He’s just searching for a life that’s not meant to be.”
“His search should not embarrass you,” Roland stated evenly. “He should, however, stop drinking and gambling. He’s not good at either.”
She gave a quick chuckle and ran one hand through the short strands of hair just above her right ear. “I’ve been telling him that for much longer than I care to admit.”
Roland knew Valora had been her father’s caretaker when it should have been the other way around. He was certain he didn’t like that fact.
“Anyway, thanks again,” she said and stood to leave. “Dinner was wonderful.”
“Yes, it was,” he told her. “And not just because of the food. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, as well.”
“Oh, ah, thank you again,” she replied.
He noted how shocked she looked at his words. Possibly more shocked than he was for saying them. Quiet public dinners weren’t normally what he would call a nice time with a woman. Private meetings in hotel rooms or meals in secluded parts of a restaurant, from which he and his date could eventually be whisked off into the backseat of a car and driven to a hotel, were more to his liking.
“I’ll take you home,” he told her when he thought she might try to walk out of the restaurant as if she had her own means of transportation here.
“Thank you again, Your Highness.”
She spoke politely and had even given a respectful nod of her head. Everything this woman had done so far had been cordial. There seemed to be no ill feelings toward him or even her father after the odd events of the previous night. So Roland’s job was done. He could take her home and be done with the matter entirely.
The sudden urge for something more was strange and disconcerting. So he tried ignoring those thoughts.
* * *
Val was officially tired of thanking him. She knew she must sound like a complete idiot, with nothing better to say than “thank you.” It was pathetic.
So, during the ride back through town, she’d opted to keep quiet. That was, until the car came to a stop in an area she knew was fifteen minutes from her house. The rain had been coming down at a pretty steady pace when they’d run to Roland’s car and jumped inside. He drove a sporty little vehicle, which did not surprise her at all. The car fit his personality perfectly. Sleek and controlled with a bold hint of danger. What did not fit was that he was driving himself around instead of having a driver like the rest of the royal family. She’d noticed this last night, as well, but wasn’t going to ask the prince about it.
The fact that she’d just had dinner with the prince—the Reckless Royal, at that—was not lost on her. It had been a surreal experience, one that should have had her giddy with excitement. Except she’d known it was his pity gift to her. Val hated pity, almost more than she hated the situation her father had created for them. She’d seen how the waitress looked at her when she’d brought their meal. While the woman had remained silent, Val knew very well who she was and what she was thinking.
Her name was Idelle Masoya and she lived a block over from Val. Idelle was friends with Cora Sorenza, a woman who had slept with Val’s father years ago. Hugo and Cora had been an item for about six months, during which time Cora swore that Hugo stole money from her and gambled it away. She’d also accused Hugo of tearing up her house one night when he was in a drunken rage. After that night, their love affair was over.
No formal charges were filed against Hugo for destruction of property or stealing from Cora, but the damage was done. Cora spent the following years telling anyone within earshot about Hugo Harrington and his nefarious ways. By default, Cora disliked Val. She had spread it around town that Val was an enabler and just as foolhardy as her father, claiming it was the reason Prince Kristian severed ties with her. It was a sordid tale that contained more fabricated details each time it was retold. Val figured the retelling had taken place at least a thousand times in the past few months.
Val knew that at this very moment Idelle was likely in the back room of that restaurant, huddled in a corner with her cell phone to her ear, replaying to Cora everything she’d just seen—completely exaggerated. By tomorrow morning the story would have spread the couple of blocks that made up the Old Serenity neighborhood where they still lived. From there, it would only take another day or so to travel around the island.
With a sigh at the inevitable, Val turned to ask the prince, “Why are we stopping?”
“I had a question for you,” he said.
They were too close, only a console and gear shift separating them in the front seat of the car. With this in mind, Val turned to the side to face him. Part of her back was now pressed against the door. She figured that was about as far away as she could to manage to get.
“Okay,” she replied, even though she was thinking that he could have continued driving while he asked her a question.
“When’s the last time you danced?”
“What?”
“Danced,” he repeated. “When is the last time you forgot about everything around you? Every person. Every situation. Everything but the space where you could let go and simply dance?”
“I know you’re not drunk because you only had one glass of wine,” she said, and then quickly bit her own tongue for being so flippant with the prince.
It was just that he wasn’t acting very prince-like at the moment. His question was odd. The way he was looking at her was disconcerting. The pitter-patter of rain against the windows was rhythmic, almost romantic, if she were inclined to think along those lines. Val assured herself she definitely was not.
“No,” Roland chuckled. “I am not drunk. Not from alcohol, anyway. But there’s nothing wrong with being drunk or high off life. Sometimes, no matter what’s going on, I have to remind myself of that fact. You only get one life, Val, you should be sure to live every minute of it.”
“I do,” she replied after tilting her head to stare more closely at him. “The last time I danced was at the Ambassador’s Ball. With you.”
The words seemed quiet in the interior of the car. Spoken slowly, as if she were afraid he wouldn’t remember. Roland DeSaunters only recalled the women who had done something memorable in his life. Dancing with her so that Kristian could dance with the woman he was in love with was in no way memorable. Still, he was looking at her strangely and it was making Val uncomfortable.
He didn’t seem out of his mind. Actually, Roland had always been reported to be the most down-to-earth of the royal children. He’d been photographed playing tennis with budding young athletes at a training camp he’d visited in Europe, toasting a couple who had just been married in a hotel in Scotland where he’d been staying, and at a restaurant at the theme park in the United States, sharing a breakfast table with an adorable three-year-old girl who was elated to finally meet a real-life prince. That had happened just a few months ago, which was why it was so fresh in Val’s mind. She wasn’t about to admit that she kept close tabs on the royal family, all of them. That would be like owning up to a dream she’d convinced herself was foolish and childish to have.
“Your idea of living life is by working all day at the museum and then returning home by yourself?” he asked, but he was shaking his head as if already replying to her answer.
