Chapter One #2
Rosy was staring and she just kept on staring because she couldn’t believe her eyes. She accepted the sunglasses even though one of the lenses had smashed. She could hardly put them on again like that and crammed them into a pocket instead. She breathed in slow and deep, striving to steady herself and accept that Alessio Marchetti, the Crown Prince, well, the only Prince of Sedovia, was crouching down beside her acting like a good Samaritan. The intensity of the emerald-green eyes locked to hers left her feeling oddly dizzy.
‘Can you walk?’ he asked as the hubbub around them grew and cameras began to show in a sea of surrounding obtrusiveness.
‘Of course, I can,’ Rosy told him, grudgingly accepting the hand he extended and beginning to rise with his help, only to stiffen and flinch as her ankle sent a jolt of pain running up her leg. ‘I think I must’ve turned my ankle when I fell.’
Alessio stooped to lift her into his arms and slotted her with care into the passenger seat of his car while phone cameras operated and questions were hurled by breathless journalists, who had raced up from around the corner. He dropped her sun hat back onto her head and she crammed it low, not wanting to look at anyone, not wanting to be identified in such company. She was too well aware that everything Alessio did and everyone he interacted with was of interest to his loyal public and of even greater interest to the media.
The policeman approached the car and spoke to Alessio, who said that he would give a witness statement to the police later in the day, and at that news the policeman retreated and stopped the traffic, making some vehicles reverse while his companion cleared the road so that Alessio could drive across the bridge into the palace.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Into the palace for treatment.’
‘I use the employees’ entrance.’
‘Right now you can’t walk and my office is within easier reach,’ Alessio countered.
Rosy compressed her lips and gritted her teeth at having to respect that tone of authority. Ultimately, he was her employer, she reminded herself in exasperation. She might never have met him before but arguing wasn’t a good idea.
‘What’s your name?’ he enquired smoothly.
‘Rosy… Rosy Castelli,’ she said. ‘Rosy short for Rosalia.’
He drew the powerful sports car to a halt on the cobbles and left the car as she struggled frantically to get the heavy passenger door open. ‘Chill, Miss Castelli,’ the Prince urged. ‘The only cameras here are of the security variety.’
A little of her panic dissipating, Rosy winced as she clambered out, balancing on one foot and the door.
With a muttered imprecation, her companion swept her off her feet again and she trembled and gasped.
‘Nervous little creature, aren’t you?’ he quipped. ‘What do you think could happen to you here where we are surrounded by so many other people?’
Face as red as a tomato, Rosy glanced at his security team hovering, the faces under the portico of the staff all wide-eyed with wonderment at the scene that met their eyes. ‘I don’t like being the centre of so much attention,’ she said truthfully.
Alessio sighed. ‘Clearly there isn’t much excitement round here if we’re attracting this much interest,’ he muttered, brushing past the bowing minions on the doorstep while ordering an ice pack and requesting that Dr Rossi be called to his office.
‘There’s a doctor on staff?’ Rosy exclaimed in astonishment.
‘Dr Rossi is the head librarian and also a doctor. He prefers books to doctoring but he’s happy to help out in an emergency.’
‘I’m hardly an emergency,’ Rosy quibbled as he elbowed open a door off the giant echoing marble hall while the heat of him scorched the side of her body and the scent of him—ocean-fresh and clean with the merest hint of some woodsy cologne—flared her nostrils. ‘A few bumps and scrapes.’
‘ And you’ll be on crutches for at least a few days,’ Alessio interposed drily as he laid her down with care on an opulent leather lounger.
‘Nonsense!’ Rosy protested as he dropped down into an athletic crouch beside her.
He was too close, way too close for comfort, those shimmering green eyes squarely locked onto her. Her breath was trapped in her throat, her heart speeding up and she felt, with a sinking heart, her breasts swell inside her top. ‘Your ankle is already puffing up,’ he pointed out, standing back as an ice pack complete with protective cloth was laid down beside her and he asked for a first-aid kit.
‘I can do all this for myself,’ Rosy objected shakily, shattered by the effect his proximity had had on her because she didn’t ever react that way to men. Sure, he was good-looking, sure, he was the pin-up of Sedovia, indeed of Europe itself, but she wasn’t the sort of woman who reacted physically to such a man… was she?
‘Tea or coffee? What’s your preference?’ Alessio shot at her as she roasted like a pepper on a grill, mortification claiming her entirely. Not such a woman, she reminded herself, not the sort of woman who would compare his luminous eyes to jewels, who would notice the lush black lashes framing that stunning gaze and the warm intelligence etched there.
‘Tea…’ another voice interposed quietly. ‘Sweet. Miss Castelli is in shock.’
Yes, she was in shock, Rosy conceded ruefully. The boss got too close and she got way too embarrassed. ‘You know her, Aldo?’ the Prince remarked in surprise, standing up with a friendly smile to greet the older man.
‘Dr Rossi,’ Rosy said awkwardly.
‘Yes, she works with Lucy Ragusa.’
‘Lucy’s still around?’ Alessio commented in surprise. ‘I thought she would’ve been retired from the conservation department by now.’
‘Lucy’s job is her life,’ the small, bespectacled doctor responded as he bent down to examine Rosy’s ankle and asked her to perform a series of small movements, some of which caused her considerable pain. ‘Clear the room, Alessio. Our patient doesn’t need an audience.’
Rosy breathed a sigh of relief as some of the faces disappeared. Silence fell as the older man tended to her wounds and she closed her eyes tight against the discomfort of gravel being removed from her legs and arm while the icebag was wrapped round her ankle and the chill soothed some of the hot, throbbing discomfort.
‘A sprain. Get the swelling down, prop it up and rest it for a few days and you’ll be fine. There’s bound to be a pair of crutches somewhere in the household. I’ll take my leave, then,’ the doctor announced and a door closed.
A cup of tea was eased into Rosy’s hand. Involuntarily, her hand trembled and the cup was swiftly withdrawn again. As she opened her eyes, she could feel the hateful prickle of tears burning behind them and she sucked in a steadying breath.
Alessio towered over her, looking anxious, and then he sank down on the lounger beside her but still at least a foot away from her. ‘It’s normal to be upset. You almost had a very nasty accident and naturally you’re in shock.’
Rosy snatched in a shuddering breath. If she cried in front of him, she would die.
‘Breathe in, breathe out, slowly,’ he advised stiffly.
Gently, carefully, she followed his advice, one breath in, one breath out.
‘Shall I fetch Lucy?’
‘Oh, heavens, no!’ Rosy gasped in dismay, her tension reclaiming her at that prospect. ‘She would think I’m making such a fuss and I’m late—’
‘I’ll ensure that Lucy is informed of the accident,’ he hastened to assure her as he tugged a phone from his pocket. ‘You are not physically capable of working today.’
‘That’s not true,’ she protested.
‘You won’t be capable until you are off the crutches and able to walk again,’ Alessio pointed out.
Rosy’s pink lips down-curved at that reminder. It was horribly true. Her boss depended on her being able-bodied because Lucy Ragusa was not . Lucy got breathless just climbing the stairs and suffered from several health conditions. Unable to stand up easily, her arm bruised from smashing against the road surface and her whole body aching, Rosy knew that she herself would be incapable of even painting. A solitary tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Alessio chided.
‘It is to Lucy,’ she contradicted ruefully. ‘We’re trying to finish the restoration of your great-grandfather’s portrait for the tours that have been organised.’
Steeling himself against his innately sensitive nature, Alessio held himself back and pressed a tissue into her hand. ‘Imagine a hug,’ he murmured huskily. ‘If I could give you one, I would. None of these things matter right now. What matters is that you are safe and you need to go home and rest… Where is home?’
Thoroughly disconcerted by the very concept of the future king of Sedovia giving her a hug, Rosy flushed and the desire to cry ebbed. She mentioned the hotel. ‘I live there with my sister and her family,’ she told him.
‘My driver will convey you home.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘No buts. You go home and rest until you can walk again,’ Alessio cut in.
With difficulty, Rosy snatched her gaze from the black-lashed brilliance of his, her complexion warming again. ‘Lucy will be so —’
‘Ticked off but she’ll get over it,’ the Prince interposed as a knock sounded on the door.
* * *
A maid appeared carrying a set of crutches.
Alessio vaulted upright to collect them, relieved that the unchaperoned meeting was at an end. She was too beautiful. Piccola volpe, he had almost called her when she cried. Little fox, utterly inappropriate. He had wanted to comfort her but that would have been an even more questionable move. He wasn’t married as yet but he might as well have been, he reflected wryly. ‘My driver will take you home and I don’t want to see you back at work until you’re fully recovered,’ he told her succinctly.
With his assistance, Rosy stood upright and anchored the crutches to use as support. The Prince escorted her back out to the echoing foyer of the palace and signalled a young man, who came running, and instructed him to take Rosy back to her home.
Alessio strode back into his office, got on his phone to their resident tech expert and asked for a full background report to be done on Rosalia Castelli. He had no intention of making enquiries through the palace’s HR manager because that would ignite speculation. But there was no harm in satisfying his curiosity, he reasoned, and she was a mystery with her perfectly spoken Italian and her unexpectedly rich store of English curses, both accompanied by that edgy English accent catching on certain syllables.
Coffee was brought. He sipped, unwillingly reliving the accident. It had been a dangerous near miss. Rosy could’ve been badly hurt, could’ve ended up beneath his wheels. He breathed in deep. She might be supple, slender and strong in appearance, but her actual build was slight, petite and fragile. Luckily, she was bashed and bruised and nothing worse. And why was he still worrying about her? She would be fine. She lived with her family. They would look after her. His family had never looked after him, however…but the staff had . Only she didn’t have staff. In a hotel though? Alessio stamped down hard on that inner flood of thoughts. He only knew that he had never wanted to give anyone a hug so badly…
* * *
‘Are you sure that you can manage?’ Vittoria checked.
‘Yes, go away while I check these accounts,’ Rosy urged, sitting back behind the desk, one ankle propped up on a stool. ‘I’ll be running around again by tomorrow. I’m feeling much better.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ her sister warned her anxiously.
But Rosy was coping, and she liked to keep a close eye on the account books. Vittoria was an experienced hotel manager, well, she had done two years in a tiny London hotel, and Patrick was a chef. Neither one of them was any good at maths and neither one of them was much good at sticking to a budget. It was Rosy’s calculations that kept them on the straight and narrow. And in truth, the deeper she got into the books, the more she realised that those winter debts were still in there merely waiting to catch up with her sister and brother-in-law again. Only a fabulous summer season with a hotel crammed with high-spending guests would correct that before winter arrived along with the natural downturn in tourism.
Would she have agreed to throw her lot in with theirs had she known how challenging it would be? When their father had died and the house was left equally between the two sisters, Rosy had allowed her share to go in with her half-sister’s share to enable the purchase of the hotel in Sedovia. Why? Well, she hadn’t felt entitled to her share at all because that house had originally belonged to Vittoria’s mother, only her sister had insisted. Of course that was pure Vittoria, always generous, but no sense with money whatsoever. And here was Patrick spending on extravagant stuff like truffles and lobster because he was determined to make the restaurant super successful to bring in extra customers.
Rosy sighed and laid down her calculator, her head aching. It had been a tough week but her ankle was almost better. She had helped on Reception and prepared vegetables in the kitchen for Patrick, but she hadn’t been able-bodied enough to help with the bed changes or the laundry or the serving of meals and snacks. Vittoria was looking pale and stressed this week and she had been ill as well, even if, for some reason, she was keeping her apparently upset stomach a secret.
‘You didn’t get his autograph!’ Vittoria had exclaimed in disappointment when she’d heard about her sister’s actual face-to-face meeting with Prince Alessio. The Prince who was literally her sister’s idol, the perfect guy. And lifting Rosy off her feet into his sports car when she was injured had only gilded his reputation.
‘I don’t think he gives those.’
‘You don’t seem impressed,’ Vittoria had said in surprise.
‘No, he is gorgeous,’ Rosy had conceded, ‘no doubts about that. His photos don’t lie. And truthfully, he was much nicer and a lot less arrogant than I expected. He was kind and considerate but very polite and royally distant.’
‘Naturally.’ Vittoria had sighed. ‘He’s on the brink of marrying his princess…his childhood sweetheart.’
‘I don’t think I believe in that,’ Rosy had admitted with cynicism. ‘It’s much more likely that their parents looked at them—Eboltz with a daughter and Sedovia with a son—and decided it would be perfect if they married and united the two countries. I mean, Eboltz is the size of a postage stamp, so why not?’
Vittoria had frowned. ‘What about romance?’
Rosy had wrinkled her small, snub nose. ‘It’s my bet they’re making the best of things. Both rich as sin, both very attractive, both royal heirs. And he’s sown all his wild oats and presumably she has too.’
‘There’s never been an ounce of scandal about Princess Graziana. You’re such a sceptic, Rosy,’ her sibling had complained.
Rosy marvelled that she could even be cynical, growing up as she had on a diet of sweet cartoons and romantic movies and novels. But then, actual romance had never come her way. At school she had stayed flat as a board, skinny and undeveloped and unsought-after by boys. University, when she had been studying for her fine art degree in London, had not been much more promising. She had male friends but more of the ‘good mates’ variety.
She had yet to pin down what it took for a man to attract her. Men who had demonstrated interest in her had withered in receipt of her lack of interest. Yet the Prince had what it took to attract her in spades, which mortified her. She wasn’t about to fangirl over him. That was only a physical thing, she reasoned uncomfortably, based on that long luxuriant hair, those stunning eyes of his and that very hot and seriously great physique he sported. If she hadn’t found him attractive, she wouldn’t be normal.
* * *
Alessio woke up the following morning to an unexpected text from Graziana, who was not in the habit of regular communication with him. Furthermore, the text had been sent in the middle of the night.
I’m sorry. I am so very sorry about this.
Alessio couldn’t even imagine Graziana voicing such an apologetic sentiment. As a rule, she was self-contained and never ever humble. What on earth did she mean?