It was merely the awareness of his loss of freedom that pinched at the back of his mind and made him feel uneasy.
The man reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The Prefect has tasked me with informing you that we have recovered some of the ancient statues taken from the museum. And to give you this, Your Highness.”
Nico held out his hand. The man stood to attention while Nico ripped into the envelope.
He expected the sheet of paper inside, but it was the photograph of a woman and child that caught Nico’s attention first. Their faces filled the frame as if someone had stood very close to snap the picture. He recognized the woman almost instantly—the wheat-blond hair, the green eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose—and felt a momentary pang of regret their liaison had not lasted longer. His gaze skimmed to the child.
Sudden fury corroded his insides. It was not possible. He had never been that careless. He would never do to a child what had been done to him. He would never father a baby and walk away. It had to be a trick, a stunt to embarrass him on the eve of his engagement, a ploy to get money. There was no way this child was his.
His mind reeled. He’d spent only a short time with her, had made love to her only once—much to his regret. Wouldn’t he have remembered if something had gone wrong? Of course he would—but the child had the distinct look of a Cavelli. Nico couldn’t tear his gaze away from eyes that were a mirror to his own as he unfolded the paper. Finally, he succeeded in wrenching his attention to the Prefect’s scrawled words.
Nico dropped the paper and shoved back from the desk. “You will take me to the prison. Now.”
Lily Morgan was desperate. She was only supposed to be in Montebianco for two days. She’d been here for three. Her heart beat so loud and hard in her ears that she’d half expected to have a heart attack hours ago. She had to get home, had to get back to her baby. But the authorities showed no signs of letting her leave, and her pleas to speak with the American Consulate were ignored. She hadn’t seen a soul in over four hours now. She knew because she still had her watch, though they’d taken her cell phone and laptop away when they’d brought her down here.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Is anyone there?” No one answered. There was nothing but the echo of her voice against the ancient stone interior of the old fortress.
Lily sank onto the lumpy mattress in the dank cell and scraped her hand beneath her nose. She would not cry. Not again. She had to be strong for her boy. Would he miss her by now? She’d never left him before. She would not have done so now had her boss not given her little choice.
“Julie’s sick,” he’d said about the paper’s only travel writer just a few days ago. “We need you to go to Montebianco and research that piece she was working on for the anniversary edition.”
Lily had blinked, dumbfounded. “But I’ve never written a travel article!” In fact, she’d never written anything more exciting than an obituary in the three months she’d been at the paper. She wasn’t even a journalist, though she’d hoped to become one someday. She’d been hired to work in the advertising department, but since the paper was small, she often did double duty when there was a shortage.
The only reason the Port Pierre Register had a travel writer was because Julie was not only the publisher’s niece, but her parents also owned the town’s single travel agency. If she was writing about Montebianco, there was probably a special package deal coming up.
But the mere thought of traveling to Montebianco had turned Lily’s legs to jelly. How could she enter the Mediterranean kingdom knowing that Nico Cavelli lived there?
Her boss was oblivious. “You don’t need to write it, sweetheart. Julie’s done most of the work already. Just go take some pictures, write down how it feels to be there, that kind of thing. Experience the country for two days, then come back and work with her on the write-up.”
When she demurred, he refused to take no for an answer. “Times are getting tough, Lily. If I can’t count on you to do the job when I need you, I may have to find someone who’s more willing. This is your chance to prove yourself.”
Lily couldn’t afford to lose her position at the paper. Jobs weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Port Pierre; without this one, she couldn’t pay her rent or keep up with her medical insurance premiums. She could search for other employment, but there was no guarantee she’d find anything quickly. Once she’d gotten pregnant, she’d had to drop out of college. She’d spent the last couple of years bouncing from one low-paying position to another, doing anything to take care of her baby. The job at the paper was a major break and a huge step up for her. She might even be able to return to school part-time and finish her studies someday.
She simply could not endanger Danny’s future by refusing. She’d gone without many things as a child when her mother had been out of work or, worse, had dropped everything to run off with her womanizing father again. Lily would not do that to her own baby. She’d learned the hard way never to rely on anyone but herself.
She had no choice but to accept the assignment, though she’d comforted herself with the knowledge that her chances of actually crossing paths with a prince were pretty slim. She would leave Danny with her best friend, spend two days touring Castello del Bianco, and then she would be on a plane home. Simple, right?
But she’d never bargained on winding up in a prison cell. Would someone call the authorities when she didn’t return? Had they already done so? It was her only hope—that someone would report her missing and the American Consulate would insist upon an accounting of her movements within the kingdom.
A distant clanging brought Lily to her feet. Her heart thumped harder if it were possible. Was someone coming to see her, to let her go? Or was it simply a new prisoner being brought into the depths of this musty old fortress?
Lily gripped the bars and peered down the darkened hall. Footsteps echoed in the ancient corridor. A voice spoke until another silenced it with a sharp command. She swallowed, waiting. A lifetime later, a man came into view, his form too dark beneath the shadows to distinguish features. He stopped just short of the pale light knifing down from a slit in the fortress wall several feet above his head. He didn’t speak.
Lily’s heart dropped to her toes as a fresh wave of tears threatened. Oh God, he couldn’t be here. He simply couldn’t. Fate could not be so cruel.
She couldn’t say a word as the prince—for so she had to think of him—moved into the light. And—oh my—he was every bit as handsome as the pictures in the magazines made him out to be. As her memory insisted he was. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, as if he’d cropped it closer in an effort to look more serious. He wore dark trousers and a casual silk shirt unbuttoned over a fitted T-shirt. Ice-blue eyes stared back at her from a face so fine it appeared as if an artist had molded it.
My God, had she really thought he was just a graduate student at Tulane when she’d met him at Mardi Gras? Could she have been any more naive? There was no way this man could ever be mistaken for anything other than what he was: a wealthy, privileged person who moved in circles so far above her that she got altitude sickness just thinking about it.
“Leave us,” he said to the man at his side.
“But Your Highness, I do not think—”
“Vattene via!”
“Si, Mio Principe,” the man answered
