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‘If I could have come with—’
‘You’re the Prince of Lasserno.’ She put him back in that box where he should remain. Would even tie it with a tight, bright gold ribbon to keep him firmly back in place. ‘You can’t just go sightseeing with some random tourist.’
‘You’re not a random tourist, Hannah.’ His voice was soft. The cabin of the car filled with the weight of things unsaid. Of how much more this, between them, had become.
‘I’m sure you’ll have too much to do.’
Alessio checked his watch, now firmly back on his wrist as if it had never left. ‘Always. I may have a parliament for advice, but in the end, this is an absolute monarchy. There is only me.’
There is only me.
He’d never let anyone in, and it struck her as sad and exhausting.
The roads were busier as they approached the capital but the run to the palace seemed clear. As she sat staring at the castle looming on the horizon the roar of a motorcycle came from behind, louder, closing in. Then it was right there. At the passenger side. Two people, one driving, one pillion. Something in their hand. Camera. Trying to shove it against the window of the car. A flash.
She reflexively held up her hand against the tinted glass, her heart pounding a sickening tempo. Another flash. Alessio hissed something through his teeth. She didn’t need to understand Italian to know he swore. He grabbed the brim of his cap and pulled it lower. Hannah wore nothing on her head but did have sunglasses. She pushed them up her nose, not that it would make much difference.
‘In the glove compartment there’s a cap. Put it on. Pull the sun visor down.’
She did as he said. The motorcycle sped ahead while the passenger turned, trying to get photos through the windscreen. A shrill tone rang out through the car. Alessio’s phone. He answered hands-free and a terse voice filled the interior, speaking rapid Italian. Stefano.
She couldn’t understand what they said, but the fury in Alessio’s voice, the tight, cold rage, chilled the car by degrees. She wrapped her arms round herself as she took in the importance of what was happening. But what did the press know? It could be he’d taken her out sightseeing as he’d suggested, the Prince showing a guest around his country. That was easily enough explained, wasn’t it?
The call disconnected. Silence filled the car apart from Alessio’s hard, jagged breaths.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because what more was there to say? ‘It might not be that bad.’
‘It isthat bad.’ His grip tightened on the wheel again, his mouth a thin, hard line. ‘They are at the palace. Every entrance, though the western gate apparently has fewer.’
‘Can we—?’
‘Not now.’ He took one hand from the tight grip of the wheel and dragged it over his face.
She’d been royally dismissed. Experienced it in the sharp cut of his voice. In the way all of the warmth had left him, and he’d turned into Lasserno’s ruler once more. Another motorcycle joined the first. Alessio kept the speed steady and didn’t try to outrun them, for which she was thankful. She stopped looking at the road in front and instead stared down at her lap, her fingers twisting in the soft fabric of her dress. Maybe no one would know who she was, but a sick feeling of bile rose in her throat. Her quiet, anonymous life in the country was likely to be shattered. The protection of those walls she’d built around herself—her art, her peace—all crumbling away. The palace loomed large ahead, and she saw it now like a kind of prison. They didn’t approach from the front, or from the entrance they’d sneaked out of only three blissful days earlier, but a side entrance where palace guards stood, holding back a throng of photographers jostling for position. If this was the western gate, she’d hate to see what the others were like.
The car pushed through into a large courtyard. Alessio stopped, switched off the engine. Sat for a few moments then turned to her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses but the whole atmosphere inside the car felt accusatory. As if somehow, she was to blame for this. Then he opened the door, thrusting it wide as he launched himself from the car and slammed it shut behind him.
Hannah took off her cap to put it back in the glove compartment and grabbed her handbag before following, running to keep up as Alessio barely broke his stride, his staff bowing as he passed, looking at her with some curiosity.
She didn’t know how long they walked through what appeared to be service corridors, until they reached a vast, familiar hall and a door she immediately recognised. Alessio’s office. Inside, Stefano stood by one of the mullioned windows, speaking rapid-fire on the phone. When they entered, he hung up. Alessio tore off his sunglasses and cap, tossed them on his desk. He and Stefano exchanged a look—Stefano’s all sympathy, Alessio’s barely concealed fury.
‘What’s being said?’
‘They know about the hospital visits. That’s been online already.’
‘The families?’
‘Are being protected. They won’t talk. You know that.’
Alessio’s head dropped. He stared at the carpet as if a solution could be divined there. All the while, Hannah realised she was superfluous. And she didn’t know what to do.Stand. Sit. Pace. Everyone in this room was still. Her, Alessio, Stefano. Like chess pieces waiting for the first move.
‘They’re using the sick children to make a story about me.’
‘It’s not a bad thing, since it’s a good story. As I’ve said before.’
‘What about this?’ Alessio waved his hands between him and Hannah, as if she were nothing. His dismissal sliced sharp and fresh like a paper cut.
Stefano deigned to look at her then. Nice to know she existed. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, everything about him inscrutable in those moments. But he seemed paler, his eyes tight. No tie, the top button of his shirt undone.
