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More beautiful than she’d remembered, though the recollection was coloured by her youth at the time. Then, she’d only caught thrilling glimpses of the handsome, fairy-tale prince, a rider on the showjumping circuit. The young man her teenage heart had crushed over with a terrifying ferocity. Now, she could fully appreciate the height and breadth of him. His severe yet tantalising and lush mouth. The perfection of his aquiline nose. The caramel of his sun-bronzed skin. The shock of his thick, dark hair. She could pretend her admiration was one of an artist surveying his commanding masculine shape. But who was she kidding? This was a distinctly female attraction to a male in his absolute prime.
After nine years, she still felt like that giddy teenager.
It made her prickly all over. Too big for her skin. She wanted to shed parts of herself like a husk, and come out more sparkling, more polished. Justmore.Because she didn’t need a mirror to realise she looked like some ruffian and he looked as if he’d walked straight from a red carpet.
She resented his perfection, when his snap visit with little warning meant she’d had no time to tidy her own appearance. His exquisitely cut suit in the deepest of navy, a pristine white shirt. Red and blue tie in the finest of glowing silk. She was sure she stared before remembering her manners, dipping into a curtsey. ‘Your Highness.’
‘Signorina Barrington.’ He canted his head in a way that suggested she wasadequate, then motioned to the man standing behind him.‘This is my private secretary, Stefano Moretti. He’s been communicating with your agent.’
The other man was almost as perfectly attired and presented as his employer. Attractive, but without the indefinable presence of the Prince. She nodded to him. He smiled back.
‘Welcome to my home and studio. It’s a surprise and I’m underprepared. I didn’t expect royalty to drop by today. Would you like a tea?’ She motioned to a battered table in the corner of her studio, the ancient electric kettle, some chipped cups.
Alessio looked to where she’d indicated, gaze sliding over the table as though viewing a sad still life. No one came here—this was her private space—so there was no one to bother about damaged crockery. Personal sittings took place in her public studio on the outskirts of London. The one she’d only recently given up, her uncle’s actions meaning it was an extravagance she couldn’t afford. Yet seeing the room with Alessio in it reminded her how tattered and worn it seemed. She’d never worried before. This was her home. But all it took was a perfectly pressed prince to bring into screamingly sharp relief how threadbare her life had become.
‘Tea? No. I was in the area purchasing some horses, and, since you’ve been ignoring my secretary’s requests...’ His voice had the musical lilt of Italian spoken in a glorious baritone. Honeyed tones she could listen to for hours. The voice of a leader that would echo on castle walls. One whose dictates would invariably be followed by most.
Not by her. She wasn’t thisprince’s subject.
‘I haven’t been ignoring them. My answer was clear.’
He hesitated for a second, cocked his head as if he were thinking. She had the curious sensation of being a specimen under glass.
‘Have we met before?’
The high slash of his cheekbones, the strong brows. The sharply etched curve of his tempting lips. Eyes of burnt umber framed by the elegant curl of lamp black lashes. Hannah had never formally met him, but she’d never forgotten him from the showjumping circuit. Alessio Arcuri was the kind of man to leave you breathless. The fearlessness as he rode. The sheer arrogance that he would make every jump successfully. And he did. Horse and rider the embodiment of perfection.
It was why she and her friend had been chattering away in the back of the car on that terrible day. Gossiping about why he’d retired from competition at the age of twenty-two, much to their teenage devastation. Now, it seemed so young. Back then, he’d been the epitome of an adult and everything a clueless sixteen-year-old craved to be. How he appeared to know, in a way that was absolute, his place in the world. The utter confidence of him, when Hannah was still trying to find her bearings. Then she dropped out of riding too, the deaths of her parents and her horse too much to bear. And she’d tried not to think about Prince Alessio Arcuri since.
At least, until her agent’s call a little over half an hour ago, when all the memories she’d bottled up had come flooding back.
‘No. We haven’t met.’ Not exactly. He’d been handing out the first prize at a showjumping event she’d competed in after his retirement had been announced. Her friend had won that day, Hannah a close second. Unusual for her but Beau had been off, as if her horse were foreshadowing the devastating events of only hours later. She’d been so envious of that first-prize ribbon. How she’d coveted the handshake Alessio had given to her friend. Craved for him to acknowledge her. Then their eyes had met. Held. And for one perfect, blinding second her world had stopped turning.
After what had come later in the afternoon, those desires seemed childish. It had taken another terrible moment on that day for the world to stop turning a second time. It hadn’t restarted.
His being here brought back too many memories of a split second when all her innocence and faith in the good of the world had ended. Riding passenger in the car driven by her friend’s parents. Rounding a corner, littered debris...the...carnage. Car and horsebox destroyed. Everything she’d loved, gone. A freak accident. A tractor in the wrong place on a narrow country road. Hannah flinched. Shut her eyes tight against the horrible vision running like a stuttering film reel in her head.
‘Are you all right, Signorina Barrington?’
She opened her eyes again. Nodded. Breathed. Stitched up the pain in her heart where it would stay for ever. Hannah didn’t want to go back to that time, and if Alessio truly remembered he might start asking questions. She couldn’t deal with them, not now.
Alessio looked at his bodyguards, standing as a brooding presence in the corner. Said something in rapid Italian and they bowed and left the room. The atmosphere relaxed a fraction.
‘I’m here to discuss you painting my portrait.’
Hannah clasped her hands behind her back. ‘As my agent would have told you, I have a number of commissions...’
Alessio stepped towards her and she was forced to look up because, whilst she wasn’t tiny, he dwarfed her. He was even more astonishing up close. Nothing marred his features. It was as if no part of the man would deign to be anything less than polished and perfect. He held her transfixed with those velvety brown eyes of his. Till looking at him any more left her head spinning.
He must have taken her silence as reticence.
‘Your fee. I’ll double it. And I’m a prince, so...’
She stepped back. It was either that or lean into him and all his solidity in a moment when she felt a little broken. ‘I know what you are.’
What was she doing?Crucifying herself, that was what. She needed this commission, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d made a promise when she first started painting, that she’d only take the jobs she wanted. Trying to establish a connection with your subject could prove taxing some days. In the early stages after her parents died she’d drawn them incessantly, terrified that the memory of how they looked would fade. Day and night she sketched, to perfect them so she could never forget. It had exhausted her, the obsession. Made her ill. Sometimes it still did when she became engrossed with a commission. It was why she chose so carefully.
Alessio Arcuri would never be a careful choice. Any connection with him could break her.
