His Royal Love-Child (17 page)
Lizzy’s
visit left
Danette
in high spirits and she was powering through her to-do list and doing a fair job of ignoring the messages left by reporters on her voice mail when a representative for an exclusive boutique arrived in her office. The woman looked more like a cover model than a boutique
employee
and explained she was there to show
Danette
a selection of clothing for her upcoming trip to
Isole
dei
Re.
“I have several outfits per the prince’s instructions here,” she said, indicating a portable clothes rack she’d rolled into
Danette’s
office.
“Marcello sent you?”
Danette
asked.
The other woman nodded even as
Danette
was picking up her phone to dial Marcello’s private line.
He picked up on the second ring. “What is it,
Danette
?”
“There’s some kind of personal shopper woman here—in my
office
. She wants me to look at clothes, Marcello. Why is she here?”
“I want to fly directly to
“What? You want to fly out
early?
Why?”
“My father wants to spend some time getting to know you before my brother’s wedding.”
Remembering what he had told her about Maggie Thomson’s first meeting with the king,
Danette
did not smile at the prospect. “Oh.”
“It is important to me,
amante
.”
“Then we will go of course.”
“Good. We can fly to the States in order for me to meet your parents after the wedding.”
“All right.”
She hadn’t even told them she was dating, much less that she was pregnant. She’d have to do it from
Isole
dei
Re because they wouldn’t even be out of bed before she and Marcello flew out. “But that still doesn’t explain the personal shopper with her rack of elegant clothes.”
She gave the boutique employee an apologetic smile for talking about her as if she wasn’t there.
“I knew you would not want to take time off from work to pack, and assumed you would refuse to leave with me if you did not have some clothes and an appropriate outfit to wear for the wedding.”
“And this is your idea of a preemptive strike to gain my compliance?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
She looked at the three outfits the woman had turned to hang face out, and had to shake her head. “How can it? She’s got impeccable taste.”
“Both my mother and Therese favor that boutique.”
“Then I guess I’m in good company, but what about my toothbrush?” she asked facetiously.
“All personal toiletries have been taken care of.”
“Thank you. I guess I’d better take care of the clothes thing so I can get back to work.”
“You do not sound overly excited about it.”
“It beats shopping by regular means, that’s for sure.”
Marcello laughed. “We will leave for the airport at three. Be ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tease me at your peril,
tesoro
.”
“What will you do about it?”
“That is for me to know and you to worry about.”
“Note, I’m not worried.”
“You are relying on the pregnancy card here?”
“Maybe…”
His laughter lifted her spirits as high as
Lizzy’s
visit had.
“I’ll see you later,
caro
.”
There was silence for a few seconds and she thought they’d somehow been disconnected, but then he said, “Until then,
cara
,” in a voice that sent tingles clear to her toes.
The man was definitely lethal. She’d be doing the sanity of women everywhere a favor by taking him off the market.
With that tantalizing thought playing over in her mind, she selected four outfits and answered a list of personal preference questions for the boutique. Then the personal shopper left after promising to have everything packed in a set of luggage and transported to Marcello’s jet at the airport.
Danette
wasn’t entirely sure why four outfits required an entire set of luggage, but she had too much to do for a sales report due later that afternoon to spend any time thinking about it.
Marcello hung up the phone with a smile on his face. No way could she know about the stories in the tabloid press. She sounded too natural.
Too relaxed.
He did not think she would respond so carelessly to some of the ugly innuendo and downright provocative assertions being made.
His decision to leave early for
Isole
dei
Re had been the right one. She needed to be protected and he would protect her.
Always.
He glared down at the offending tabloids spread across his desk. They had been waiting for him when he arrived at work that morning. Some would not hit the newsstands until the next day, but they all had something in common…they implied things that would hurt
Danette
.
And
she had been hurt enough.
It had never been his intention to cause her pain, but he had. It made him angry that he hadn’t seen the toll the secrecy of their relationship would take on her eventually. Because other women did not interest him, he assumed pictures of him with them would not bother her. He had been wrong.
And
he understood how wrong after seeing her that night with Ramon. He had to admit to himself that if she had been dancing with the other man, blood probably would have been shed.
It was a good thing that hadn’t happened. There was enough ugly speculation surrounding their relationship. His fury at the press was barely containable, but mixed with it was a surprise.
He felt no personal embarrassment at the headlines proclaiming him everything from a cuckolded boyfriend to
a
emotionless seducer who had taken advantage of his role as president of the company. He simply didn’t care, but the knowledge those same headlines would hurt
Danette
ripped at his gut.
He would not allow her to see them, and if it took an extended stay behind the walls of their palace in
Isole
dei
Re to protect her, that was what they would do.
Danette
assumed Marcello didn’t want to discuss the fact that the press were obviously on to their relationship because he didn’t bring the matter up during the drive to the airport or their flight to
Isole
dei
Re. It was a long flight and they both spent the first couple of hours working. Then they had dinner and Marcello went back to work, but suggested she relax and watch a movie on the personal DVD player.
What she really wanted was a nap, and she fell asleep halfway through her movie.
Danette
was sleeping when they touched down and only woke up when Marcello gently shook her shoulder. “We are arrived,
amante
.”
She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. “Okay. Um…what time is it?”
“Close to 3:00 a.m. in our time zone and about nine in the evening in
Paradiso
.”
“Okay.” She was so tired, she just wanted to go back to sleep.
He smiled. “You are really out of it, aren’t you?”
She nodded. He laughed, and the next thing she knew she was being lifted from her seat, high into his arms, and being carried off the plane. When he ignored her sleepy protest that she could walk on her own, she laid her head against his shoulder and dozed. She was vaguely aware of being placed in a car and of a short ride before the car stopped.
Once again Marcello carried her. This time, she didn’t even make a token protest, but wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into him. He said something to someone else as his arms tightened their hold on her.
Suddenly lights blazed against her eyelids and she blinked her eyes open to look around her. There was Italian marble everywhere, and large Roman-style columns as well as statuary that rivaled anything she’d seen on her trip to Florence the first month she started working at
Scorsolini
Shipping.
“Looks like a museum.”
A deep, masculine laugh sounded from behind her. “Yes, perhaps it does.”
She turned her head and beheld the king of
Isole
dei
Re. She was too sleepy to be overwhelmed. She simply stared at him.
“Hello,
Danette
Michaels. I hear you are pregnant with the next
Scorsolini
grandchild.”
She glared up at Marcello. “You told him, too?”
“You expected him not to? I assure
you,
after reading today’s papers I would have been aware anyway.”
“
Papa
.”
Something passed between the men that she was too rummy to get, but the king shook his head. “She will learn eventually.”
“The only thing I want to learn right now is where I’m supposed to sleep,” she mumbled and then realizing how horribly rude that sounded, she blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Do not worry, child. Marcello’s mother was the same way when she was pregnant with him.”
“What way is that?”
“Cranky and easily tired.”
“I’m not cranky.” She looked at Marcello, her eyes going misty for no apparent reason. “Am I cranky?”
“No,
tesoro
.
You are fine.” The glare he gave his father could have singed brick.
“
Flavia
was very emotional, too. I did not mean to offend you, little one. Please forgive an old man his less than tactful tongue.”
“Not old,” she mumbled against Marcello’s chest. “But definitely tactless.”
She thought she’d said it too low for him to hear, but the sound of the older man’s laughter followed them up the stairs. At least he hadn’t been offended.
She awoke the next morning to gentle prodding from Marcello. He had a delicate china cup of steaming tea in his hand. “I hoped if you had your tea and toast right on waking, you would not get sick.”
“It’s worth a try.”
And
surprisingly, it worked. Her nausea never made it past the point of discomfort and by the time she was done with her toast, it was gone completely.
She was feeling quite decent when she followed Marcello down the marble staircase and along several long corridors that made her feel like Alice in Wonderland. “It really is a palace, isn’t it?”
“Naturally.
What else would a royal family live in?”
“But you’re all so normal.”
“In some ways, of course, we are like anyone else. But there is a responsibility to our birth that changes us and the way we must live our lives.”
Was he trying to explain the secrecy thing again? He shouldn’t have
to,
she was finally ready to admit. After all, she had been more than okay with it at first. It was just that as her love grew her ability to keep it hidden diminished.
And
the need to do so started to hurt.
Well, okay, and dancing with blondes was out.
Forever.
Only, surrounded by the trappings of Marcello’s royal birth, she thought maybe she was beginning to understand what motivated him a little better.
Both in regards to their relationship and the baby.
They found his father in a large room that was imposing
not only for its size but the
opulence of its decor.
“I feel like we’re in the Vatican,” she whispered to Marcello. “I’m afraid to sit down and be thought disrespectful.”
A deep laugh she remembered from the night before sounded from the other side of the room. “Maggie told
Tomasso
the same thing, he said.”
“You heard me?” Oh, great. It wasn’t
like
she hadn’t been outspoken enough the night before.
King
Vincente
sat on a throne.
A real live throne.
It was huge, like thrones should be, she supposed.
Made of dark, ornately carved mahogany and the royal crest above his head gilded in gold.
Oh, goodness. The throne and the man were both incredibly impressive.
His eyes were the same blue as Marcello’s and though there was silver in his hair, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Just like his son.
He smiled, showing even, white teeth. “The acoustics in this room were designed so that when my ancestors entertained they could easily keep track of conversations from every direction, but you will note that in order for you to hear me, I must project my voice.”
“This is the formal receiving room,” Marcello added.
“But it has a throne…I thought that made it the throne room.”
“No.” Marcello led her to a seat on a pristine white Queen Anne style chair near his father’s throne. Three dozen or so of them lined the walls in the immediate vicinity of the throne. “The official throne room is much more ostentatious, to impress visiting dignitaries. This room has a more prosaic purpose.”
“More ostentatious?”
She wasn’t sure she was ready to see the other room.
This one was
impressing
her to death…and intimidating her a little, too. She was really glad Marcello was the third son and not the first.
King
Vincente
laughed and Marcello nodded.
“Yes, very much so.
I will show you later.
Tradition dictates that my father meet with his subjects in this room every Friday, all day long.”
“The first visitors will be admitted in one hour’s time,” King
Vincente
added.
“Every Friday?
That makes you a pretty accessible king, doesn’t it?”
Danette
asked.
“That was the intent of my forefathers. They did not want the unrest often encountered in the