living in Mirraccino for these past couple of years had given her a different perspective. If she didn’t stand up for herself, she would never gain her freedom. She would never be able to experience a lot of her dreams. She would forever live under her father’s thumb and that was not truly living.
Many people were put off by her security detail. She ended up refraining from doing things just because it was easier than following security protocol and having people send her strange looks, not to mention the whispered comments. Most guys she might have a chance with quietly backed off after meeting Berto. The ones that persisted, she’d learned the hard way, were trouble, one way or the other. And so her dating life was sporadic at best.
“I’m not backing down, Poppa. I’m twenty-four now. I deserve to have my own life—”
“You have a life.”
“No, I don’t. My every move is analyzed before I do it. And then it is reported back to you. That is not a life.”
Her father sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m just doing what I must to protect you and your brother. I don’t hear him complaining.”
“That’s because Luca doesn’t care what you or anyone says. He does exactly what he wants.”
Her father ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “I know. I know.”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“No!” Her father’s raised voice reverberated off the walls.
“Then maybe you need to back off. I’m not wild like Luca, but if that’s what you want—”
“Don’t you dare. I have enough problems with your brother, but that’s going to come to an end. If he wants to inherit my title, he has to earn it.”
She couldn’t help her brother, not that Luca would want or accept her help, but they were getting sidetracked. “My brother can fight his own battles. This is about you and me. I need you to back off or...”
Her father’s gaze narrowed. “Or what?”
She didn’t have an answer to that question. Or did she? There was something that had come to mind more than once when she’d felt smothered.
“Or else you’ll leave me no choice. I’ll leave Halencia and Mirraccino.” She saw the surprise reflected in her father’s eyes. She hated to do this to him, but perhaps that’s what it would take to get her father to understand that she meant business.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. And when he did speak, his voice was low and rumbled with agitation. “Your threats won’t work.”
“Poppa, this isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. And it’s not something that I take lightly.”
Her father stared at her as though gauging her sincerity. “Why don’t you and your brother understand that I just want to protect you?”
“I know you are worried about our safety after...after what happened to Momma, but that was a long time ago. It was just a mugging—there’s no threat to us. You can relax. We’ll be safe.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know that. I can’t remove your security detail. I...I have to be sure that you’re mature enough—competent enough—to take care of yourself.”
The knowledge that her father thought so little of her stabbed at her. But she refused to give in to the pain. This was her chance to forge ahead. “I will prove to you that I’m fully capable of taking care of myself and making good decisions.”
Business was something her father understood and respected. She told her father how she’d taken over the South Shore Project. With the crown prince now occupied with his new family and assuming more and more of the king’s duties, he didn’t have time to personally oversee the project. And Annabelle had happily stepped up. And she almost had the entire piazza occupied. There was just one more pivotal vacancy that needed to be filled. And not just by anyone, but a business that would draw the twentysomething crowd—the people with plenty of disposable cash that would keep the South Shore thriving long into the future.
“And you think you can do this all on your own?” There was a note of doubt in her father’s voice.
Her back teeth ground together. Her father was so old-fashioned. If it were up to him, she’d be married off to some successful businessman who could help sustain her father’s citrus business.
Annabelle lifted her chin as her gaze met his. “Yes, I can do this. I’ll show you. And once I do, you’ll remove the bodyguards.”
Their gazes met and neither wanted to turn away. A battle of wills ensued. Obviously her father hadn’t realized that he’d raised a daughter who was as stubborn as him.
All the while, she wondered if there was any truth to her father’s suspicions about her mother’s death. Or was he just grasping for something more meaningful than her mother had died over some measly money and jewelry?
THIS DAY WAS the beginning of a new chapter...
Lady Annabelle DiSalvo smiled as she walked down the crowded sidewalk of Bellacitta, the capital of Mirraccino. Though the day hadn’t started off the way she’d hoped, she had high hopes for the afternoon.
With a few minutes to spare before her big meeting, she planned to swing by Princess Zoe’s suite of offices. They had become good friends since Zoe and the crown prince had reconciled their marriage. Annabelle admired the way Zoe insisted on being a modern-day princess and continued with her interior design business—although her hours had to be drastically reduced to accommodate her royal duties as well as being a wife and mother. If Zoe could make it all work, so could Annabelle. She just had to gain her freedom from her father’s overzealous security.
It wasn’t until then that Annabelle recalled the email Zoe had sent her. Zoe had left town with her husband on an extended diplomatic trip. And with the other prince in America, visiting with his wife’s family, the palace was bound to be very quiet.
Someone slammed into her shoulder. Annabelle struggled not to fall over. As she waved her arms about, the strap of her purse was yanked from her shoulder. Once her balance was restored, her hand clenched the strap.
No way was this guy going to get away with her purse—with her mother’s final words in a journal lying at the bottom of the bag. For the first time ever, Annabelle regretted forcing Berto to walk at least ten paces behind her. This was all going down too fast for him to help.
Knowing the fate of the journal was at stake, she held on with all of her might. But the short lanky kid with a black ball cap was moving fast. His momentum practically yanked her arm out of its socket.
Pain zinged down her arm. The intense discomfort had her fingers instinctively loosening their grip. And then they were gone—the purse, the journal and the thief.
“Hey! Stop!” Annabelle gripped her sore shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Berto asked.
“No.
