IT TOOK A few minutes for the world to come back into sharp focus, his heat and body still tightly holding her as if she was something precious he couldn’t bear to let go.
Reluctantly she peeled herself away and laughed. ‘Bedroom next time?’
‘Everywhere, please. Although I’m not sure there’s a room here that we haven’t made love in.’ He smiled, little beads of perspiration dotting his forehead, his breathing still heavy. ‘We’re free here, Gigi. No one to bother us, no sneaking around.’
Ah.
That was what he wanted, she knew. To be free. And she wasn’t and could never be, unless she relinquished everything she knew and walked away from her royal life.
She kissed him again and slipped down from the counter, an ache settling deep in her chest. She rubbed her ribcage with the heel of her hand, but it didn’t go, lingering even after they’d cleared up and slid under his cool linen sheets.
Within minutes he was asleep and she watched him for a while, stroking his back as she went over the day’s events in her head. The low of seeing her father attached to those machines. Seeing Domenico looking happy. The sting of pain that they hadn’t managed a proper conversation about things that really mattered. The high of Lucas in his finery, his laughter. Holding his hand, stroking his thigh in public...almost.
They never did get the chance to dance.
Thinking of her brother with a woman he clearly adored brought her own future starkly into focus. Because, for all Lucas’s I’m happy to be wherever I can strip your clothes off, it just wasn’t true, was it?
He didn’t want to be tied by conventions and formalities, didn’t like the palace—her home. Didn’t like intrusions and distractions. Didn’t like her life. Didn’t, in fact, like the idea of a family. And it wasn’t fair to foist all of that on him or to suggest he had to be part of it.
She was the Royal, not him. She was the one with her future fated. All he’d ever wanted was right here in Seattle. His lovely house, his amazing job, his friends. His life.
She couldn’t be Mrs Sensible here in Seattle and he really, really didn’t want to live in Isola Verde.
But how could they co-parent across the world?
Her head hurt with the possibilities; none of them felt right. Her heart ached with the realities. With the way she’d allowed herself to feel something for Lucas when, even from the beginning, she’d known nothing would ever be possible.
Maybe she’d just have to be honest with herself, even if it felt as if she was tearing her own heart apart. She needed to put this firmly in a box. Lucas was a temporary thing. Like the others. He was a challenge she’d conquered.
But he’d conquered her too. Broken down her defences and made her his.
She didn’t want to remember how his kisses made her feel as if she was drowning and she never wanted to surface. How he understood her like no one else ever had. How he saw her for who she was, and who she wanted to be. She didn’t want to remember his touch, his low, rumbling, hard-to-earn laugh.
But she did. She remembered all of it, playing slowly around her head, haunting her, torturing her. Emotions zipped through her heart. It was too complicated. Everything was crashing in on her. If one of them got their way, the other would have to give too much. More than anyone should have to give, just to be together.
So maybe it was time—and kinder to both of them and, most importantly, to their child, who did not need parents who were together and unhappy, wearing masks to hide their real feelings.
Time to walk away.
Her side of the bed was empty when Lucas woke up, but, ever aware of her, he sensed her moving around the room. Still half-asleep, he lifted his head and scanned the semi-darkness. She was over in the corner, hair neatly tied back in a sleek ponytail, a pretty grey woollen dress and knee-high boots gracing her blossoming body. Not the gorgeously crumpled, sex-addled woman he’d held all night.
He yawned, shuffling up the pillows. ‘What time is it?’
‘Sorry. Did I wake you? It’s seven-fifteen.’ She gave him a tight smile and then bent again, her hands moving backwards and forwards over something he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light.
‘What are you doing, all dressed up and princess-like? And early? So early. Come back to bed.’ Then his heart kicked into a weird beat, unsettled and jerky. Because he’d just worked out what she was doing.
Her voice was as tight as her smile. ‘Lucas. I... We...’
She was folding up clothes and putting them into her case.
She was leaving.
Her shoulders sagged a little and she held an item of clothing close to her chest. ‘I’m packing.’
He didn’t understand. Tried not to anyway. The jerky heartbeat sped up. ‘To go where?’
‘Home.’
Not this home. Clearly. He threw back the sheets and dragged on a robe because he couldn’t do this naked. He felt suddenly weirdly vulnerable and off balance for the first time in decades. Since he realised his family didn’t want him. It was happening all over again. He tried to stay calm. ‘But you’ve just got here, Gigi.’
‘I know and it was an amazing ball, but now I have to go to the hospital to say goodbye to my father, then I have a plane to catch. I thought... I assumed you knew I’d go home after the ball.’
‘At some point, yes. But not so soon. Not today. We barely slept.’
A sigh. ‘It was wonderful, sì? Now I have a car waiting.’
‘No.’ He stalked over to her, closing the lid on her suitcase. ‘We can’t carry on like this. We have to talk about these things. I need to know where I am.’
‘You are here, Lucas, where you belong. I am going back to my home, where I belong. You know how things are there. We can’t leave the place for long with no Royal presence.’
Panic gripped his gut. He’d been wilfully negligent in pushing the agenda because it had suited him, but what the actual hell? He pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘What happens now?’
‘When Papa is better and Dom is back home, then we can talk some more. I don’t think...’ She sank onto a chair, suddenly looking every bit as if she’d only had a couple of hours’ sleep and needed much more. ‘I don’t think we’re in a place to start making decisions about the future.’
Panic morphed into anger. Not at her but at their singularly stupid reality. ‘So you thought you’d just up and go. If I hadn’t woken up would you have even said goodbye?’
‘Of course, Lucas. I was just sorting my things out.’ The smile she gave him was completely devoid of any emotion and he saw it then. Saw the way she was emotionally withdrawing, the way she’d been taught. His gut went into freefall.
He wanted to shake her. ‘For God’s sake. Why are you acting like this?’
A stiff shake of her head. ‘I’m not acting.’
‘Hell, Gigi, I know you.’ She was erecting walls, putting the barriers back in place. Sliding on that mask he’d seen her wear for other people but not for him. Not for them. She’d always been open and honest, her true self, and now that fun-loving Gigi had gone. ‘Stop being that damned automaton. Come back to me, Gigi.’
‘I’m sorry, Lucas.’ She shook her head, all Princess Giada now. ‘I have to go.’
She clicked the lock and then lugged the suitcase upright, wincing as she strained her damaged wrist. And, God help him, even though every part of him hated it that she was leaving, he gently moved her aside and grabbed the case. ‘I don’t know why I’m helping you, to be honest.’
‘Because you’re a good man, Lucas. Don’t forget that.’ She clipped downstairs and walked, straight-backed, to the front door.
She was really going. This was the end for them.
Pain bubbled up again, closing his throat, tripping his heart. She was actually leaving.
‘Gigi...’ He wanted to ask her to stay...for ever. He wanted her to promise never to leave him because he loved her, and if she loved him back then this could work. ‘Can’t we just—?’
‘No. I have too much in my head, Lucas. I can’t... Look, the taxi’s here.’
He wanted to slam the door closed and wrap her in his arms. ‘No. Gigi. We talk now.’
‘And what? End up in a big fight? Achieve nothing but heartache? Best to just cut our losses right now, don’t you think?’
‘What about last night, the last two weeks? I thought you...’ Maybe he’d been kidding himself. Falling for her, believing she felt the same. When, let’s face it, he was completely the wrong guy for her and they both knew that.
The ache under his ribcage intensified as he realised he hadn’t just fallen for her, he loved her.
Whoa.
No.
That had not been the plan at all. Because she would not move here, he knew that. He’d seen her in her country, how much she loved the place and the people. How much she belonged there. Not here, not in this world.
And what then for their child?
The last couple of weeks they’d avoided discussing the realities, choosing instead to fall in love with the growing bump.
Falling in love. There it was again. The ever-present swell in his chest. The same for his child as for the woman carrying it.
He rubbed his forehead.
How could he have been so stupid as to allow himself to fall for her? He was on a trajectory that could only end in pain. She did not need him. Was not destined for someone like him.
In his experience, love was conditional on how you acted, whether you performed to a particular standard. Love could be cut off.
And yet he couldn’t cut off this feeling now. Couldn’t stop it.
He shook his head. He had to stop it. He had to draw a line in the sand. She was leaving, again. It would always be like this and he would know only hurt and dissatisfaction.
She was committed to one thing only: her country. He could see that now, could see her hands tightening on her handbag straps, the yearning of her body to get to the car.
He inhaled as she opened the door and the cold early morning air wove around them, an Arctic blast that made her blink fast.
Or was that because she was going? Was she fighting tears? But why? She was the one leaving.
Rejection was the one thing he wasn’t prepared to accept again. He could walk away but he would not be pushed. He would not hear her say the words. Worse, he wouldn’t wait in the silence wishing, wanting, praying to hear from her again and knowing it wouldn’t happen. The way it had played out with his family. He had to have an equal say in a relationship; he couldn’t be at someone’s beck and call, only to be dropped when things got difficult or inconvenient.
He needed some control. ‘I’ll walk you to the car.’
‘Thank you.’ She almost looked grateful that he wasn’t causing too much of a scene. ‘Don’t you dare think I’ll cut off ties with you. This is your child and you will be part of its life.’
‘Damned right I will.’ He closed the car door, barely able to breathe. The pain in his chest spread outwards like a stain. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
She would not cry. She would hold her head up, fasten her seatbelt without letting him see how much her heart was breaking. It was the Baresi way.
Oh, God, Lucas. What am I doing?
She wanted to put her palm on the window, to open the door and run to him. Wanted to tell him how much she loved his kisses, his warmth, his laugh. How much she wanted things to work out but that she didn’t know the formula to get there.
Not for the first time did she wish she wasn’t a princess with duty and responsibility and a whole damn country to take into account every time she did a single thing.
Lucas Beaufort was the best thing that had happened to her and yet she was leaving. But saving herself was the only thing she could do. The car pulled away and she closed her eyes. She would not look back. Would not chase that dream. Because that was all it was—a lovely, impossible dream.
Her phone rang and she ignored it. But it rang again and again and eventually she pulled it out of her pocket. Domenico. Her heart leapt to her throat. So early?
His voice was grave and low. ‘I’ve just spoken to Max. Gigi, it’s not good news. I’m so sorry. Papa’s tumour is growing.’
That was all she heard or understood. He said a few other things but everything blurred. All she knew was that she wished today wasn’t happening.
A nurse met her at her father’s bedside and explained that his intracranial pressure was rising. More scans were needed, more tests. Gigi sat and held her frail father’s hand while chaos swam inside her. Everything was falling apart and she was being torn into a million pieces. And here again she had to wear that mask that said everything was fine. Just fine.
It wasn’t.
‘Do you know where Dr di Rossi is?’ she asked the nurse, wanting a familiar face, someone who understood.
But the woman just shrugged and fiddled with her father’s IV. ‘I don’t know. Probably in ER.’
Truth was, she wanted Lucas. She wanted to feel his strength and his warmth. To lean against his chest and have him stroke her hair.
Lucas would come if she asked him; he’d hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t do that to him. He wasn’t a plaything she could pick up and throw away at a moment’s notice. Emotion throbbed in the centre of her chest.
She needed him. She put her hand to her belly and cradled their child. They needed him, more than ever, but she couldn’t go back to him and ask. Not now.
So here she was facing the stark truth: her life was changing and there was nothing she could do about it. She was utterly alone.
Which, in some ways, was a good thing because that way no one would see she was crying.