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‘I have some advice. From Machiavelli.“Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good.”Allow yourself some imperfections. You have a chance to make things right. I’ve run out of mine.’
Stefano gave a final bow and shut the door. And for the first time in his life Alessio felt completely alone.
Hannah stood in her studio, the window opening wide onto the sunny garden beyond. This place had once been her oasis of peace, where she could lose herself. Now it seemed more like a prison. She flopped into the threadbare sofa in a dusty corner, cup of tea in hand, body sluggish with a tiredness that hadn’t seemed to have left her since she’d returned home. Self-inflicted to be sure, but it was as though she’d never feel awake again, this pressing lassitude which had stolen over her.
From the moment she’d walked into this space on returning from Lasserno she’d begun to work, grabbing a canvas and painting with a ferocity which shut everything out. She’d worked all day and through the nights. Barely sleeping or eating till she’d finished Alessio’s portrait. Pouring all her heart and most of her soul into the picture to get one man out of her life. The tears and the pain worked through her fingers onto the canvas, then she’d let it go.
Or that was what was supposed to have happened. In the past, each time she’d finished a portrait had been like a great cleansing. She’d send the picture on its way and leave its subject behind as a fond memory whilst she started afresh.
Not this time. The ache of loss remained like a wound unhealed, as if the bleeding out would never stop. Hannah realised what it was now. All that time she’d spent shielding herself from the pain of love and her heart had gone and fallen in love anyway. At least she’d learned something. Suffering this kind of pain wouldn’t break her. Even though the colours of the world didn’t seem right, as if everything were sepia-toned, she was still standing. One day she might even be able to look back to a time when for a few fantasy moments she was made to believe she could be a princess.
She hadn’t been treated like a princess in the end, though. That Alessio believed she might betray what they’d shared had shredded what remained of her heart. It told Hannah that, whilst what had happened was of great moment to her, to Alessio it meant nothing. It can’t have, or he would never have thought she’d talk to the press.
Sure, they’d sniffed around when she returned to the UK, offering large sums for an exclusive. It would have solved all her financial woes, just as he’d accused. But the idea of betraying those precious moments with Alessio made her sick to the stomach.
And yet, some money had arrived in her account. Whilst she’d refused it back in Lasserno, Sue had been more circumspect when contacted by the palace. Now there were funds enough to keep the sharks at bay. It might not refill the coffers her uncle had raided, but it would do. Her uncle’s assets were being sold to help pay his debts, and that would help too. She could rebuild. She had her art. Things would be fine. Truly fine.
If only she could plug the Alessio-sized hole in her heart.
She stared at the blank canvas on her easel, one she had no inspiration for. At least, not for the intended subject. Another consumed all her interest. A man with black hair and umber eyes and a glance which could set her aflame. If she picked up a pencil now she’d be able to perfectly reproduce the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the sensual curve of his lips when he looked at her. It was as if she would always be able to draw him. He was embedded inside her. Yet a prince had no part in her life. She went to the window. Breathed the warm air. Tried reminding herself that these simple things were what made her happy. One day her heartwouldbelieve her head, but not today.
The tinkle of the doorbell woke Hannah from her inertia. She’d had a few visitors since she’d returned here. Kind people in the village bringing jams, biscuits and sympathy. Probably seeking gossip, but she gave them none and the small tokens had helped.
She made her way to the front door. Pulled a band from the pocket of her jeans and raked her hair into an untidy knot on her head. Steeled herself for a visitor she didn’t really want. She’d had a spyhole installed at the suggestion of the local constable when some of the press had become more insistent. Out of caution she peeked through.
Alessio.
She grabbed on to the door jamb to hold herself upright, her heart rate spiking at the thrill of seeing him again, even through the dim fisheye glass. She’d tried telling herself over and over he didn’t matter but her heart now called her out as a liar. Hannah froze. Open the door? Ignore it? Tell him to go away? She stood back, trying to steady her rapid breathing, and jumped when the bell gave another short, sharp burst. In that moment she acted on impulse, turning the key and wrenching at the door.
He came into view in a dizzying rush, like the swoop of a roller coaster. More beautiful than she remembered, but then Alessio had always seemed hyper-real to her. He wore an immaculate blue suit, pristine white shirt, bold viridian tie. Nothing at all conciliatory about him, clothed in his armour of choice, as if ready for battle. The only thing about him that wasn’t perfect was the stubble on his jaw of a day or two unshaven. The contrast between that casual aberration and the rest of him made her treacherous little heart flutter like the butterflies around the hollyhocks in her garden.
‘Hannah.’
The way he said her name... It tumbled from his lips as if the syllables hurt to speak them. As if it had so much meaning. She wanted to mean something to him, but it was a fool’s game she had no time to play. She knew her place, and needed to remind herself of it, so she dropped herself into a deep curtsey. ‘Your Highness.’
He winced. ‘There’s no need. Not after—’
‘Of course there’s a need. What did your dossier say?“The first time you meet His Royal Highness in the day, you shall curtsey.”’
‘We’re not in the palace.’
‘No, we’re definitely not.’ She gripped the door, focused on the cut of the wood into her palm. Better that than focusing on the pain in what remained of her heart. ‘Did you come looking for more horses? Because there are none here.’
‘I’m looking for something, but not horses.’
‘And no private secretary to act as a shield between you and me. What a risk-taker you are. How people might talk.’
He dropped his head, looking at the doorstep. To the worn doormat, the faded ‘Welcome’ she’d meant to replace but never seemed to find the time.
‘Any risk to me here is deserved. May I come inside?’
She didn’t want him here and craved him all the same, the emotions confused and jumbled in a way she couldn’t sort out. Curdling in her stomach like an ill-chosen meal.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I need to...talk.’
‘I’m not sure I need to listen.’
