The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011(53)

The Alfa Romeo made easy work of the climb, the Castello looming larger and larger in front of him as he neared its iron gates. Maybe she was right. Maybe their marriage was a disaster waiting to happen if she could run so hot and cold in the space of twenty-four hours.

Maybe he would be better off with someone more amenable. Or maybe pregnancy was sending her hormone levels haywire. She was having twins after all. Did that mean twice the hormones?

Besides, he didn’t want someone else.

Why would he when she was already pregnant with his seed?

Two babies. And she could think what she liked, but he was damned sure at least one of them would be a son and the heir that Montvelatte needed if it was to maintain its status as a Principality into the future.

It was perfect. Why couldn’t she see that?

It had to be hormones.

Rafe pulled into the forecourt and was just uncurling himself from the car when he heard a sound, a familiar voice even as it turned into a squeal of pleasure. He looked up to see his little sister running down the steps towards him, and he wondered when his little sister had turned into such a stunning woman, a younger version of how he remembered his mother—blonde and beautiful and a throwback to another time, when northern Europeans had swept south into Italy. Somehow Marietta had inherited the lion’s share of her genes from their mother. As for him, he’d inherited her height, but the rest of his genes he could attribute squarely to his typically Mediterranean father.

He was glad she’d won their mother’s blonde good looks and that they sat with such apparent ease on her. Maybe he hadn’t taken any notice back then, or maybe it had just been too long a time since he’d seen her. How many years was it since they’d seen each other? Whatever, it was way too long.

‘Raphael!’ she squealed, launching herself at him, and the years faded away, and it was his little Marietta back in his arms. His same little princess. Although now with a discernible hint of a New Zealand accent. ‘I’m so sorry I missed your coronation.’

He grimaced. ‘Don’t be. It was a dry and dusty affair. You didn’t miss anything. But you’re here early. I wasn’t expecting you until just before the wedding.’

‘I finished a design project early. Thought I’d take off before they lumbered me with another. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just so good to see you at last.’ She kissed both his cheeks and then stood back down, a grin tugging at her lips as she gave him a look of mock seriousness. ‘Or should I call you “Prince Raphael” now?’

He squeezed her to him again and spun her around, returning the kiss with one of his own. ‘Only if you let me call you princess.’

‘But you always did,’ she said on a laugh as she settled back to ground level, taking his arm as they headed into the Castello. ‘But who would have imagined one day I would actually be a princess for real—and that this—’ she swept her arm around in a wide arc ‘—would all be yours.’

‘It’s not mine. Technically, I’m just looking after it.’ She turned and switched on that same electrifying smile that had got his mother noticed by a prince who’d lost his wife, only to be thrust into oblivion when he had tired of her, and something tugged at him from way deep inside.

This hadn’t been a happy place for his mother, bearing babies who were destined never to rule, in love with a man who had only sought her comfort on the rebound.

‘You always were a stickler for doing it by the book,’ she said with another laugh, dragging him away from the pit where lay his memories of the time. ‘Can’t you sit back and enjoy it, just a little? I’ve been having a ball looking around this old place. I only know it from photographs.’

He led her into the library, the aroma of fresh coffee and warm rolls reminding him that he’d had a full appetitebuilding day on the water, a day that had ended less than spectacularly, which meant the comfort factor of the food wasn’t lost on him either. He sat down and poured coffee for them both, adding a liberal dash of cream to his own.

Marietta took the cup he proffered, slipped off her shoes, and curled them beneath her, holding her cup with both hands as she blew across its surface. ‘Plus I think I have incorporated into my memories all those things I heard you and Mama talking about—when you did talk about Montvelatte.’ She took a sip of her coffee, and when she spoke again her voice was subdued. ‘I can’t believe what happened to our father. He never cared for us, never gave us a thought, but I thought he loved his sons. How they could do such a thing to their own father—’ She looked up at him. ‘Have you seen them at all, Carlo and Roberto?’