The Prince's Forbidden Cinderella, page 6
What he could not give.
‘She is so isolated. Are there no other children in the palace her age?’
‘It is a bit late to go into professional mode,’ Marco bit back, seeing her flinch and telling himself her white face meant nothing whatsoever to him. Why would it? ‘You may disapprove of me but I’m the only parent Freya has ever had, her mother’s not here.’ The words slipped under, around and through every steel impenetrable barrier he had ever erected.
* * *
Kate froze, her eyes sliding from the visible pulse in his temple to his grey metallic hurting stare. ‘S-sorry?’
‘Her mother never even got a chance to hold her!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you keep saying. You ask about children—there are cousins. My wife had three brothers.’
‘So...’ she began eagerly.
‘I have little contact.’
He responded to her wide-eyed look of enquiry with an impatient explanation. ‘My wife’s parents, both members of two of the prominent families on the island who run the show, or would like to, are divorced. That happened fifteen years ago now and the families are still at one another’s throats. There is only one person they hate more than each other.’
‘They don’t like you!’ she exclaimed and then blushed under his ironic stare. ‘Obviously I don’t need to know why...’
‘You have no idea how relieved that makes me feel,’ he drawled with a sarcastic smile.
Kate’s lips clamped tight. He really was the most arrogant son of a...king and queen. And your boss to boot, supplied the cautionary voice in her head.
‘So you knew your wife—?’
‘Before she was my wife. Yes, for many years she was my best friend.’
The information was delivered in a matter-of-fact manner that somehow made the statement all the more heartbreaking.
As he watched Kate’s jewel bright eyes fill, he wondered just how someone who empathised to this extent survived in the real world.
‘Perhaps we could make this about Freya?’
Kate’s chin lifted; she was insane to feel sorry for this man. She should save her sympathy for the woman he did eventually marry because he was obviously still in love with his dead wife.
‘Fine, let’s do that. So perhaps you could put your feelings to one side and approach your in-laws, this being about Freya and not your feelings.’
His nostrils flared as the insult hit home. ‘It is always about Freya,’ he ground out. ‘Protecting her is always my priority.’
‘Good,’ she said with a display of brisk false bravado as she brought her lashes down in an ineffective shield against the silver glitter of outrage in his eyes. When angry he was really daunting. ‘What ages are the cousins...their names...?’
‘I have not the faintest idea.’ Her face presumably reflected her shocked horror, as a sighing sound of exasperation escaped his lips. ‘I will discover this information, but after B... Freya’s mother died, her grandfather blamed Freya. He will not repeat those words. I have made that clear to him.’ The emphasis in his bleak eyes made her shiver.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that way now. No one could. People say things in grief that they don’t mean.’
‘You excuse him...?’
‘No, of course not, I...’ She bit her lip, aware she had blundered into territory where she didn’t have a clue what was going on.
‘Not black and white...not binary.’ Her brother’s voice was so loud in her head it sounded as though he were standing behind her.
‘I’m sorry...’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘I tend to say things without...’
‘Yes, this I have noticed. You have strong opinions. I will listen to what you have to say about Freya’s welfare, but only if your comments are professional and evidence-based.’
And then he was gone. His reaction was more than she could have hoped for, given the absolute mess she had just made of that. Professional. He was right. A professional distance was something she never normally struggled with and yet with this father and daughter her objectivity had vanished.
Her emotions all over the place, she followed him back into the nursery in time to see him press a kiss to his daughter’s head.
* * *
‘Sorry I have to go...’ Marco suddenly felt so weary it didn’t really matter what excuse he gave. The endless list of duties meant nothing to his daughter, who could not filter out the bull... He could feel the amber gaze upon him and kissed Freya again.
Damn the woman, even if her only sin was to point out the obvious. The obvious that no one else had ever had the guts to voice: that he was a poor, pathetic excuse for a father, just as he’d been a poor excuse for a husband.
Maybe it was Kate’s courage that had pushed him to say the things he had, share the things he had. It was as good a reason as any other to explain what had made him tell her private details he had never revealed to anyone.
Breathing in the scent of his daughter’s hair for a final second, aware of the hard knot of loneliness in his chest he rarely acknowledged, he lifted his eyes, his gaze drawn as if under the control of some invisible force to where the slim figure stood watching them. Kate looked shocked. Strangely, considering he was not a man inclined to trust, he knew at some deep unfathomable level that had nothing to do with proof or logic that the secret, that any secret, was safe with her.
‘Be good for...’ his eyes slid to the petite figure watching him with big golden eyes and the word nanny just wouldn’t come ‘...Ms Armstrong.’
He tipped his head towards Kate and the next second he was gone, leaving trails of energy that seemed almost visible in his wake.
* * *
‘Right, what shall we do now? Would you like to play?’
‘Read. I always read after snack time. I’m a very good reader.’
A few minutes into the reading session Kate was assailed by a suspicion. She tested her theory and her suspicions were proved correct. The little girl with the seemingly advanced reading age couldn’t read a word. She had simply memorised it all.
CHAPTER FIVE
KATE PRIORITISED THE changes she intended to make, always supposing she had the opportunity, and high on her list was the abolition of the strict adherence to a timetable, which was fine when it gave a sense of security but destructive when it became stifling and inflexible.
Testing the water, she had casually floated the idea of a slight diversion from routine, which had resulted in confusion among the staff and her charge. She knew she would require some tact, diplomacy and determination.
After yesterday she could not claim that tact and diplomacy were her strong points. Her strong point was that she possessed the determination that would see her through. There were some advantages to being consider mule-stubborn.
On her second evening she made her first move. Kate waited for the two nursery maids who were on duty to appear after Freya had gone to bed.
When they did, she suggested that they might leave the collage-making messiness spread out on the table.
They had looked longingly at the pile of fabric scraps, leaves and gluey mess on the table, but they had worriedly gone along with her request, so Kate considered it a win, considering they had almost fallen down in a heap when she had asked them to call her Kate. They were baby steps but she would get there!
Returning to her own flat, she was contemplating a walk to orientate herself to the grounds. So far, she had only seen the area set out as an outdoor play area for Freya. The only piece of equipment that gave any hint of play was a swing. Kate intended to change that.
Her exit was delayed by the unexpected arrival of a visitor. The tap on the door made her heart thump. It would be just like Marco Zanetti not to recognise her off-duty time, but it would be very unlike him to tap. He was definitely not a tapping man—more a bang-and-demand or just-ignore-the-door man.
So by the time she had opened the door she was not surprised to find, not a six-four challenging figure, instead the plumply pretty figure of Lady Rosa with her head of dark, wiry grey-streaked hair.
The woman who had been Kate’s reception committee the previous night had an impressive-sounding job title, but then so did every other person in the place, but by this point they had all blurred into one, so she stuck to Lady Rosa.
The older woman didn’t stay long. She had just dropped by to see if there was anything Kate needed, any problems...?
There were, of course, but the problem in question was one that Kate knew she needed to discuss with Freya’s absentee father before anyone else. When, of course, he decided to put in another appearance.
The fact he hadn’t did not improve her opinion of him. Her slight thawing hardened into solid ice. Could he really not know that he had a child who was hungry for his attention? It made her want to shake some sense into him, though the effort would be wasted—the man was built like... Stomach muscles quivering, she sharply veered away from Marco Zanetti’s build.
His no-show was frustrating professionally. Personally she could have done without seeing him ever again! But she wasn’t going to allow personal feelings to get in the way of her doing her job well.
Her suspicions had not gone away and she had done her research. She was ready to present the facts demanded when he did decide to honour them with his presence. The lack of surprise at his no-show spoke volumes: no one was shocked. Everyone was so understanding. He was a busy man. Well, the photos in an old online article she’d seen had shown that he wasn’t too busy to escort beautiful women with interesting back stories!
She popped back into the nursery to tell the young women where they could find her if she was needed.
‘I’ve got my phone on me.’
‘It’s fine,’ one assured her cheerfully. ‘Nanny always used to have...’ She paused to straighten her apron and a wicked voice in Kate’s head filled in the gap with inappropriate suggestions... A gin and tonic... Afternoon sex.
She choked off a laugh and turned it into a cough.
‘She had a nap,’ the girl supplied. ‘Are you all right... Kate?’
‘Fine,’ Kate said cheerily. She didn’t need a nap or, for that matter, afternoon sex. With anyone, she added to herself, as a possible playmate for the latter option bounded lithely into her head unbidden.
She attempted to walk off her anger and general frustration in not being able to discuss Freya with her father. Since the storm had passed over, the weather on the island had reclaimed its reputation as a temperate paradise on earth.
She had explored only a fraction of the grounds, which, once you got beyond the formal gardens around the palace itself, were divided into a series of separate rooms. They were designed in such a way that you would be surprised by a sudden breath-catching view out over the city to the sea beyond and you could walk from a bog garden complete with dribbling fountains, springs and moss-covered statuary into a wild flowers meadow and then a walled kitchen garden smelling of herbs and greenhouses full of produce used in the palace kitchens.
She walked out of this area, eating a ripe nectarine she had picked, feeling more settled because she had made a decision. If the arrogant prince wouldn’t come to the nursery, she’d take it to him...or rather, she’d take herself to him.
She frowned at the tortuous grammar of the thought, her feet crunching on the gravel path of an intricately designed parterre she had passed through as she’d left the nursery playground, which meant there should be... She looked for the gap in the high hedge and realised as she did so that this was not the same piece of formal garden.
The hedge was lower and... She stopped. It was low enough to see a dark head above it.
She yelled out and hit the ground running.
* * *
Jogging along the grassy path between two rows of tall sentinel horse—the trees in full blossom made her think, between breathless huffs, of the one at the bottom of their drive where, as kids, she and Jake had fought over the best conkers. She pushed through the feeling of intense loss.
She had managed to keep the dark head in sight but she was already red-faced and breathless, her desperate hey! came out a wheezy croak.
She paused a moment, hands braced on her thighs as she fought to catch her breath. Jake would have seen the hilarity of this situation... He would never have let her live it down.
The wave of loss this time was even more painful. It made her forget the stitch in her side. She and Jake shared no blood link but they shared more important links, a lifetime of links, which was why his betrayal hurt so much.
Should she make the first move? Call him?
Before she could get sucked any deeper into the circuitous internal argument in her head, the dark head disappeared and she set off in pursuit again, heading for an archway in the wall, relief flooding her as the dark head came back into sight.
‘Wait! Hold on!’ she yelled out, breathless as she made it through the arch at a sprint.
The tall figure remained oblivious. He wasn’t running but due to his superiority in leg length and the fact she was out of breath the gap wasn’t getting any smaller, and she had the mother of all stitches in her side.
Then, just when she thought she might have to admit defeat or at least lie down, he paused and bent over as though he’d dropped something. She took her chance and yelled.
‘Wait!’
His head lifted and he straightened up. She was too far away to see his face, which was a blur, but she could make out his bare arms, dark against the white of a tee shirt. Her gaze didn’t get any lower than the black shorts. One minute there was only the thumping of her heart and the sound of birdsong, the next it was chaos, yells and waving guns all around her.
The sinister black-clad men had appeared from nowhere. It felt like dozens but, in reality, there were three. One relaying staccato information into a mouthpiece, while they all carried guns.
They were yelling at her in Italian. Actually, it could have been anything—her faculties had frozen in shock and icy, sense-numbing fear.
She said something back to proclaim her innocence and assure them that she was harmless. It was a waste of breath as they continued to bellow over her and indicated she should lie on the ground.
It was beyond disorientating and surreal to find yourself in the scene of an action movie, cast as one of the bad guys. A push in her back she didn’t see coming sent her onto her knees. It was at that point that all the yelling stopped as though it had been switched off.
There was just one voice now. Deeper, clipped, anger vibrating in every commanding syllable.
Relief so intense that tears came to her eyes washed over Kate. Slowly she lifted her head from her chest, where it had sunk. She saw the men in black had melted away, though she could hear the buzz of radio voices in the distance, and the man she had been pursuing was standing there.
She had caught him.
What was she going to do with him?
Her imagination, assisted by her hormones, supplied a stream of suggestions. It was shock, she told herself by way of an excuse, and she tried to think cooler thoughts.
One day she’d laugh about this with friends around a dinner table, but that day was a long way off. Right now, she’d settle for not having him guess her thoughts. Getting up would be good too. She took a deep breath and pressed her hands into the ground to help lever herself to her feet, but nothing worked. Everything shook, confirming her previous diagnosis of shock.
As she waited, their eyes met and she saw the anger in his face slide into another expression. Something that made her internal tremors worse.
‘I think... I think I might be sick...’ she warned.
As her head went down the last thing in the world she would have anticipated was Marco lifting the heavy ropes of hair from her face. She could feel his fingers cool on the back of her neck. He didn’t say a word.
‘I’m not going to,’ she said finally as the waves of nausea passed.
The hand on the nape of her neck vanished and he stepped away, waiting silently as she sat back on her heels, her hands on her thighs visibly shaking.
‘Please do not be nice to me or I will cry,’ she begged between her chattering teeth, as if this weren’t a humiliating enough position to be in.
* * *
‘I have no intention of being nice to you,’ he promised grimly, reliving the moment that he had seen the security guards move to contain her.
They had been doing their job and his fear had been they would do it too well. They had not deserved his reprimand or the curt dismissal. She, on the other hand... His jaw clenched, and the muscles quivered as he ground his teeth.
* * *
Left with nothing to do but wait to regain control of her body, she took in his outfit, what there was of it. As distraction went it was a good one. Her covetous glance moved up from his bare feet shoved in a pair of leather sliders up strong, lightly hair-roughened brown calves and deeply muscled bronzed thighs. His wet black shorts were the mid-thigh, low-on-the-hip variety and a sleeveless white vest revealed his muscular shoulders and biceps.
He had the sort of body that you saw on men who leapt off a diving board and arched through the air, throwing impossible shapes before they hit the water without a ripple. Sleek, streamlined, powerful—there wasn’t an ounce of excess flesh to hide the taut, perfectly formed muscle beneath oiled smooth skin.
Marco dragged a hand through his hair and some of the excess water that came away with it splashed icy droplets on Kate’s face, breaking her free of the sexual thrall that had gripped her.
