The Marcelli Princess

Page 12

"Don't say no," he murmured. "Give us time. Is that too much to ask?"
It was crazy. Foolish. Impetuous.
It was irresistible.
"I won't say no, at least not right now," she told him. "But I don't want you to mention this to anyone."
"Of course not." He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "I will win you back, Mia. You will see. I will be all you have ever desired."
With anyone else, she would have had her doubts. But Rafael was a different kind of man. In this case, she wasn't sure she would be willing to bet against him.
6
Mia was up early the next morning. The Grands hadn't even stirred, which meant it was her job to get the coffee going. After pouring in grounds and water, she flipped the switch, then checked out the plastic-covered cookie sheets sitting in the refrigerator.
"Cinnamon rolls," she moaned as she hurried to the oven and dialed in the correct temperature. Caffeine and sugar. Was there any better antidote for a sleepless night?
She hovered by the coffeemaker until the hot liquid began to pour into the carafe. When there was enough to fill her mug, she pulled it out and claimed it for herself.
The first sip tasted heavenly. As the warmth slid down her throat and settled in her belly, she felt the first stirring of consciousness. Unfortunately with that came too–clear memories of the previous evening.
Had Rafael really proposed? She told herself he couldn't have, then took another drink of coffee and realized he had.
Marriage? She wasn't sure she wanted to get married. Besides, they barely knew each other, and while she had many really fabulous qualities, she doubted she would make much of a princess. She could barely find Calandria on a map.
Marriage? No way. She and Rafael were intelligent adults. They could find a way to share their son without resorting to what would only turn out to be a disaster.
"Good morning."
She looked up and saw the man in question standing in the doorway. His hair was damp from his shower, his body casually clad in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and his mouth…
Suddenly she couldn't stop looking at his mouth. Because whatever was the same or different about him, his mouth and his voice were exactly as she remembered.
Then, without meaning to, she suddenly recalled another kind of kiss from him. An intimate one that had her screaming out her release as he licked and—
"Morning," she managed through suddenly dry lips. She took a gulp of coffee and motioned to the nearly full carafe. "Help yourself."
"Thank you."
He poured himself a mug and took a drink. "Did you sleep well?"
"Not really."
"Anything in particular keeping you up?"
"An unnatural concern about interest rates and the latest drought in Africa."
"Really? I had no idea you were so concerned about current events."
"Sarcasm, Rafael. That was sarcasm."
He smiled slightly. "Yes, I know." He took another drink. "I did not mean to distress you with my proposal."
"Distress really doesn't cover it. I was confused— a pretty continuous state of affairs since you showed up in my bed." She frowned. "You could have just knocked on the front door."
"Perhaps, but far less interesting an entrance. Besides, I have not missed being at your front door."
Good one, she thought. The implication being he missed her bed. Or, one dared to assume, her in his bed.
"I, too, did not sleep well. You kept me up, Mia. I could not stop thinking about you."
"Yes, well, how interesting." She moved to the far side of the kitchen just as the oven beeped. Damn. Now he stood between her and cinnamon rolls.
He glanced at the appliance. "Are you baking?"
"Grammy M made cinnamon rolls last night. They need to go in the oven. They're in there."
She jerked her head toward the refrigerator. He crossed the room and removed them, then slid them into the oven.
"Better?" he asked.
"I will be in about twenty minutes." She glanced from him to the oven. "You know your way around the kitchen."
He grinned. "Yes, even I, Prince Rafael of Calandria, can find an oven in a kitchen. If you promise to show the proper amount of awe, I'll cut up some fruit later."
"You're making fun of me."
"I tease a little. I might live in a palace, but I do know how to exist in the real world."
"Unlikely."
"Why do you doubt me? I was on my own all through university. When I pretended to be Diego, I took care of myself."
"Barely. You had an entire harem of women. I distinctly remember being stunned by the number of otherwise intelligent women so eager to do the smallest thing for you."
He moved closer. "You are correct, but the leader of the pack always has his choice of the females. Diego was no exception. But you were not so willing to be my slave. You insisted I serve you."
"I have a very high IQ," she said primly. Mostly she'd refused to trail around after him in an effort to stand out. It had worked, although not in the way she'd imagined.
"One of them noticed I had my eye on you," he said. "She came after you."
"With a knife." Mia still remembered her fear and outrage when a tall blonde from northern Italy had called her some very disgusting names and ordered her to leave. Mia hadn't noticed the knife until she'd already told off the other woman.
"Do you still have a scar?" he asked as he placed his hand on her side.
The warmth of his fingers made it difficult to think, but she managed to nod. "It's pretty faint but still there."
"The cut was not deep, but there was much blood. You were very brave."
She'd been stunned by the swift attack. Rafael— a.k.a. Diego— had reacted with fury. The other woman had been sent away and told she would be killed if she returned. He had then taken Mia to his private rooms and had carefully stitched the cut. That night, he'd claimed her as his own. She still remembered how gentle he'd been, how careful so that she wouldn't feel any pain from her wound.
She'd already been half in love with him. His tenderness had pushed her over the edge. Afterward she'd been unable to sleep as she'd wrestled with the moral dilemma of her situation. She'd fallen in love with the enemy— a classic, almost clichéd, mistake.
As soon as she'd been able to get away, she'd contacted the agent in charge and explained that she was afraid of compromising the mission. She'd asked to be removed. Instead her boss had told her to suck it up and stay in play.
"There were no other women after you, Mia. Do you remember?"
His words made her more uncomfortable than the memories of her horror at being torn between her mission and the man she loved.
"I remember," she said softly, not wanting to let him get to her. Not again. Not until she was sure. Which might be never.
But he was telling the truth. From the second the two of them had become lovers, he hadn't looked at another woman. How long had it taken him to get over her?
He moved to the table and took a seat across from her. "My guilty secret," he said with a shrug. "I made you promise not to tell."
"I never knew why it was such a big deal. So you don't cheat. Most women consider that a good thing."
"My father has kept mistresses all his life. Usually two or three at a time. They know about each other and on the surface all is well. I was never comfortable with that. I could see the pain in their eyes."
He looked away, as if embarrassed by the turn in the conversation. That surprised her, and in a good way. She liked knowing that the imperious crown prince had a weakness or two. Twenty would be better but she would take what she could get.
"Tell me about life in the palace," she said, taking pity on him and changing the subject.
"It is not so different from your world," he said.
She laughed. "Oh, please. Royalty. It has to be different. Do you have your own wing or county or something?"
"I live elsewhere, in a private house on the edge of the sea. I am close enough to be reached quickly if there is an emergency, but I do not still live at home."
"I wouldn't have thought living in the palace would count as living at home."
"I learned very quickly that it was difficult to take girls to my room when we had to tiptoe past my father's quarters. At twenty, such things mattered to me."
"They would matter at any age. Okay, so you get up and one of your several harem women prepares you for your shower."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not have harem women."
"Not a good crop this year?"
"I get myself ready in the morning."
"What? No servants?"
"A handful. They prepare my breakfast and take care of my clothes."
"Nice work if you can get it. Then what?"
"Then I drive to the palace for my morning meetings with my father and officials from our government."
"Do Umberto and Oliver tag along?"
"I have bodyguards in a car following me."
This was one of the strangest conversations Mia could remember having. To her, none of what Rafael talked about was real, yet every bit of it was his life.
"So what happens after a hard morning of governing the little people?"
"You mock me."
"It's something I'm really good at. The reverence thing has always been a problem. Fortunately I don't run into many people deserving of that kind of attitude."
He sighed. "You are going to be difficult, but I expected as much."
"Really?" The thought pleased her.
"Of course. You forget, I know you. You are too smart for your own good and intimidated by no one. A dangerous combination."
"Ooh, let me guess. For a woman."
"For anyone. And to answer your question, which you have probably already forgotten, I lunch with different heads of state or visiting dignitaries. Sometimes I meet with officials in parliament. I spend my afternoons with charity work— I deal with three international organizations— or events in the city. Once a week or so there is an official dinner or fund-raiser of some kind."
"Sounds boring," she said. "What do you do for fun?"
"Polo, sailing, skiing, mountain climbing. I keep busy."
Her idea of excitement was a twilight stroll around the vineyards, followed by an extra glass of wine with dinner. They were practically twins separated at birth.
"I am in the unique position of training for a job that I may not have for years," he said. "I do not wish my father to die, yet this is the expected way of succession."
"Would he abdicate?"
"We have talked about it. He does not want me to wait indefinitely."
"So you would be king sooner rather than later?"
He nodded.
She didn't like the sound of that. Not with a proposal still hanging between them. Bad enough to be a lousy princess, but it was so much worse to be a horrible queen.
"You would do well," he said, reading her mind.
"I have many, many doubts. I could put them into categories and have them spiral bound for you, if you'd like."
"Calandria is a small country. Your duties— "
She cut him off with a strangled cough. "See, that's the thing. Any sentence that begins with the words your duties isn't for me. I'm not the duty type."
"There would be compensations."
She wasn't sure if he was going to talk about the wealth and relative power or the thrill of being married to him. Right now she didn't want to think about either.
"What about Danny?" she asked. "What would his life be like?"