Scandal With a Prince (21 page)

That part was hard to explain, even now.
 

“I couldn’t quite believe it, either.
 
I turned on the morning news to see for myself.
 
I was stunned.
 
The whole story was blown out of proportion.
 
My father, on the other hand, seemed extraordinarily pleased with the coverage.
 
Downright gleeful, in fact, and if you’ve ever watched an interview with my father, you know ‘gleeful’ isn’t a word one associates with King Carlo.
 
When he tried to convince me that the publicity was good for the country, I realized how carefully he’d orchestrated the whole thing.
 
He’d even ensured that the press in attendance were those most likely to sensationalize the story.
 
Given my level of exhaustion and the fact I was twenty-two and full of fire, I raged at him as I never had before and never have since.
 
After hurling a few choice four-letter words his way, I stormed out of the palace in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and walked right past the gate guards and across the street to Ariana’s hotel to make sure she was all right and to apologize for my abominable family.”

“Ah.”
 
Megan sucked in her lower lip.
 

“Saw those photos, did you?”
 
He wondered if anyone on the planet hadn’t seen the shots.
 
He’d looked a fool—barefoot, shirtless, unshaven, with pillow-flattened hair—and his lack of forethought gave the photographers everything they craved.
 
In railing against the situation, he’d made it worse by tenfold.
 
“I can only imagine what you thought.”

The look on her face made it clear that he couldn’t.
 
Not unless his imagination went to murder.

Chapter Fifteen

“Well…I take it you weren’t making an early morning run to see your lady love,” she said, paraphrasing the caption that had appeared with several of the shots.
 
Her tone was light, but the hastily-covered flash of pain in her eyes let him know that whether she considered their time in Venezuela was a fling or not, the photos wounded her deeply, and it was the kind of pain that came only after one experienced the all-consuming anger of betrayal.

It finally occurred to him that those shots had to be the first thing that popped up when she’d searched the Internet in her attempt to contact him.
 
Back then, they were everywhere.

He fought the urge to reach across the sofa, pull her into his arms and tell her that now he understood, truly understood, how hard it must’ve been for her when she learned of her pregnancy, then discovered he’d become engaged.
 
He doubted the act would be welcome at the moment.
 
Less so when he finished his explanation.

“Not even close,” he said.
 
“The hotel doorman saw me coming and hustled me up to Ariana’s suite, despite the fact I’d bloodied my feet on the courtyard gravel and looked like a vagrant.”
 

He gritted his teeth for a moment, remembering how nauseated he’d felt when Mrs. Bassi opened the door, gave him a crisp nod, then left him alone with Ariana without comment.
 
“Ariana was standing to the side of her hotel room window trying to see the reason for the sudden commotion without letting the photographers spot her.
 
She was still wearing her dress from the afternoon before and looked completely overwhelmed by it all.
 
At that moment, I realized what an idiot I’d been to do something so—dare I say it—
impetuous
by crossing the street, thinking I was going to somehow protect her with my presence.”

Megan finished her water and crossed the room to set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter.
 
“I take it she didn’t throw you out?”

“No.
 
It wasn’t really an option, given the crush outside.
 
We ordered room service and had breakfast while I bandaged my feet and tried to figure out how I was going to get back to the palace without making things worse.”
 

“She must’ve been as cranky as you were,” she said as she returned to the sitting area.
 

“She was.”
 
He let out a curt laugh.
 
“But we bonded over the fact we’d allowed ourselves to be manipulated by our own parents.
 
I finally made it back to the palace a few hours later, when my sister took pity on me and sent a car to the hotel’s rear entrance so I could escape.
 
I avoided my father for the rest of the day by shutting myself in my brother Alessandro’s palace apartment and drinking obscene amounts of his Scotch.
 
When I called Ariana that night to check on her, we ended up talking about our childhoods, the upbringing children of privilege have as opposed to the way the other ninety-nine percent of the world is raised—a difference that was made clear to me in Venezuela—and I ended up saying that we were good enough friends, we should just get married and make our families happy.
 
At least we’d never torture our children the way our parents tortured us.
 
And she said, ‘Why not?’”

Megan’s jaw slackened.
 
“Why not?
 
That
was her answer?”
 

“Romantic, isn’t it?
 
Like a fairy tale.”
 
Unable to hold still any longer, he levered himself from his seat and paced.
 
All these years later, his anger still burned.
 
Not at his parents, or even at the situation, but at himself.
 
His foolish, rash, rebellious young self.
 
“I wasn’t serious when I asked.
 
I doubt she was when she accepted.
 
If you call that an acceptance.
 
We were young and incredibly reckless in many ways.
 
But neither of us could take it back once it was said, and the next thing we knew, our parents arranged a press conference and we were standing in the palace drawing room answering questions about how much we had in common, how we’d attended school together as children, how she would continue to train for dressage competition even if she became a royal…all while flashbulbs blinded us.
 
Ariana and I went through it in a daze.”

He stopped pacing long enough to face Megan.
 
“It wasn’t until I left the palace a few days later to start my military training that I was able to think clearly and realize what a complete mess I’d made of my life.
 
And of Ariana’s.”

Megan had the same pensive look as when she accused him of wanting to spoil Anna.
 

“What?” he asked.
 

“I suspect you
were
serious when you asked.”

Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said?
 
“How could you—”
 

“Not because you were in love with her, but because you wanted to take control of the situation.
 
Oh, you wanted to protect her, too.
 
But even your need to protect those around you often boils down to a need for control.
 
It’s the same reason you stormed out of the palace and walked to Ariana’s hotel.
 
You didn’t want your parents or even your duties as a royal to steer your private life.
 
But the results of your actions weren’t what you hoped.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it.
 
Instead, he retrieved his water from the coffee table and took a long, slow drink.
 
How could this woman, a woman who hadn’t seen him in ages, make him question everything he believed about himself?

Worse, her observations could be right.
 

His parents had made a strong case for a marriage to Ariana.
 
The two of them had much in common, her parents were well-respected and moved in the same circles as the royal family, and the country would greatly benefit.
 
He’d known, on a common sense level, that it was a good match for him as a royal.
 
But he’d wanted to dictate the terms.
 
To
control
things.

Then—too late—he’d realized he felt no passion for Ariana, nor she for him.
 
Common sense alone couldn’t make a marriage.
 
Damn his twenty-two year-old self.

He rolled the water bottle between his palms, contemplating how best to respond.

“Never thought of it like that?”
 
Megan asked, her voice low.

“No.
 
And I’m not saying it’s true.
 
It was a long time ago.
 
Who knows anymore?”
 

“I do.
 
You were born to a unique family, where virtually every move you make is public.
 
You lack control in so many things, but you crave it like any other human being.”
 
She eased off the sofa and came to stand beside him.
 
Gently, she put her hands to his chest, fanning her fingers before gazing up at him.
 
“Do you remember when I told you about Anna and you said we’d talk in twenty-four hours?
 
I mentioned that you had a flight home in the morning, and you said—”
 

“The flight goes when I say it goes,” he repeated, surprised at her memory. “At least that I can control.”

“When things aren’t going the way you want, it’s your first instinct.”

“There wasn’t anything wrong with asking for time,” he argued.
 
“I needed to cool off.
 
It was the right thing to do.”

“In that instance.
 
But is it always?”
 
Her hands dropped from his chest after giving him a firm pat, but she kept her face upturned to his.
 
“As touched as I am that you proposed to me, I suspect it’s for the same reason.
 
To gain control of an uncontrollable situation.”

He grinned at that, pointedly looking her up and down to emphasize the fact she wore nothing more than a hotel robe, one he could remove with a single flick of the wrist.
 
“You don’t think having the best sex of his life might drive a man to propose?”

“Perhaps.”
 
A blush tinged her cheeks.
 
He could swear her eyes glistened before she looked down to the floor.
 

“Then think about it.”
 
He reached for her chin and tipped her face up to his once more.
 
Her skin felt soft and supple beneath his fingertips.
 
He could caress her face all day and never tire of it.
 
“Ariana and I both knew we’d made a mistake.
 
It took us a while to untangle it, but we did.
 
I knew then that I’d never make that mistake again.
 
I knew when I proposed to a woman, really proposed, it would have nothing to do with my parents or my duty to my country.
 
It would have everything to do with the woman.”

She covered his hands with her own, squeezed his fingers, then stepped back.
 
Once again, she seemed to need physical space to think.
 
He waited several painful seconds before she spoke.
 
“I’m going to take that as a great compliment, Stefano, but everything you told me convinces me that a marriage between us could never be the dream you envision.
 
The media went crazy over nothing more than an apparent date at a palace party.
 
What will happen if they discover you fathered a child?
 
I could never protect myself from that, let alone protect Anna.
 
You’ll want to control that story, but it can’t be controlled. And that’s setting aside any discussion of the obvious reasons people get married.”

How could he convince her he’d never allow her to come to harm?
 
That in this case, the risk would be worth the reward?
 
“I learned what not to do from that experience.
 
So did my family.
 
My missteps with the press—and by missteps, I don’t mean the fact I literally bloodied my feet—taught me how to handle myself in public better than years of parental lectures ever did.
 
I can enjoy my life the way
I
want to enjoy it, but by making careful decisions rather than sprinting before I think.
 
We only have to want it to make it work.”

On the last sentence, she looked as stricken as if he’d hit her.
 
“Megan?”

Before she could answer, chimes pealed from a small clock near the television, marking the passing of another hour.
 
She squared her shoulders at the sound.
 
In a tone more suited to discussion of a budget proposal than a marriage proposal, she said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about, but the answer is no.”
 

Frustration boiled in his gut.
 
Did she truly believe he’d asked on a whim?
 
She should see that, given all that had happened between them, marriage was the most logical course of action.

And dammit, he meant it when he told her she was the best sex of his life.
 
Never in his thirty-two years had a woman affected him as Megan did, either physically or emotionally.
 
He’d tell her that, too, if it would make a difference.
 
But given that she’d accused him of saying whatever it might take to get his way, he doubted she’d believe it.