Chapter Five
‘The photos of you two as a couple are all over social media,’ Allie informed Raz and Zia as she scrolled through her phone at speed during the flight in a private jet. ‘The paps will swamp you at the airport!’
‘We weren’t doing anything suspect,’ Zia protested, refusing to look Orazio in the eye, something she had contrived to do quite successfully since the night before when she had joined everyone for dinner.
Having first changed into a different outfit, of course, one without a damp patch on the bodice that might awaken unwise memories and responses.
‘I don’t think Raz has been seen in public holding a girl’s hand since he was forced to play Joseph to my terrified Mary in primary school,’ Allie confided unhelpfully. ‘Usually he’s very hands-off…’
They had left the yacht not long after dawn with all her many suitcases of new clothes.
Alina, quite overpowered by the threat of spending even one night in a royal castle, had already asked if it would be all right for her to be picked up by her nephew at the airport so that she could return to Upper Mandovia and visit her widowed sister and her family in their mountain village.
Zia envied Alina her smooth escape from the new world awaiting her, yet did not begrudge her former nursemaid a reunion with the family she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.
But nerves were even now eating Zia alive.
Orazio had already fielded several phone calls from government ministers relating to plans and changed itineraries.
In short, her introduction to Mandovia was being moved up to meet popular demand.
But what was even worse was that, seemingly, Orazio’s plans were being changed as well.
He was now scheduled to accompany her to Upper Mandovia, to present what the prime minister had described as a ‘united front’ for the benefit of both countries.
And Orazio had gritted his teeth and tried to reason his way out of that new plan, only he had got nowhere.
Zia would not have dared to admit that, although she was avoiding him in most ways like the plague, the knowledge that he would be around as backup loosened the tight knot of anxiety deep in her stomach.
She wasn’t yet ready to go it alone and she knew it.
She also knew that he would prevent her from making any terrible errors, that he knew everything there was to know about stupid protocol and that no PR person at her elbow could ever replace him.
She was so grateful that he would be accompanying her that she would even pretend that she had not heard him declare in sheer exasperation on the phone that he was ‘not a babysitter’!
Much could be forgiven of a man who was finding his immediate future inconveniently and unfairly twinned and rearranged along with hers.
He wanted a break from her and why shouldn’t he?
It wasn’t as though they were related in any way or as if she were his responsibility.
A responsibility he definitely didn’t want would have been a more accurate statement.
After all, he had done his bit, organising the tutors, allowing her to stay on his yacht, making her feel welcome while remaining honest with her. What more could be expected of him?
Allie had advised her on what to wear to disembark, a rather plain dress and matching short-sleeved jacket in green.
Orazio insisted she step out first ahead of him.
As a barrage of flashing cameras greeted her she froze and tried to retreat, but Orazio welded a hand to her spine to prevent that and pushed her forward so that he could stand beside her.
‘Might as well give them the money shot they’re looking for with the two of us together,’ he said drily.
A flush lit her cheeks as they crossed the tarmac to greet the hovering line of officials awaiting them, Orazio now noticeably separate from her.
She straightened her slender spine, lifted her chin and moved forward, determined to accomplish what she had trained to do.
And then the polite handshakes, greetings and the shock of being addressed as ‘Your Highness’ were done and she was tucked into a limousine fronted by outriders on motorbikes and accompanied by a posse of black security vehicles.
‘How on earth do you manage to live like this?’ she whispered, shell-shocked by the fuss, to Orazio.
‘I usually drive myself away from the airport. I have security, of course,’ he advanced wryly. ‘No, it’s your arrival that is creating all the pomp and ceremony today. Your first steps back onto Mandovian soil—’
‘Good heavens,’ she mumbled shakily.
‘In Upper Mandovia you will be treated to adoring crowds. Here you’re more of an unknown quantity but everyone’s curious to see us together.’
‘That’s silly,’ she deflected in more discomfort than ever at that admission.
‘We know that but unfortunately the public would prefer us to be fairy-tale characters rather than more ordinary people.’
‘Well, there’s nothing fairy tale about me,’ Zia quipped as the limo swept through tall imposing gates and her mouth ran dry at the sight of the building on the rising slope ahead of them: the royal castle, built of dark stone and dating back to medieval times.
It was huge and rather gothic with many large towers and turrets, ironically very much like a property straight out of a child’s storybook.
‘Isn’t there? Lost princess down on her luck forced to clean for a living?
Rescued… I say rescued questionably…from the Wicked Witch?
’ Orazio teased with sudden amusement. ‘Of course the public is hungry for every piece of information they can find out about you. Now you only need a handsome prince to complete the charmed circle.’
‘Are there any around?’ Zia laughed.
‘Not in Mandovia that I know of.’
‘That’s good,’ Zia said. ‘I’m not in the mood for a handsome prince and I’ve always felt that women should try to rescue themselves from difficult situations…although, bearing in mind my own experiences, that’s not always possible.’
‘One of my legal team is waiting to speak to you about your inheritance of the London house. He has questions for you to answer.’
‘That should be interesting,’ Zia muttered, still wondering if it could be true that all along that handsome house had belonged to her while she had scrabbled for an existence in the damp basement and scrubbed Sandrine’s floors.
A clutch of staff was already waiting at the castle doors. Zia stepped out and Orazio performed introductions and, as they moved indoors, a sharp little bark alerted her to Sausage’s arrival.
The miniature dachshund hurtled towards her like a guided missile and she got down on the tiled floor as the little dog frantically bounced round her, ears flying, tongue licking, little paws grasping and dancing.
A deep-based mournful howl sounded and Sausage broke off his welcome to growl a threat in response.
Zia lifted her dog up in her arms and stood, telling him off when she saw a pair of massive sleek mastiffs standing still only a few feet away.
‘Sit!’ Raz instructed and the two dogs instantly sat.
‘These are my dogs, Bear and Wolf.’
‘They’re very well trained,’ Zia said enviously. ‘Sausage can’t sit without wriggling frantically and he’s terribly bossy around other dogs.’
Orazio watched her introduce herself to his pets while the ubiquitous Sausage attempted with pedalling legs to escape his mistress’s grip. ‘Give him to me,’ he urged.
Zia handed the little animal over and he went limp in Orazio’s grasp as though he had been sedated and licked at his hand as if in apology.
‘Gosh, you little sneak!’ she complained at her pet’s sudden attack of good behaviour as she knelt down to get acquainted with Bear and Wolf, who, released from command, gazed calmly up at her as she petted them.
‘How did you acquire Sausage?’
‘One of Sandrine’s boyfriends gave him to her one Christmas, not knowing that she hates animals. They broke up but she expected him to come back to her and so she kept the dog. Then when Alina and I moved down to the basement flat, Sausage came with us and never left again.’
Handing back Sausage, he passed her over to the hovering housekeeper and mentioned that he would see her at the official reception that evening.
Zia was relieved to see that while the castle looked medieval, it was fairly contemporary inside the walls.
But there was a mountain of twisting stone steps to be climbed up to her room, all the same, and she reckoned they would keep her fit, although she didn’t expect to stay in the castle more than her one agreed night.
Her room—well, she would have called it a suite—was in the South Tower with a panoramic view of the gardens beneath.
The appointments were amazing. She was shown a custom-designed dressing room, where maids were already unpacking her cases, a dream of a circular bathroom and, finally, her big bedroom with its canopied, thoroughly decadent bed festooned in blue and silver drapery.
A reading nook complete with opulent couch and crowded bookshelves occupied one corner like an invitation.
‘This was the former Queen’s accommodation,’ the housekeeper told her brightly. ‘She spent a lot of time up here.’
Orazio’s mother, who had dropped her title along with her royal husband and moved back to Venezuela.
‘It’s lovely,’ Zia remarked appreciatively, surprised that Orazio hadn’t had her stashed in a more ordinary guestroom.
‘It needed refreshing. It hasn’t been used since Queen Luisa departed. By the way, the solicitor, Mr Accardi, and his assistant are waiting to see you in the room next door.’