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‘I have told them we are back together.’
‘That must have gone down well!’
‘They need not concern you. If it makes you feel any more relaxed about it, I stopped trying to please them a long time ago, about when I realised it was never going to happen.’
He remembered the exact moment. He had been watching the flames of an open fire lick the Christmas card he had made them. The Christmas card they hadn’t even bothered to open.
By the time it had collapsed into a pile of ashes he had decided that if they considered him the wild one, the unreliable one, the one who always caused them a headache, he might as well enjoy himself and do what people expected him to.
‘Ah, I almost forgot. My grandfather sends his best wishes and says he hopes you can give him a decent game.’
Still wondering about his previous comments, she allowed herself a smile. ‘At least I have one friend in the palace.’
Something flicked across his face that she struggled to interpret. ‘You have a husband…’
Her glance fell. ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she said, thinking that it was a pity he couldn’t say the same about her. The moment the palace doors had closed behind them she had been delegated out, the only use he’d had for her recreational.
‘That was a big sigh… It is a steep learning curve, for me too.’
Surprised by the unexpected admission, she stared at him.
‘Sadly, there are no intensive courses on being a Crown Prince. I had some valuable advice. My parents advised I delegate, which, as you might have noticed, is their management style. Grandfather, whose advice was actually quite helpful, said that I should trust no one and don’t believe a word you’re told.’
As he had hoped, his comment drew a laugh from Beatrice. The sound made him smile too, then his smile faded as he realised how much he had missed that sound.
‘And now you have found your own style?’
‘I like to think I have steered a personal course somewhere in between idle disregard for anything but my own comfort and paranoia, but the jury is out.’
As their smiling glances met and clung, she was aware of the perceptible shift in the atmosphere.
She pulled in a tense breath and looked away.
‘Is something wrong? You can tell me.’
The unexpected addition brought her glance sweeping upwards. ‘You just seem…?’
She paused, pulling in a long steadying breath, and wondered if the day would come when she could look at him and feel only aesthetic appreciation rather than an ache of need. You’d have thought that after a while boredom would have kicked in, but she could have happily stared at him forever.
‘Seem?’
‘Maybe it’s just that you’re—’
‘I’m what?’ he prompted with slightly less patience.
‘It’s that you’re still…’ Her hands moved in a descriptive sweep that made the collection of silver bracelets she wore on her left wrist jangle. ‘You’re here.’
His dark brows knitted; he looked genuinely mystified. ‘Where else would I be?’
A small laugh burst from her lips. Had Dante really never realised that from the moment the news had been delivered that his brother had decided to renounce his claim to the throne, Dante had tuned her out, more than distance, much more than an understandable preoccupation with the role that had been thrust upon him?
She had felt at best surplus to requirements, at worst, an embarrassment.
‘Busy with more important things?’ she flung out and bit her lip as her unthinking retort was laden with an inch-thick layer of bitterness.
She lifted a hank of slippery, shiny hair that was crawling down the collar of her crisp white shirt, then catching the direction of his gaze made her glance towards the folded cashmere sweater she had discarded as she gritted her teeth and fought the ludicrous impulse to fasten another button, or pull her sweater back on. Instead she smoothed the non-existent creases in the tailored pale cream trousers and fussed with the buckle on the narrow red leather belt that held them up, just to give her hands something to do.
Her lips twisted as she noticed that Dante seemed to be having a similar problem. His long fingers flexed and clenched as if he was fighting an instinct to reach for his laptop after her comment.
