The Forbidden Prince (13 page)

CHAPTER TEN

N
O
COMMENT
...

How often had Mika used those words in the last few days?

What a nightmare.

Rafe...no,
Raoul
...had been sucked out of her life in an instant and the void had been filled by a crowd of ugly strangers who had no respect for her privacy. They wanted photographs of, and interviews with, the girl who had been the constant companion of a prince who had been hiding from the world.

That dreadful first night—and the whole of the next day—Mika had been too terrified to leave the safety of her locked room. She had never felt so alone and so scared. So utterly devastated.

A broken heart should be the least of her worries. She had undoubtedly lost her job and she couldn't even try to find another one. Not in this town, anyway. Probably not anywhere in Europe. New Zealand would be the best place to hide, but how on earth could she get there? It was half a world away and travel was expensive. She'd spent all her savings on that camera and barely had enough to meet this week's rent.

The camera that Rafe thought she'd sold. Yes...he would always be
Rafe
in her head. And her heart. The man she'd fallen in love with. Not a fairy-tale prince who couldn't exist in her world.

Did he really believe that she'd sold
him
as well?

That hurt so much that her precarious financial situation seemed to pale in comparison for long stretches of time. Time when, with the spotlight of despair, she could understand why he'd believed that. She could look back on that encounter with James from his point of view and see exactly how the shreds of evidence had come together in a way that made it look as if she'd betrayed him.

And she
had
taken that photograph. Secretly. Thinking that she might need a memento of a very special time in her life.

What a joke... There were a thousand images of Prince Raoul de Poitier on the internet. Pictures of him in his military dress uniform with a red jacket, a row of medals and a sword hanging by his side. Formal pictures that probably hung in gilded frames in his palace. There were less formal ones of him in his flight uniform at the controls of a helicopter and some with him in a suit, performing royal duties, like opening a new museum. And there were way too many of him in immaculate evening dress with a beautiful woman by his side.

Tall, blonde women in designer gowns who clung to his arm and looked up at him, smiling, as if they'd never been so much in love. Like his
fiancée
, Princess Francesca...

His
almost
fiancée, her heart whispered.

As if it made any difference, her mind answered. It was a done deal. And this Francesca was precisely the sort of woman the world expected this prince to wed.

Besides, none of those pictures was of Rafe. The smoothly shaved man with impeccable hair was nothing like the tousled, bearded stranger she'd met on the Footpath of the Gods that day. And maybe that was something that would give her some comfort one day. None of those beautiful, polished women knew this prince the way she had.

Even if she had been nothing more than a holiday fling, he
had
loved her, she was sure of it.

Not that anyone else would ever know.

Mika had read the articles that had been splashed everywhere in the media frenzy. What a shock it had been to see her name in print. She had been a friend, apparently. A friend who'd reached out to him when he'd needed help, having lost his wallet and other possessions. A friend who'd helped him find employment and shown him what it was like to live in the kind of world a prince never really got to experience.

They must have excellent media consultants on those islands, Mika decided. The spin that this prince's heart was so much with his people that he'd actually wanted to experience the kind of hardship that many people dealt with in their lives had turned him from a spoilt royal looking for escapism into some kind of hero.

A prince of the people who would very soon become their beloved King.

And she was who she'd always been and always would be. An ordinary person. Someone who'd been a
friend
. Nothing more...

But she had been more. And, like the secret they had shared during that first meal together—that what had made the day so memorable had been that crippling episode of vertigo—there was silent communication to be found in things that she read as well. The prince's personal history was revisited again and again. She saw pictures of the stoic little boy standing beside his grandparents when his parents were being laid to rest after the tragic plane crash that had claimed their lives, and it made her heart ache for him.

They both knew what it was like to grow up without their parents and Mika could actually feel what the glance between them would always have been like—if they'd stayed together—as they acknowledged that bond again and again. At Christmas time, perhaps. Or when they saw a young mother holding the hand of her small child. Maybe he had been luckier than her, in that he'd had loving grandparents to raise him, but how hard would it have been for a boy to grow up without his father as a role model and advisor?

It had been bad enough for her. She'd never met her father—had no idea what he even looked like—and it felt like a part of herself had always been missing. If he had known she existed, would he have come to find her? Looked after her? Given her a safe place to live and loved her, even?

Given her a place to call home?

Mika could understand why Rafe had had to leave as soon as his true identity had been revealed. She could understand how he had been convinced that she'd betrayed him.

What she couldn't understand was how he hadn't realised how wrong he was as soon as he'd had time to think about it. Time to remember exactly what things had been like when they'd been together.

How much she had trusted him.

Loved him...

They had been so, so much more than merely
friends
. And they had been, ever since the moment they'd met. Had she given him her heart, without even realising it, in the instant she'd taken his hand up there on that mountain track? Had he given her at least a part of his, in that same instant? Even when he'd known it was something forbidden?

They'd both denied the physical attraction, hadn't they? They'd been fighting it for very different reasons but the barrier had been huge for them both and it had taken something traumatic to push them past the point of no return.

And Rafe had wanted it to continue as much as she had. She'd joked about him being a politician because he didn't want to give her a straight answer to her questions. He had wanted that time
just for them
...

Because he'd known it had to end the moment she knew the truth.

That was what hurt the most. That he'd taken her heart and soul
knowing
that he was going to destroy her in the near future. How could you do that, if you really loved somebody?

Had he been trying to protect himself from further scandal by dismissing their relationship as no more than friendship?

There was a part of her that refused to suffocate under the weight of betrayal. The part that would always love Rafe. It had a tiny voice but it made itself heard occasionally during the cacophony of heartbreak. It told her that he
had
loved her. So much that he couldn't bring himself to hurt her by telling her the truth. And that dismissing that love in public was the only way he had now to try and protect her.

If that was the case, it was working. Slowly. The number of paparazzi was dwindling as the days passed and her best friend amongst the waitresses—Bianca—had come to knock on her door one evening.

‘You can come back to work,' she told Mika.

‘Really? Has the crowd gone?'

‘There's a new crowd now. People who want to see where a prince was working. Business has never been so good.'

‘Marco wouldn't have me back. I didn't even tell him I was taking time off.'

‘He knows why. We barely got to serve anyone apart from the journalists for a few days, anyway. And I think Marco likes being so famous. He's still sitting at his table all day, every day, happy to have his photo taken and talk to everyone.'

‘I don't want to have my photograph taken. I haven't even been for a swim for days because I'm too scared to go out there. I'm terrified someone's going to be outside my door whenever I go to the bathroom. They shout at me from the street but I'm not going to give any interviews, no matter how much money I get offered.'

‘They're offering you money?'

‘Huge money. If I told them that we'd been sleeping together, I could probably buy a house.' Mika's eyes filled with tears. ‘But I wouldn't do that. I couldn't...'

‘You really loved him, didn't you?' Bianca drew her into a hug. ‘Oh, hon...'

Mika drew back from the embrace with a sigh. ‘You do need money, though. What are you eating?'

‘I had some cans of stuff. And coffee. I've almost run out, now, though.'

‘So come back to work. Not front of house yet—that's the message I was told to give you.' Bianca's smile was wry. ‘Marco probably doesn't want to share the spotlight. But he says you can have Rafe's old job, if you want. We're all having to take turns washing dishes at the moment and nobody's very happy about it.'

There really wasn't a choice to make. Mika was going to be in serious trouble if she didn't start earning a wage but how ironic would that be—to take Rafe's old job?

How much more miserable was it possible to become?

* * *

Quite a lot, it seemed.

Sneaking around to get in and back from the restaurant and avoid being seen was horrible. Not being able to go swimming was even worse. The job itself was unpleasant and backbreaking but Mika fronted up to do it day after day. It became automatic and gave her mind far too much time to wander.

To remember things that made her feel so stupid. Like sharing her dream of becoming something as important as a travel writer. Or suggesting to Rafe that they pretended they were living in the villa that was as close to a palace as she'd ever been inside. Things that made her so sad, too. Like the conviction that giving her heart to Rafe would be worth it even if he disappeared because she would always know how perfect life could be.

It didn't help at all now because Mika knew that her life could never, ever be that perfect again.

Her whole body ached.

Her heart was splintered. Nothing could ever put that many broken shards back together again.

Even her belly ached. So much that it made her feel sick sometimes. One day, Bianca brought in a load of plates that had congealed egg and bacon rinds on it and Mika took one look and had to flee to the toilet to throw up.

She was splashing cold water on her face when Bianca slipped into the tiny restroom and closed the door behind her.

She met Mika's gaze in the spotted mirror above the hand basin and her eyes were troubled.

‘Are you in trouble, hon?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Are you pregnant?'

‘
No
.
'
The thought was so shocking, Mika had to grip the sides of the basin to persuade her legs to keep holding her up.

‘Is it possible?'

Was
it? Her mind flew back to that silent conversation in the pharmacy that night.

Is it too late?

It was a safe time, I'm sure of it.

But how long ago had that been?

Weeks...

Way
too
long...

‘Oh, my God...'

The basin wasn't enough support any more. Mika's shoulder was already against the wall of the tiny room. She leaned against it as she let herself slide to the floor where she could curl up, hug her knees and hide her face by resting it on her arms.

She would have to ask Bianca to go to the pharmacy and buy a test kit for her to avoid attracting the attention of any lurking journalists but Mika already knew what the answer was going to be.

It would be better, in fact, if she went somewhere else to do it herself so that her friend wouldn't be involved. Somewhere a long way from here where nobody would recognise her as being the ‘friend' of the prince. She couldn't afford to go back to New Zealand but there were a lot of big cities in Europe that she could hide in. A train ticket wouldn't be expensive and she could carry everything she owned in a backpack, couldn't she? If she sold her laptop, that would not only give her enough money, it would make the backpack lighter to carry.

The thought of being so totally alone was terrifying. The prospect of facing it came with a wave of dizziness that reminded her of the moment she had realised she was in so much trouble on that mountain track.

The day that Rafe had come into her life...

As impossible as it might have seemed, her heart broke a little more.

Had she really thought that working as a dish washer would be the most miserable extra change in her life now?

How wrong had she been?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

P
RINCE
R
AOUL
DE
P
OITIER
was standing in front of his bathroom mirror. A gilt-framed mirror that reflected just how completely the circumstances of his life had returned to normal. How different was this to the shared facilities of that boarding house, with the vastness of the private room, its generous showering and bathing facilities, countless soft, fluffy towels and a selection of skin products any pharmacy would be proud to display?

The aftershave he'd just splashed on his face still stung even though the beard was long gone. How long would it take for his skin to stop feeling oddly raw and exposed?

His heart still felt raw, too.

Unbelievably heavy.

And he didn't like the man he was staring at in the mirror.

His journey of self-discovery had been a disaster. He'd learned something that he wasn't sure he could live with.

That he was a man who could take someone's heart and then crush it for the greater good of others.

Had he really believed—in his heart—that Mika had sold that picture and betrayed his identity? That she knew she'd fallen in love with a prince?

Of course she hadn't. She had fallen in love with the man she believed him to be. An ordinary bloke by the name of Rafe.

He'd let his mind overrule his heart in that instant. Allowed himself to feel betrayed and then angry because that was the easiest escape route as the reprieve of an ordinary life had exploded around him.

He'd left Mika believing that he'd simply used her.

That he hadn't really loved her.

And she deserved so much more than that.

But what could he do?

His duty.

As he had been doing ever since he'd been whisked back to
Les Iles Dauphins
, away from the media circus in Positano. The look of shock on the faces of his grandparents when he'd walked into the palace with his long hair and beard, wearing his shorts and the ‘I heart Positano' tee shirt had told him just how far past acceptable boundaries he had wandered. The days that followed had been a matter of damage control and, thanks to a quick-thinking team of media experts and the unwavering support of his grandparents, what could have been a complete scandal had been turned around to make him some kind of hero.

A man of the people who, thanks to a courageous action, now knew exactly what it was like to be an ordinary person. He was someone who understood them and whom they could trust to rule them with compassion and wisdom.

But Raoul would never feel like a hero.

He had a million images of Mika imprinted on his mind and in his heart, but the only one he could hold in his hand was the one taken in that dreadful moment they'd been spotted at
Pane Quotidiano.
She had been wearing that white singlet top that was his favourite, because it showed off her gorgeous brown skin and revealed the tattoo that was a symbol of the sea that meant so much to her.

Dolphin blood...

The voice of the sea...

The way he could dance with her with only the music in their hearts to follow...

The mosaic tiles of his bathroom floor were not unlike the surface they had danced on in that old villa.

The house that Mika had thought a palace.

That she'd wanted to pretend to be living in. With him...

Dear Lord...he'd never known how much it was possible to miss someone.

Or maybe he had and that was why this was so difficult. It took him back to being that scared five-year-old, standing so stoically during the final farewell to his parents.

Doing his duty, even then, because he knew what was expected of him by so many people.

And today, he was about to take his next step into doing what was expected of him. Francesca was due to arrive later. It was time to propose. To make the engagement official. His mother's ring was in a velvet case on his dressing table, waiting for him to slip it into his pocket. There would be a celebratory lunch and many, many photographs to go with the press release. There would also be the first of what would probably be many, many meetings to arrange their wedding—a train of events that there would be no possibility of stopping once it had begun.

The sensation of a ticking clock had never been so strong. He had to do something before it was too late. Something that would, at least, give Mika the comfort of knowing that he cared.

That he was truly sorry.

One of his personal assistants had his suit ready for him when he left the bathroom suite that adjoined his bedroom.

‘Their Royal Highnesses are taking breakfast in their suite,' he was informed. ‘They would like you to join them.'

‘Of course.' Raoul donned the crisp, white shirt and held out his wrists to have the cufflinks inserted. His favourite ones, which were gold, embossed with the image of a leaping dolphin.

His heart grew even heavier. It was like a very personal punishment that the symbol of his homeland was going to remind him of Mika every day for the rest of his life.

‘Pierre?'

‘Yes, sir?'

‘I have a task for you this morning. I want you to source a camera. A Nikon D4—or something better if there's a new model available.'

‘Certainly.'

Pierre was his most trusted assistant. Raoul would have described him almost as a friend, except that he now knew what real friendship felt like.

What true love felt like...

Pierre held out his jacket so that he could slip his arms inside the silk lining. ‘Are you becoming interested in taking up photography?'

‘No. It's a gift. I want you to buy a range of lenses to go with it, too. And any other accessories that are recommended. And I want everything in a case. Gift-wrapped.'

‘No problem. Would you like me to arrange delivery, as well?'

‘Not yet. I need to think about that. It will need discretion.'

Pierre didn't bat an eyelash. ‘Just let me know, then, Sir. I'm sure something can be arranged.'

* * *

The palace of
Les Iles Dauphins
was on a headland that gave it sweeping views of the Mediterranean and the suite of rooms that was his grandparents' private domain had a terrace with the best view of all because you could see the royal beach—a tiny, private bay that could only be reached via the stone staircase from the palace gardens.

On a beautiful morning like this, the only thing that could disturb the clear blue of the calm water was the way the bay's permanent residents greeted a new day. The joyful leaping of the small pod of dolphins that claimed this well-protected bay as their home base was such a pleasure to watch, it was no wonder that this was the preferred spot for Prince Henri II and his wife, Gisele, to take their breakfast.

There was something about the scene on the terrace that made Raoul pause for a moment before he joined them. His grandparents, as always, were sitting close together on both sides of a corner. At this particular moment, they weren't eating or admiring the view, they were looking at each other. Smiling.

The heavy lump that was Raoul's heart this morning twisted a little in his chest. He loved these people—his family—so much. And he loved that they still loved each other, after so many decades of being together. Remembering that they were both well into their eighties now was a poignant reminder that their time was limited, and as Raoul moved close enough to bestow his customary kiss on the soft skin of his grandmother's cheek he made a silent vow to make the rest of that time as perfect as possible.

They had given him so much.

‘Good morning, Mamé... Papé.' The childish names for his grandparents had never been relinquished in private. ‘It's a beautiful day, isn't it?'

‘Help yourself, darling.' Gisele waved at the covered platters on the serving table behind them. ‘I ordered your favourite cheese and mushroom omelette.'

‘Can I get you something? More coffee?'

‘Some orange juice for Henri, perhaps. He hasn't taken all his pills yet.'

His grandfather made a grumbling sound that suggested he didn't need to be nagged but he winked at Raoul.

‘Big day for you, today,' he said. ‘What time does the beautiful Francesca arrive?'

‘Late this morning.'

‘There's a formal luncheon,' Gisele added. ‘And photographs this afternoon. It's in your diary, Henri.'

Raoul put the plate with its fluffy omelette and pretty roasted tomatoes in front of him at the table. He picked up his fork but then put it down again. He really wasn't hungry. He sipped his coffee, instead, and watched as his grandmother arranged the morning medication for his grandfather, handing over each pill and watching carefully as it was taken. It was impossible not to notice the tremor in his grandfather's hand and the way Gisele put each tablet into his palm with enough care that it wouldn't be dropped.

‘Is there something wrong with the omelette, Raoul?'

‘No, Mamé. It's perfect. I'm just not very hungry.'

‘But you're losing weight. You haven't been like yourself ever since you got home. I'm worried about you, darling...'

His grandfather reached out to pat her hand. ‘The thought of marriage makes any man a little nervous.' He smiled at Raoul. ‘Don't worry, lad. It gets better.'

But Gisele looked anxious. ‘It is a big step. And so close to your coronation. Is it too soon? We haven't finalised the date. Francesca's grandmother is one of my oldest friends and I'm sure we could arrange for it to be delayed...'

Raoul saw the glance his grandparents exchanged. A delay wasn't something they wanted and he could understand why. These two had been together since before Henri had become the ruling Prince of
Les Iles Dauphins
. He had always had the loving support of his wife by his side.

They wanted the same thing for him, didn't they?

That support was something that came naturally when you loved someone. Mika could have given him that. As he would have given her...

Would delaying his marriage change how he felt?

No. It would make things worse because he'd have more time to imagine a very different future. With Mika as his princess. Sitting out here, one day in the future, having breakfast and watching dolphins play...

‘What's the secret?' The question came unexpectedly. ‘For a happy marriage?'

‘Respect,' his grandfather said.

‘Love,' His grandmother smiled.

‘Were you both in love when you married?'

‘In
love
?' His grandfather grunted. ‘Stuff and nonsense.'

But Gisele's eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, yes, we were. You couldn't keep your hands off me, Henri.'

A huff of surprised laughter escaped Raoul. ‘Too much information, Mamé.' His laughter faded. ‘You chose each other, though, didn't you?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Your marriage wasn't arranged.'

‘That's true,' Gisele murmured. ‘I was his mother's secretary. It was all a bit of a scandal, really.'

‘But everybody forgave you, didn't they? Because they knew how much in love you were?'

‘Oh... Raoul...' Gisele's words were no more than a sigh.

A coffee cup rattled loudly as Henri tried to put it down on its saucer. ‘Are you saying you don't want your marriage to go ahead?'

The coffee had spilled onto the tablecloth. His grandfather was suddenly looking older. Almost grey. Unwell...?

Raoul backed off from whatever he might have been about to say. ‘Francesca is beautiful. She's already a princess. She's an ideal choice.'

‘But not
your
choice.' His grandmother's faded blue eyes looked suspiciously bright. ‘You're not in love with her...'

‘In
love
.' Henri's words were dismissive. ‘Stuff and nonsense. It's no more than lust.' The old Prince was rubbing his chest with one hand. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, leaning on the table as he did so.

‘Are you all right, Papé?' Raoul was alarmed. ‘You don't have a pain in your chest, do you?'

‘I'm fine. I'll see you...
and
Francesca...at luncheon.'

Raoul caught his grandmother's gaze.

‘I'll go,' she said quietly. ‘I'll call the doctor.' She paused to touch Raoul's head as she passed. ‘It'll be all right,' she added. ‘Don't worry...'

* * *

That Gisele chose to join him in what was supposed to have been a private meeting before lunch was more than a surprise to Raoul. How was he supposed to propose with an audience?

‘Is something wrong? Is it Grand-père?'

His grandmother took a seat beside Francesca, opposite him, on a matching small, overstuffed couch.

‘He's resting,' she said. ‘The doctor thinks it was his angina. He needs to use his spray more often.' She turned to smile at Francesca. ‘How are you, my dear? I've just been having such a lovely chat to your grandmother.'

‘Oh?' Francesca's smile wavered.

Raoul frowned. This meeting had been going well. He and Francesca had a lot in common and, while things felt a little awkward still, they just needed more time to get to know each other better. He liked her and she seemed to like him.

They hadn't got near discussing the really important business between them but it had been a good start.

‘You've done so well in your studies,' Gisele continued. ‘I didn't realise how close you were to graduating as a doctor.'

Francesca bit her lip. ‘I've arranged to take leave from my studies. I'm hoping I can finish them one day and, while I know I could never practise as a physician, I hope I can become involved with the health systems in both our countries.'

‘It's your passion, isn't it?'

Francesca looked down at her hands. She spoke quietly. ‘I've been brought up to understand my position in life and my duty—to both my family and my country. I would never do anything to harm the people I love.'