Modern Romance Collection July 2024 Books 1-4

CHAPTER SEVEN

ITWASA relief to hear her say that. The moment Amelia put boundaries around this thing, Benedetto recognised that a part of his misgivings had come from an anxiety around hurting her, leading her on.

‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ he said, honestly. ‘I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.’

A smile tilted her lips. ‘That you’re madly in love with me? Don’t worry, you haven’t.’

It was easy to return her smile, but he knew he owed her more of an explanation. ‘It’s not you. It’s who I am.’

‘I know that,’ she said quietly.

‘After Sash—even before Sash,’ he corrected. ‘I hated the idea of being in a relationship.’

‘I guess your parents weren’t the best example.’

‘True.’

‘So you’ve avoided commitments all your life?’

‘Until Sasha,’ he said, stroking his chin.

‘Well, I’m not looking for commitment,’ she said. ‘As soon as I can, I intend to disappear from everyone all over again.’

‘You can’t do that.’ He thought of Anton’s family, of how much they loved Amelia, of how painful it was to lose a child, and hated the thought of her leaving them for a second time.

But Amelia only offered a wistful half-smile in response.

‘So beyond this boat trip, we can forget we ever knew each other.’

Was that relief Benedetto felt again? She was making this so easy for him.

‘But while we’re here?’ he prompted, watching her carefully, so he saw the way a delicate pulse point at the base of her throat sped up.

‘While we’re here,’ she murmured, ‘I think we should enjoy the ride.’ She pulled her hair over one shoulder. ‘It doesn’t mean anything, Ben, but that’s not to say we can’t have fun...’

She moved a hand to his chest, pressed it there, her body sparking at the simple, innocuous touch. Their eyes met. She felt something stir inside her. Despite what she’d just said, and the important clarification she’d needed to make to protect herself and Ben from any possible complications, there was something about being so close to him, after their conversation about Sasha, that felt so intimate, as though she had a hotline to parts of his soul that were fundamental and raw. She moved closer instinctively, her lips almost meeting his.

‘I like being friends, rather than fighting.’

‘Fighting was fun too,’ he said with a grin, but then he was kissing her quickly, as though magnetically drawn to her, and Amelia was moving too, urgently, needing him with all of herself, her body flooded with desire and pleasure and a thousand things she couldn’t define and didn’t recognise. He moved first, lifting her easily, carrying her against his chest, carrying her away from the deck, into the corridor and towards her bedroom.

Inside, they fell to the mattress together, and Amelia rolled over, straddling him, running her hands over his torso as he gripped the edges of her dress and lifted it, groaning when it came over her head, revealing her naked breasts. His hands roamed her body, cupping her, pulling at her nipples as she moved over his arousal, her underwear and his clothes unwelcome barriers to the coming together they both desperately needed, but even through the fabric she could feel his hardness and she rolled her hips, moaning at how close she was to feeling him, at how perfect it was to be this close. Torture and pleasure, all wrapped up inside her.

‘God, Benedetto, this is so—I didn’t know—’

He kissed the words back into her mouth, as if he’d said them himself or thought them. She arched her back and he moved to sit, his mouth finding her nipples, then seeking her lips once more, his kiss moving over her collarbone, his stubble dragging against the sensitive flesh. His hands cupped her bottom, moving her over his length, holding her down, lifting her up, separating her buttocks, inviting her, needing her, wanting her until finally he made a guttural noise and rolled her onto her back, stared down at her with breath hissing between his teeth.

‘What is it?’ She brushed her hair out of her face. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘You could say that.’

Amelia’s heart thumped.

‘I don’t have protection. Tomorrow I’m stocking every damned room in this boat. But for now—wait here.’

‘Oh.’ Relief flooded her; she smiled. ‘Okay.’

He was back almost immediately. ‘You ran?’ she teased, biting into her lip, his need for her the hottest aphrodisiac she’d known.

‘A professional sprinter would have eaten my dust,’ he agreed, pushing out of his trousers and rolling a condom over his length before coming back over her, kissing her, moving a hand between her legs, separating her thighs, bringing himself to her sex, pausing there a moment before entering her in one single motion, hard, fast, desperate, a thousand times more filled with need than the last time they’d done this when it had been new and different and they’d been exploring their attraction.

They’d agreed to the terms of this, and Amelia was glad, because it meant she could revel in the physical side of their attraction without worrying that it would get out of hand. They were just sleeping together. It didn’t mean anything. It was simple, sensual, perfect...

But when the sun dawned the next morning, Amelia couldn’t totally ignore the maelstrom of her feelings, so she was grateful that when she woke, Benedetto was no longer in her room. In another time and place, she would have wanted to roll over and lean into the nook of his arm, to rest her head on his chest, to kiss him awake. But that wasn’t what they were.

This wasn’t a real relationship, and he was the last man on earth she could trust. After Daniel, she’d been wary. Daniel had been a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

At least with Benedetto, he’d been a wolf all along. She’d known from almost the first moment they met that he was her enemy, so at least there was no risk of a shock betrayal.

Nothing could change the fact that he was taking her home, even when he’d explained his relationship with Anton and why it had mattered to him so much to do whatever Anton asked of him. She was so angry with Benedetto, even when she forgave him completely, and none of it made any sense.

She could never accept his decision.

She’d thought she might be able to change Benedetto’s mind in the course of the trip to Catarno, without disclosing the truth behind her disappearance, but, understanding what she did now, she knew that she’d never succeed. And weirdly, she wasn’t sure she could even ask it of him. It shifted something inside her to recognise that she cared more for Benedetto’s obligations to Anton than she did almost anything else. Why did that bother her so much?

Why did she feel such a deep sense of unease to recognise that there were few things that she cared about more than Benedetto’s sense of duty? Was it because of how much he’d lost? Did she feel so sad for him that she was willing to sacrifice herself?

Of course not.

If she could escape, she would, even now, because her family deserved that. True, there would be a scandal attached to her no-show at the wedding, but it would be short-lived, and the royal family’s PR machine would swing into action, coming up with some reason or other to explain it all away.

It would be better than the risks her return would bring. Unfortunately for Amelia, the chance of escape wasn’t likely to occur, so she had to resign herself to her fate—in a matter of days, she’d be home.

‘What is that?’ Amelia asked from her vantage point on the deck, eyes focused on the land that was so close the beach umbrellas were visible.

Benedetto finished his strong black coffee before replacing the cup on the table between them. ‘Crete.’ The Greek island was not far from Catarno. It was almost time.

He turned to her, scanned her face. ‘Have you ever been?’

‘As a teenager,’ she said with a smile of reminiscence. ‘We used to sail the Med in the summer.’

The important thing was to get Amelia back to her family. It was his mission; he’d promised Anton. But the closer they got, the more inevitable their parting—and return to reality—became, he found himself wanting to stall. Just a little. ‘Would you like to stop?’

She blinked across at him. ‘Stop?’

Just a small delay. It wouldn’t hurt... ‘For lunch. You can get your land legs before we arrive in Catarno.’ He contemplated that a little longer. ‘We could stay here overnight.’

The second he’d said it, he realised how stupid the offer was. Where would they stay? A hotel? What were the chances her identity wouldn’t be leaked by someone? Besides, wasn’t there a risk she might run away again?

As soon as the idea occurred to him, he dismissed it.

She didn’t want to go home, but, somehow, he was sure she understood why it was important to face her family. To be there at Anton’s wedding. She wasn’t a coward; he knew that much was true.

‘Stay overnight, on the island?’

‘Or the boat, but in port. For privacy reasons,’ he said, relaxing into the idea of this. ‘What do you think?’

What did she think?Amelia stared at him, her heart hammering, words hard to form. Was it possible he was trying to extend their time together? That he knew they were only a day away from Catarno, at most, and wanted to eke out their remaining time as long as possible?

But only yesterday, Amelia had promised herself that if she had a chance to escape, she would take it. Wasn’t that exactly what was being presented to her?

Amelia chewed on her lower lip, totally lost, her heart stretching and twisting painfully in her chest, because she knew what she had to do but she couldn’t make herself happy about it.

‘Okay,’ she agreed, forcing an over-bright smile to her face. ‘Just give me a minute to get ready.’ She walked towards the door that led to her rooms. ‘Oh.’ She snapped her fingers as if just thinking of it. ‘Where’s my camera backpack? I’ll bring it in case there are some photos I want to take.’

‘I’ll get it,’ he said without hesitation, which made her feel a thousand times worse, because the backpack also had her phone, and she knew she would need both in order to get off Crete.

‘Thanks. I won’t be long.’

They took the smaller speedboat into shore, Benedetto at the helm, looking every inch the devilishly handsome billionaire as the wind swept his dark hair from his brow and the water dappled across his shirt. Sun streamed across their path, warming them even as the breeze served to temper the heat of the day.

Amelia’s heart was in her throat the whole way. She noticed a thousand tiny details about Benedetto, as if her unconscious mind was trying to commit him to memory, as if she needed to cement him into her soul before leaving.

Leaving.

Was she really going to do this?

Wasn’t it her obligation?

Nothing had fundamentally changed since he’d scooped Amelia out of her life and brought her back here. She was still an illegitimate, secret daughter, the product of an extramarital affair that had the potential to destroy her family and undermine her parents’ place on the throne. She was still a guilty secret. And Daniel was still out there with this knowledge, ready to blackmail her again.

Nausea rose in her throat and she blinked it away, gripping the strap of her backpack more tightly.

The ocean changed colour around them, going from a darker shade of blue to a turquoise so clear it was almost transparent, and gradually they were surrounded by other watercraft—boats, jet skis, holiday pleasure-seekers enjoying the sunshine and salt water.

Benedetto expertly steered them away, towards the marina, pulling them into a dock there and cutting the engine. His smile when he turned to her was completely without suspicion.

Her stomach squeezed painfully and before she could control her unconscious mind, she indulged a secret fantasy of pretending this was real. That they were two different people, with different pasts, who were willing to give this thing a real go, and see where it went...but it was an impossible dream.

‘Ready?’

Her stomach dropped but she nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

A deckhand appeared from the marina to tether the boat, and once they were secured, Benedetto hopped out first then held out a hand for Amelia. She put hers in it, ignoring the spark that travelled the length of her arm, forcing a smile to her face. ‘Where to first?’

They walked the ancient streets of the city, through narrow, winding cobbled paths with brightly coloured buildings on either side. Window boxes filled with geraniums and rosemary burst with brightness and fragrance, potted citrus plants decorated doorways, children played happily around them, and as they crossed the square, a group of old men in vests and caps began to sing happily, spontaneously, bowls of seafood in their laps, a card table set up with food and a rounded bottle of wine.

Amelia’s chest hurt. This was so like her country, her culture, her people, that she felt such a wave of homesickness it almost paralysed her. She stopped walking, looked around, her breathing growing raspy.

‘Amelia?’

‘It’s just...so familiar,’ she said wistfully. ‘It reminds me a lot of home.’

He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be back soon.’

He’d completely mistaken her feelings. Or perhaps he hadn’t. She was homesick, she did want to go back, in a way. But missing home wasn’t the same as being able to return. She was exiled.

Self-imposed, but no less binding.

They stepped into a very old church on the edge of the square, admiring the architecture, the pillars, but always in the back of Amelia’s mind was the knowledge that this would be the end. That this was when she’d escape. She had to escape. Didn’t she?

But what if she didn’t? What if she stayed with him? What if she agreed to let Benedetto support her—not in talking to her parents about the reason she’d left, but just by being her strength. By helping her get through it. What if he just acted as her friend, nothing more, nothing that would cause issues for him and Anton?

‘You’re distracted,’ he murmured, brushing a hand over her hair.

Her heart slammed into her ribs and out of nowhere, she imagined them in a church filled with loved ones, his touch like this a deeper promise and pledge. Her heart trembled.

‘Am I?’

‘Hungry?’ he prompted, still with no idea how deeply she was considering her next move.

‘Yes,’ she lied, for her stomach was far too knotty for food.

‘I know a good place. Come on.’

She might have expected a fancy restaurant but instead he’d chosen an out-of-the-way seafood café with seating for about twelve people and views over the water. It was intimate, and the privacy of their booth meant she had no concerns about being spotted, so removed her hat and glasses.

They ordered something light, and some drinks, and Amelia imitated a relaxed pose, leaning against the leather banquette, looking out to sea. Their drinks came first, and while they waited for their food, Benedetto made easy small talk, telling Amelia about a project he was working on in mainland Greece, a package of three high-rises.

She listened, genuinely fascinated by his work, his world, his success. Their food arrived and they continued to talk, but in the back of her mind Amelia was angsting over everything. She couldn’t decide what to do, but, ultimately, self-preservation had to win out.

When their plates were cleared and coffee ordered, she looked around with the appearance of nonchalance. ‘Do you know if there’s a restroom?’

‘Through there.’ He gestured to a double set of doors, bright red with portal windows.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, reaching for her backpack casually, as though it were the most normal thing in the world, and excusing herself without a backwards glance. Her heart was racing so hard she thought it might give way as she slipped through the doors and into a corridor that had, she realised with relief, another door that led to a storeroom and then an alley.

Tears filled her eyes as she pushed through it and left the restaurant, her mind focused now on getting as far from Catarno as she possibly could.

But every step she took became harder and harder, heavier too, as if she were going in the wrong direction, wading through mud, pulling against elastic. Her lungs were burning with the force of breathing and her legs were shaking and as she pressed her back against a wall, waiting for her nerves to settle, she closed her eyes.

And saw him.

Benedetto, committed to memory perfectly, every inch of him, every beautiful, haunted, imperfect inch, and her heart stitched and her stomach rolled because the thought of never seeing him again was a torture she hadn’t fully understood. She’d known it would be hard, but not akin to giving up breath or water. She’d thought she could control this. She’d thought she could spend time with him and not start to trust him, not start to want more from him. And maybe she could, but she wasn’t ready to walk away from this yet.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, dropping her head forward. What did that mean? She knew this would end. And soon—they were almost at Catarno. But she was running away again, and now she wasn’t so sure it was the right choice. Everything was messy and confused, and it was all because of Benedetto. He’d got into her head and under her skin.

At first, he didn’t think anything of it. He was more relaxed than he had been in years. Benedetto had always had an intensity about him, a wariness, courtesy of his father, and then their financial hardships. It was only a short time later he’d become a father, and that had probably been the only truly happy window of his life, a time when he’d gone from strength to strength professionally and had known, for the first time ever, uncomplicated, beautiful, easy love. He had loved his daughter with all of his heart, even when he would have said he didn’t have a heart in the sense of feeling love. His had been just an organ responsible for pumping blood through his body until he’d met Sasha. Then he’d known what people were talking about. He’d loved her with all of himself, had known he would die before he let harm befall her.

And he would have.

If giving his life could have spared hers, Benedetto would have fallen upon the first sword he could find. But there had been no helping Sasha. He’d tried.

From that moment on, he’d been simply existing. Work had challenged him, had revived him, had brought him slowly back to life, and he’d taken a form of pleasure from succeeding, from rebuilding his fortune to the point of being one of the wealthiest men in the world, a Diamond Club member, welcomed into the most exclusive private club there was.

But everything had been about success. Not happiness, not relaxation, not enjoyment.

With Amelia, though, he’d felt a thousand things, not all of them good. He’d been aware of his conscience, he’d felt guilt, he’d felt shame, he’d felt frustration, even anger. But he’d also felt pleasure and joy, delight in another person’s company. He’d felt things he couldn’t quantify nor explain. And now, sharing a meal with her in a restaurant, which was such a normal activity, he’d felt relaxed despite what lay ahead for her, despite his worries for her and desire to shield her from any harm.

He’d let his guard down completely.

Which was why he hadn’t noticed at first. He hadn’t realised that she’d taken her bag. Hadn’t been looking for anything out of the ordinary because he’d trusted her.

But just as he was starting to wonder why she was taking so long in the bathroom, his memory banged him over the head, reminding him of the image of her slipping through the door with the backpack over one shoulder. A backpack he hadn’t even contemplated withholding despite the fact it had her phone, wallet and camera in it.

Because he trusted her.

Because he thought she felt—what? What did he want her to feel?

Had she expressed, at any point, a level of acceptance about going home?

Wasn’t the opposite true? At every opportunity, whenever it came up, she insisted that it was wrong to go back. That she wouldn’t forgive him for his part in it. That she couldn’t face her family again.

He stood up quickly, reaching into his wallet, removing some money and throwing it onto the table before striding through the restaurant towards the doors to the restrooms.

The corridor was empty; a quick inspection of the stalls showed them to be likewise.

He felt as if he’d been stabbed in the chest.

He’d dropped his guard and Amelia had gone. Escaped. Left him.

Of course she had! He’d given her the perfect opportunity; could he blame her? The thought had even occurred to him but he’d dismissed it as ludicrous.

And if she wanted to avoid going home so badly, did he have any right whatsoever to chase her down again?

No.

He had no right.

He’d never had any right.

Amelia was a free agent. It was her life, her choice. She had to do what was right for her. Heart thumping hard against his ribs, he looked left and right, as if still hoping he might see her, before accepting that she had undoubtedly slipped far away from him already.

If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be.

They’d walked quite a way, and even with his long stride it was fifteen minutes before Benedetto made it back to the marina, to the boat he’d moored earlier that day with a strangely light heart. He grimaced as he stalked towards it and then stopped walking abruptly at the sight of the slim figure already on board, staring straight ahead. Frowning. Looking out to sea. Expression worried. Anxious.

His step quickened.

He stood short of the boat, staring at her, disbelief burning like acid in his gut. She turned to face him, her face mournful, confused, her eyes haunted, her cheeks stained with tears and he hated himself then for having anything to do with inflicting this pain on her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, moving quickly, stepping into the boat, crouching down before her. ‘I should never have brought you here.’

She shook her head, evidently unable to speak. ‘It’s not Crete.’

‘I don’t mean Crete. I mean away from Valencia. I should never have got involved.’

A sob tore from her chest. He moved closer, cupping her face.

‘You don’t have to do this, Amelia. I’ll take you home.’

‘I don’t know where home is,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

One of the deckhands approached their boat, looking to untether it, and protectiveness for Amelia, who was no longer in sunglasses or a hat, overrode everything else. He stood to shield her from view, slipped the deckhand a tip then sat beside her, ensuring she stayed out of view until they were alone again.

Even when they were, Benedetto remained where he was. ‘Listen,’ he said gently. ‘This was a mistake. I didn’t understand you, or the situation.’ He put a hand on her leg, needing to feel her, to reassure her and also himself. He had to fix this. ‘I’ll take you back to Valencia.’

‘You’ve already told Anton I’m coming.’

‘I’ll tell him I made a mistake. I’ll tell him no one can force you to do anything you’re not ready for. He’ll be pissed—at me—but he’ll get over it. Because it’s the right thing to do. This should always have been your choice, Amelia. I apologise for not appreciating that sooner.’

She turned to look at him, her love-heart-shaped face so sorrowful that he groaned and pressed his forehead to hers. ‘Please stop looking as though your world is ending. I made a mistake, but I’m going to fix it. It’s going to be okay.’

‘No, it’s not,’ she whispered, so haunted he wanted to stop the world and make everything and everyone in it do whatever was necessary to cause Amelia to smile. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He didn’t. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that forcing her to face it was wrong in a thousand kinds of ways. He could never be an instrument of pain to her. ‘Come on,’ he said softly, kissing her cheek with an odd, twisting feeling in the centre of his chest. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

On the yacht, Amelia excused herself, numb to the core, needing to warm up with a shower. She stayed in there a long time, staring out of the darkly tinted window at the shore, imagining how things might have been now if she’d followed through with her escape. She’d formed a very quick plan as they’d wandered the streets, hand in hand, only hours earlier. She’d identified a travel agent, and located a bank, so she could access her trust fund.

There was no way to pull out money without revealing her identity but by the time any enterprising bank teller managed to sell the salacious information to a tabloid photographer, Amelia would have been long gone, booked onto a cruise ship off the island, where she would have stayed sequestered in her room until they put into port in a larger city, within reach of an airport.

And nobody would have been any the wiser.

But she hadn’t been able to do it.

She missed her family. Even though she was terrified it might lead to heartbreak and pain for them, having come this close, the pull of Catarno and everything she’d walked away from was drawing her back, regardless of the risk.

And Ben? a voice in the back of her mind prompted. What role did he play in this? She tried to see through the wool in her mind, to understand. Their relationship still didn’t mean anything. It was just temporary. But she would be lying to herself to pretend his offer to help hadn’t lent strength to her. If the worst was to happen, was there anyone else she’d rather have at her side?

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Anton’s voice came down the phone line with obvious surprise and Benedetto’s hand tightened on the device.

‘We’re wrong to force her to come back.’

‘You’ve got her on your boat, but you’re saying you won’t bring her to Catarno?’ he repeated. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘She’s adamant she can’t come home.’

‘This is where she belongs.’

‘Then she’ll come back of her own volition. It’s not up to you or me to force her.’

‘It’s for her own good,’ Anton snapped. ‘You know the media circus that will erupt if she misses the wedding. Already the papers are full of speculation about it.’

‘I know.’ Benedetto nodded into the room. He’d seen the same reports. Not just the tabloids, even the broadsheets were running commentary on the likelihood of her return, speculating as to the work that was keeping her absent from royal life. ‘And so does she. This has to be her decision, Anton.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘I am.’

Anton swore softly. ‘I trusted you.’

‘And you still can. Trust me now—Amelia will always resent you if we do this. Would you rather she comes home for the wedding—and you lose her for ever—or that she returns when she’s truly ready?’

‘She will feel differently when she’s here,’ Anton said.

Benedetto closed his eyes. He owed Anton everything, but he should never have agreed to this. It was a family matter; Benedetto had no place getting involved. ‘It has to be her decision, Anton. I’m not wrong about this.’

The Prince disconnected the call without another word.