Scorsolini Baby Scandal

Scorsolini Baby Scandal

USA TODAY
Bestselling Author

Lucy Monroe

USA
TODAY
bestselling author Lucy Monroe brings you a wonderful tale of passion, desire and true love with this digital novella and begs the question, marry in haste, repent at...pleasure?

Prinicipe Vittoro Micheli Scorsolini is shaking off the pressures of ruling a country and going on holiday...
undercover
. But that’s okay—so is Constanza Mendez. The daughter of a Spanish billionaire is tired of men after only one thing. Her money. Beneath the gorgeous skies of the Caribbean a whirlwind romance begins...and ends with a wedding!

But when each is forced to confess their secrets, the fragile bonds of trust start to break. Fuelled by the pressures of duty, and the acidic whispers of those who would seek to destroy their marriage, Prince Micheli’s hot-blooded jealousy threatens it all.

But royal weddings are not that easy to dissolve, especially when Constanza is carrying the Scorsolini heir!

Don’t miss the other titles in this fantastic collection that celebrates Royal Babies all over the world!

Dedication

For my daughters, my sweet princesses who have
filled our lives with the joy of babies.
Thank you!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

CHAPTER ONE

P
RINCIPE
V
ITTORO
M
ICHELI
Scorsolini, heir to the throne of Isole dei Re,
trained from the cradle to be self-possessed even in the face of countrywide
catastrophe, tripped over his own feet as the most beautiful woman he had ever
seen walked by.

Twenty-five years of training kicked in almost immediately, and
he righted himself, pivoting to follow the vision of loveliness crossing
Palermo’s Piazza Pretoria. The view was as beguiling from the back as the front,
although her hat’s wide brim obscured most of her hair.

He’d already seen that it was brown with golden highlights,
falling in silky waves to her shoulders and framing a face worthy of a
Botticelli. If Botticelli’s models had worn Chanel sunglasses and Oscar de la
Renta. Wearing strappy sandals that added three inches to her already statuesque
height, his beauty’s hips swayed enticingly in the pristine white skirt of her
sundress with each step.

She stopped in front of the Fontana Pretoria and lifted a
camera.

Never slow to take advantage of an opportunity when presented,
Micheli asked, “Would you like me to take a picture of you in front of the
fountain?”

She spun to face him. “Oh, you speak English!”

It had been a calculated risk. Most tourists spoke at least
some English; though had he gotten a better look at her perfectly oval face,
defined cheekbones and narrow nose, he might well have used Castilian Spanish to
address her.

He managed a passably coherent
sì.
With Sicilian inflection, not Spanish.

Those who spoke both languages fluently, as he did, knew there
was a difference.

“I would be happy to...” he offered again, waving between her,
the camera and the fountain.

Lightly glossed, bow-shaped lips parted slightly, a soft gasp
escaping. “Oh, would you? That would be great!”

The response wasn’t anything out of the norm, but the breathy
quality in her voice and the way she leaned toward him, without seeming to
realize she was doing it, told him that maybe this instant, overwhelming
attraction was not one-way.

He put his hand out for the camera.

She handed it to him, careful so their fingers did not brush.
“It’s just point and click.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Slipping off her sunglasses, she posed in front of the
fountain.

The connection he felt with her at that single look from eyes
the color of storm clouds was so compelling, if he’d been walking, he would have
tripped again.

Tia
Maggie always claimed she’d
fallen in love with
Tio
Tomasso at first sight, but
it had taken him a lot longer to catch up.

Micheli had thought his aunt was being fanciful until this
moment. This overwhelming reaction could not be love, but it was
something.
Something he could not ignore or deny.

The object of his newfound obsession was such a natural that he
took several shots in quick succession. “You’re not a model, are you?”

“Nope, just a student.” But there had been an odd flicker of
reaction to the word
model
in her gray gaze.

Micheli took his time getting the perfect shot, using the
opportunity to chat her up.

He discovered her name was Kiki Menendez. So his guess on the
Spanish heritage had not been off.

He told her he was Micheli Scorsolini, leaving off his royal
title and first name that was only used in official state ceremonies. Scorsolini
was a common-enough name that, unless she was familiar with his tiny country,
she would not realize who he was. He was not the brother whose face made it into
the tabloids. That was Adamo.

For some reason, Kiki knowing Micheli the man, not
Principe
Vittoro, was important.

She was in her last year of university in New York, making her
twenty-one or twenty-two, on a tour of Italy and Sicily with friends for spring
break, and—most important—only in Palermo for the day.

She put her hand up to keep her bright white sun hat on when a
small gust of wind threatened to send it flying. “I’ll be finished in June, if
my dad doesn’t talk me into going for my MBA.”

“Not interested in climbing the corporate ladder?” he
asked.

Her lips twisted in a moue of distaste. “No offense, Mich, as
clearly that’s your thing, but, no. My bachelor’s will be in psychology.”

“What gave me away?” He forced himself to banter, having a
strange reaction to her shortening his name. No one did that. “The suit?”

“Well it
is
a custom-tailored
Armani.”

“You’re very sure of your designers.”

“It’s in my genes. I don’t think my mom
knows
there are clothes made without a fashion-house label
attached.”

Micheli laughed in commiseration. “She sounds like my
sister.”

He knew way more about women’s designer fashion than any man
without a wife should have to, but that’s what came from being the eldest in a
set of triplets. Elena shared every aspect of her life with her brothers, even
when Micheli would have been content to be left in peace.

There was a reason he’d lobbied for the position with his
family’s business that allowed him to travel extensively. Add to that his
increasing diplomatic duties on behalf of the crown as heir apparent, and he
spent only scattered weeks throughout the year in Isole dei Re.

“Why businessman and not rich playboy?” He’d never been
entirely sure how people could always tell his brother Adamo was the “fun”
one.

“The tie. I bought one very similar for my dad. They’re both
designed for the power-broker businessman. Too expensive for your average office
drone and too serious for a rich playboy.”

Micheli wasn’t feeling serious or intently focused on his day’s
“power business” agenda right now. In fact, he was tempted to do the
unthinkable: take a day off. He could text his assistant and reschedule the rest
of the afternoon.

The thought was entirely out of character; the reality that he
was seriously considering it absurd. And yet, he was.

“I think that’s enough pictures.” She smiled, even white teeth
flashing, clearly unaware of the revolution of thought going on inside his head.
“Thank you for taking them.”

“Are you visiting the palazzo?” he asked, referring to one of
the more commonly visited sights in the city.

“Actually our tour group is supposed to head to the cathedral
next.”

He thought furiously of how to continue in her company.

Perhaps misreading his expression, she said, “I brought a shawl
so I could go inside.”

He appreciated her deference to Sicilian convention and told
her so.

“I grew up splitting time between California and Spain with my
parents. They taught me young that respect for the culture in which you find
yourself is good manners.”

“I also.” It was an imperative for the son of a monarch.
“Listen, have a coffee with me, and I will give you a personally guided tour of
the cathedral afterward.”

“You’re an expert, are you?”

“My family was originally from Sicily.” Generations ago, before
the country of Isole dei Re was founded by his ancestors. “We still have
business interests here.”

She bit her bottom lip, clearly considering whether she wanted
to break away from her tour group to spend time with a stranger.

“You said you are here with friends,
sì?
”

“Yes.”

“Invite them to join us.”

The concerned furrow on her brow smoothed. “You don’t
mind?”

“Not at all.”

She grabbed her phone from her bag. “Let me text them.” She
pointed her phone at him and it clicked. “I’m just sending your picture, too.
What’s your number?”

He rattled it off, surprised at his own willingness to do
so.

She dialed. When the phone in his jacket’s inner pocket buzzed,
she nodded with satisfaction and sent her text.

“I approve of your caution.”

Perfectly shaped brows rose, her expression turning wry. “How
nice for you.”

He found himself laughing. “Yes, well, I have a tendency to
think my opinion matters too much. At least, according to my sister and
brother.”

“Younger, I bet.”

“By ten and fifteen minutes, respectively.”

“You’re a triplet?” she asked with obvious curiosity.

“
Sì.
”

“Wow. That would be so amazing.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” As much as he loved his
siblings, it was
not
an aspect of his life that was
an unending source of joy. “None of us are identical, but we look enough alike
that there is never a question we are siblings.”

His role as heir to the throne set him apart, and yet there had
been very little in his life that his sister and brother had not done right
along with him. While their royal parents might not understand how the bond
could be both beneficial and stifling, Adamo and Elena shared Micheli’s
feelings.

And each had their own ways of establishing their
individuality.

She carried on texting while talking with him. “It beats being
the only child of parents with huge expectations, any day.” She read her latest
text and smiled. “They’re coming.”

“Good. And trust me, expectations can be just as entrenched
when you have siblings to share some of the burden.” And some burdens? Could not
be shared.

* * *

Kiki had to admit that seeing the cathedral with a
private tour guide and two of her friends was a lot nicer than being part of a
big group, but she still couldn’t believe she’d let the gorgeous Sicilian pick
her up in the piazza. Even if her friends were coming along.

As the daughter of a Spanish billionaire and a former
supermodel, she’d been raised to be about ten times more cautious than the
average person.

Only there was something really special about Mich. Her mom
always said Kiki would know when she met
that
guy
—the one she could not resist. She’d dated, a lot more than her dad
would have liked and less than her mom had encouraged.

But Mich? He was Kiki catnip. He got to her with a smile in
ways other men hadn’t managed to after months of going out.

Okay, he was gorgeous. Like over-the-top, alpha-of-the-pack
impressive. She didn’t think he wore a power tie to impress, but because that’s
who Mich was. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than her, but she got
the feeling he was already one of the “important players,” as her dad called
them.

Mich had presence in spades. Even in her heels, he was a good
three inches taller than her, and his body was to die for, and his business suit
couldn’t disguise that to-die-for body. He had these aristocratic looks that
went with the arrogance she’d come to realize pretty quickly was innate, too.
And she had a near-irresistible urge to reach up and muss his perfectly styled
black hair.

It was his eyes that really got her, though. Espresso-brown,
they glowed with appreciation for her and a humor he invited her to share.

After the cathedral, they spent an hour at a trattoria, talking
about everything and nothing at all, while Joni and Davin played tourists with
their cameras nearby. Palermo was a beautiful city with bits of history and art
everywhere.

And rather than wallowing in it, Kiki was lost in another kind
of attraction altogether. She felt as if she’d known Mich forever.

As scary as that was, she was a lot more terrified of telling
him goodbye.

“We need to get a taxi to catch up to the group, if we don’t
want to miss this afternoon’s tour,” Davin said, walking up to the café
table.

Kiki’s stomach tightened with panic that made absolutely no
sense.

Mich smiled at them all. “I am happy to continue in the role of
tour guide, and I believe my car will be a more comfortable ride than a tour
bus.”

“Only if one of us drives.” Joni crossed her arms, her
expression set in stubborn lines.

She’d taken classes at Kiki’s dad’s school of caution.

No way would Mich agree. Kiki prepared to tell him goodbye, but
he smiled, handing the keys to Joni as they followed him to a luxury vehicle
parked nearby. “Have at it.”

Joni slipped into the driver’s seat, giving Davin a superior
look. “Not all men are such Neanderthals that they think women are lesser
drivers.”

Kiki wasn’t touching that old argument between them. She
personally hated driving, especially back in New York, and was happy if
anyone
else wanted to play chauffeur.

Mich joined her in the backseat, taking her hand in his as soon
as their seat belts were buckled. It felt as if her heart had stopped and then
started double-time at that small touch.

He smiled at her, as if he knew exactly what the chaste
physical connection was doing to her. Then he started caressing her hand with
his thumb, the brushes back and forth never stopping.

She’d had no idea that holding hands could be so
sexual.

Mich gave directions and a really fascinating tour commentary
of the city and surrounding area over the next three hours with a stop for lunch
outside the city.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said as they drew up outside the
tour hotel.

It was crazy. Impulsive. But every instinct Kiki possessed told
her that she could trust this man and that she would regret walking away right
now. “Yes.”

Joni about had a coronary, but Kiki wasn’t giving in, and
eventually her friends left her alone with Mich.