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‘I hope you will forgive me for speaking so frankly, but love is not always enough…but now I know you have known each other for so long, and you found one another again, I am relieved.’

Elsie stammered something, she didn’t have a clue what, as she put all her energy into willing Leandro’s mother to stop talking, to stop confiding. This woman was lovely and that made her feel even more of a fake.

You are a fake, Elsie, own it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELSIE SAT, HANDS CLENCHED, wrestling with her conscience. She hated deceiving this lovely woman.

When the Dowager fixed her with an assessing glance she was convinced that she was about to be challenged, and if she was, Elsie doubted she was capable of maintaining the fiction.

‘I will tell you something, Elsie,’ she said in the manner of someone coming to a decision. ‘Because I don’t think Leandro will—he thinks this is my story to tell—and it is, and I choose to tell you.’ The Dowager paused, pulling herself upright in her seat before continuing.

‘When he was ten, Leandro and dear Franco found me unconscious, surrounded by empty pill bottles… It was all hushed up, the cabal saw to that, it suited them that Leandro was isolated. He was sent off to school, while I ran away. His father, you understand, never had any time for Leandro. He was a man incapable of loving anyone but himself, and I was not there for my son.’ Regret filled her eyes as she added softly, ‘I hope you will be there for him.’

Stunned to silence by the unexpected flow of shocking confidences, Elsie, overwhelmed by guilt, felt her eyes fill with hot tears as the scene the older woman described floated into her head and stayed there. Her bones ached for the child Leandro had been.

‘I am so very sorry.’ Inadequate, she thought, did not even cover it.

‘My boy was alone for so long, but now he has you and he will have the family he deserves.’

The weight of her guilt felt like an iron band across her chest as Elsie watched the other woman gather the dog and her handbag before she moved towards a seat away from the window.

Elsie wondered if it was possible to feel any more guilty. She didn’t want to like this woman and she definitely didn’t want to recognise any redeeming qualities in Leandro, let alone any hint of vulnerability. Well, the story certainly explained his bond with Franco.

Of course, her son was not the saint that his mother thought him but he was a driven, relentless man with an inbuilt sense of duty.

Duty to supply an heir.

What would his reaction be when he discovered she could not supply the goods?

‘You were deep in conversation with my mother. Should my ears be burning?’

‘It’s not all about you.’ Except, of course, it was.

‘She has taken a shine to you,’ he mused.

I know, she thought gloomily ‘People do, you know. I’m considered charming.’

‘While I have no problem with the look of loathing—’

Her hand went to her face. Loathing would be simple and a lot easier to cope with than the conflicting emotions churning inside her.

‘—but could you show a bit of discretion? A photo of that expression would go viral for all the wrong reasons, and why didn’t you tell me you had a nut allergy?’

Her intention to apologise for not telling him about the allergy vanished in the face of his accusing manner, which really rankled. ‘It’s not a subject that comes up in general conversation.’

* * *

The landing was smooth and the customs checks non-existent, which wasn’t really a surprise given the royal status of the flight.

She had seen Leandro being glad-handed by some official-looking suits and it was Franco who accompanied her and the Dowager outside, bypassing the crowded terminal lounge, before he excused himself.

‘You don’t have to be nervous, you know.’

Lost in her own thoughts, Elsie hadn’t seen Franco reappear.

‘I’m not.’ Just guilty as hell, which was pretty ridiculous. This would work for Leandro and when he realised the necessity, they could quietly divorce. It wasn’t as if it was the mother he was interested in, just the heir.