bully me the way he did my father.’ Marco’s expression changed, and Emily ached to reach out and comfort him when she saw that look in his eyes.
‘My father was too gentle to stand up to my grandfather. As a child, I hated knowing that. As a form of compensation, I suppose, I rebelled against my grandfather’s authority and I swore that I would prove to him, and to the world, that I had the capability to succeed as myself.’
‘But while you were proving yourself, you missed the island and your family, your father?’ Emily guessed tenderly.
Marco opened his mouth to reject her words and then admitted huskily,
‘Yes. It was such a shock when he was killed in a freak accident off the island’s coast. Something I’d never imagined happening…never considered.’
And along with his natural grief at the loss of his father, Marco had had to deal with the irreversible changes in his own circumstances that had followed, Emily acknowledged silently. It must have been so hard for him—a man used to taking control of every aspect of his personal life, to have to come to terms with the fact that, as King, a huge part of his life would now be beyond his control. Just listening to him was causing a change within her own thoughts, turning her angry bitterness and pain into compassionate understanding and acceptance. It altered everything for her. Did he recognise how very alone he was emotionally? Was that a deliberate choice, or an accidental one? If he knew about it, did he care, or did he simply accept it as part of the price he paid for his royal status?
‘I would hate to be in your shoes.’ The words had slipped out before she could stop them.
Marco looked searchingly at her.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.
‘I can hear how important your people are to you, Marco, and how strongly you feel about helping them, but…’ She paused and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t pay the price you’re about to pay for being Niroli’s king. On the one hand, yes, you will have enormous wealth and power, but on the other you won’t have any personal freedom, any right to do what you want to do. Every-thing will have to be weighed against how it affects your people. That is such a tremendously heavy responsibility.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘I suppose it’s different if you’re born to it. I’m beginning to see why princes marry princesses,’ she added ruefully. ‘You really do have to be born royal to understand.’
‘Not necessarily. You’re doing a pretty good job of showing you have a strong grasp of what’s involved,’ Marco told her dryly. They had rarely spoken so openly to one another and it surprised him how much he valued what she had said to him. Impulsively, he slowed the car and reached for her hand, giving it a small squeeze that caused her to look at him in surprise. Such a small, tender gesture was so very unlike him.
‘I’m glad you’re here with me, Emily.’
Her heart was thumping and thudding with the sweetness of the emotions pouring through her. Marco brought the car briefly to a halt and leaned across and kissed her—a hard, swift kiss that contained a message she couldn’t manage to decipher, but which sent a physical craving for him soaring through her body. She had never, ever known him exhibit such extraordinarily un-Marco behaviour before. Her heart felt as though it had wings, her own happiness dizzying her.
She mustn’t let a casual moment out of time lead her into forgetting what she had just recognised, she warned herself. But, then, should she let what she knew to be their separate futures prevent her from enjoying their shared here and now? a different voice coaxed.
‘At this stage of the game, when you’ve got so much to deal with, it’s only natural that you need someone to bounce ideas off and confide in,’ she told him, ‘and…’ She paused, unsure of just how much she dared say without giving herself away completely.
‘And?’ Marco probed as they bounced along the narrow track past a cluster of small houses.
‘And I wouldn’t want that someone to be anyone else but me,’ Emily told him simply.
A young man, tall and gangly and outgrowing his clothes, was standing in the middle of the road in front of Marco’s car waving his hands, his face alight with excitement.
Emily looked questioningly at Marco.
‘Tomasso,’ he informed her as he brought the car to a halt. ‘He is the leader of a gang of young Vialli hotheads, and he is also the person I have chosen to be my representative in taking care of the generator and introducing his village to its benefits.’
The moment Marco opened the car door and got out, Tomasso bounded up to him exclaiming, ‘Highness, Highness, it is here! The generator, just as you promised. We have built a special place for it. Let me show you…’
An elderly woman appeared from the nearest house, tutting and looking very disapproving as she came over to join them.
‘What is this—where is your respect for our Crown?’ she demanded. ‘Highness, forgive my thought-less grandson,’ Emily could hear her saying as she curtseyed to Marco.
This was a side of him she had never seen, Emily thought to herself as Marco leaned forward and assisted the elderly woman to her feet, accepting her homage with easy grace, whilst maintaining a very specific formal dignity that Emily could see the elderly woman liked. As more villagers surrounded him, he was very much the future king, so much so that Emily’s emotions blocked her throat. She felt so proud sitting in the car watching him and yet, at the same time, so painfully distanced from him. What she was witnessing was making her even more aware of how impossible it would be for them to sustain a long-term relationship. Already she could see the curious and even hostile glances being directed towards her, and she guessed when Marco turned to look at the car that he was being asked who she was.
She looked away, her gaze caught by an array of brightly painted and beaded leather purses spilling out of a basket, just outside the door to one of the houses. Her artist’s eye could immediately see how, with some discreet direction, highly desirable objects could be made by adapting the leather and bead-work to cover boxes. She was constantly on the lookout for such accessories to dress her decorating schemes; they walked out of her shop faster than she could buy them. She made a mental note to ask Marco a bit more about the leather-work and those who produced it.
It was nearly half an hour before he returned to the car, having been pressed into going and viewing the generator in its new home. When he returned he was accompanied by a group of laughing young men, whilst Emily noticed the older people of the village held back a little, still eyeing her warily. One of them, a bearded and obviously very old man, went up to Marco and said something to him, shaking his head and pointing to the car. Emily saw the way Marco’s expression hardened as he listened.
‘What was that old man saying to you?’ she asked him, once he was back in the car and they had driven out of the village.
‘Nothing much.’
‘Yes, he was. He was saying something about me, wasn’t he?’ Emily pressed him. ‘He didn’t like you taking me there.’
Marco looked at her. Rafael, the elder of the village, was very much his grandfather’s man. He did not approve of the generator and had said so, and then, when he had seen Emily in the car, he had berated Marco for—as he had put it—'bringing such a woman to Niroli'. ‘Where is her shame?’ Rafael had demanded. ‘She shows her face here as boldly as though she has none. In my day, such a woman would have known her place. It is an insult to us, the people of Niroli,
