About the Authors

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of over seventy-five romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Also by Carol Marinelli

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Claimed for the Sheikh’s Shock Son

The Sicilian’s Surprise Love-Child

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs miniseries

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

The Ruthless Devereux Brothers miniseries

The Innocent’s Shock Pregnancy

The Billionaire’s Christmas Cinderella

Also by Maisey Yates

His Forbidden Pregnant Princess

Brides of Innocence miniseries

The Spaniard’s Untouched Bride

The Spaniard’s Stolen Bride

Once Upon a Seduction… miniseries

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

The Italian’s Pregnant Prisoner

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Secret Prince’s Christmas Seduction

Carol Marinelli

The Queen’s Baby Scandal

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08856-5

SECRET PRINCE’S CHRISTMAS SEDUCTION & THE QUEEN’S BABY SCANDAL

Secret Prince’s Christmas Seduction © 2019 Carol Marinelli The Queen’s Baby Scandal © 2019 Maisey Yates

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Secret Prince’s Christmas Seduction

Back Cover Text

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Queen’s Baby Scandal

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Secret Prince’s Christmas Seduction

Carol Marinelli

Claimed by the prince

For Christmas or forever?

Sicilian chambermaid Antonietta prides herself on her discretion, so she’s mortified by her inappropriate reaction to her hotel’s newest guest! Antonietta has no idea Rafael is the notorious prince of Tulano. All she knows is that his touch lights her up more brightly than a Christmas tree.

Their unexpected connection floors cynical Rafe. All he can offer is a temporary festive seduction before resuming his royal duties. But unwrapping the precious gift of Antonietta’s virginity changes everything. Rafe must choose—his crown, or Antonietta…

PROLOGUE

‘THANKS, BUT I’M really hoping to be spending Christmas with my family.’ Realising that she might have come across as ungrateful, Antonietta immediately apologised. ‘It’s very kind of you to invite me, but…’

‘I get it.’ Aurora shrugged as she carried on helping Antonietta to unpack. ‘You didn’t come to Silibri to spend Christmas Day with the Messinas.’

‘Ah, but you’re a Caruso now!’ Antonietta smiled.

The cemetery in the village of Silibri, where Antonietta had loved to wander, held many names, but there were a few constants, and Caruso, Messina and Ricci were the prominent ones.

Especially Ricci.

The Ricci family extended across the south-west region of Sicily and beyond, but Silibri was its epicentre. Antonietta’s father, who was the chief fire officer and a prominent landowner, was well connected and held in high regard.

‘Do you know…?’ Antonietta paused in hanging up the few clothes she owned. ‘If I had married Sylvester then I wouldn’t even have had to change my surname. I would still be Antonietta Ricci.’

‘Yes, and you would be married to your second cousin and living in a property on the grounds of your father’s home, with Sylvester working for him.’

‘True…’ Antonietta started to say, but then faltered.

She had run away on her wedding day, five years ago, in rather spectacular style—climbing out of the bedroom window as her father waited outside to take her to the packed church. Sylvester was popular in the village, and a member of her extended family, so the fallout had been dire—her family had rejected her completely. Letters and emails had gone unanswered and her mother hung up on her whenever she called to try and make her case.

She had spent four years living and working in France, but though she had persisted with the language, and made friends there, it had never felt like home. So she had come back to Silibri, for Aurora and Nico’s wedding, but there had been no welcome committee to greet her. Instead she had been shunned by both her immediate and extended family.

Rejecting Sylvester, and so publicly, had been taken as a rejection of them and their closed family values and traditions.

Since Nico and Aurora’s wedding she had been working at Nico’s grand hotel in Rome, as a chambermaid. But Rome was not home either, and she had often confided to her friend how she missed Silibri.

Antonietta had wanted one final chance to make amends, and Aurora had offered a solution—she could work as a chambermaid in Nico’s new hotel in Silibri while training part-time as a massage therapist. The old monastery there had been painstakingly rebuilt, and refurbished to Nico’s exacting standards, and it was more a luxurious retreat than a hotel. To train there would be a career boost indeed.

It was an opportunity that Antonietta didn’t want to miss—but, given the level of animosity towards her, it was clear she would struggle to live in the village. Aurora had had a solution to that too—there was a small stone cottage, set on the cliff-edge, and Aurora had said she was more than welcome to use it.

‘The internet connection is terrible there and it’s too close to the helipad and hangar for the guests,’ Aurora had explained, ‘so it’s just sitting empty.’

‘Hopefully I shan’t need it for too long,’ Antonietta had replied. ‘Once my family know that I’m back and working…’

She had seen the doubtful look flicker in her dear friend’s eyes. The same doubtful look that flickered now, as Antonietta insisted she would be back with her family for the festivities.

‘Antonietta…?’

She heard the question in her friend’s voice and braced herself. Aurora was as outspoken as Antonietta was quiet, but till now her friend had refrained from stating the obvious.

‘It’s been five years since your family have spoken to you…’

‘I know that,’ Antonietta said. ‘But it’s not as if I’ve actually given them much opportunity to do so.’

‘You came back for my wedding,’ Aurora pointed out. ‘And you were ignored by them.’

‘I think they were just shocked to see me. But once they know I’m properly here, that I’m back for good…’

Aurora sat down on the bed but Antonietta remained standing, not wanting to have the conversation that was to come.

‘It’s been years,’ Aurora said again. ‘You were only twenty-one when it happened, and now you are close to turning twenty-six! Isn’t it time to stop beating yourself up?’

‘But I’m not,’ Antonietta said. ‘It’s been an amazing five years. I’ve travelled and I’ve learnt a new language. It’s not as if I’m walking around in sackcloth and ashes—most of the time life is wonderful. It’s just at…’

Just at other times.

Times that should surely be spent with family.

‘Christmas is especially hard,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘It is then that I miss them the most. And I find it hard to believe that they don’t think of me and miss me also. Especially my mother. I want to give them one final chance…’

‘Fair enough—but what about fun?’ Aurora persisted. ‘I get that it hasn’t been all doom and gloom, but you haven’t spoken of any friends. I never hear you saying you’re going on a date…’

‘You never dated anyone until Nico,’ Antonietta said rather defensively.

‘Only because I have loved Nico my entire life,’ Aurora said. ‘No one compared. But at least I tried once…’

They both laughed as they recalled Aurora’s attempt to get over Nico by getting off with a fireman, but then Antonietta’s laughter died away. There was a very good reason she hadn’t dated. One that she hadn’t even shared with her closest friend. It wasn’t just the fact that Sylvester was her second cousin that had caused Antonietta to flee on her wedding day. It had been her dread of their wedding night.

Sylvester’s kisses had repulsed Antonietta, and the rough, urgent roaming of his hands had terrified her. And her reluctance to partake had infuriated him.

It had all come to a head for Antonietta in the weeks before the planned wedding, when she had come to dread time spent alone with her fiancé. On more than a couple of occasions he had almost overpowered her, and Antonietta had been forced to plead with Sylvester and say that she was saving herself for her wedding night.

‘Frigida,’ he had called her angrily.

And very possibly she was, Antonietta had concluded, because to this day the thought of being intimate with a man left her cold.

At the time she had tried voicing her fears about it to her mamma, but her advice had been less than reassuring. Her mamma had told her that once she was married it was her wifely duty to perform ‘once a week to keep him happy’.

As the wedding night had loomed closer, so had Antonietta’s sense of dread. And that feeling of dread, whenever she thought of kissing a man, let alone being intimate with a man, had stayed with her.

She wished she could speak about it with Aurora. But her friend was so confident with her sexuality, and so deliriously happy in her marriage that instead of confiding in her, Antonietta remained eternally private and kept the darkest part of her soul to herself.

‘It’s time to live a little,’ Aurora pushed now.

‘I agree.’ Antonietta nodded, even if she didn’t quite believe it herself. ‘But first I have to give my parents this chance to forgive me.’

‘For what, Antonietta?’ Aurora was blunt. ‘Sylvester was your second cousin; the fact is they just wanted to keep their money in the family and keep the Ricci name strong—’

‘Even so…’ It was Antonietta who interrupted now. ‘I shamed my parents in front of their entire family. I left Sylvester standing at the altar! You saw the fallout, Aurora…’

‘Yes…’

Apparently a huge fight had broken out in the church. Antonietta hadn’t hung around to witness it, though; she had timed it so she had been on the train out of Silibri by then.

‘I miss having a family.’ It was the simple truth. ‘They are not perfect—I know that—but I miss having them in my life. And even if we cannot reconcile I feel there is unfinished business between us. Even if it is a final goodbye then I want it to be said face to face.’

‘Well, the offer’s there if you change your mind,’ Aurora said. ‘Nico and I want Gabe to celebrate his first Christmas in Silibri…’ Her voice trailed off as she pulled a swathe of scarlet fabric from Antonietta’s case. ‘This is beautiful—where did you get it?’

‘Paris.’ Antonietta smiled and ran her hands fondly over the fabric. ‘I bought it just after I arrived there.’ It had been a late summer’s day and, having just written to her parents, she had been buoyed by the prospect of reconciliation. ‘I was walking through Place Saint-Pierre and I wandered into a fabric store.’

She had decided to celebrate her happy mood and there amongst the brocades and velvets she had found a bolt of stunning crimson silk and bought a length.

‘You have had it all this time and done nothing with it?’ Aurora checked as Antonietta wrapped it back in its tissue paper and placed it in the bottom drawer of a heavy wooden chest. ‘You cannot leave this hiding in a drawer.’

‘I might make some cushions with it.’

‘Cushions?’ Aurora was aghast. ‘That fabric deserves to be made into a dress and taken out!’

‘Oh? And when will I ever wear it?’

‘As a last resort you can wear it in your coffin,’ Aurora said with typical Sicilian dark humour. ‘You can lie there dead and people can say Look how beautiful she almost was! Give it to me and let me make something with it.’

Aurora was a brilliant seamstress, and would certainly make something beautiful, but it was almost reluctantly that Antonietta handed over the fabric.

‘Let me get your measurements,’ Aurora said.

‘I don’t have a tape measure.’

But of course Aurora did. And so, instead of unpacking, Antonietta stood, feeling awkward and shy in her underwear, holding her long, straight black hair up as Aurora took her measurements down to the last detail.

‘You are so slim,’ Aurora said as she wrote them all down. ‘One of my legs is the size of your waist.’

‘Rubbish!’

They were lifelong best friends and complete opposites. Aurora was all rippling curls and curves, and she exuded confidence, whereas Antonietta was as reserved and as slender as her shadow that now fell on the stone wall. The evening was cool, rather than cold, but the year was certainly moving into winter, and she shivered as Aurora took her time, writing down the measurements.

Antonietta tried to hurry her along. ‘Nico will be here for you soon,’ she warned.

He was checking on the hotel while Aurora helped her settle in, but soon his helicopter would come to return both him and Aurora to their residence in Rome.

‘Aren’t you going to drop in and visit your parents before you head back?’

‘I am avoiding them.’ Aurora rolled her eyes. ‘Can you believe they want Nico to employ my lazy, good-for-nothing brother as chief groundskeeper for the Old Monastery?’

Antonietta laughed. Aurora’s brother was lazy indeed.

‘It’s no joke,’ Aurora said. ‘You would need a scythe to get to work if Nico relented. My brother is as bone idle as yours, but of course now me and Nico are married he seems to think that Nico owes him a job!’

‘I hope Nico didn’t feel obliged to employ me…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Aurora cut her off. ‘You are a hard worker and the Old Monastery is lucky to have you.’

Even so, it was a huge favour for them to give her this cottage as she worked on making amends for the past.

The sound of Nico’s chopper starting up made Aurora look out of the window. ‘There he is…’ She kissed her friend on both cheeks and gave her a hug. ‘Good luck starting work and I’ll see you on Christmas Eve—if not before. And I mean it, Antonietta. If things don’t work out with your family, the offer to join us is there.’

‘Thank you,’ Antonietta said. ‘But Christmas is still a couple of months away; there is plenty of time for things to sort themselves out.’

‘You’ll be okay?’ Aurora checked. ‘You really are a bit cut off here.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Antonietta assured her. ‘Thanks so much for this.’

Nico did not come into the cottage; instead he headed straight to the chopper and Antonietta watched as Aurora joined him. They were clearly both happy to be heading back to Rome and little Gabe, who would soon be turning one. She was glad that Nico hadn’t dropped in. She was starting work soon, and didn’t want her co-workers thinking that she had a direct line to the boss through her friend.

It felt odd, though, after Aurora had gone and she was truly alone.

The cottage was beautifully furnished, with a modern kitchen and a cosy living area, and she wandered through it, taking in not just the furnishings but the stunning view of the ocean from her bedroom. No beach was visible, just choppy waves and crashing foam. Despite the cool evening she opened the window, just to drown out the crippling silence that had descended since Aurora had left.

She was home, Antonietta told herself.

Not that it felt like it.

In truth, Silibri never had.

Antonietta had never quite felt she belonged.

CHAPTER ONE
Six weeks later

ANTONIETTA WAS UP long before the Sicilian winter sun. For a while she lay in the dark bedroom of her little stone cottage, listening to the sound of the waves rolling in and crashing on the rocks below. It might have worked in the meditation of monks of old, and it might be a tranquil backdrop for the guests, but it brought little peace to Antonietta.

It was two weeks until Christmas and since her return there had been little progress with her family. If anything the situation had worsened, with rude stares and muttered insults whenever she ventured into the village, and when she had gone to her parents’ home the door had been closed in her face by her father.

Yet she had glimpsed a pained look in her mother’s eyes from the hallway—as if her mamma had something she wanted to say.

It was for that reason Antonietta persisted.

Sylvester had married and moved away from the village, so there was little chance of bumping into him. And it was good to walk on the beach or in the hillsides she knew. Work was going incredibly well too; her colleagues were friendly and supportive and her training was first class.

Having showered, she went into her wardrobe to select her uniform. It varied—when she was working at the Oratory she wore white, but today she was working on cleaning the suites, so would need her regular uniform.

But as she went to take out her uniform her fingers lingered on the new addition to her wardrobe.

Yes, Aurora was a wonderful seamstress indeed, and the scarlet dress had arrived yesterday! However, just as Antonietta had been reluctant to hand over the fabric, she was even more reluctant to try it on. The dress was bold and sensual and everything she was not.

Still, there was not time for lingering. Her shift started soon, so she pulled out her uniform and got dressed.

The uniforms were actually stunning: the Persian orange linen went well with her olive skin and her slender figure suited the cut of the dress. Antonietta wore no make-up, either in or out of work, so getting ready didn’t take long. She pulled her hair into a neat ponytail and then, having slipped on a jacket, made her way across the grounds towards the monastery.

Her little cottage was quite some distance from the main building. Still, it was a pleasant walk, with the sky turning to navy as the sleepy stars readied themselves to fade for the day, and there was a crisp, salt-laden breeze coming in from the Mediterranean.

And there was already activity at the Old Monastery!

A couple of dark-suited gentlemen were walking around the perimeter of the building and Pino, the chief concierge, was looking very dapper this morning as he greeted her warmly. ‘Buongiorno, Antonietta.’

‘Buongiorno, Pino,’ she responded.

‘We have a new guest!’

The hotel housed many guests, but with the extra security visible Antonietta had already guessed there was a VIP in residence.

Pino loved to gossip and was determined to fill her in. ‘We are to address him as Signor Louis Dupont. However…’ Pino tapped the side of his nose ‘…the truth is he is really—’

‘Pino…’ Antonietta interrupted.

She adored Pino, and always arrived early to allow herself time to chat with him. Pino had recently lost his beloved wife of forty years, Rosa, and she knew that work was the only thing keeping him sane. Still, given that Antonietta was already a main source of gossip in the village, she refused to partake in it now.

‘If that is how he wants to be addressed, then that is enough for me.’

‘Fair enough,’ Pino said, and then he took a proper look at her. ‘How are you doing, Antonietta?’

‘I’m getting there,’ she said, touched that with all that was going on in his world he still took the time to ask about her. ‘How about you?’

‘I’m not looking forward to Christmas. Rosa always made it so special. It was her favourite time of the year.’

‘What will you do? Are you going to visit your daughter?’

‘No, it is her husband’s family’s turn this year, so I’ve told Francesca that I’ll work. I decided that would be better than sitting at home alone. What about you—has there been any progress with your family?’

‘None,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘I have been to the house several times but they still refuse to speak with me, and my trips to the village are less than pleasant. Perhaps it’s time I accept that I’m not wanted here.’

‘Not true,’ Pino said. ‘Not everyone is a Ricci—or related to one.’

‘It feels like it.’

‘Things will get better.’

‘Perhaps—if I live to be a hundred!’

They shared a small wry smile. Both knew only too well that grudges lasted for a very long time in Silibri.

‘You’re doing well at work,’ Pino pointed out.

‘Yes!’

And the fact that she had committed to the therapy course was the main reason Antonietta had stayed even when it had become clear that her family did not want her around. With each shift, both as a chambermaid and while training as a therapist, she fell in love with her work a little more. Working at the Old Monastery was so different from the bars and café jobs that had supported her while she lived in France, and she preferred the tranquil nature of Silibri to the hustle and bustle of Rome.

‘Work has been my saviour,’ she admitted.

‘And mine,’ Pino agreed.

As she walked into the softly lit foyer the gorgeous scent of pine reached her, and Antonietta took a moment to breathe it in. Apart from the stunning Nebrodi fir tree, adorned with citrus fruits, there were no other Christmas decorations. As Nico had pointed out, many of their guests were retreating to escape Christmas, and did not need constant reminders—but Aurora, being Aurora, had insisted on at least a tree.

Still, thought Antonietta, as magnificent and splendid as the tree was, it was just a token, and somehow it just didn’t feel like Christmas once had in Silibri.

Heading into the staff room, she dropped off her bag and jacket and made her way to the morning briefing from Maria, the head of housekeeping.

Francesca, the regional manager, was also in early, and was looking on as the chambermaids were informed that a new guest had just arrived into the August Suite, which was the premier suite of the hotel.

‘I don’t have his photo yet,’ said Maria.

All the staff would be shown his photograph, so he could be recognised and greeted appropriately at all times, and so that all charges could be added to his suite without any formalities.

‘Signor Dupont is to be given top priority,’ Francesca cut in. ‘If there are any issues you are to report them directly to me.’

Ah, so that was the reason she was here so early, Antonietta thought. She was always very aware of Francesca. Antonietta liked her, but because Francesca was a close friend of her mother there was a certain guardedness between them.

‘Antonietta, that is where you shall be working today,’ Maria continued with the handover. ‘When you are not busy, you can assist Chi-Chi in the other superior suites, but Signor Dupont is to take priority at all times.’

Antonietta had been surprised at how quickly she had moved through the ranks. She was now regularly allocated the most important guests and Francesca had told her she was perfect for the role.

The August, Starlight and Temple Suites were sumptuous indeed, and the guests they housed could be anything from visiting royalty to rock stars recovering from their excesses, or even movie stars recuperating after a little nip and tuck.

The reason that Antonietta was so perfectly suited to working in the suites was her rather private nature. She had enough problems of her own and didn’t care to delve into other people’s. Nor did she have stars in her eyes, and she was not dumbstruck by celebrity, fame or title. Generally polite conversation was all that was required, and Antonietta could certainly do that. Silence was merited on occasion, and she was more than happy to oblige. She was polite to the guests, if a little distant, but she did her work quietly and well and let the guests be.

At the end of the handover, Francesca pulled Antonietta aside and gave her the pager for the August Suite. She offered a little more information.

‘Signor Dupont has declined the services of a butler. He has stated that he wants privacy and is not to be unnecessarily disturbed. Perhaps you can sort out with him the best time to service his suite—he might want to get it over and done with—but I shall leave that to you.’

A guest in the August Suite could have the rooms serviced a hundred times a day if he so demanded.

‘Also, Signor Dupont might need some assistance getting out of bed. If he—’

‘I am not a nurse,’ Antonietta interrupted. She had firm boundaries.

‘I know that,’ Francesca said, and gave her rather surly chambermaid a tight smile. ‘Signor Dupont already has a nurse—although he seems rather testy and insists that he does not need one. Should he require her assistance, she can be paged. I should warn you that he is very bruised, so don’t be shocked.’

‘Okay.’

‘Antonietta, I probably shouldn’t tell you who he is, but—’

‘Then please don’t,’ Antonietta cut in.

For her it really was as simple as that. She did not gossip and she did not listen to gossip either. Oh, the staff here were wonderful, and their gossip was never malicious. Certainly it would not reach the press, which was why there were so many exclusive guests at the hotel.

The same courtesy was extended in the village. The locals were all thrilled at the vibrancy that had returned to the town with the new hotel, and so the Silibri people looked after its guests as their own. In fact, they looked after the guests better than their own—Antonietta had been treated shabbily by many of them.

‘I don’t want to know his real name, Francesca,’ she said now, ‘because then I might slip up and use it. Tell me only what I need to know.’

‘Very well—he has his own security detail and you will need to show them your ID. He’s booked in until Christmas Eve. Although, from what I gather, I believe it is doubtful he will last until then.’

‘He’s dying?’ Antonietta frowned.

‘No!’ Francesca laughed. ‘I meant he will grow bored. Now, he wants coffee to be delivered promptly at seven.’

‘Then I had better get on.’

Francesca carried on chatting as they both made their way to the kitchen. ‘I have just finalised the roster,’ she told her. ‘And I have you down for an early start on Christmas Day.’

Antonietta stopped in her tracks, and was about to open her mouth to protest, but then Francesca turned and she saw the resigned, almost sympathetic look on her manager’s face. Francesca wasn’t just telling her that she was to work on Christmas Day, Antonietta realised. Her mother must have made it clear to her friend that Antonietta would not be invited to partake in the family’s festivities.

‘Working is better than sitting alone in that cottage,’ Francesca said as they resumed walking and headed into the kitchen. ‘I shall be here too, and so will Pino and Chi-Chi…’

All the lonely hearts were working over Christmas then, Antonietta thought sadly.

‘I’m on over Christmas too,’ said Tony, the very portly head chef—which only confirmed Antonietta’s thoughts.

Tony was married to his job, and put all his care and love into his food, and there was no exception this morning. There was a huge silver pot of coffee for their new guest, and cream and sugar, but there was also a basket of pastries and bread, a meat and cheese platter, and a fruit platter too. All the chefs, and especially Tony, could not refrain from adding Sicilian flair to every dish.

‘Tony,’ Antonietta pointed out as she checked the order, ‘he only ordered coffee, but you have prepared a feast.’

‘He is a guest.’ Tony shrugged.

‘And he’s a big man!’ Francesca said, holding out her hands high and wide. ‘Huge! He needs to eat!’

It was the Silibri way—even in the poorest home there would be biscotti and pizzelles served alongside coffee. There was no point arguing, so Antonietta wheeled the trolley towards the elevator.

The monastery had been refurbished to perfection, and although it still looked ancient, it had all mod cons. Antonietta often saw the guests blink in surprise when they stepped behind a stone partition to reach the discreet elevator.

She took the elevator up to the top floor and, alone for a moment, slumped against the wall as she dwelt on the message behind Francesca’s words. It really was time to accept that her family simply didn’t want her. It was time to move on.

Where, though?

Back to France, perhaps? Or to Rome?

But she hadn’t felt she had belonged in either place, and there was still her training to complete…

Catching sight of her reflection, she straightened up and gave herself a mental shake. It wasn’t the guest’s fault that she was feeling blue, and she put on her game face as she stepped out and wheeled the trolley across the cloister, past the Starlight and Temple Suites, and across to the August Suite.

A suited man stood as she neared. She had known guests to bring their own security detail before, but never to this extent. What with the extra guards outside and within, this guest must be important indeed.

The guard was not exactly friendly, but without a word he looked at the photo on her lanyard and then checked Antonietta’s face before stepping aside to let her past.

She knocked gently on the large wooden door. There was no response so, as she’d been trained to do, Antonietta let herself in with a swipe of her key card. Once inside, she turned on a side light and wheeled the trolley through the dimly lit lounge and over to the entrance to the main bedroom. She gave the door a gentle knock.

No response.

Another gentle knock and then, as she carefully opened the door, Antonietta called his name. ‘Signor Dupont?’

Again there was no response, and though the room was in darkness it was clear to her that he was asleep. His breathing was deep and even, and judging from his outline Antonietta could see that he lay on his stomach in the large four-poster bed, with a sheet covering him.

‘I have coffee for you,’ Antonietta said quietly. ‘Would you like me to open the drapes? The sun is just about to rise.’

‘Si.’ He stirred in the bed as he gave his groggy reply.

Antonietta headed to the drapes to open them, though it was not a simple matter of pulling them apart. The windows were vast and the dark velvet curtains heavy; pulling with both hands on the cord was truly like parting the curtains at a theatre, as if a play was about to unfold before her eyes.

The August Suite was her favourite. It occupied an entire wing of the Old Monastery, which allowed for panoramic views. The view from the lounge looked across the ocean, and the dining room looked over the valley, but here in the master bedroom there was a view of the ancient temple ruins.

Antonietta drank it in for a moment. There, as fingers of red light spread across the sky, the ocean danced to the rising sun and she felt she could happily gaze on it for ever. The view, though, was not hers to enjoy just now.

Antonietta turned around, and as she did so she started slightly when she first laid eyes on the guest.

He was nothing like she had imagined. From Francesca’s description she had been expecting a possibly aging, somewhat bedridden and rather large man. But, while he was indeed large, he was certainly not overweight. Instead he was incredibly tall, judging by the amount of space he took up in the large bed. He was also broad and muscular, and thankfully covered by the sheet where it mattered.

And she guessed he might be around thirty.

Francesca had been right, though, to warn her about the bruises, for they really were shocking—purple and black, they covered his arms and chest and one eye, and his top lip was swollen. Signor Dupont, or whatever his real name was, had thick black hair that was rather messy, and also very matted—Antonietta guessed with blood. Of course she made no comment, but for the first time she found herself more than a little curious as to what had happened to a guest.

‘Poor decision,’ Signor Dupont said, and she guessed he was referring to the sun, for he was shielding his eyes as he struggled to sit up in the bed.

‘I can close them…’ Antonietta offered.

‘No, leave them.’

He would get used to the bright light soon, Rafe told himself, even as his pulse roared in his ears. But brighter than the sun were the shards of memory painfully surfacing in his brain—the absolute knowledge that this fall had been serious.

Rafe did not fear death for himself, but for a seemingly endless moment he had glimpsed the grief and chaos he would leave behind and had fought to right himself. He could not shake the memory of the looks of horror on his bodyguards’ faces, the sense of panic all around, which seemed at odds with the soft voice speaking to him now.

‘Would you like me to pour your coffee, Signor Dupont?’

For a moment he wondered who she was referring to. And then he remembered.

Ah, yes, security was extra-tight, for it would be disastrous if news of this near-miss leaked out.

So Rafe nodded and watched as the maid poured his drink, but as she removed one of the linen covers on the tray the sweet scent of bread and pastry reached him, and with it a wave of nausea.

‘I only asked for coffee.’

‘Ah, but you are in Silibri,’ she responded. ‘Here there is no such thing as “just coffee.”’

‘Please tell the chef that he is not to misinterpret my orders,’ Rafe snapped.

‘I shall pass that on.’

‘Leave and take the trolley with you.’ He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

‘Of course.’

Antonietta was only too happy to go. ‘Testy’ didn’t come close to describing him. However, there was one thing that needed to be sorted out before she left. ‘When would you like me to return and service the suite, Signor Du—?’

‘Please!’ His interruption was irritated rather than polite, and his dark eyes held hers in reprimand. ‘Don’t call me that again. Just use my first name.’

‘Very well.’ Antonietta felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, and it had nothing to do with his surly tone, and more to do with the deep navy of his eyes, which reminded her of the sky that morning. ‘So, Louis, when would you—?’

‘Rafe!’ he snapped, and then softened his tone. It was not her fault there were so many restrictions on publicising his identity. ‘You are to call me Rafe. And, no, I do not want my room serviced. If you could make up the bed while I have my coffee, that will suffice.’

He moved to climb out of bed, but then perhaps he got dizzy, because instead of heading to the bedside chair he remained sitting on the edge with his head in his hands, his skin turning from pale to grey.

He should be in hospital, Antonietta thought. ‘Would you like me to—?’

‘I can manage,’ he snapped.

They’d both spoken at the same time, and Antonietta had not finished her sentence. Now she did. ‘Would you like me to fetch the nurse to help you get out of bed?’

For some reason what she said caused him to lift his head from his hands and look at her. Antonietta was sure he almost smiled, but then his expression changed to austere.

‘I don’t need a nurse and I don’t need the bed linen changed. Please, just leave.’

His tone was still brusque, but Antonietta took no offence. It was clear to her that Louis—or rather Rafe—loathed being seen in a weakened state. He was holding tightly on to the bedside table with one hand, while the other gripped the mattress, and she was certain he would prefer to be alone than have anyone witness him like this.

‘Would you like me to come back later?’

‘No.’ He gave a shake of his head, which must have hurt, because he halted midway. ‘I really don’t want to be disturbed today—if you could let everybody know?’

‘I shall.’

‘And could you block out the sun before you leave?’

It was a slightly oddly worded request, and only then did she realise that Italian wasn’t his first language. It took a second to place, but she soon realised that his Italian was tinged with an accent she loved—French.

She wanted to delve. For the first time ever Antonietta wanted to know more about a guest. He had asked that she use his real name—Rafe—and now she wanted to know it in full. She wanted to know where he was from and what had led him to this Silibri retreat to heal in secret.

Antonietta wanted to know more about this man.

But instead she wheeled out the trolley while the room was still light, and then returned. ‘I’ll close the drapes and then get out of your way. But, please, if you need anything then don’t hesitate to page me.’

Rafe nodded and glanced at her, and was slightly bemused when he noticed her eyes. It wasn’t so much that they were as black as treacle, and thickly lashed, it was more that he had never seen such sadness. Oh, it was not anything tangible—she was not downcast or grim—but there was an abject melancholy in them that tugged him out of deep introspection. And that was no mean feat, for Rafe had a lot on his mind.

An awful lot.

The black-eyed maid took out the trolley, and by the time she returned Rafe was back in bed. Before closing the drapes, she topped up the water by his bed.

‘Thank you,’ Rafe said, once the room was mercifully back to darkness. He actually meant it, for she had worked unobtrusively and had not, unlike so many others, pushed for conversation, nor dashed to help unasked. He almost smiled again when he remembered her offer to fetch the nurse rather than assist herself.

‘What is your name?’ he asked.

‘Antonietta.’

And that was that.

Well, almost.

She wheeled the trolley back to the elevator and then went down to the kitchen and picked up the tablet to make a note of his requests. The internal computer system for the domestic staff was easy to navigate—she checked the box to say that he had declined having his suite serviced and added a note that he was not to be disturbed.

Yet she lingered a second.

His photo was up now, and she flushed as she looked at his elegant features. He wore black dress trousers and a white fitted shirt and there was a scowl on his lips and his eyes were narrowed, as if warning the photographer off.

She accidentally clicked on his profile, but there was only his pseudonym there.

Signor Louis Dupont.

VVIP

So, he was very, very important.

And in the box where normally a guest’s requests were noted there was instead a direction.

All queries and requests to be directed to Francesca.

All hours.

‘Is everything okay, Antonietta?’

She turned to the sound of Francesca’s voice and saw she was chatting with Tony.

‘Of course. I was just about to make a note regarding a guest but I’m not able to fill it in.’

‘Because all Signor Dupont’s requests are to be relayed first to me,’ said Francesca.

‘He didn’t even try one of my pastries?’ Tony was aghast when he saw that the trolley had been returned untouched.

Francesca, of course, thought she should have done better. ‘You should have left a selection for him to nibble on.’

‘He made himself very clear,’ Antonietta said, blushing a bit as she did so, knowing that Rafe’s lack of compliments to the chef would not go down well. ‘I was just about to make a note—he has asked that the chef…’ she hesitated and slightly rephrased Rafe’s message ‘…should please not add anything to his order.’

Even that did not go down well.

Tony flounced off and she later found out from Vincenzo, the head of PR, that he had been discovered in tears.

‘You know how temperamental Tony is,’ he scolded her. ‘And he’s especially upset today because the Christmas rosters are out. Could you not at least have diluted such a prominent guest’s criticism?’

‘But I did dilute it,’ Antonietta said. ‘Anyway, I thought Tony was happy to be working on Christmas Day.’

Vincenzo just huffed off, leaving Antonietta wondering what on earth she’d said wrong this time. Still, there wasn’t time to dwell, and for the rest of the day she worked with Chi-Chi. Or rather Antonietta worked while Chi-Chi did the slowly-slowly.

The slowly-slowly was a way to look busy while getting precisely nothing done, and Chi-Chi had perfected it. She had even tried to share her method with Antonietta.

‘You can doze in the cleaning room, but keep some dusters on your lap, so that if Francesca pops her head in you can look as if you’re in the middle of folding them,’ Chi-Chi had explained when Antonietta had first started working there. ‘But never cross your legs while you sleep or it will leave a red mark on your calf, and Francesca will be able to tell you’ve been in there for ages.’

‘I don’t want a bar of it,’ Antonietta had told her.

She had known Chi-Chi her whole life, but she wasn’t a friend, exactly, just someone she knew and, unfortunately, with whom she now worked. Chi-Chi’s aim in life was to find a husband and do as little as she could get away with in the meantime. Once, Antonietta had actually seen her dozing on her arm as she supposedly cleaned a mirror, only to suddenly spring into action when Antonietta made her presence known!

‘I saw your papà yesterday,’ Chi-Chi said as she ate one of the turn-down chocolates while Antonietta dusted. ‘He couldn’t stop and speak for long, though, but he said he was busy getting things ready for the Christmas Eve bonfire. Will you be going?’ she enquired, oh, so innocently.

‘Of course,’ Antonietta said. ‘The fire in the village square is a tradition. Why wouldn’t I go?’

Chi-Chi shrugged and helped herself to another chocolate. ‘What is he like?’ she asked.

‘My papà?’ Antonietta said, pretending she had no idea to whom Chi-Chi was referring.

‘No, silly! The new man who is staying in the August Suite. I wonder what his real name is? He must be important. I have never seen so much security.’

‘All our guests are important,’ Antonietta said, refusing to be drawn.

Still, at the mention of the August Suite, and not for the first time, Antonietta glanced at her pager. But, no, Rafe had not paged her. Nor, when she checked, had he made any requests for in-suite dining. In fact later that afternoon she found out that his nurse had been given her marching orders for daring to make an unscheduled check on her patient.

Rafe had clearly meant what he’d said about not wanting to be disturbed.

At the end of her shift, as she walked back to her little cottage, Antonietta found she was glancing up in the direction of the August Suite. It was too far away for her to tell if he was on the balcony, but she wondered about him, wondered how he had spent his day and how he was.

For the first time ever Antonietta truly wondered about a man…

CHAPTER TWO

THE CHRISTMAS ROSTER was definitely the main topic of conversation over the next couple of days.

Antonietta was training in the Oratory, which was unusually quiet, but whenever she entered the staffroom it was all that was being discussed.

‘It’s not fair,’ Chi-Chi huffed. ‘Even Greta has got Christmas off and she only started three months ago.’

‘She has children, though,’ Antonietta pointed out.

‘How come you are off, Vincenzo?’

‘Because I live in Florence, and if I am to spend any time with my family then I need adequate time to get there.’

‘But it is the Old Monastery’s first Christmas,’ Chi-Chi said. ‘Surely the head of PR should be here and tweeting…or whatever it is you do.’

‘I do rather more than play on my phone,’ Vincenzo said, and then looked to Antonietta. ‘How are things in the Oratory?’

‘Quiet…’ Antonietta sighed as she peeled the lid off a yoghurt. ‘It’s fully booked for next week, but the place was dead yesterday and it’s almost empty today. I think people must be saving up their treatments for Christmas.’

She looked up as Francesca came to the door.

‘Ah, there you are Antonietta. Could I ask you to service Signor Dupont’s suite? I know you are meant to be doing your training in the Oratory today—’

‘Of course,’ Antonietta said, and went to get up.

‘Finish your lunch first,’ Francesca said. ‘He has asked that it be serviced at one o’clock.’

‘I’m glad she asked you and not me,’ Chi-Chi said, the very second Francesca had gone. ‘I’ve been working there the past couple of days, and he might be important, but he’s also mean.’

‘Mean?’ Antonietta frowned.

‘He told me to refrain from speaking while I do my work.’

‘Well, I expect he has a headache,’ Antonietta said, without adding that she certainly did when Chi-Chi was around.

Vincenzo looked at the time and then stood and brushed off his suit, smoothing his already immaculate red hair in the mirror before heading back.

‘For someone so vain, you’d think he would have noticed that he’s putting on weight,’ Chi-Chi said the moment he was gone. ‘His jacket doesn’t even do up any more.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Antonietta snapped.

But Chi-Chi would not, and carried on with her grumbling. ‘He’s only got Christmas off because he’s a manager.’

‘No.’ Antonietta shook her head. ‘Francesca is working. I’d better go.’

‘But you’ve barely sat down.’

She was happy to get up. Antonietta was more than a little bit fed up with Chi-Chi’s rather grating nature.

‘I need to get the linen ready to take up to the August Suite.’

Fetching the linen was one of Antonietta’s favourite tasks. Here at the Old Monastery the linen was tailor-made for each bed and was washed and line dried without a hint of bleach.

Antonietta breathed in the scent of fresh laundry as she walked in. Vera, who worked there, must be on her lunch, so Antonietta selected crisp linen and then walked across the stunning grounds.

A guest who had just arrived that morning had told her that it had been raining and grey in Rome when they’d left. Here, though, the sky was blue, and it was a little brisk and chilly, with cold nights.

The guard checked her ID and actually addressed her. ‘He will be back by two, so please make sure you are done and out by then.’

‘Certainly.’

Given that it took well over an hour to service the August Suite to standard, guests often went for a stroll, or down to the Oratory for a treatment, or to the restaurant while the maids worked. Usually she was relieved when the guests were out, but today she felt a stab of disappointment that she chose not to dwell on.

Of course she knocked before entering anyway, and when there was no answer she let herself in and stood for a moment, looking around. The place was a little chaotic, and she was wondering where to start when someone came in from the balcony.

Certainly she had not been expecting to see him.

‘Buongiorno,’ she said, and then immediately lost her tongue, for Rafe was dressed in black running shorts and nothing else.

‘Buongiorno.’ He returned the greeting, barely looking over. ‘I’ll be out of your way soon,’ he added.

Indeed, Rafe had fully intended to go for a run—his first since the accident. But now he glanced over and recognised the maid from the fog of his first morning here. ‘You’ve had some days off?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I haven’t had any days off.’

‘So why did they send me Chi-Chi?’ he drawled, and rolled his eyes.

Antonietta almost smiled, but quickly recovered, because even if Chi-Chi drove her insane she would not discuss her colleague with a guest. Instead she answered as she headed into the bedroom. ‘I’ve been working in the Oratory.’

She paused for a second to let him speak, as she should any guest, but truly she wanted to flee, for her cheeks were on fire and she hoped that he had not noticed. He did not reply.

‘I hope you have a pleasant day,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

Antonietta put down the list that she always worked from and immediately started stripping the vast walnut bed. She worked quickly, but the exertion was less out of necessity and more to match her heartbeat, which had tripped into a rapid rhythm at the sight of him semi-naked. And when he came into the bedroom to collect his trainers she had to force herself not to look—or rather not to stand there and simply gape.

‘You work in the Oratory?’ he checked. ‘So you are a therapist?’

His voice caught her unawares; for she had not expected the terse gentleman she had met a few days ago to initiate a conversation.

‘I’m training to be one,’ Antonietta said, and glanced up from the bed.

And then it ceased being a glance, for she met his eyes and the world and its problems seemed for a moment to disappear.

‘You look better,’ she commented, when usually she would not, but the words had just tumbled out.

‘I’m feeling a lot better,’ he agreed. ‘Although I still look as if I’ve been paint-bombed.’

She couldn’t help but smile, for indeed he did. Those bruises were a riot of colour now, from blue to brown right through to a vivid pink, and they were spread across the left side of his torso and down to his shoulder and arm, and there were savage lines across his shoulder. Rafe’s left eye looked as if he was wearing violet eyeshadow.

Yet he wore it well.

In fact, paint-bombed or not, Rafe looked stunning.

And as her eyes briefly travelled over his body, to take in his comment, she found that they wanted to linger on the long, yet muscular arms, and on his broad chest with just a smattering of black hair. More, she found that they lingered on his flat stomach. It was not bruised, so there was no real reason to look there. But Antonietta just found that she did, and a glimpse of that line of black hair had her already hot cheeks reddening as if scalded.

She wanted to ask, What happened to you?

Were those bruises from a fight? Or had he been in an accident? For once she wanted to know more, and yet it was not her place to ask.

‘I shan’t be long,’ Rafe said, though usually he did not explain himself to maids, or even particularly notice that they were near.

Crossing the room, he took a seat by the bed she was making and bent over to lace his trainers.

Antonietta did her best to ignore him and not to look at his powerful back and the stretch of his trapezius muscles as he leant forward. Never had her fingers ached to touch so. To reach out with her newly trained therapist’s fingers and relax the taut flesh beneath. Only she was self-aware enough to know that that kind of desire had precisely nothing to do with her line of work. He was so very male, and she was so very aware of that fact in a way she had never been until now.

Confused by this new feeling he aroused, Antonietta hurriedly looked away and resumed making the bed. But as she was fitting a sheet he must have caught the scent, and he made a comment.

‘The sheets smell of summer.’

Antonietta nodded as she tucked it in. ‘They smell of the Silibri sun. All the linen here is line-dried.’

‘What about when it rains?’

‘The stocks are plentiful—you have to make hay when the sun shines,’ Antonietta said. ‘Nico, the owner—’

‘I know Nico.’

Rafe’s interruption said a lot. Nico was prominent, and Rafe had not said I know of Nico, or I have heard of him. And then he elaborated more. ‘It was he who suggested that I come to Silibri to recover.’

That admission made her a little more open to revealing something of herself. ‘Aurora, his wife, is my best friend.’

‘You are chalk and cheese.’

‘Yes…’ Antonietta smiled. ‘I am drab in comparison.’

‘Drab?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, assuming he didn’t know that word. ‘I meant…’

‘I know what you meant—and, no, you are not.’

Rafe met a lot of people, and had an innate skill that enabled him to sum them up quickly and succinctly.

Yesterday’s maid: slovenly.

The concierge, Pino, who had this morning suggested a running route: wise.

His assessments were rapid, and seldom wrong, and as he looked over to the maid he recalled asking her name that first morning. That morning he had not been able to sum her up in one word.

Admittedly, he had been concussed, and not at his best, but today he was much better. So he looked at those sad eyes, and, no, he still could not isolate that word.

Their conversation paused, and yet it did not end, for instead of heading out of the balcony and down the private steps to the grounds below he watched as, having made the bed, she headed to an occasional table, where she picked up her notepad and ticked off her list.

‘So you are training as a therapist?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Although I’m not allowed to be let loose unsupervised on the guests yet. Well, I can give manicures, but that is all.’

‘I loathe manicures.’

There were two types of men who had manicures, Antonietta had learnt. Those who chose to and those who had been born to. He had been born to, she was quite, quite sure.

She resisted the urge to walk over and examine his hands, but instead looked down at them… Yes, they were exquisite, long-fingered, with very neat, beautifully manicured nails.

‘I find sitting there boring.’

‘Then why bother?’ Antonietta asked, and then pulled back the conversation. ‘I’m sorry—that was personal.’

‘Not at all,’ Rafe said. ‘I ask myself the same thing.’

‘You could always listen to a podcast while your nails are being done,’ Antonietta suggested.

‘Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to speak with you.’

It was a silly little joke but she smiled.

The girl with the saddest eyes smiled, and when she did she looked glorious, Rafe thought. Her black eyes sparkled and her full red lips revealed very white teeth. She had a beautiful mouth, Rafe thought, and watched it as she responded to his light jest.

‘I would not be allowed to treat a guest in the August Suite.’

He was about to say What a pity, but he rather sensed that that would have her scuttling behind the wall she had erected, which was just starting to inch down.

She rather fascinated him, and it was a relief to focus on their gentle conversation rather than deal with the problems he must face. He had intended to go for a run, just to clear his head. Yet instead he carried on chatting as she worked her way through the suite.

‘You grew up here?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I left a few years ago.’

‘For how long?’

‘Five years,’ Antonietta said. ‘And though it was wonderful, I came to realise that you cannot drift for ever. Home is home—though it is very different now, and the hotel has changed things. There are more people, more work…’

‘Is that why you came back?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said, and cut that line of conversation stone-cold dead.

It usually took an hour and fifteen minutes to service the suite to standard. Today it took a little longer, although they did not talk non-stop, just made gentle conversation as Antonietta got on with her work, diligently ticking off items in turn to ensure that nothing had been missed.

‘Do you have family here?’ Rafe asked, curious despite himself.

‘Yes.’

Again she closed the topic, and headed into the lounge and dining area. There had been no fire lit last night, and no meal taken, but she dusted the gleaming table, then topped up the cognac decanter and replaced the glasses.

Tick.

He was leaning on the doorframe, watching her. Usually to have a guest watching her so overtly would be unsettling, yet it didn’t feel that way with Rafe. She found him relaxing. Oh, her heart was in her throat, and beating way too fast, but that was for other reasons entirely.

She liked it that he did not demand elaboration. So much so that as she put the stopper in the decanter she revealed to him a little of her truth.

‘We are not really speaking.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘Yes.’

The candles in the heavy candelabra were new, and didn’t need replacing.

Tick.

She checked that the lighter worked.

Tick.

But she paused for a moment and wondered how used to luxury he must be not to light them each night. Not to need the stunning suite bathed in candle and firelight.

‘The August Suite is my favourite,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘You should use these candles. I am sure it would look beautiful.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘I mean…’ She was flustered, for she was not used to idle conversation. ‘I’ve always wondered what it must look like.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rafe said again, and this time she flushed. ‘Which is your favourite view?’ he asked.

‘The one from the dining room. From there you can see the valley.’

‘Show me.’

As easily as that, he joined her at the window.

‘When I left,’ Antonietta said, ‘that whole stretch of valley was black and scorched from wild fires.’ She pointed to a large clearing atop a hillside. ‘My family’s property is up there.’

‘Was it razed in the fires?’

‘No, the fires stopped short of Silibri, but in the next village, where I also have family, there was a lot of damage. It’s hard now to remember that it was so dead and black. I came back in spring, for Nico and Aurora’s wedding, and the whole valley was a riot of colour. I have never seen it so alive. I find the view soothing. It reminds me that, as terrible as the fires were, they were good for the land.’

‘So you stayed on after the wedding?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I went to Rome for a year, but I wanted to be back here for Christmas.’ She gave him a tight smile. Certainly, she was not going to reveal that right now a happy family Christmas was looking less and less likely. ‘I had better get on.’

‘Of course.’

Nothing was left unchecked.

No cushion left unturned or unplumped.

And still Rafe did not go for his run. Instead he made a couple of phone calls, and it turned her insides to liquid to hear his deep voice flow in the language she loved.

‘You are French?’ she asked, after the second call had ended, although usually she would not pry.

‘No,’ Rafe said. ‘But it is the language of my home.’

‘Oh?’

‘Tulano,’ he added. ‘It is between Italy and France…’

‘I know where it is,’ Antonietta said. ‘I visited there once. Only briefly, though.’

His eyes narrowed a touch. In truth, Rafe did not believe she didn’t know who he was. The maid yesterday had slipped up and called him by his full first name—Rafael—and the concierge had done the same when recommending a trail to run.

Soon, he was sure, his location would be leaked and the press would be here. The brief respite from the world would be over.

He asked her a question. ‘Do you speak French?’

‘Some—although not as much as I would like. I was there for four years,’ she said, and then switched to French and told him that his Italian was better than her French. ‘Votre Italien est meilleur que mon Français.’

And he responded. ‘Ta voix est délicieuse dans les deux langues.’

She had been away from France for over a year, and it took her a moment to translate it, but as she did a heated blush crept up her neck.

Had he just said that her voice was delightful in both languages?

Were they flirting?

And if they were then why wasn’t she halting it?

Why wasn’t she running for cover, as she usually did whenever a man, let alone a guest, got a little too close?

Only Rafe wasn’t too close for comfort. And Antonietta looked at the eyes that held hers as she responded. ‘Ainsi est le tien.’

So is yours.

It was the tiniest nod to his effect on her, and yet it felt rather huge to Antonietta.

There was another phone call for Rafe, and this time he answered in Italian, taking it out on the balcony.

Though she did not eavesdrop, his low voice reached her and it was clear that he was speaking with Nico. She felt a little flip of disappointment when she heard him state that he would not be staying for much longer.

The call ended and she looked over to where he sat, his long legs stretched out on another chair, his dark eyes scanning the grounds as a prisoner’s might, as if looking for a way to escape. She could almost feel his restlessness, Antonietta thought as she headed out onto the balcony to finish her work.

‘That was Nico,’ he said, though he had absolutely no need to do so. ‘Checking that I’m being looked after. He suggests that I take a wander into the village.’

‘There are nice cafés there,’ Antonietta said, and deliberately kept her voice casual. But there was a flip in her stomach at the thought he might be bored. ‘Have you been down to the temple ruins?’

‘No—that is where Pino suggested I ran.’

‘And the ocean is glorious,’ Antonietta said, and then stopped herself. It was not her job to sell the village to a reluctant guest.

‘You live in the village?’

‘No. Nico and Aurora have been very good to me. They knew coming back would be difficult…’ She briefly closed her eyes, instantly regretting revealing so much, and then hurriedly spoke on. ‘So they gave me a cottage in the grounds.’ She pointed in the vague direction of the helipad, over to the far side of the Old Monastery.

‘That must be very…’ He hesitated, not wanting to say isolated.

Already, for Rafe, no matter how spacious and luxurious the August Suite, no matter how glorious the grounds, cabin fever was seriously hitting. This place really was in the middle of nowhere, and he’d been considering checking out later today.

Yet he was starting to change his mind.

Rafe wanted more of her smile, of her conversation—much, much more of her.

It was not as simple as that, though.

If their relationship were to evolve, then she needed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. She would have to be be vetted by his security staff and her phone would be confiscated before they so much as went out for dinner.

It could be no other way.

Yes, he had had a couple of relationships without such arrangements, but they had been with titled women and potential wives. This Antonietta could never be that. And he must test the waters to find out how she felt.

‘That must be very quiet,’ Rafe said.

‘No,’ Antonietta refuted as she watered the jasmine. ‘I can hear the waves, and I am by the helipad so there are helicopters coming and going. Believe me, they are loud when they’re overhead. But most of the time it is nice and peaceful.’

‘Still…’ Rafe said, and his voice was low as his eyes commanded hers to meet his. ‘One can have too much tranquillity.’

Their eyes met and his words travelled through her like a current. Looking hastily away, she saw the slight shake of her hand as she watered the flowers and felt the devilish pull of his smooth voice.

Something told Antonietta that her response mattered, for his statement had felt like a question. More…it had felt like an invitation.

One she rapidly chose to decline.

‘I am all for tranquillity,’ Antonietta said rather crisply.

And instead of meeting his eyes, or thinking of something witty to add, she went back to her list and added a tick.

The flowers were watered, his suite was done and she gave him a smile—only this time, Rafe noted, it was a guarded one.

‘I hope the rest of your day is pleasant,’ Antonietta said, and let herself out, exhaling a long-held breath once the door between them was closed. She felt a little giddy.

When she entered the elevator to go down, she walked straight into Francesca.

‘There you are! What on earth took you so long?’ Francesca scolded the very second she clapped eyes on Antonietta, but then she must have regretted her tone, because she said, ‘Oh, Antonietta, I apologise. I forgot that Chi-Chi has been working there for the past couple of days. The place must have been in disarray.’

It was Antonietta who was in disarray, though. Had Rafe been suggesting something?

There was little she could pin on his words, and yet there had been a wicked edge in their delivery—she was almost sure of it.

But she’d had no experience with men.

Not good ones, anyway.

For all Sylvester’s attempts, his kisses and gropes had never, not once, made her feel the way that Rafe did with just his voice, just his eyes…

She was not only inexperienced in the kissing department, but in the flirting one too. And they had been flirting. Or was she romanticising things? Antonietta pondered as she went about her day. Certainly she was innocent, but she wasn’t naïve, and she knew from her work in other hotels that Rafe might have been suggesting ‘in-room service’, so to speak.

She managed a soft laugh at that thought, for if that were the case Rafe was certainly wide of the mark.

And yet he had buoyed her up in a way she could not properly explain…

CHAPTER THREE

RAFE HAD BUOYED her up. The day felt brighter for the time she had spent with him.

And the night felt not so long, nor as dark, and Antonietta awoke the next morning with delicious anticipation.

Yes, even the prospect of seeing Rafe buoyed her up.

So much so that she decided to stroll into the village and do her shopping before her shift started.

In so many ways it was wonderful to be back. As Antonietta had explained to Rafe, when she had left Silibri it had been after a summer of fierce wild fires and the mountains and trees had been charred and black.

In fact the village had been slowly dying even before she was born, with shops and cafés closing and the youth moving on. Now, though, with the monastery refurbished, there was new growth all around. The trees were lush and there were winter wild flowers lining the roads. The village itself was thriving. Its produce and wares were now in demand, and the cafés were busy and vibrant.

She had already done some of her Christmas shopping—as well as presents for her parents and brother there was a lipstick for Aurora, which she bought faithfully each year. Just because her friend was newly rich, and could afford a lifetime’s supply of the vibrant red cosmetic, some things never changed.

Some things did change, though. Aurora was married now, and so Antonietta bought some chocolate for Nico at one of the craft stalls in the village square. And not just any chocolate. Hand-made Modica chocolate, which was so exquisite that even a man who had everything could never have enough.

Bizarrely, she thought of Rafe.

Or perhaps not so bizarrely. Because she had been thinking of him on and off since the previous day. More accurately, he had been popping into her thoughts since the day they had met.

‘Could I get the coffee flavour, too, please?’ Antonietta said impulsively to the stallholder—and then jumped when she heard her name.

‘Antonietta?’

It was Pino.

‘Did I catch you buying me a gift?’ he teased, when he saw her reddening cheeks.

‘No, no…’ Antonietta smiled back and then glanced at his shopping bag, which was empty. She knew that Pino was just killing time. ‘Are you on a day off?’

‘Yes, though I thought you were working?’

‘Not till midday. But Francesca wants me to go in a little early. No doubt because of our esteemed guest.’ She felt her cheeks go a little more pink.

‘That’s probably it.’ Pino rolled his eyes. ‘I heard he has asked not to have Chi-Chi service his suite again.’

‘Really?’ Antonietta’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’

‘I thought you didn’t like to gossip?’ Pino teased.

‘I don’t,’ Antonietta said, and hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Now, I have to choose two presents for Gabe—it is his first birthday next week, and then Christmas too.’

Pino was delighted to help, and soon they had a little wooden train for him, as well as a cute outfit, and Pino suggested they go for coffee.

‘I don’t have time,’ Antonietta said, which wasn’t quite true.

The sweet, spicy scent of buccellato—an Italian Christmas cake—wafted through a nearby café, and though she was tempted Antonietta was too nervous about bumping into her family to stop there for coffee and cake.

Instead, having said goodbye to Pino, she decided that she would bake her own, and headed into the village store. There she chose the figs and almonds that she needed to make the cake, and added a few other things to her basket before lining up to pay.

The shopkeeper was awkward with her, and did not make eye contact—and then Antonietta found out why.

‘Stronza!’

The insult came from behind, and Antonietta did not need to turn her head to know that the word was aimed at her. She had been called worse on previous trips to the shops. Steadfastly, she did not turn around, and though she was tempted to walk out without her groceries, she held her ground.

Another insult was hurled. ‘Puttana!’

They all assumed there must have been another man for her to have run out on Sylvester, or that she had been sleeping with all and sundry in her years away.

Let them think what they choose, Antonietta told herself as she paid.

But as she picked up her bag she saw that it was Sylvester’s aunt who was taunting her.

Antonietta said nothing. She just did her best to leave with her head held high—or not quite high, but nor was she head down and fleeing as she had previously. She was determined not to let the incident ruin her day.

But it was about to get worse.

Her parents were walking arm in arm towards her, and both were startled when they saw her.

‘Mamma!’ Antonietta called.

But together they looked away and crossed to the other side of the street. For Antonietta it was a new version of hell. That they should cross the road to avoid her was not only painful and humiliating, it made her angry too, and hurt words tumbled out.

‘I tried to tell you, Mamma!’

Her voice was strangled then, but the words were true, for she had tried to reveal her fears about Sylvester to her mother. Antonietta watched as Tulia Ricci’s shoulders stiffened. She stopped walking, and slowly turned around.

‘You know I tried to tell you.’

‘Antonietta.’ Her father spoke then. ‘What are you doing back here?’

And as she saw his cold expression she wondered the very same thing.

It was Antonietta who walked off, refusing to cry.

Even at the hotel she felt an anger building that was unfamiliar to her.

But her shift would start soon, and Antonietta decided she could not think about her family situation and do her work, so she fought to set it aside. Tonight she would examine it. Tonight she would sit down and decide whether to stay long enough to complete her training, to give them a chance for a Christmas reunion, but she would not think of it now.

She changed quickly into her uniform and then, with her heart fluttering in her chest and her breath coming too shallow and too fast, she crossed the monastery grounds.

Antonietta was usually a full fifteen minutes early for work, but so shaken was she by the morning’s events that she got there only just in time.

‘There you are!’ Francesca said by way of greeting. ‘Signor Dupont has requested that his suite be serviced at midday, when he is out.’

Antonietta nodded and made her way up to the suite. After knocking and getting no answer, she let herself in. There was the scent of him in the air, but not his presence, and she was relieved to be alone and not have to make small talk. She set to work, ticking things off her list, trying to banish all thoughts of this morning.

Except Antonietta could not.

As she smoothed the sheets on the bed all she could see was the sight of her parents, crossing the street to avoid her. She plumped the pillow but found she was crushing it between her hands as the tears started to come thick and fast.

And they were angry tears!

She had come here to make amends.

To say sorry to her parents for not marrying a man who had treated her less than gently. A man who had tried to force her to do that more than once.

She had held on to her anger for so long, but it was more than seeping out now, and she buried her face in the pillow and let out a muffled scream.

‘Agh!’

It felt good.

So good that she did it again.

‘Agh!’

And again.

That was how Rafe found her.

He had finally gone for a run—in part to avoid her, for such was his cabin fever that he was getting a little too interested in a certain maid.

And that would never do.

However, he had not been for a run since his accident, and his endurance was not quite what it had been. He would soon get it back, he told himself, and the next run would be longer.

He made his way up the stone stairs to the private beach entrance of the balcony.

And then he saw her shouting into a pillow.

Rafe did not get involved with the dramas of maids.

Ever.

But when she stopped shouting into the pillow and sobbed into it instead, something twisted inside him even though generally tears did not move him.

She was not crying for an audience; he was aware that he was witnessing something private that she would rather no one saw.

Indeed, Antonietta was mortified when she removed the pillow and saw Rafe.

He was breathing heavily from running, and he looked displeased.

‘I apologise,’ Antonietta said immediately, for an esteemed guest did not need anything other than quiet efficiency. She wiped her cheeks with her hands and started to peel off the pillowcase as her words tumbled out. ‘I thought you were out.’

‘It’s fine.’ Rafe shrugged.

‘I ran into my parents…’ She attempted to explain. ‘They crossed the street to avoid me.’

‘I see.’ Rafe tried to remain unmoved. No, he did not get involved with the dramas of maids.

‘I can send someone else up…’ Antonietta hiccoughed, frantically trying to regain control. Except her tears would not stop.

‘There’s no need for that,’ Rafe said. ‘Carry on.’

‘But, as you can see, I can’t stop crying…’

‘I said,’ Rafe snapped, ‘carry on.’

And though she did carry on with her work, she found that the tears carried on too, and the anger did not abate.

No pillow was left unthumped!

He ignored her.

Well, not quite. At one point, when anger gave way to sorrow, he gave a slight roll of his eyes and handed his weeping maid a handkerchief.

She carried on with her work.

She just dribbled tears, and she was so grateful for his lack of words, that there was no attempt at comfort, for there was nothing he could say.

She would never have her family back. Of that Antonietta was certain. And it was there in the August Suite that she finally mourned them. Oh, there was no howling. Antonietta just quietly let the tears roll.

Rafe did not involve himself.

He would have liked to have a shower, given he had just been for a run, except he did not want to have a shower while the weeping maid was here.

Of course he could dismiss her.

And yet he did not.

Instead Rafe stood on the balcony and looked out towards the temple ruins, wondering about his teary maid.

He recalled the slight triumph he had felt when she’d smiled, and he found he would like her to smile again.

In turn, she liked the silence he gave her. It did not feel as if she was crying alone, as she had done so many times. And neither did she feel patronised, for there had been no there, there or invasive questions.

He let her be, and finally she was done with both her work and her tears.

Every last thing on her list was ticked off and Antonietta felt surprisingly calm as she gathered her things and finally addressed Rafe. ‘I am finished.’

‘Perhaps before you go down you should go and splash your face with cold water…take a moment.’

She did as she was told, appalled to see her swollen eyes and red nose, but she appreciated the opportunity to calm down, and retied her hair before heading out.

‘If you need anything else, please page me.’

‘I shan’t,’ Rafe said, but then he reconsidered, for Antonietta really was proving to be the brightest part of his day… But, no, he would not make up reasons to call her. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

‘Just a half-day,’ Antonietta said. ‘Then I have a day off.’

‘Well, I might see you tomorrow, then?’

He hoped so.

So did she.

‘Thank you,’ Antonietta said as she turned to leave, instead of the other way around.

‘No problem.’

Except there clearly was.

‘Antonietta.’

He called her name as she headed for the door. And his summons hit her deep and low, and the word felt like a hand coming down on her shoulder. How could the sound of her own name make her tremble and feel almost scared to turn around?

Or rather nervous to turn around.

Slowly she did turn, and she knew in that second that she was not scared or even nervous to face him. She was fighting her own desire.

In the room behind him she could see the vast bed, and she wanted to lie with him on white sheets that smelt of summer. To know the bliss not just of a man, but of him.

Rafe.

Whoever he was.

‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded all wrong. It was too breathless and low and so she said it again—except it came out no better, was a mere croak. ‘Yes?’

Rafe rarely—extremely rarely—did not know how to proceed. Not only did he not get involved with maids’ dramas, neither did he take maids to bed.

Added to that, she had been crying for the best part of an hour. He never took advantage.

Yet the air was charged. She looked as if he’d just kissed her, and he could feel the energy between them and her increasing awareness of him.

His sad maid looked exactly as she might if he had her pressed against the wall.

‘I could have one of my security detail come and speak with you?’

‘Why would they need to speak with me?’ She frowned, trying to untangle her thoughts from his words. Trying to remind herself that she was at work. ‘Is there a problem with security in the suite?’ She was desperately trying to hold a normal conversation as her body screamed for contact with his. ‘If that’s the case I can let Francesca know.’

She knew nothing about his ways, Rafe realised.

‘It’s fine,’ Rafe said. ‘My mistake.’

‘Mistake?’ Antonietta checked, and he could see that her eyes were perturbed, that she assumed she’d said something wrong.

But she’d said everything right.

For this was far more straightforward and yet way more complicated than a contracted affair.

This was pure, unadulterated lust.

From both of them.

And he actually believed now that she had no idea who he was.

Crown Prince Rafael of Tulano.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘RAFAEL, BY ALL accounts you could have been killed.’

Rafe had spoken with his father since the accident, but the King hadn’t called to enquire as to his health. ‘Had you died as my sole heir,’ the King continued in reprimand, ‘the country would have been plunged into turmoil and well you know it. Did you think of that as you hurled yourself down the mountain?’

‘Actually,’ Rafe responded, ‘I did.’

As he had fallen—as he had realised the seriousness of the unfolding incident—it had dawned on him that this might well be it and he had thought of his country. He had thought of the royal lineage shifting to his father’s brother, of his idle, ignorant, spoiled cousins ruling the land that Rafe loved and their undoubted glee that finally the reckless Crown Prince had succumbed.

‘Thank God it has been kept out of the press,’ the King went on. ‘Our people have thankfully been spared from knowing how close this country came again to losing its Crown Prince. But it is not enough, Rafe. You need to temper your ways.’

‘Then give me more responsibility. Transition some of your power to me.’

It was the same argument they had had of old. Rafe was a natural-born leader who had been raised to be King and already wanted a more prominent role than merely making staged appearances. He did not want to be a pin-up prince; he wanted active power and to be a voice amongst world leaders, yet his father resisted.

‘You know the answer to that,’ the King responded tartly.

Yes.

Marriage.

And a suitable bride chosen for him by his father the King.

Rafe did not trust his father with that decision. After all, he had witnessed first-hand the hell of his parents’ suitable marriage.

There was a reason that Rafe was the only heir to the Tulano throne—after he had been born his father had resumed his rakish ways.

His mother understood her duty to the country, and the impact of a divorce, and so it had never been considered. Emotions and feelings were rarely taken into account at the palace. The King and Queen’s marriage was a working relationship only. The Queen met with the King daily, accompanied him on formal occasions and hosted functions with grace, but she had her own wing at the palace and had long ago removed herself from his bed.

And there was no ‘family life’ as such. Rafe had been raised by palace nannies and had later attended boarding school.

No, there was nothing Rafe had witnessed that endeared him to marriage or to the idea of starting a family of his own.

‘I expect you back here on Christmas Eve,’ the King said. ‘Preferably in one piece and without scandal attached. Do you think you can possibly manage that?’

Rafe wasn’t sure.

As luxurious as the Old Monastery was, he was already climbing the walls and ready to check out. In fact, he had been about to call Nico to thank him for his hospitality when the call from the palace had come.

‘I shall put your mother on.’

To his mother, he was an afterthought. She would never think to call him herself. Instead, when he spoke to his father, she occasionally deigned to come to the phone.

As he awaited the Queen, Rafe decided that if he was going to hide from the public eye then it might as well be on a yacht. Somewhere warm, with requisite beauties. The Caribbean was calling, Rafe thought as he heard his mother’s icy tone.

‘Rafe.’

‘Mother.’

‘What a foolish waste of a great ruler it would have been had you been killed.’

‘What a foolish waste it is now,’ Rafe responded. ‘I am told I’m expected to return for Christmas to inspect an army I can no longer fight alongside because you both deem it too dangerous. Perhaps the balcony I have to stand on and wave from is too high? Too much of a risk.’

‘Don’t be facetious.’

‘I am not,’ Rafe responded. ‘I am bored with being an idle prince…’

‘Then act accordingly and you will be given the responsibility you crave.’

Marriage.

All conversations, all rows, all roads led to that. And the pressure did not come solely from his family but from the people, who longed to see their reckless Prince settled.

‘I don’t require a wife in order to make decisions.’

‘You need to temper your ways. At least in the eyes of the public.’

‘So as long as I am discreet I can carry on as before?’ Rafe checked, and there was no disguising the disgust in his tone.

But his mother was unmoved. ‘You have your father’s heart, Rafe,’ Queen Marcelle responded matter-of-factly. ‘No one expects you to be faithful—we all know that your love is reserved for your country. And that country wants to see its Prince married and with heirs.’

‘I decide when.’

‘Fine,’ said his mother. ‘Until then, enjoy waving from the balcony!’

They had had this discussion on many occasions, though the news that he could take mistresses, like his father did, was a new development. But not a welcome one. Rafe admired many things about the King, but abhorred plenty.

He had the last word, Rafe knew. But he could not force him to marry.

And yet he could feel the pressure to conform tightening.

Rafe had not been lying when he’d told the King that his country had been on his mind as he’d fallen. Perhaps it was time to take a break from his partying ways, for Rafe was surprised to find himself growing tired of them.

Back on the balcony, he was thinking of one particular beauty. It was too confined here. That must be the reason why his thoughts had again wandered to Antonietta, for usually he allowed himself to get close to no one.

Her tears had moved him.

He wanted to spoil her. He wanted that smile he had seen so briefly to return to her lips.

One more night in Silibri, Rafe told himself.

And he would not be spending it alone.

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