her with every resource at my disposal-and by that, I mean emotionally as well as financially-and that I'll visit her here in Barcelona or anywhere else you choose when we both feel it's safe to do so and can arrange a private location."

He rounded the counter and kissed her forehead, just below a stray tendril of blonde hair, careful not to touch Megan with anything other than a quick press of his lips. "My car's going to be here any second. Let me know when it's a good time for me to visit again. And please tell Anna that I love her."

And I love you. Enough not to tell you, even if I thought you'd believe me.

Megan nodded, but he sensed it more than saw it. He grabbed his bag, then walked to the door without looking at her. It was abrupt, bordering on rude, but he couldn't let her think anything other than that he was oblivious to her suffering.

In truth, he couldn't bear to see her wounded expression as he left. But d.a.m.n if he couldn't keep a promise.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

A fly buzzed against the window in front of Stefano, fighting to escape the confines of the palace library. He listened idly to the repeated thunk, thunk, thunk as the creature pummeled itself against the thick gla.s.s, unable to comprehend its inability to move out of the cool building and into the brilliant Sarcaccian sunshine.

He sympathized.

Stefano leaned back in his leather chair, straightening his legs under the centuries-old desk and yawning deeply. For the last five hours, he'd been reviewing the final plans for the island's transit system upgrades. It was a revolutionary, detailed system that required his full attention, but at the moment he couldn't give it.

Megan filled his mind.

There'd been no mistaking the confusion and frustration on her face when he accused her of not trusting him after she'd hidden the Grandspire job offer and the gossip page. But then he'd seen another emotion, one she tried to smother when he'd cut off her acceptance of his marriage proposal and claimed he understood her desire not to marry him.

She hadn't hidden the information because she didn't trust him. Not really. She'd hidden it because she loved him deeply and couldn't stand to have him worry. She loved him enough to marry him.

It both warmed and broke his heart.

He grimaced as the fly moved lower, then repeated its a.s.sault on the window. He'd made the only decision he could under the circ.u.mstances. There was nothing to second-guess.

He couldn't bear to see the woman he loved-and he loved her with every cell in his mind and body-at risk, even if she were willing to take that risk. Even if she did eventually learn to share information so he could protect her. He couldn't bear the haunted look in her eyes if something happened that put Anna in harm's way. He couldn't bear the thought of Anna being anything other than the bubbly, brilliant girl she was. But having to watch her every move and utterance the way he had during his own childhood would alter her personality, and not for the better.

He hadn't thought he was asking Megan to give up her independence. But in asking her to be open with him so he could protect her, that's exactly what he was doing.

The old cliche was agonizingly true: If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. But since Megan couldn't come back to him-not without drastically changing her entire life and that of their daughter-it wasn't meant to be. Even if she had come to love him.

Insisting that she'd been right to turn down his proposal and stay at the Grandspire was as good a method as any to keep her safe.

Problem was, what now? It'd been two weeks since he'd set foot in Barcelona and still he felt unsettled. Restless. Trapped in a life he didn't want, but needed to live.

He watched the fly circle the s.p.a.cious room, zooming past the stone fireplace and briefly lighting upon the back of a sofa before it flew in a zigzagged line toward another closed window.

A few months ago, he never would've rankled at spending a Sat.u.r.day working. But while he'd made the transit system his pa.s.sion the last few years, seeing his hard work come to fruition didn't give him the satisfaction he expected. He wanted to be in Barcelona, sitting at Megan's table, sharing the plans with her. Responding to her questions, listening to her ideas, seeing the glint in her eye as she noticed the timing of city bus routes during rush hour or the ease of connections from the airport to Sarcaccia's new conference center. Because she'd notice every detail.

Stefano shoved his fingers through his hair, elbows wide, then shook his head and adjusted his position at the desk. Once the transit plans were approved and construction on the system was underway, perhaps he'd find the joy again. He'd see firsthand the ways the Sarcaccians could benefit from the new system through construction employment, ease of city congestion, and quicker commutes from the suburbs into the city. People would have more housing options, rather than being stuck close to their jobs. Tourism would increase. The economy would thrive. As much as he craved Megan's approval, it was the citizens of Sarcaccia whom he was obliged to consider-first, last, and always-just as he always had.

The fly thunked against the window again. After two more failed tries, it spiraled down to rest on the wide sill as if recuperating for another attempt.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by his mother's gentle voice. "Are you busy, Stefano? Mind if we come in for a moment?"

He looked over his shoulder to see both of his parents enter the library-not waiting for his answer-and close the door behind them. Whatever they wanted, it was serious.

He gestured toward the sofa. "Have you eaten yet? I'm afraid I only have a pitcher of water-"

"We're fine, thank you," his father responded. King Carlo allowed his wife to sit first, then joined her on the sofa. They were an impressive pair, Stefano thought, perhaps more now that they were in their early sixties than when they were young. Queen Fabrizia jogged, biked, and attended yoga cla.s.ses to stay fit, and it showed. Though she'd allowed wisps of gray to appear in her hair, she maintained a sleek, modern cut, one that suited her heart-shaped face. She easily looked a dozen years younger than her actual age, as did her husband. Despite a number of health scares over the years, King Carlo's ramrod-straight posture, firm jaw, and lean build combined to convince the world of his vitality. They each wore suits-hers an off-white, his a slim pinstriped gray-and carried themselves with a refined, self-possessed manner that left no doubt they were in charge of the expansive palace and all that surrounded it.

They didn't intimidate him as they once did, but he respected them and all they'd accomplished in their years ruling the country.

Stefano pushed away from the desk and crossed the room to the wall of windows overlooking the palace gardens. The early summer flowers were in full bloom, the trees verdant, the fountains shooting plumes of water skyward. It appeared a veritable paradise. "Since both of you are here, I a.s.sume you have something important to discuss?"

At their silence, he glanced behind him in time to see a look pa.s.s between them. His mother's lips thinned in consternation and she shook her head at her husband.

"What is it, Mother?"

She started to say something, stopped, then started again. "We don't wish to intrude, but we've noticed you haven't spent your weekends at home in quite some time. You've taken the plane, but haven't left a flight plan or word of your whereabouts with the staff. Then, when you arrive for Sunday dinner, you're barely attentive and hardly speak to our guests."

"I'm home now. And I was home last weekend, as well."

"Yet you lock yourself in the library or your apartment and speak to no one, not even the staff, until you appear for Sunday dinner, and you're no more sociable than you were before." She folded her hands in her lap. "Again, we don't want to intrude on your personal life, but is something amiss?"

"Are you seeing someone? Has it been causing problems?" King Carlo's tone held none of the queen's tentativeness. "If so, we should be informed. We realize you want your privacy, but you need to trust us for your own safety. The paparazzi can be aggressive, particularly when you're abroad. Your reputation-"

"d.a.m.n the reputation, Father." He shook his head and turned back toward the window. Funny, how his dad trumpeted safety, trust, and privacy. In a calmer voice, he said, "I apologize. I didn't mean that. In answer to your question, no, I'm not seeing anyone. Not at the moment. You have no call to worry."

Outside, a gardener pushed a wheelbarrow full of tree tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Stefano couldn't imagine what the man found to shear. Every tree, every bush appeared immaculate. Not a leaf out of place. Stefano had spent hours upon hours running through the gardens as a child, often sneaking off to the far end of the property, where the trees and gra.s.s had been allowed to remain in their natural state. How had he not noticed the sterile nature of the garden as a whole before? Its lack of wildness the closer one moved to the palace itself?

Or was he merely chafing at the restrictions imposed on him now that his fortune of birth meant he couldn't have Megan?

"Your mother is concerned," the king continued. "As am I. You should extend us the courtesy of letting us know when you're traveling, even if you keep the details to yourself."

"Any further travel will be logged with my administrative a.s.sistant."

"Stefano." His mother's voice was soft, edging toward a plea.

He faced her, leaning to rest his hips on the wide windowsill. They were b.u.t.ting in where they didn't belong, but he appreciated that their curiosity about his personal life seemed mixed with genuine worry. They weren't perfect parents-far from it-but then again, who was?

Megan. A vision of her cradling Anna's head in her lap at the Magic Fountain flashed in his mind before he squelched it.

"I apologize if I've been rude. I've had a rough week. That's all."

Behind him, the fly resumed its pounding against the gla.s.s. His parents looked past him to track the insect's movements.

"That is huge," his mother breathed. "When we're done here, I'll call one of the staff to remove it."

"No need." Stefano spun and flipped the heavy metal locks at the base of the window. Time for the fly to get the sunshine it craved.

"Stefano, that must weigh fifty or sixty pounds. It hasn't been opened in years! Decades, more likely," his mother argued. "I'll call someone."

"It's only a fly, Fabrizia," the king said. "It'll die in a day or two and we can sweep it away."

Stefano ignored his father and pushed against the sides of the frame, driven by a sudden need to conquer the ancient mechanism. With a groan, the window gave bit by bit, chips of paint falling to the sill as it loosened in its chamber. He bent his knees, grabbed the handles mounted to the window's lowest edge, and lifted. It took nearly all his back and leg strength, but he managed to raise it to the height of his forehead. Outside, the gardener stopped pushing the wheelbarrow and scanned the building to search out the source of the sound. Within seconds, the fly looped down and out into the fresh air, heading past the gardener to freedom.

Stefano let the window slide back into place, then twisted the stiff metal locks to their usual position.

"If you were so desperate to be rid of it you could've swatted it. Would've been easier," his father said as Stefano faced them again. The twin vertical creases above the bridge of King Carlo's nose deepened. "I wish you'd tell us what's wrong. You're not yourself. Is it the transportation minister? Has he been-"

"It's not the transportation minister." He held up his hand to stop his father from making another guess. The gesture only irritated his father more, as King Carlo was unaccustomed to having his statements cut off.

Stefano strode from the windows to the room's center, taking the seat opposite his parents. They wanted to know? Fine.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. But" -he held up his index finger, daring to threaten the King and Queen of Sarcaccia- "what I'm about to say does not leave this room. Under any circ.u.mstances. If it does, suffice it to say it will have a negative impact on our Sunday dinner tradition."

His mother eased forward on the sofa but said nothing, her eyes fixed on his face, while the king crossed his arms over his chest in barely-contained annoyance and clamped his lips together. His eyes flashed fire.

"I've been taking the jet to Barcelona," he said. "Other than this week and last, I've gone every weekend since attending the reopening of the Grandspire with Mahmoud Said."

His mother's green eyes, so much like Anna's, widened. For the first time, he realized how much Anna resembled his mother. They had the same cheekbones, the same eyes, the same smile. He wondered if, in her youth, his mother had the same zest for life. He rather imagined she had...in some ways, she still did. His mother would fall apart when she met Anna. If she met Anna.

"Is the report true, then? The one about the woman who has a child?" his mother asked. "I saw it in the paper a few weeks ago, but there's been nothing since. Your father and I didn't want to pry. We'd hoped you would come to us if there was anything to the story."

That was a point in their favor, at least.

"Yes and no," he told her. "Yes, the report was true. But no, I'm no longer seeing her."

"Ah." His father's shoulders dropped and the furrows in his brow eased. He folded his hands in his lap and exhaled. "You do not sound happy, and I am sorry for that. I'm sure you had a great fondness for this woman if you were willing to see her despite the fact she's already a parent. But in the long run, I think you'll see that it's for the best. Such a relationship would be extremely difficult for someone in your position."

Rage simmered in Stefano's gut, but it wasn't the ignorance of his father's words that incensed him. It was the man's obvious relief. "You're right about the difficulties, Father, but it is not for the best. Not at all."

"You just need some time, son." His father's tone was dismissive. "There are plenty of women who are capable of making you happy. It is only a matter of time."

"No. There's only one woman." He knew his next sentence would change his life, and possibly Megan and Anna's, but it had to be said. "And that woman's child is my child, too."

Chapter Twenty-Five.

"Oh, Stefano." Crinkles appeared at the corners of his mother's eyes. She leaned toward him, placing her elbows on her knees and steepling her fingertips in front of her as she regarded him. He could feel her instinct to reach across the s.p.a.ce between them and touch him, to offer comfort, but she resisted. "You're such a good man. From the time you were young, you've always felt such compa.s.sion for others, especially for children. I adore that about you. But feeling that this woman's child is somehow your responsibility-"

"It's not a feeling, Mother. She is mine."

His mother stared at him in silence, processing his words. She seemed not to breathe. She swallowed hard and straightened. When she glanced at her husband to gauge his reaction, her lower jaw trembled. Despite the gentle demeanor for which she was beloved, Queen Fabrizia was given to displays of emotion on only the rarest of occasions. His mother must be experiencing the same sense of shock he had upon hearing about Anna from Megan.

King Carlo merely raised one thick, well-groomed eyebrow. "Have you had a DNA test?"

"Ever practical, aren't you?" Stefano couldn't prevent the snarl that escaped him. "And no, I have done no such thing. There's no need."