Royal Scandals: The Royal Bastard Part 18

"Only everyone who reads about the royals while standing in line at the supermarket. Or watches the evening news."

"It all depends on the coverage, though, doesn't it? The Barralis strike me as masters of their own press. They'll find a way to spin it so it doesn't sound so bad." She gave his thigh a soft squeeze before resting her hands in her lap. "No matter what happens, I'm confident you, Enzo, and Lina will be able to manage it for as long as it's a story. After that, people will forget. Their focus will be on the next Barrali scandal, whatever it may be. Not on you."

Rocco didn't respond. His mouth remained in a thin line and he gripped the steering wheel so tight Justine suspected he'd break it between his hands if he were able. Much as she wanted him to talk, she understood he still needed time. The wounds were too raw.

When they reached the outskirts of Dubrovnik, he said, "You received a phone call this morning. From what I heard it sounded ski-related."

"It was. My old coach."

"You told him you got the all-clear?"

She nodded. "He's fully booked, but had some recommendations for me. Good ones. He offered to put out feelers, see who might be interested in working with me. I figured you and I could talk through the options after you finished with your mother's estate."

"Where would you need to train?"

"Depending on the coach, they'd probably want to go to either Chile or New Zealand by late June or early July. I've been putting in the gym time, but I need to get on skis to see what I have. Or don't have."

"You'd need to go soon."

He knew from past years that she did most of her off-season training in the gym, working to enhance her strength, balance, and explosiveness. However, she tried to clock at least fifty of those days on skis wherever she could find fresh powder, and that meant the southern hemisphere. Given that she hadn't skied in a year, she'd need to fit in as many snow days as possible during the coming off-season if she hoped to compete.

"Within two to three weeks, I imagine. I'll talk to a few coaches first."

"Do what you need to do. Whatever's best for your career."

"I don't know how I'll ski yet. It may all come to nothing. I'm at the age where most compet.i.tors retire."

"I know you. You'll race again." He faced her after he slowed to a stop at a red light. "You turned down the television job, didn't you?"

Yesterday. It'd been one of the most difficult calls of her life, knowing the gamble she was taking. "I didn't think it was fair to keep the producer waiting. If I'm going to do this, it needs to be all or nothing."

"That's what I figured."

She frowned at his tone as the light changed and he stepped on the gas. "The way you said that...I thought you said you'd support me making another go at competing."

"I did. And I do." He turned the car onto a road that headed toward the Old City, rather than in the direction of the villa. "But I also said I'd do my best never to hurt you again."

"Oh, Rocco, no." At once his att.i.tude became understandable. It was why he'd been pulling away from her for the last week, though he needed her more than ever. Why he'd been silent for most of the drive back from the Konavle. Why he was turning toward her apartment instead of the villa. It was all she could do not to grab the wheel and spin it toward the home they'd once shared, the home they should share again. "Don't be a martyr. There's no need."

"I'm not!" All the strain and hurt of the last week came out in those two words. "I'm being practical."

"You want to end our marriage before we've had it back for even two weeks because you think all this nonsense with your mother will be bad for my career."

"Bad? Try devastating. Think of how you'll be perceived."

"Like a woman with good taste who's married to one of the hottest, smartest men on the planet. If you call that devastating, then-"

"Stop." His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "This isn't a joke, Justine. What my mother did..." He grit his teeth. "Maybe I've known it from the moment I read her letter. Or when we boarded the airplane to fly home and that couple in the waiting area kept sneaking peeks at you. They not only recognized you, they recognized you in a positive light. They were smiling and elbowing each other. Think of how that would change."

"It wouldn't. And if it did, I wouldn't care."

"Says the woman who a.s.sured a television producer she has no skeletons in her closet. No scandals. Nothing to detract from a long-term career in front of the camera."

"Rocco-"

"The minute you step back into your ski boots, you'll be under more scrutiny than ever. There's a reason sports broadcasters have made a trope out of the comeback kid. It makes a great story. It's the kind of story that will bring you new fans and endors.e.m.e.nt deals. Deservedly so, because you've worked your tail off. You're a great athlete and a spectacular role model. When you do finally end your compet.i.tive career, you'll be in even higher demand than you are now, but only if you're conscious of your image."

"For being such a smart guy, you're a real idiot." How could he not see? Being with him gave her courage. He made her feel invincible.

"I promised I'd never hurt you again, but I'm stuck in a Catch-22. I hurt you if we divorce. I hurt you if we stay together." He turned onto the street where her apartment was located. She wanted to tell him to keep driving, to go to the villa, but knew her plea would fall on deaf ears. "One will be short-term pain, and one will haunt you over and over. I'm opting for the lesser of two evils."

She undid her seatbelt and twisted to face Rocco as he parked at the curb in front of her apartment. The night was as silent and dark as when they'd fled down this same street with Radich and Karpovsky on their heels. The sense of doom crushing her lungs felt as immediate now as it had then. "I'm going to chalk up everything you just said to the fact you've had a very long, emotional day. It's not normal for you. Give this time. Sleep on it. I'm happy to stay here at the apartment and give you s.p.a.ce at the villa if that's what you need, but don't make a rash decision. We belong together. We've known it for years. I need you more than any job. And frankly, the two aren't mutually exclusive."

Taking a chance, she closed the s.p.a.ce between them to cradle his cheek. She looked deep into his eyes, eyes filled with pain, and hoped he could see the sincerity in hers and draw strength from it. "I know you, Rocco. And I love you."

"I love you, too." He covered her hand with his, then slowly eased it away from his face to kiss her palm before lowering it to her lap. "That's why I need to let you go."

Rocco felt like a first cla.s.s b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and not because of his birth.

Well, come to think of it, exactly because of his birth, and the actions his mother's choices now necessitated.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled over on the library's long gray sofa, mentally replaying the night's conversations, first with Carlo, then with Justine. He'd done the right thing in both instances, but doing the right thing didn't feel right.

It felt horribly, terribly wrong. As if he'd taken a knife and plunged it deep into his own chest, and was now staring down, watching himself bleed out. Worse, he knew Justine was sitting in her apartment at this very moment, likely wide awake and staring out at the first blush of sunlight as it hit the city streets, wondering what in the world had gone wrong. What she could've said or done to change his mind.

She wouldn't believe him if he'd told her there was no going back. In Justine's mentality options always existed. A tweak to her equipment, another route down the racecourse, a subtle change that could shave an extra tenth of a second to secure a victory.

The look on her face as she'd stepped out of his car and unlocked the door to her apartment building shredded him. He'd had to force himself to put his hands on the steering wheel so he wouldn't go after her. So she wouldn't think she could hop back in the car and convince him he was making a mistake. When he'd told her he needed to let her go, she hadn't argued. Not with words. She'd stared at him as if she could make him recant with the force of her will alone.

He'd simply met her gaze until she'd finally grabbed the door handle in a huff and stepped out of the car. Those few seconds had seemed interminable.

I need you more than any job.

That was the part she failed to think through. Skiing wasn't a job for her. It was her. Whether she spent the rest of her life on the slopes or in front of a camera, skiing was her pa.s.sion. It put sparkle in her eyes and had her talking to complete strangers as if they were lifelong friends. He wouldn't take that from her. She wouldn't be the same Justine without it.

She knew it, too, or she wouldn't have been so determined to defy her doctors, to do everything her rehab specialists asked of her and more. To push herself to the absolute limit, to toss aside the pain medication when she feared it might interfere with her long-term plans.

She'd wanted him to sleep on his decision. She was the one who needed to sleep on hers.

Rocco swiped a hand over his stubble-covered chin and pushed to sit. Unfortunately, actual sleep hadn't been in the cards. He'd tried going to bed, only to meander to the library. He'd poured a drink, but hadn't consumed it. He'd turned on the news only to mute it when a perky brunette began gushing over the irrepressible spirit of a local man who'd been injured in a motorcycle accident and was now, against all odds, learning to ride again.

That one hit a little too close to home.

His fist connected with the back of the sofa. "I love her too much for her own d.a.m.ned good," he muttered to himself. "And mine."

More than anyone he'd ever met, and-he knew with every cell in his body-more than anyone he'd ever meet again. Screw second acts. He had none. Justine was his first, his only chance at a happily ever after. But she had other chances. She was beautiful, tenacious, and had an inner light that drew people to her. The best thing he could do for Justine was let her go, though the idea of her eventually finding another man, one who'd be better for her...it turned his stomach.

He stretched and cracked his knuckles. He'd made a promise to her and he meant it. He'd do what was best for the two of them-for everyone-not what was best for him. He wouldn't put Justine through the agony of being asked again and again about her husband or her late mother-in-law. Or have Justine wonder every time she was turned down for a job if it was her marriage that ultimately decided her fate, or if she'd somehow missed the mark when judged on her own hard work and talent.

The world needed to see her for who she was. Not for the man she'd married. If it did, the possibilities for her future were endless.

A m.u.f.fled hum came from his desk. He crossed the room with a curse, expecting to see Justine's number on the phone's display. He wouldn't answer it. Not yet. He needed more time and so did she. But when he glanced at the screen and noted the private number, he answered immediately.

"I apologize for waking you. I didn't intend to use your card so soon, but there's been a development."

King Carlo's voice was as clear as it'd been when they'd spoken less than six hours earlier, making Rocco wonder if the monarch had slept at all.

"What is it?"

"I was spotted disembarking the jet at three in the morning. I imagine it'll be mentioned on the morning news here in Sarcaccia. I'm attending a planning meeting for the restoration of Cateri's central library later today. The press will be there."

"Which means you'll be asked about it."

"Yes." There was a pause. "I'm sorry, Rocco. I can put off questions easily enough today. Perhaps for three or four days. But the longer I defer, the more convinced reporters will be that there's a story to uncover."

"I understand." Rocco took a deep breath. "Do what you need to do. I'll call Lina and Enzo to warn them."

"You'll have reporters at your doorstep."

"Then I won't be here."

Once he ended the call, Rocco sank into his desk chair and stared at the framed wedding photo on the corner, the one Fabrizia had studied the day she'd come to warn him. Jack and his mother looked so happy. Too bad Jack hadn't known his wife was lying to him about her past. Or maybe it was for the best. Jack had lived a robust life, one filled with love from his wife and three adopted children.

"What would you do in my shoes, Jack, knowing what I know now?" Rocco stared at the photo awhile longer, let out a long breath, then clicked his phone to pull up a list of e-mail contacts. With the right words to the right people, he could ensure Justine was far, far away from the coming fracas.

He owed her that.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Fabrizia straightened her husband's collar and tidied his hair, though both were already perfectly in place. They stood in a small antechamber off the palace's famed green parlor. Because of its intimate atmosphere, the parlor was used for high level talks, press conferences, and even-rumor had it-clandestine romantic encounters during the palace's early days.

"I'll be fine," Carlo a.s.sured her. He stood as straight and tall as ever, but she could feel trepidation rolling off him in waves. "Better to do it this way so we can control the story."

She doubted the story could be controlled, but he was right. Should the paparazzi discover the Cornaros and reveal their connection to the Barrali family, the media would be vicious, playing the cover-up in a way that would make the entire family seem untrustworthy. That wouldn't do if they were to continue to successfully lead the country.

Beside them, Fabrizia's a.s.sistant, Daniela, peeked around the door that separated them from the parlor. "They're all a.s.sembled. Ready when you are."

Carlo nodded, then gave Fabrizia a soft kiss on the cheek. "No matter how this turns out, I love you."

"I know you do."

He turned to enter the parlor, where approximately a dozen reporters sat waiting for the impromptu press conference to start, but Fabrizia put a hand on his arm. "I'm coming in with you."

He frowned, then pulled Fabrizia off to the side so Daniela and the other staff members couldn't hear them. "No man wants to make the admission I'm about to make, let alone make it while knowing his wife is standing behind him being stared at and speculated about. They'll wonder what you knew and when. They'll wonder how you can stand me. They'll believe I was a fool and a cad and will question my judgment." He looked at the ceiling, getting his bearings, then back at her. "Fabrizia, it'll be-"

"My honor." She put her hands on her husband's lapel and smiled up at him. He was her heart, her soul. Hearing the torrent of objections from him only solidified her resolve. He needed her for this. "We've been together a long time, Carlo. I know all the good and all the bad. I know you're concerned about how you'll be viewed after you walk into that room and say what you need to say. It's a valid concern. But if I'm by your side, our countrymen will see in my eyes and my body language how I feel about you. It will give them confidence. If I'm not there, that also speaks volumes."

He curled his hands around hers. "Fabrizia, I can't ask that of you."

"Then don't. Simply allow it."

He studied her for a long moment. Beneath her hands, his chest rose and fell, and she felt the slow, steady beat of his heart. His nod, when it finally came, was barely perceptible.

She smiled, gave his hands a final squeeze, then followed him into the green parlor, head held high and love filling her entire being.

She was married to the most resilient, wonderful man in the world. She wanted the world to know it.

After being introduced by his press secretary, Carlo strode to the podium. Fabrizia moved to his side, standing a pace behind his right shoulder. He offered the reporters his usual greetings, welcoming several by name and wishing one of the local television personalities a happy birthday. As always, he had the room in the palm of his hand, even those reporters whose job was to pick apart Carlo's policies and endlessly second-guess his decisions.

"I appreciate all of you visiting with me today. I'm sure you had other priorities, like shopping for Marcello's birthday." A smattering of laughter echoed through the room. "However, I invited you here to discuss a personal matter. Given my position as a hereditary monarch, the line between my public life and my private life is often thin. On occasion, it's a challenge to find the balance between what the public rightfully deserves to know so Sarcaccia's citizens remain confident in my ability to govern, and in keeping personal matters to myself in order to protect my wife and children, who are" -he smiled at Fabrizia over his shoulder- "the loves of my life. Part of being a good steward of this country is keeping myself in good physical and mental health, and keeping my private life private helps me do that."

Fabrizia sensed Carlo corralling his energy. Before he could say more, the door at the rear of the green parlor opened and Princess Sophia slipped through. Though she was silent as she entered, her hot pink dress made her hard to miss. She caught Fabrizia's eye, then fingered the delicate gold chain around her throat. A small, golden rose dangled from the end. Carlo had given Sophia the necklace on her tenth birthday, then walked her out to the palace garden to show her a new variant of pink rose that had been named the Princess Sophia in her honor.

In that moment, as a smile blossomed on Sophia's face, Fabrizia knew all would be well.

"As I said when I entered the room, today's discussion revolves around a personal matter," Carlo's voice strengthened as he, too, noticed Sophia and realized that she was there to support him. "It is not a matter I wished to share. However, circ.u.mstances have changed in recent weeks."

The parlor door opened once again, this time as Vittorio, Emily, and Alessandro entered. Several reporters turned around in surprise. One snapped a photo, apparently sensing the presence of three royal children at a press conference meant a momentous announcement was forthcoming.

"Many years ago, when I was a teenager, I was involved in an inappropriate relationship with one of my tutors. She recently pa.s.sed away, which is why the time has come to bring this matter to light."

As one, the reporters who'd turned toward the back of the room swiveled to face the front. Carlo continued, "Her name was Teresa Fedeli. I was seventeen and she was twelve years my senior. The relationship occurred unbeknownst to my parents. In fact, it went on unbeknownst to anyone until I told my wife shortly before our marriage."

No one stirred in the room other than Carlo, who again looked over his shoulder at Fabrizia. She briefly put a hand to his arm and smiled, then stepped away to allow him to finish.

"It was not merely improper due to the age difference, which, I know-and knew at the time-was wrong. It was also improper because I saw Teresa on two separate occasions in the year following my marriage to Queen Fabrizia." As eyes widened around the room, Carlo said, "I am the most fortunate man in the world in that my wife forgave me. Since then, the queen and I have built a strong, loving marriage, one that is founded upon trust. I have not broken that trust since."

Fabrizia looked to the back of the parlor to gauge her children's reaction and saw that Stefano, Megan, Ma.s.simo, and Kelly had joined the others. She gave them a smile at the same time the door opened once more to admit Bruno. A camera flashed in the front row, capturing what she knew had to be an expression of profound grat.i.tude and surprise on her face as she saw that her youngest child had flown home to back his father. Then dozens of cameras flashed, memorializing Carlo's reaction as he gazed at his children. At that moment, two figures entered from the antechamber and remained on the opposite side of the room from the royal siblings. Fabrizia's breath seized as she recognized that Umberto had brought in Rocco Cornaro. Though the reporters paid Rocco no attention, Fabrizia knew that would change. Judging from the lopsided grin on Rocco's face as he moved further from the room's main entrance, ensuring he was well out of the view of the photographers' lenses, Rocco knew it, too.

Despite the surprise entrance of his eldest son, Carlo's voice remained firm. "With Teresa Fedeli's pa.s.sing, I now have the opportunity to address what has been the great challenge of my personal life. That challenge involves the three children Teresa bore during our relationship."

Whispers throughout the room grew to outright gasps and murmurs of, "did he say three children?" and one whispered into his phone, "find all you can on Teresa Fedeli, a former tutor for the royal family," as Carlo paused to take a sip of water from a gla.s.s hidden behind the podium. Discussion ceased when the king adjusted the microphone to continue.

"Several reporters noted my three a.m. arrival at the airport a few days ago. I can now tell you that I was visiting the eldest of those children, a brilliant man named Rocco Cornaro. Rocco has known about his paternity since he was young, as have Rocco's siblings, Lina and Enzo, who are fraternal twins. In answer your questions, yes, my wife has also known about Rocco, Lina, and Enzo throughout our marriage. Our children are also aware of their half-siblings. Long ago, Teresa Fedeli and I decided to keep their existence quiet. Though doing so kept my personal failings from the public eye, it was not done for that purpose, but to protect their upbringing. They are private citizens, raised outside Sarcaccia by their mother, and wish to remain private citizens. However, it is my desire to get to know them now in a way I could not during Teresa's lifetime. I hope that you will honor my wishes and respect their need for privacy. They each have vibrant careers and personal relationships that I do not wish to see harmed because of their connection to me. That being said, I will now take five minutes of questions."

Fabrizia nodded to the reporters, then skirted the room to join her children as Carlo patiently listened to the barrage of questions and gave to-the-point answers. Most of the inquiries centered on Teresa-did he know this was a crime? Yes. Was this the reason Queen Fabrizia dedicated herself to so many charities for victims of abuse? No, the issue transcends my own experience. Had the two sets of children met? No. Where did they live? Outside Sarcaccia.

"Thank you." Fabrizia said the words in a voice intended for Sophia's ears only, though Vittorio, who stood on Sophia's other side, also heard.

"We weren't going to let him face the firing squad alone," Sophia responded. "We didn't know you planned to join him."