Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (39 page)

The image he painted of the villagers’ dilemma horrified her.
 
“Were you captured?”

“No, or I wouldn’t be here now.”
 
Massimo stilled, as if having decided exactly what to tell her.
 
“When Matambe arrived, my two men were in the bunker.
 
They happened to be with a group of teenage boys sorting the last of the supplies when we heard the attackers coming from the jungle.
 
They secured the door and hid inside.
 
It was lucky they were positioned where they were.
 
The boys were fit and at an age where Matambe would want to conscript them.
 
Forcing children into his army helps him control the villages.
 
No one wants to risk firing on their own children or those of relatives.”

“That’s sickening.”
 
A lump formed in her throat at the idea of losing a child that way, never knowing if they were dead or alive, what atrocities they were forced to witness, or what brainwashing they’d endure.
 
“Effective, I’m sure, but sickening.”

He huffed an acknowledgement.
 
“The village leaders handed over all the supplies that we’d unloaded in the village itself and even some they’d squirreled away in the woods, hoping to convince the raiders of their loyalty to Matambe by giving up what they claimed was their emergency stash.
 
Some of the women prayed, saying they were making the sacrifice of food to Matambe for his divine protection, acting as if the sun rose and set only at his bidding.
 
I heard every word.
 
Those women were very convincing.”

“But not convincing enough?”

“No.
 
Matambe’s men refused to leave.
 
They stayed for nearly thirty-six hours, searching the huts and accusing the villagers of withholding information.”
 

“If you could hear all this, where were you?”
 
It was the question she most dreaded asking.
 

His pacing started again.
 
“The bunker had a smart design.
 
A false front door was installed so that if it was discovered, anyone opening it would see only a five-foot square hole used for storage.
 
The real door was in the floor of the hole, so it’d be covered by anything kept inside.
 
I managed to crawl into the space between the two doors and hide with my weapon drawn.
 
It allowed me to protect the bunker while appearing to be an AWOL soldier foraging for food.
 
At least, that was what I was counting on if Matambe or his men found me.
 
I was good and filthy, and I smelled none too pleasant, so I hoped I could convince them.”

Her eyes widened.
 
“You were in a
hole
?
 
The entire time?
 
You couldn’t get down into the bunker itself?”

“Once I closed the outside door, the space was too tight to maneuver without making noise.”

“And risking the lives of your two men and the teenagers.”

“The whole village’s lives.
 
But it worked.
 
In the end, Matambe’s men left without injuring a soul.”
 
He grinned, though the twist of his mouth and crinkles at the corner of his eyes reeked of irony.
 
“At least, not to their knowledge.
 
My injury was nothing more than a run of the mill accident.”

Kelly made no effort to hide her confusion.
 
“Barricading yourself in a hole for a day and a half and emerging with that kind of injury hardly constitutes ‘a run of the mill accident.’
 
Your back looks as if someone attacked you with a blowtorch and then hacked away with a machete for good measure.”

“No, an attack I could’ve fought off.”
 
Massimo crossed the closet to resume his seat beside her, propping his back against the wall and stretching his long legs in front of him on the drop cloth.
 

Once settled, he explained, “As they were leaving, one of Matambe’s men flicked a cigarette butt near the bunker.
 
At least, that’s what the villagers told the medic who treated me. The butt apparently caught the dry grass nearby.
 
I couldn’t see out, but I heard the stomping of boots as Matambe’s men passed over my head on their way to the jungle.
 
A moment later there was smoke and a lot of shouting, but I couldn’t risk climbing out before I knew the coast was clear.”

Packed into a dark, tight space, with the chaos of fire and enemy fighters above his head, he must have been afraid, though he’d be the last man on Earth to admit it.
 
But he’d rather burn to death than endanger others.
 
Her admiration for him jumped a few notches.
 

“That’s unbelievably brave.
 
You were a hero to those people, putting their lives before yours.”
 

“It was for my own good,” he said, waving off the compliment.
 
“The men in the bunker could only be guaranteed their safety if I stayed put.
 
It was built with a small tunnel leading into the jungle they could use to escape.
 
I knew they’d rescue me if the villagers didn’t or couldn’t.
 
And they did.”

“Yet you ended up burned,” she pointed out.
 

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t make me heroic.
 
I was unconscious from the smoke when my men forced the door and pulled me out.
 
The villagers were busy fighting the fire.
 
This happened” —he jerked a thumb over his left shoulder— “because a burning tree fell on my back and shoulder after they yanked me out.
 
So no, no glamorous heroics.
 
Just a tree I never saw and don’t remember, and a fire I didn’t do a thing to help fight.
 
My men and a few of the teenagers ended up having to drag the tree off of me.”
 

A tree explained the gashes amongst the burned skin.
 
And even if he didn’t believe he’d been a hero, there was no doubt in her mind.
 

“It happens a lot in combat situations,” he added.
 
“Soldiers are injured through random accidents as easily as by an enemy.
 
I was one of the lucky ones who managed to stay alive.
 
A few centimeters higher and the tree would’ve hit my head instead of my back and shoulder.”

“I’m glad you survived.”
 
And glad he’d told her, too, though it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

Frankly, she didn’t know
what
she’d expected.
 
Maybe that he’d been injured in hand to hand combat.
 
Or that he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, passing by a roadside bomb as it exploded or a weapon that misfired, causing ugly burns.
 
Not that he’d spent a day and two nights inside what could’ve become his own tomb, all in an effort to protect people he didn’t know in a country far from his home.
 

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?”
 
She understood if he didn’t want to be labeled a hero, but if he’d been able to discuss the incident, even with someone like his sister, to whom he claimed to be quite close, his psyche might heal faster.

“I don’t want pity and I don’t want reporters asking personal questions about my health.
 
But on a larger scale, it would hurt the villagers if it became public knowledge.
 
It wouldn’t take long for Matambe to figure out when and where I sustained my injury.
 
His men saw the fire as they left.
 
On top of that, it’d be a public relations coup for the man.”

She stared at him in disbelief.
 
“How?
 
I’d think the world would become enraged.”

“First, the world would be focused on me, not Matambe.
 
It’s the nature of celebrity gossip.”
 
His gaze lit upon the necklace that had fallen to the floor.
 
He stretched to retrieve it, then laid the piece across his knee, where it sparkled with a radiance that contrasted sharply with his dark story.
 
“Second, many in Africa would see Matambe as even more powerful if they learned he’d injured a prince.
 
He’d be feared even more than he is now.”

She hadn’t considered that.
 
“It makes sense, I suppose.
 
Still, even if you’ve said nothing, it’s amazing it never leaked from the village.”

“They didn’t know my identity.
 
Only the men in my unit knew, and they’re smart enough to keep quiet to avoid making us targets.”

A lengthy sigh escaped her.
 
It had been a long day and long night.
 
The world Massimo described filled her mind with images she didn’t have the energy to confront anymore.

“Now aren’t you glad you asked?”

His wry tone made her smile.
 
“You know, I am.
 
I understand you a little better now…or at least that part of you.”
 
After a beat, she added, “My guess is that your family or others who love you would like to know, too.”

“No.”
 
The word was crisp and immediate.

“What about a professional?”

This time, he hesitated before answering.
 
“I’ve considered it.
 
But—as with broccoli—I’m adapting.”

Skepticism clouded her face.
 
“It didn’t seem that way tonight when I saw you on the bench.”

He acknowledged the point with a nod and lift of his brow.
 
“Believe it or not, tonight was fantastic right up until dinner.
 
I was feeling quite comfortable with the crowd, and even heard positive news about the hunt for Matambe, which put me in a very good mood.
 
But while I had Matambe on my mind, a group of torch dancers began to perform.
 
Next thing I knew, I had a blazing fire two inches in front of my face, then I was caught in a crush of people.”
 
Again, he shrugged as if it were no big deal.
 
“Even so, it took time before the need to escape set in, and when it did, I couldn’t leave for awhile.”

“Then I surprised you by touching your bad shoulder.”

“Which shouldn’t have been a problem.
 
Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t.
 
It’s over.”
 
She put a hand on his knee, but didn’t linger.
 
She suspected that he wanted—needed—to move forward without using physical reassurance from her as a quick fix.

“In any case, the odds of having fire flung in my face in the midst of a crowd are rather low.
 
Having faced it once, so to speak, I suspect I’ll handle it better if it ever happens again.
 
If not, privately consulting a professional may be the next step.”
 
The set of his jaw made it clear he hoped he’d never have to, but if it was necessary to ensure the safety of those around him, he would.
 

It was an admission that took an incredible amount of fortitude.

She pushed to stand, then offered him her hand.
 
“Come on.
 
Let’s get out of here.
 
You weren’t supposed to see this place until my big reveal, anyway.
 
Just remember when you see the finished room that I want you to be wowed.”

“I’ll promise, I’ll express appropriate awe.”
 
He palmed the necklace and rose in one smooth motion, shooting a quick look at her hand that said,
you’re kidding, right?
 

“Only if that awe is earned.”

That prompted him to grin.
 
“Understood.”

When they reached the living room, he placed the necklace on the coffee table.
 
After giving it a long look, he raised his head.
 
“Thank you, Kelly.
 
I really appreciate this.
 
And I value your discretion.”

“It’s a gorgeous piece.
 
And it was yours in the first place, not mine.”

Intense emotion filled his eyes, making them appear an even darker green than usual.
 
“You know what I mean.”

If she hadn’t told anyone about their one-night stand, he should realize she wouldn’t blab about his injury or the circumstances surrounding it.
 
But some secrets were so intense, so deeply personal, worry was natural no matter the character of those who kept them.
 
She chose not to take offense.
 

“I do.”

He nodded his thanks, then with an amused lift of his mouth he said, “You know, you aren’t at all what I expected when I met you on the beach.”

“I could say the same about you, Your Highness.”
 
At his nod of acknowledgement, she added, “In fact, I could say it about my whole experience here.
 
When I came to Sarcaccia, I imagined I’d spend most of my time sitting on the beach with a daiquiri in my hand, brainstorming ways to restart my career.
 
Maybe visit your museums, see the art and architecture, learn about the local culture.
 
Never in a million years could I have predicted the last week and a half.”