Modern Romance March 2020 Books 5-8

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘WELL, I THINK that went off all right, don’t you?’

There was a satisfied note in Leon’s voice as he spoke, dropping his cufflinks on the vanity unit in their penthouse suite at the Viscari Roma, with its sweeping views over the ancient city.

‘It was certainly a good turnout,’ Ellie agreed, making her voice equable as she disengaged herself from her emerald necklace.

She felt a combination of being exhausted and strung-out. But she didn’t want to let it show—it would spoil Leon’s ebullient good mood.

They had hosted a party that evening, to repay all the invitations they had accepted since their wedding. It had been held in the hotel’s banqueting suite—a glittering, opulent affair, no expense spared, that Ellie had thrown herself into organising with a determination that had been almost a frenzy, as if she were proving something to herself, to Leon. She had spared no effort to make it as dazzlingly brilliant as he could want and they themselves had been at the heart of it—Leon Dukaris, billionaire, and Princess Elizsaveta of Karylya, his royal bride, adorned in yet another priceless gown and draped with yet more priceless jewels.

As they’d received their guests, memory had plucked at her—their spectacular betrothal ball, where Leon had first kissed her…

How far I have come since then!

To a destination she had never dreamt of.

I never imagined it was waiting for me…

She felt emotion twist within her, but silenced it. She must always silence it.

Her eyes went to Leon now. He was looking as impossibly handsome as he always did, loosening his tie and chucking it aside to slip the top button of his dress shirt. She felt her breath catch—as it always did—felt that emotion she would not admit twist within her and crushed it back, as she always must.

He started to remove the diamond studs on his shirt, adding them to the gold cufflinks.

‘Yes, definitely a good bag. A dozen royals, three principessas at least, one archduke, a couple of marquesses and I lost count of the counts!’ he joshed.

Was it crass of him to take satisfaction in just how many of Europe’s royal and aristocratic elite had attended the glittering party that had finally drawn to a close as dawn approached over the seven hills of Rome? After all, it was a long, long time since he’d stood in that line for the soup kitchen…

Do I really need to prove to myself—let alone the world—how far I’ve come since then? Prove that I will never go back to that misery again?

He was in a good place now—a very good place.

His eyes rested on Ellie, removing the emerald drops from her delicate earlobes—his beautiful, very own princess bride!—and they warmed as they always did.

Memory came to him of what he’d said to her so laconically that lunchtime so long ago now, when she had come to find out whether he really intended to marry her. How he’d told her that ‘any princess’ would do for him for a royal bride. Even her sister.

How absurd the idea seemed now!

No other princess could compare with Ellie.

No other woman could compare.

The words were in his head before he realised it, and hung there like an echo.

No other woman? Was that how he felt about Ellie?

His eyes fastened on her. She was lifting her hands now, to remove her tiara and unpin the ornate hairdo created by one of the top stylists in Rome to go with her exquisite couture gown in layers of pale green ombre silk.

No other woman…

The words were still there, resonating in his consciousness. Demanding he pay attention to them. Take in their meaning.

But Ellie’s lustrous golden tresses were cascading down over her bare shoulders, distracting him from any thought but one.

He closed the distance between them. ‘I believe,’ he murmured, in a voice that was husky, ‘you will need some help with the hooks of your gown…’

It was an office he was only too ready to perform for her. And all that came after…

Urgency filled him—urgency, desire and an arousal so fierce he could only do what every instinct in his being impelled him to do. Yield to it.

But afterwards…long afterwards…Leon lay, his arms wrapped tight around her, their exhausted limbs still meshed, their hectic pulses slowly easing, yet again those words came to him that had entered his head unbidden…

No other woman.

Only Ellie. His Ellie. As he said her name in his head he felt once more—just as he had when she’d gazed up at him after their first incredible night together on their honeymoon—the strange sensation that something was thawing, deep inside him. What it was, he did not know—could not tell.

He would think about it later…

Right now the only priority was sleep—with this wondrous woman held tight in his possessing embrace. All that he wanted.

And in his arms—his in exchange for the security she sought for her father, her body sated with the passion of their union—she stared with sleepless eyes into the dark room, knowing with the clutching of emotion in her that was like a pain, that what she had now was all that she could ever have…

Ellie was sitting on the sofa in the sitting room of their suite at the Viscari, methodically working her way through the latest batch of gilt-edged invitations that had flooded in after their own lavish party, dutifully checking with Leon which ones to accept.

He gave a careless shrug, walking back to her from where he’d been standing by the doors opening on to their balcony, looking out over the roofs of Rome with a slight frown on his brow, hands thrust into his trouser pockets.

‘Say no to all of them if you like,’ he said. His expression changed. ‘You know,’ he mused, ‘maybe we should call time on all this socialising. Maybe,’ he said, ‘after that mega-bash of our own, we’d like a break from it.’

Ellie looked across at him, her expression flickering. ‘Only if you want to,’ she said uncertainly.

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘And what do you want?’ he countered.

‘I want to do what you want,’ she answered.

It was the answer she would always give…must always give. And she must be scrupulous in doing so.

I can’t forget—must not forget!—the reasons we are married.

Since their return from the château it had been her mantra. Diligently repeated to herself.

Leon frowned. ‘That’s not an answer,’ he said.

Ellie bit her lip. ‘What…what answer would you like from me, Leon?’

His expression darkened. ‘Don’t talk like that!’ His frown deepened. ‘Ellie, what’s up?’ He skewered her with his dark eyes.

She swallowed. ‘Nothing—’ she began.

His mouth tightened. ‘Yes, there is.’ He eyed her narrowly. ‘Something’s wrong, Ellie. Don’t tell me otherwise. Ever since…’ He paused, his mouth tightening again. ‘Ever since we came back from visiting your father!’

He took a breath.

‘Do you think I haven’t noticed the difference in you? You got stuck into organising our party like there was no tomorrow and you haven’t relaxed since. Something’s eating you. At first I put it down to you being…well, upset…whatever…seeing your father again now that he’s exiled and so on. And then…’ He frowned again. ‘And then while we were there you trotted out all that stuff about being grateful to me for paying for the damn château, for paying your brother’s university fees—’

He stopped. Eyeballed her. This was important and he wanted it clear.

‘You do not,’ he said, ‘have to thank me—ever!’ His expression changed, and there was a rueful humour in it now. ‘You were the one who spelt it out to me, remember? Set out just what the conditions were for your agreeing to marry me! So no thanks are due in either direction.’

She was looking at him, with an expression on her face he hadn’t seen before. Heavy and tense. He didn’t like to see it there.

‘No, but there are obligations, Leon—and that is what I am fully aware of.’ Her voice was sombre, serious. Unflinching. ‘You’ve provided for my father and my reciprocal obligation is to be, and do, what you want. You wanted a princess bride, and that…’ she took a breath ‘…that is what I am. Your princess bride. And you get to choose where and when and how often to show me off—I don’t.’

As she spoke, Ellie saw his face darken again. For a second a frisson of apprehension went through her, but she held her ground. Inside, she was conscious of a silent cry—but she must give no voice to it. She had silenced it for weeks now—ever since they’d driven away from the château.

Silenced it to him.

Silenced it to herself.

A word broke from him. Coarse, she could tell—but it was in Greek, and she was thankful not to understand it.

Tension racked through her suddenly. Had she been tactless, spelling it out like that? But that was what she’d done at that restaurant before their wedding, insisting on a bluntness about the reasons for their marriage that she would not try to disguise. Not then—and not now. Not any more.

I almost made myself forget—because I wanted to forget! Because I was so swept away by him!

Swept away to a place she had never thought to go with him—a destination that had never been part of her reason for marrying him!

But it was a place she must not approach again.

I have to keep to the limits of our marriage. Anything else is…

Impossible.

The bleak word hung in the echo of his expletive.

She saw him take a breath. Saw something flash in his eyes like gold.

‘To hell with showing you off! And to hell,’ he said, ‘with you being a princess! I want you, Ellie! You! The beautiful, irresistible you! You are the woman I want!’

He reached forward, hauled her to her feet, planted his hands on her hips and held her right in front of him.

‘I couldn’t care less about bankrolling your father—if it gets me you!’

He took another ragged breath, and another flash of gold seared across his eyes.

‘So, do you get that?’

The expression in his flashing eyes softened. His hands lifted to her face, cupping her cheeks with a tenderness in his touch.

‘Do you get it?’ he asked again, and now his voice was thickening, the gold in his eyes turning molten. ‘Because if you don’t…’ he said, and now there was a huskiness in his voice that was melting through her, making her limbs suddenly weak even as she felt as light as air, as if she were being lifted up with every word he said. ‘If you don’t I’m just going to have to kiss you senseless until you do get it…’

He lowered his mouth to hers. To Ellie—the woman he wanted…the woman no other could compare with.

His kiss was slow and lingering. The revelation that had come on him in the night possessed him—that there was no other woman for him but Ellie…his Ellie…princess or no princess. He couldn’t care less…not any more.

He lifted his mouth away. There was a dazed look in her eyes and he smiled, well pleased.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said. ‘Out of the city—away from everyone! Get into the car and drive…’ His eyes caressed her. ‘I want you all to myself—I’m done with showing off to everyone. Let’s head to where no one knows us. I want…’ his voice grew husky, his eyes washing over her ‘…a second honeymoon…’

He saw her face light up—knew he had said exactly the right thing. He let her ago. If he kissed her again he knew they’d just end up back in bed, and he was filled now with a sudden impatience. He wanted to get out of Rome.

‘Where shall we go?’ he asked. ‘Somewhere deserted that we can drive to—somewhere by the sea—it’s too hot for anything else!—but not too far away. I want to get there today!’

‘I don’t think anywhere is completely deserted in Italy in the summer…’ Ellie answered faintly.

Emotions were sweeping through her, lifting her off her feet. All the heaviness that had crushed her since visiting her father had evaporated. In its place a new emotion was soaring. One she dared not even name.

But for all that she knew what it was—and why.

Hope.

How could it be anything else, with Leon wanting to sweep her off on a second honeymoon…?

Oh, what if it’s really true, what he is telling me? That he wants me—the woman I am! Not the Princess! Oh, if that’s really, really true—

She broke off her thoughts, not daring to go further. Instead, gathering her soaring hopes, she pulled them into a semblance of sense.

‘Um…maybe Puglia?’ she ventured. ‘Not as touristy as places like Amalfi or Portofino. And Puglia,’ she added, with a sudden eagerness in her voice, ‘has trulli! Oh, Leon, can we stay in a trullo? Please say we can!’

Her spirits were soaring still.

Leon laughed indulgently. ‘We shall stay anywhere you like!’ he promised expansively.

He’d said the right thing to her—said the right thing to himself! What did he care if the woman standing there in front of him, her eyes shining like stars, had a drop of royal blood in her?

Not a jot or an iota.

Then, abruptly, he frowned. ‘What are trulli?’ he demanded.

His answer was a laugh. ‘Traditional stone houses in Puglia—they’re round, with very pointy tiled cone-shaped roofs, and they are absolutely adorable!’ Ellie exclaimed happily.

‘Let’s go for it,’ Leon said decisively. ‘We’ll leave our fancy togs here and head off. Right now!’

Ellie needed no urging and whisked into the bedroom to start packing, her feet still not touching the floor.

Their trulli—for the secluded villa consisted of a linked cluster of several of the beautifully restored conical buildings, set in the grounds of a converted masseria farmstead—proved every bit as adorable as Ellie wanted. And their holiday in Puglia was as blissful as she could ever have dreamt. A second honeymoon indeed.

Leon had swapped his monster car for a far more practical and less eye-catching SUV, and in it they explored the ancient towns of Puglia, with their ornate basilicas and crumbling buildings, their air of sleepy isolation from the busy world in the somnolent heat of high summer.

There were tourists, true, but it still felt uncrowded, and she and Leon blended easily with them, both of them dressed down in shorts and T-shirts, with Ellie wearing nothing more fancy in the evenings than a floaty cotton skirt and lacy top—perfectly fine for eating out at harbourside trattoria, or cooking for themselves at their villa—simple pasta dishes or barbecued steak, grilled fish, freshly caught, anything that was easy—and drinking the local wines.

It was a universe away from their glitzy life as Leon the billionaire showing off his royal bride to the admiring world and Princess Elizsaveta of Karylya.

As the days passed in a leisurely parade they set no particular end-point to their sojourn here. Their meandering days sometimes took them inland, to discover almost deserted villages lapped by endless olive groves, sometimes down to the coast to swim off the rocks in the crystal-clear waters of the Adriatic, and they even ventured to Lecce, the Florence of the South, to admire its baroque extravagance—barocco lecchese, as she informed Leon from the guidebook as they strolled around the centro storico, the historic heart of the city.

Ellie knew she had never been happier in her life.

And knew why.

She had Leon all to herself! Just as she had yearned to have that night that seemed so long ago now, above the marina in Monte Carlo, with the sound of fashionable revelry coming up from the lavish yachts. That was something she missed not at all, she knew with absolute certainty. Nor all it stood for.

And nor, it seemed, did Leon.

After abandoning any plans for an expedition that day, content to enjoy their trulli’s charms, they were lying by their pool, shaded from the hot sun by a parasol, and he stroked her thigh idly to get her attention as she drowsed beside him, sleepy after their al fresco lunch of fresh-baked bread with cheese, dried meats and ripe tomatoes, drenched in olive oil from the groves nearby, with luscious peaches for dessert, washed down by the Puglian white wine Verdeca.

‘When we leave here shall we change our ways?’ he asked.

She looked across at him. There was something new in his voice—something she had not heard before.

‘I told you in Rome I was done with non-stop socialising. I’ve had my fill of it—for good.’

Leon spoke decisively, knowing he meant what he’d just said. OK, so he’d got a massive kick out of it originally, revelling in having the world see him walk into a room with not just a royal bride, but the most breathtaking royal bride there had ever been! But, hey, he’d been there now—done that and got the T-shirt.

His expression tightened momentarily. And besides, there was no way he ever wanted Ellie saying to him again what she had said to him that morning in Rome. That she felt she had some kind of obligation to do whatever it was he wanted.

He pushed the memory aside roughly.

I don’t want that having anything to do with our marriage! We’ve gone beyond that. Way beyond.

He turned his head to look at her, seeing her eyes on him, a question in them. A question he was going to answer.

His hand dropped from her thigh to pick up hers. He meshed his strong fingers with her delicate slender ones and raised it to his mouth, kissing it with something that was not homage or desire…

It was affection.

He felt something warm within him—that strange sense of thawing that he had felt before and didn’t understand. But knew it was good to feel it, whatever it was.

He folded her hand in his and dropped it to his bared chest, taking a breath. This was important and he wanted to get it right.

Just as I had to get it right on our honeymoon, when I realised how much was at stake.

Just as much was at stake now.

Maybe more.

The thought was in his head and he held it there, seeking the words he needed to say.

‘Ellie, I know we married to achieve our own particular aims—your title for my wealth, just as you’ve always said. But…’ He paused, taking another breath, unable to read her expression, only knowing that there was an absolute stillness about her suddenly. ‘We’ve achieved those aims, haven’t we? Your father and his family are safely settled, and I…’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘Well, I’ve showed you off to the entire world as my princess bride!’

His expression changed, and he felt the constraint in it suddenly.

‘That soup kitchen in Athens was a long time ago and I can let it go now. I’ve nothing to prove to the world. Not any more.’

He saw something move in her eyes and knew it for what it was—compassion. But she said nothing, only perhaps tightened her fingers on his. He felt his throat constrict suddenly, as if that look of compassion were too much for him—as if he had to keep it out, away from him.

Because if he didn’t—

He felt his muscles clench suddenly and knew he was fighting for control—a control it was absolutely essential he retained. As he had always done—had had to—all his adult life.

Even before his adult life.

No! He would not go there. He was not revisiting the past—he was escaping it!

He made himself breathe out slowly before speaking again. Knowing he must get it right.

‘Ellie, what we have together is good. Both in bed and out! And…and we’re happy together, aren’t we? So…’ He took another breath and then he said it. ‘So why don’t we just be ourselves? You and me—just…well, us.’

She wasn’t saying anything, and he could feel the tension mounting in him. Had he got it wrong? He’d got it wrong on their wedding night—read her wrong and nearly lost what he’d wanted so much.

‘Ellie—say something…’

His hand tightened on hers as if he would not let her go. Could not let her go.

‘Say we have a chance, at least a chance, of making ours a real marriage! Nothing to do with me being rich and you being royal! And not bound by any time limit.’

He took another breath, his eyes fixed on her, willing her to say something…anything…

Anything but no.

‘What do you say?’ he prompted.

He had to know—he had to!

There was a knot inside him and it was pulling tighter. He saw her face working, saw something in her eyes he could not read. And then she moistened her lips, as if they’d gone suddenly dry, and he heard her speak.

‘I say yes,’ she said.

For a moment there was silence, and then, a torrent of Greek breaking from him, he drew her bodily across him, hauling her to his chest.

His eyes burned gold, bright as the sun. ‘This,’ he said, and his voice was husky, ‘calls for a celebration.’

He meshed his fingers in her golden hair, his mouth seeking hers, filled with an emotion he could not name. He only knew that it was good. It was very, very good…

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘WE’RE GOING TO need a place of our own to live. We can’t live out of hotels any longer.’

Leon’s voice was decisive as he gazed around their suite at the Viscari Roma. The city had seemed noisy and crowded since their return from Puglia, and he wanted out. Wanted to be done with hotel living altogether.

‘So, where do you fancy?’ he asked. ‘The world is our oyster!’

OK, so privately he hoped she wouldn’t say A château on the Loire next to my father, but if that really was what she wanted he’d go along with it.

Hell, he’d go along with anything she wanted.

His gaze softened. How right he’d been to put it to the test that afternoon—to risk all and claim not his princess bride but his wife.

My wife.

His eyes swept over her. They were dining in their suite, neither of them wanting to go out or to face the hotel restaurant.

My wife.

He said it again to himself, hearing the words in his head.

Certainty was filling him—this was the woman he wanted to be with. Not because of her royal blood—and not even because of her extraordinary beauty. He knew that with a strange realisation. It was for more than that—much more.