Chapter One #4
‘Actually…’ the older man looked rather uncomfortable ‘…I was hoping that you would agree to host her here at the castle and teach her how to be royal.’
Orazio was aghast at that suggestion and it was a struggle to conceal his reaction.
‘Having her here at the castle with me would stoke the royal marriage hopes,’ he pointed out, tensing at that prospect.
‘And between the staff and the number of visitors we receive, she would have no privacy. I’m also unsure that I could teach anyone how to be royal.
She will require tutors in etiquette, history and PR before she can deal with the public in an appropriate way. Does she even still speak Italian?’
‘Fluently, I understand. I must admit we didn’t think of the privacy aspect—’
‘And it would damage her status if someone was to talk to the press and reveal the mistakes that she will inevitably make. Her return will create so much excitement and curiosity that photos of her will be stolen and conversations recorded. If she’s not up to immediate public exposure—’
‘How could she be? Working as a chambermaid!’ the older man exclaimed in dismay.
‘Then we require a more discreet location for her to learn what she needs to know without an audience,’ Orazio murmured, content to have made his point while frantically thinking of where a new princess could be stashed and tutored in the necessary skills without causing him any further annoyance.
And then the answer came to him and his dazzling smile flashed across his lean, bronzed features. ‘I have the perfect place for her. My yacht, Sea Empress, currently moored in Türkiye. We can fly in the tutors. She’ll need a wardrobe of suitable clothing as well—’
‘Your yacht?’ Bruno Milano was taken aback but relieved at the prospect of not having an unknown princess under siege from the paparazzi at the royal castle with an unwilling host. ‘The government will cover all her expenses and that includes a salary—’
‘A…salary?’ Orazio repeated incredulously.
‘She is very poor, Your Majesty. As Massimo acknowledges, she has to think of her future and being a princess needs to be a paying proposition for her to come here and stay for a while,’ the older man clarified.
Gold-digger, Orazio decided on the spot, it being impossible for him to imagine being paid for what he saw as his duty.
But he had also seen enough poverty to know that he was being unfairly prejudiced and he was quick to squash that label for the Princess in his head.
Why shouldn’t she be paid to fulfil the expectations of others?
By all accounts, her life to date had been no fairy tale.
Zia lay in her bed in the basement apartment, sleepless and contemplating the changes on her horizon.
She couldn’t begin to imagine living in Mandovia, even if it would only be for six months.
It was impossible to picture what she had never seen or a lifestyle she had never experienced.
The concept of staying in a royal castle was simply intimidating.
And she was quite sure King Orazio wouldn’t be keen on that suggestion.
Why should he be? Royal to the backbone and richer than the legendary Midas, why would he want to house a fake princess such as she could only be?
After all, what did she have going for her?
Her late mother had been born a royal but only in a peripheral way because her Eastern European family had already been deposed royals without a throne.
And from what Zia had established from the history books, her unlucky mother had been literally sold into marriage to a man old enough to be her father.
A hated dictator, who had fancied having a real-life princess as a wife, believing she would add gloss and gravitas to his image.
So, for Zia, the immediate future was hugely scary and full of unknowns.
But it was also the escape she had long sought from a life pinned and trapped beneath Sandrine’s controlling thumb.
At the end of the day, Zia reasoned, it didn’t matter how frightening her new life would be in Mandovia.
She would do it because she had to do it and had no other choice available.
All her life to date had been like that and she was accustomed to taking the rough with the smooth.
But Orazio Arcangeli wouldn’t want anything to do with her.
She knew that, accepted it, still remembered him at the age of ten.
Impossibly tall, very blond, aristocratic.
Something about his measured way of speaking, his incredibly good manners and immense control even at that age had set her off into a tantrum.
And Orazio had been stunned that a little girl would dare to fight him and possess such a temper.
It made her laugh to know that their fathers had actually toyed with the ridiculous idea of marrying them off.
And she would bet what little cash she had that Orazio would still not be laughing about that stupid betrothal idea because Orazio was very serious in nature. If he wanted to marry a princess, she would be the very last one he would choose.