momentarily to her desk. ‘I’m not just stepping down, Remi. I’m also taking extended leave from all official duties.’
Isadora Montegova wasn’t just the ruling monarch, she was also an active member of parliament.
‘You’re resigning? Why?’
Her lips compressed—a sign that she didn’t like to admit whatever it was she was about to say. ‘The past few years have been difficult for both of us. I need a little...time away from everything.’
She wouldn’t stoop so low as to call it me time, the way others might, but if anyone had earned the right to retreat and regroup it was his mother.
Not only had she borne the unexpected death of her husband with unwavering strength, she’d weathered the subsequent scandal unleashed by the discovery of her husband’s decades-long secret with remarkable dignity and poise.
Behind closed doors, though, Remi had caught glimpses of the true toll it had taken on her. He himself had barely been able to hold back his fury at discovering that the father he’d held in such high esteem had proved to be faithless. Over the years his rage had boiled down to a simmering resentment, but it had never dissipated. Because not only had his father caused his mother untold hardship by his actions, he’d also thrown the kingdom into turmoil for years. Years which had taken a brutal toll on his mother. On him and on Zak, his younger brother.
Secrets and lies. It was a cliché until it happened on your doorstep and was played out for the world to see.
He tamped down on his fury as his mother reached out.
‘Which brings me to the next housekeeping problem.’ She opened a slim folder and slid it across the desk.
And there, displayed in full Technicolor, was the latest source of his mother’s angst.
Jules Montegova.
The surly half-brother who’d been presented to them moments after his father’s burial. The twenty-eight-year-old whose paternity had been proven via a discreet DNA test, to be royal, courtesy of an illicit affair his father had indulged in when he had briefly been stationed in Paris on diplomatic duty.
Jules was the scandal that had nearly unsettled the kingdom. The paparazzi had gone on a feeding frenzy for months, prising open every closet they could find in the hope of unearthing more skeletons.
It would have been easier to stomach had Jules not proved to be nothing but a thorn in their sides from the moment he’d arrived in Montegova ten years ago.
Remi scanned the picture, his jaw clenching as he noted the glassy eyes, the dishevelment, the slurred expression of drunkenness. ‘What has he done now?’ he bit out.
Queen Isadora’s mouth twisted. ‘A less aggravating question would be what hasn’t he done? Three weeks ago it was reckless gambling in Monte Carlo, then he flew to Paris and carried on gambling for another four days. The royal bursar was apoplectic when he received the bill. Ten days ago he turned up in Barcelona and gatecrashed a private party Duke Armando was throwing for his niece. Since then he’s been in London, and in the past few days in this woman’s company,’ she said, sliding aside the first picture to reveal several more.
They all showed variations of the same woman. Dark blonde. Leggy. Bright green eyes and a figure designed to stop traffic. She was striking. And her smile would win a contest against a thousand-watt bulb.
But she was a dime a dozen in Remi’s world. All flash and no substance.
Hell, in one picture she was literally flashing her underwear, uncaring that the world could see her lacy thong as she threw her arms around his half-brother’s neck. In all of the pictures her clothes barely covered her admittedly remarkable assets, and the camera’s glare threw every curve and dip into high-definition exposure.
Remi examined her carefully, searching for weaknesses. His gaze tracked her pert little nose, her wide, sensual mouth, cheekbones sculpted by a master craftsman and a delicate jawline designed to be worshipped with fingers and lips.
The sleek line of her neck dropped to slender, lightly tanned shoulders. Her collarbones were revealed by a sleeveless top, drawing attention to her soft throat and the impressive swell of her breasts. A flat, toned stomach, rounded hips and those endless legs completed the package.
She was flawless. Physically, at least. He had very little doubt that she would be severely lacking in other areas. Except maybe in the—
‘Who is she?’ he snapped, intensely annoyed with the direction of his thoughts. Who cared how the trollop was in bed?
His mother resumed her seat, her gaze meeting his. ‘Her details are on the last page. The rest is still sketchy, but I’ve seen more than enough to know she presents a potential problem. For one thing, Jules never usually stays in one place more than a few days. He’s been in London for almost two weeks. And, unfortunately, these are the least offensive pictures. Whatever is going on between them needs to end. Now. The royal transition must be as smooth as possible. So far he’s refused my summons for him to return to Montegova. Short of having his bodyguards forcibly put him on a plane—and risk a kidnapping charge—I have to find a way to bring him to heel.’
Remi’s gaze was drawn, against his will, back to the pictures. He flipped to the last page. The woman his half-brother had taken up with was summed up in four lines.
Madeleine Myers
Waitress
Twenty-four years old
College dropout
Distaste filled his mouth. ‘You want me to take care of it?’ For the sake of his kingdom’s reputation, his half-brother’s antics needed to be curbed before they attracted unwanted attention.
Queen Isadora linked her fingers and placed them on the desk. ‘Jules may not have any interest in behaving like a Montegovan except when it eases his way into casinos and parties, but this cannot be allowed to continue. He pretends otherwise, but he’s a little in awe of you. I dare say you scare him a little too. He’ll listen to you. And you’re the only one I trust to handle this discreetly.’ She cleared her throat. ‘With the news of my stepping down and your ascension to the throne we can’t afford another scandal now. Especially when you announce that you’ll be taking a wife at the end of the summer.’
Icy shock gushed through his veins, rendering him speechless for one stunned second. ‘I will be what?’ he demanded when he found his tongue.
‘Don’t look so shocked. Surely this doesn’t come as a surprise? You were all set to do so two years ago.’
Different emotions surged high—a peculiar mingling of pain, futile anger, bitterness and guilt. The first was natural—the pain of a cherished one lost never went away. Although lately the pain had been less and the other emotions more pronounced.
His anger stemmed from a life cut far too short. From all the plans made that would never come to fruition. And the bitterness was aimed squarely at fate and the cruelty of time.
The fact that his fiancée had been on her way to her doctor when the tragedy had struck was irony itself.
Which brought him to the guilt.
