Chapter 7 – Marcella
MARCELLA
What an absolute clusterfuck of a situation. On the one hand, this is exactly what Antonia and Signoria Batorini are after. I’m potentially gaining direct access to the family, and if that happens, by extension, so are they. On the other hand, freaking Rowan is still here with no signs of leaving.
I can feel his goddamn eyes on me, and it’s not a good thing.
When Antonia suggested they get me a job in the palace, I tried not to balk. A one-night stand is by definition supposed to be just that. You’re not supposed to see that person again. I knew fucking the prince was a bad call, but it didn’t stop me.
Now I’m paying for the mistakes I made that night.
I assumed Rowan wouldn’t recognize me if I ran into him in the palace.
He was drunk, and it was dark when we were naked, and I was in disguise.
But you never know. There is always the risk that he could.
Thankfully, the palace is the size of a small village, and it’s easy to avoid people if that’s your goal.
Which is what I’ve done for the last four months. I’ve stayed out of his way. Kept my head down and low and evaded his attention. Until now.
It took us two months to get me into the palace.
Javier is very good at his job, and the security on the royal family’s computer systems is tight.
I managed to hack it and alter the facial recognition they had on me from inside the chalet so that it wouldn’t match when they scanned my real face.
But in doing so, I discovered they’d been searching for me.
So that was a problem too, and I couldn’t tell Antonia or Signoria Batorini that because then they’d ask why.
And probably kill me when I answered.
We had to create documents that would pass muster and an alias that would hold up.
Luckily, there’s a family about twenty kilometers from the Batorini estate, and they owe Signoria a lot of money they can’t pay.
They were only too willing to help if it meant their debts were wiped clean, even if they had to lie to the royal chief of security and act like they were my loving, doting family.
I was placed on the guest side of the palace with limited contact to anyone within the royal family, especially the children and the pregnant queen. Those were my instructions from Mrs. Lids when I first started, and I kept to that.
For the last four months, I’ve made myself the perfect employee while noting every corner of the palace I was allowed in.
Every camera. I kept my head down, did my work to perfection, and didn’t gossip with other staff, though I was friendly and sweet enough to engage theirs.
Not that there was a lot. The staff are extremely loyal and protective of the family.
I met Charlotte, the nanny who fooled everyone into believing she was an angel on earth, only to kidnap the queen.
What happened during that time was kept under wraps, only whispered about, though most didn’t know the details of the actual kidnapping or why Charlotte did it. Most speculated that she wanted to get rid of Bellamy so she could cozy up to the king and become the next queen.
It never made the news. The palace kept it a secret.
When I told Antonia and Signoria about this, they just about lost their minds and demanded every piece of gossip I could unearth.
Even the smallest detail. Unfortunately, that was the only dirt circulating about it, and most don’t want to talk about Charlotte, who she is, or what she did to the queen.
Then Mrs. Lids’s doctor demanded she get a hip replacement. When she came to me, the new girl, and said I was in the running to take over some of her responsibilities, I was floored. But I didn’t exactly jump for joy.
Being here has been a breath of fresh air in an unexpected way.
I have freedom for the first time in my life.
I don’t have to worry that any mistake I make will result in abuse of some kind or even my death.
I’m earning a paycheck that gets deposited into a bank account with my name on it—fake or not, who cares?
It’s my money, and neither Antonia nor the Signoria has access because they can’t give the situation.
Other than missing Jaqueline terribly and worrying about her being there without me, it’s as if I can take a deep breath for the first time in over a decade. I’m not tense or always looking over my shoulder. My stomach isn’t twisted into a million knots.
But I’m not here on a goodwill mission.
I’m a Trojan horse, exactly as Signoria said.
The king drove my brother to madness and then killed him.
Yes, Samil tried to kidnap the queen. Yes, the things he did were wrong.
But the source of his imbalance hasn’t paid any price for his culpability, and his misdeeds were many and without care.
I intend to make him pay for that. After my father’s death, I only had Samil and Jaqueline, but Jaqueline was a baby.
Samil was the only adult who loved me. Who cared.
He saved my life. He was my best friend.
My confidant. My family. He made sure I had basic necessities. I owe him my life. Literally.
These last seven months without him have been hell on earth.
I hate the king for taking him from me. For the world not knowing the truth. For all the things that could have been.
I know why Samil wanted the king dead. I know what truly happened between him and Nora. I know how she died. The pain and torment that ate away at Samil’s soul because of it.
Which makes Emily’s injury, her impending surgery, and me potentially taking over her role the break we’ve been looking for. Even if it’s already creating issues with some of the other staff. Particularly, the three other candidates.
Only standing here in the breakfast room, shaking the hand of the queen and overhearing their worry for Emily, while Rowan eyeballs the back of my head like he’s trying to figure me out, isn’t how I wanted this to begin.
The queen—because I can’t call her Bellamy, not even in my head—places her hand on my forearm, and now it seems I’m leading the charge.
That is until she pauses. “Wait. What about the children?”
The king makes a displeased noise and taps his wife’s shoulder. “Nanny.”
“I told you not to call me that anymore,” she quips.
He rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching. “You know very well what I meant.”
I bow to him. “Your Majesty, if it would be helpful, I can take the children to the playroom so you can go be with Emily.”
Sebastian eyes me hard before he shakes his head. “No. We need you to take us to her.”
Code for: he doesn’t trust me around his children, which isn’t a surprise. This is the first time he’s meeting me.
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
“I’ll stay with the children,” Althea announces, and I was hoping Rowan would volunteer, but alas, I’m stuck with Rowan freaking standing beside me as we leave the breakfast room and head upstairs toward the parlor.
“Marcella, is it?” Rowan asks.
I dip my head toward him. “Yes, sir.” I’m using a bit of an Italian accent even though I’m speaking in French. I have since I started here because it’s what the daughter of the Russo family would have. When I met him at the wedding, I had no accent, and my French was flawless.
He chuckles. “Is that all you say? Yes, sir.”
“It seemed to be the most appropriate response to your questions. Sir.” I try not to let any bite cut into my tone, but I doubt I accomplish that.
He continues to laugh. “I suppose it is. You’re very formal.”
“Yes, sir.”
He arches an eyebrow, and I fight my smirk.
“I work for you, and you’re the prince of my country. It’s how I was raised,” I continue, playing the part. “My mother was responsible for my education. She instilled a strong sense of duty, loyalty, and love of country. Your family is one of the hallmarks of that.”
Except all of that is a lie. I don’t have a mother.
Signoria doesn’t tolerate me except for when I’m useful to her, and Antonia has treated me like a slave, a servant of the house with no income, since my father died.
Not to mention I never had any love for the royal family—only a deep-seated, well-ingrained hate fed to me nightly like a child’s bedtime story.
“Where are you from?” the queen asks as we make our way across the first floor toward the winding staircase on this side of the palace.
“Mordeli. It’s a small village near the Italian border,” I answer, leading the way as we reach the second level.
“Emily must think very highly of you to consider you for this level of a promotion after only four months of working here,” the king jumps in, his question more than a little pointed.
I bow toward him. “I’m very grateful to be considered, Your Majesty.
Mrs. Lids has been a wonderful role model, and I’ve learned so much from her.
I hope she recovers quickly, and if there’s anything I can do to help you and your family during that process, I’d be honored.
” I pan my hand toward the parlor. “She’s in here, Your Majesties. ”
The king and queen rush into the room, but Rowan stops before entering, his gaze on mine. “Aren’t you joining us?”
“It’s customary for you to enter before I do, sir, but I felt you all might want some time alone with her.” And I’d like to get away from you.
He steps closer, standing over me, and I’m hit with the scent of his cologne. It’s the same one he wore that night, and it tickles my insides, making me want to squirm and shift. I hold steady, keeping to the role I’m playing.
His head dips toward me, making my pulse quicken. “I think we’d all prefer it if you joined us. And it’s Rowan.”
My brows scrunch. “Pardon?”
“My name. I never cared for being called ‘sir’ or ‘Your Highness,’ especially by people I interact with daily. That’s my brother. Not me. I’d like you to call me Rowan. I’d like to hear you say it.”
“Why would you want that?”
He squints. “Humor me.”
I straighten my spine, but I don’t pull away or draw back. I don’t want him to know he’s affecting me. “I don’t believe that’s appropriate, sir.”
He moves in until there are only mere inches separating us. It sets me on edge and makes my stomach flip.
His lips thin in displeasure. “Probably not, but Bellamy goes by Bellamy, so why can’t I go by Rowan?”
“I have no intention of calling the queen by her first name. We should likely get in the room and see how Mrs. Lids is doing.”
I start to move when he grabs me by my upper arm, stopping me. He releases me immediately, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to touch me. His proximity is a force all its own. And his gaze? It’s all over me. Studying. Analyzing.
“Marcella. Marcella,” he repeats, though his tone changes, emphasizing the last part of my name, and I wish I hadn’t told him my name was Ella that night. Yet another mistake that could cost me everything. “It’s a beautiful name.”
Fuck. My throat thickens, and I can’t move. He has me paralyzed. “Thank you, sir.”
“There’s something familiar about you, Marcella.”
“Perhaps I have one of those faces.” My heart stutters in my chest, but I don’t flinch. Hell, I don’t even breathe. If he realizes who I am, there will be questions. An investigation. I’ll be thrown in jail and likely charged with treason.
My one night with the prince could be my undoing. My downfall. The piece that unravels everything, more than it already has.
He scours my face feature by feature, his lips twisting in contemplation as he muses, “No. It’s not that. It’s as if we’ve met before.”
“Your Highness,” I start, not bothering to hide my curt tone, hoping my attitude will properly deflect him. “You likely saw me in passing but didn’t take notice because I’m the help, and it’s my job to remain invisible to you.”
His lips untwist and curl up into a crooked smirk that makes his left dimple pop. “Marcella, there is nothing about you that could be invisible to anyone.”
Let’s hope that’s not the case.
“I’m positive I’ve seen you before.”
“I’ve been working in this palace for four months. I’ve seen you on three occasions other than this one.”
A smile spreads across his lips. “Have you now? You’ve been counting?”
Fucking flirt. I knew that night meant nothing to him. I knew he was a practiced seducer, and I’m wholly inexperienced when it comes to, well, anything related to men. I was weak and admittedly lonely, and I stupidly, so fucking stupidly, gave my virginity to the wrong man.
I puff out a breath that rustles my long bangs back from my forehead.
“You mistake me, sir. There is nothing specific to you that I’ve been counting or keeping track of.
I’ve seen His Majesty five times. The children twice.
Her Majesty four. Coming from a small village, you can imagine how it’s not common place to see any members of the royal family.
Keeping track is simply how my brain works.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go check on Mrs. Lids. ”
Without waiting for his reply, I leave him standing here in the hall and enter the parlor. Mrs. Lids is propped up with a pillow, her face ashen and glistening with a sheen of sweat. The queen is fussing over her, insisting that she go to the hospital immediately.
I hear Rowan enter behind me, but I don’t turn to acknowledge him.
“Marcella.” Mrs. Lids offers me a wan smile. “Perfect timing. I’ve just spoken with His Majesty and the queen, and I’d like to officially offer you the role of interim palace manager.”
Well, shit.
I feign surprise, though I’m not, given the circumstance. I should be rolling in joy, yet something about this sits all wrong with me. And it has nothing to do with the prince, who I can still feel on me like a hawk.
I curtsy for the thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes. “I’d be honored. Thank you for your trust in me.”
And now it all begins.