Chapter Fifteen #2
A bevy of waiters delivered platters of food to the table.
Fluffy flatbreads and dips, salads and other offerings.
There was spit-roasted lamb, lemon-roasted chicken and potatoes along with baked fish and eggplants roasted in a garlic yoghurt sauce.
Along with of course, the paella for which the coast was famous.
Theo sampled it all. To the left there sat the Prince, to his right there sat the head of the security services who made polite conversation about Theo’s work.
Music interludes smoothed the spaces between the conversation, but all the while he was watching what he said while keeping an eye on what Isabella was doing.
She barely made a move towards the food. Despite her make-up, she looked pale, her eyes wary. The man next to her—the Count—seemed to dominate her, directing her choices to what he permitted her to eat. He was middle-aged, Theo guessed. Probably in his fifties. And Theo’s gut churned.
Minute by minute as the meal progressed, the sick feeling—the fear—inside Theo grew. Theo tried to engage with the Princess a few times, but the Count soon shut down the conversation. Theo wanted to shut him down. But he couldn’t do that. But still his senses crawled. And Theo hated it.
The dinner was winding to an end, the Prince calling for a toast.
Theo imagined that it would be a toast to him, for bringing his sister home. But no. It was a toast to his sister’s upcoming marriage, to the Count Lorenzo di Stasio, a wedding that would take place tomorrow.
And after he’d dropped that thunderclap, he turned to Theo, and said, ‘Of course, you must be here for the wedding. I insist. The union that you’ve made possible.’
The Count smiled and bowed while the Princess shrank in her seat, looking more afraid than he’d ever seen her.
The Princess hadn’t been lying.
Why that should have smacked into his head with the force it did made no sense.
Hadn’t he been suspicious of the Prince’s flimsy story?
Hadn’t he been partial to believing hers, of her brother’s bullying, of his cruelty?
At least until they’d made love and he’d discovered that she’d omitted to tell him that she was still a virgin and he’d wanted to punish her.
‘Congratulations,’ Theo said through clenched teeth, recovering enough to raise a glass. ‘Of course, I’ll be here to witness the happy event. To the happy couple.’
Everyone joined in with the toast. Everyone he noticed, apart from Isabella, who skewered him with daggers from her hazel eyes.
And he knew he deserved every one of them.
He’d failed to believe her. He’d let her down.
And so much of her marriage tomorrow was of his doing.
He’d delivered her up to this. Because he was angry with her.
Because she’d been a virgin and she’d led him to believe otherwise.
Any sympathy for the Princess had evaporated on the spot.
He was taking her home. Instead, he’d brought her to the gates of hell of a forced marriage.
Her head was turned towards the table, but her eyes were upturned to his and he saw them glaring at him. Hating him.
And he knew he deserved it.
But what did she expect him to say? How could he object? How could he protest? He was in Rubanestein. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t simply snatch up the Princess and run. They would be caught before they reached the airport, his jet already impounded.
No, he needed another way. His mind scrabbled to find one. He could not leave the Princess to marry this wiry, aged Count, who did not deserve to sit next to her, let alone share her bed.
It came to him as the banquet wound down, desserts served and consumed. It was clear that Prince Rafael was a man motivated by money. It was also clear during the banquet that he was a man fond of his wine.
The banquet at an end, the Prince invited Theo, the Count and the Princess to repair to the salon for port and cigars. The men sprawled in armchairs, while Isabella sat apart, her posture stiffly erect, looking more and more downcast.
Theo accepted the cigar, also accepting a glass of port while the other men employed cigar cutters to remove the cap before lightly toasting the end.
The Prince watched on, as if in no hurry to light his own cigar. ‘I have to hand it to you, Theo, we thought your business had failed in your quest to find the Princess. The agents I sent out to follow you admitted that they were no match.’
‘You sent out your own agents?’
‘Of course, I did. They thought they had you two days ago. It was the closest they’d got. Maybe if the storm had lasted longer on the island, they would have caught up with you? But maybe they served their purpose in hurrying you home.’
Theo swallowed. Those two agents on the island that night were Rafael’s agents? Those two agents who’d set tempers flaring between Theo and the Princess, which had dominoed into them making love only to discover the Princess was a virgin, turning his anger upon her, when she’d never deserved it.
His throat was dry. But it was neither port nor a cigar he needed. It was to spell out the truth.
‘Your sister is a lucky woman, Prince Rafael,’ Theo said, ‘to find such a worthy husband. How did their engagement come about?’
He caught the arrows the Princess fired at him from her eyes.
The Prince snorted. ‘Simple,’ he said. ‘Count Lorenzo offered me the most money to take her off my hands.’
Theo laughed along with the Prince. ‘Genius,’ he said, raising his glass to him. The Prince, as he’d expected, drained his, clicking his fingers for a refill.
‘So, how much is the Count paying you?’
The Prince smirked. The Count laughed and interjected, ‘One hundred million dollars. US currency.’
Isabella interjected, clearly aghast. ‘You are that much in debt from your gambling?’
‘No, silly woman—but I need to be left with some play money after the dust has settled. Surely even you can appreciate that?’
‘Women,’ Theo said dismissively. ‘They have no concept of the price or value of anything.’
‘You see that, Theo? You are indeed my brother.’ The pair clinked glasses. ‘You understand how the world works.’
Theo fully understood how this man worked. ‘One hundred million dollars,’ Theo said, nodding. ‘That’s not bad.’
‘It’s excellent. And you made it happen by bringing her home.’
The Count was laughing. ‘I told you we appreciated your assistance.’
Theo could see the Princess fuming. He could almost see the waves of heat rising from her. Right now, he imagined her painting him as much of a bastard as her brother.
Hang in there, he wanted to say, but he could say nothing.
‘But one hundred million US dollars?’ Theo mused. ‘Is it anywhere near enough for such a prize? The Princess is of good child-bearing age, and to her credit, not entirely unattractive.’
The Prince spluttered. ‘What do you mean? Is it enough? It’s one hundred million US dollars.’
‘But what if you could do better?’
The Count jumped to his feet. ‘We have a deal!’
The Prince waved his hand at the Count. ‘Sit down, sit down. Tell me, Theo, my brother, how could I do better? It’s the best offer I’ve had.’
‘What if someone offered you double?’
Isabella’s head snapped up. Suddenly she was interested in what was going on.
‘Who is this someone?’
Theo let the silence settle. He took a sip of the mellow wine and this time he enjoyed it. ‘Me.’
Isabella gasped, standing up. The Count grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. The Count started spluttering. ‘We had a deal. We have a deal! The wedding is tomorrow. Prince Rafael, you can’t change your mind now.’
‘Shut up,’ the Prince snapped at the Count. Before scratching his chin and turning back to Theo. ‘Double, you say? Two hundred million US dollars.’
‘Exactly. And I’ll waive my recovery fee in addition.’
The Prince sat up. ‘Well, that shines an entirely different light on things.’
‘I object!’ said the Count. ‘We made a deal. The wedding is planned for tomorrow.’
‘Ah, true,’ said the Prince, stroking his chin.
‘We had a deal. And it would be wrong to not acknowledge that. So I’m giving you an opportunity.
Can you match Theo’s offer? No—can you better it?
Because there’s already a better offer on the table.
’ He turned to address the Count directly. ‘You need to offer more.’
The Count visibly swallowed. ‘Prince Rafael, this is so unfair.’
‘Can you?’
The Count’s voice was getting weaker. ‘We had a deal…’
‘I see. So you can’t. Then I have no choice. Theo Mylonakos, in exchange for two hundred million US dollars, the Princess Isabella is yours.’