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Rosie shook her head. She knew she was young-looking for her age, but for some stupid reason his comment hurt. Surely she hadn’t expected him to remember how old she was! ‘Eighteen,’ she amended. Which made him twenty-five. But Corso looked like a fully grown man, in the first great flush of his vibrant prime, whereas she felt gawky and naïve in comparison.
His handsome face grew grave. ‘I miss your father,’ he said suddenly.
Rosie nodded, her heart giving a sudden wrench. ‘We all miss him,’ she said, and the thought of the man she had idolised made her remember her manners. ‘It was very...very kind of you to invite me here, to your birthday celebrations.’
‘I thought it might please you all to revisit a place he loved so much.’ His eyes narrowed into a metallic gleam, which was suddenly tinged with hardness. ‘Although I was surprised your mother and sister were unable to accompany you.’
Rosie bit her lip. It was a statement which managed to be a question and a rebuke all at the same time because clearly the Crown Prince of Monterosso wasn’t used to people turning down one of his coveted invitations. ‘Er, no,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid they couldn’t make it.’
There was little point in enlightening him that her mother had gone to pieces ever since her husband had died, or that Bianca had sworn never to set foot on Monterosso again. She remembered what her sister had said when Corso’s gilt-edged invitation had unexpectedly thudded onto the mat.
‘Who wants to be reminded of a place where we had to be grateful for every damned thing we got?’ Bianca had demanded. ‘Which robbed us of everything that mattered to us?’
Deep down, Rosie disagreed with Bianca’s anti-Monterossian views, but she didn’t attempt to talk her out of them, because her older sister was far too strong-minded. And besides, Bianca was at university now. She had talent and ambition. She was destined for bigger and better things.
Unlike you, mocked a voice inside Rosie’s head.
‘A pity,’ mused Corso. ‘I thought they might have enjoyed seeing the island again.’ He fixed her with a curious look. ‘Are you looking forward to the ball tonight, Rosie?’
Not really, since I’m certain my dress will stand out like a sore thumb and I’ll look like an absolute fright next to some of the other women who are here.
‘Of course. Can’t wait,’ she said, forcing a smile.
Corso repressed a click of irritation, because it was obvious she wasn’t speaking the truth and he found that disappointing, because hadn’t he always thought that Rosie Forrester was completely straightforward? It had been one of the things he’d most liked about her.
The last time he’d seen her she had been gangly and ungainly—and unfortunately, she still was. There had been no transformation or blossoming in the intervening years, as so often happened to women in the time between adolescence and womanhood. Her legs were still long and skinny—her knees as knobbly as a teenage boy’s. She was the only woman on the beach without the adornment of jewellery and if you factored in her plain swimsuit and unflattering straw hat, she was someone you noticed for all the wrong reasons. Yet for a moment, Corso found himself admiring her refusal or inability to conform to an invitation to today’s picnic which had read:Beach party chic.
He wondered if it had been a mistake to invite her. When her father had finally died last year, he had wanted to reach out to offer the family more comfort than a formal letter of condolence. But he hadn’t known how and, naturally, there was the thorny issue of royal protocol to consider. The relationship between him and the Forrester family had always been too imprecise to fall into any recognisable category, but his own father had been unequivocal when Corso had brought the matter to his attention.
‘Lionel Forrester is dead,’ the King had announced, with the dismissive attitude he applied to everyone, including his own son. Corso gave the ghost of a smile.Especiallyhis own son. ‘And yes, he was the greatest archaeologist Monterosso has ever known and a good teacher to you, but our association with his family is now at an end. The palace has paid the school fees for his two daughters and provided a generous stipend for his widow. We can do nothing more for them, Corso, nor should we.’
But Corso had disagreed. To the King’s anger, he had invited Rosie, Bianca and their mother to his birthday ball, thinking it would be an enormous treat for them to revisit the country after so long—something to tell their friends about back in England. After all, how many commoners were invited to stay in one of Europe’s most lavish royal palaces and be entertained by a crown prince?
He had imagined gratitude and a satisfactory sense of closure. He certainly hadn’t expected two refusals in rapid succession—and for the only attendee to be a sulky-looking teenager who looked as if she were being subjected to a particular type of torture.
‘Try to look as if you mean it, Rosie,’ he advised acidly. ‘Most people would kill to go to one of my balls.’
‘Let’s hope not. I’d hate to witness any form of homicide on your birthday,’ she answered, with a sudden return of her customary spirit. ‘And I think someone over there is trying to get your attention.’
A touch impatiently—for he did not care for flippancyorher sudden change of subject—Corso turned his head to follow the direction of her gaze and saw one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on heading their way. Tiffany Sackler, with her flawless skin and all that long, dark hair which tumbled to her tiny waist. A small smile edged his lips as she sashayed across the sand towards them, a pair of sunglasses perched provocatively on the end of her nose.
As well as her very obvious physical attributes, the brunette had played hard to get from the moment he’d met her. This was rare enough to excite his interest—despite him never doubting that it was anything other than a game on her part—for Corso was familiar with the plotting of women. And although Tiffany’s occupation as one of the world’s best-paid supermodels meant she was popular tabloid fodder, her arrival on Monterosso had been as discreet as he could have wished for, which was another point in her favour. Her credentials as a prospective lover were therefore impeccable, which left only one question in Corso’s mind.
Did he want her?
He felt the beat of something like indecision before ruthlessly eradicating it. Yes, of course he wanted her. He had been spending far too much time on affairs of state lately, as he prepared himself for his eventual accession to the throne. He wondered if his appetite for women had simply become jaded the more avidly he was pursued—as had happened for most of his life. Yet surely it was a sad day when a man allowed work or caution to subdue his legendary libido. And since he was determined to follow his father’s example of enjoying a long and faithful marriage, then surely it only made sense to sow his wild oats before that day came around.
A slow rush of breath escaped from his lungs. Tonight, he decided. After the ball was over. That would be the perfect time to take Tiffany Sackler to his bed.
‘Tiffany,’ he murmured. ‘Good to see you.’
‘I’d... I’d better go.’ Rosie’s voice broke into his thoughts and he realised he’d forgotten she was still there. He turned to see that her cheeks were the colour of a morning sunrise.
‘Goodbye, Your Royal Highness,’ she added, bobbing another awkward curtsey to him, before grabbing an ugly-looking beach bag and rushing away across the sand before he could stop her or give her permission to leave. Not that he had any intention of stopping her, but still—she should have known better than to go before he had dismissed her.
He frowned.
A man was only a true man if he was able to acknowledge his mistakes and Corso saw now that he definitely shouldnothave invited her. The boundaries between them had become blurred. The sunny child he remembered had been replaced by an awkward and self-conscious young woman, who was no longer comfortable mixing in royal circles. Rosie Forrester had no place here—that much was glaringly obvious. His jaw tightened in a moment of exasperation, but at least there were only a few more hours for her to get through before she boarded her flight back to England.
