Defying the Prince Sarah Morgan Page 4

  Look at me, I’m not who you see …

  The words popped into her head along with a haunting melody and despite the tense situation Izzy felt the fizz of excitement she always experienced when words and notes came together. Relieved to have something to distract her, she hummed softly as it flowed into her head like magic.

  Deep inside there’s someone else, longing to break free.

  ‘You ruin your sister’s evening and you’re still singing? Don’t you know when to be quiet?’

  ‘I did not ruin her evening.’ Or had she? Izzy felt her conscience prick and then felt a ripple of concern because even through the haze of alcohol she’d been aware that her half-sister was behaving oddly.

  With a stab of regret, she tugged her phone out of her bag and texted one word to Allegra.

  Sorry.

  But her family should be sorry too, she thought. They never took her seriously. I’m not what you see, don’t turn away … Terrified that she might forget it, she closed her eyes and hummed it a few times, forcing it into her memory. The tune and the words blurred as her mind drifted. The deep purr of the engine became soothing background noise….

  She awoke with a start and realised that they were driving along an avenue, the trees flanking the road providing a menacing guard of honour. Groggy, she turned her head. ‘I fell asleep.’

  He pressed his foot to the accelerator. ‘Non c’è problema. You were silent. A vast improvement. And talking of silence, don’t use your phone while you’re with me.’

  ‘Now you’re telling me who I can call?’

  ‘No, I’m telling you not to call from your own phone.’ He spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘When we arrive at the palazzo, you can call anyone you like from a secure line. That’s if anyone is still speaking to you after tonight’s debacle.’

  Izzy, who had no clue what a debacle was, decided that if it was linked to the engagement party it couldn’t possibly be anything she’d want to repeat. She made a mental note to load a dictionary app onto her phone later. ‘I sent one text to Allegra.’

  ‘Don’t send any more. You can call your mother from the palazzo.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘I assume she’ll be worried about you. Wondering where you’ve gone.’

  ‘She won’t even notice.’ Izzy spoke without thinking and then caught his searching glance. That was the danger of drink, she thought woozily. It brought your emotions right to the surface. ‘So all this “don’t use your mobile” stuff—you’re one of those people who believes in conspiracy theories?’

  ‘No, I’m one of those people who has had his phone tapped.’

  ‘Seriously? People listened in to your conversations? Were you saying something salacious at the time?’ Pleased with herself for having managed to worm such an impressive word into the conversation, she wriggled deeper into the luxurious seat. She’d show him that he wasn’t the only one who could use long words. ‘They can listen to my conversations if they want to. I hope they’re shocked. I don’t care what the media say about me.’

  ‘Of course you don’t.’ His derisory tone was a long way from complimentary. ‘You were created by the media. You depend on them for your survival. You obviously love the press and everything they can do for you.’

  His biting assessment of her situation was like a hard slap, all the more painful because it was partly true. She didn’t love the press, that wasn’t true, but she was savvy enough to know that publicity made a difference. It had taken her a year of hard knocks to learn that the press was not her friend. She knew now that just because they called her ‘Izzy’ and acted as if they were on her side, they weren’t.

  The notes faded from Izzy’s brain, as did the excitement of writing a new song.

  It had been a crazy fantasy to think Prince Matteo, friend to rock stars and royalty, would listen to her singing and be impressed. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion about the press, but don’t ever think you know me.’

  Look at me, I’m not who you see.

  Suddenly she wished she hadn’t worn the strawberry sequin dress. She’d been so excited about it when she’d noticed it in the store. It had been the sexiest dress she’d seen and when she’d tried it on she’d thought she looked like a popstar. But when she thought about the elegant, restrained clothes everyone else had worn she realised that she’d got it wrong again. She’d stood out for all the wrong reasons.

  Izzy blinked rapidly as she remembered the condescending glances and the barely concealed smirks. It would have taken more than the right dress to make her fit in. Her whole look was wrong. She didn’t have a slim, aristocratic face like so many of the women at the engagement party. Her cheeks were round and her nose turned up at the end. They had smooth, perfect hair. Hers insisted on curling. Theirs was golden or glossy brown—hers looked as if she’d rolled in a vat of strawberries. At school she’d been given a detention for colouring her hair and no amount of protestation on her part had convinced the headmistress that Izzy Jackson had developed pink streaks in her hair at the age of three. Apparently her grandmother’s hair had been the same.

  Most of the time she told herself that she didn’t care. But creative, dreamy Izzy, for all her bounce and outgoing nature, was extremely sensitive.

  Look at me, I’m not who you see, Deep inside there’s someone else, longing to break free.

  Maybe there were advantages to being forced to hide out at his palazzo, she mused.

  She could just work on her song until it was perfect. She’d write something so amazing that people had to listen. And maybe, just maybe, she could persuade the Prince of Darkness to at least let her help with the final preparations for the Rock ‘n’ Royal concert. Perhaps he’d even get her a ticket!

  Cheered by that thought, Izzy allowed herself a tiny dream where she was backstage chatting with her favourite stars.

  Every year since she was a teenager she’d watched the concert live on TV. The event was giant, backed by his friend the famous music producer Hunter Capshaw, who was a genius at staging live events. She’d read that the two of them already had the biggest names in the industry signed up and willing to donate their time for such a good cause. Rock royalty. Not national jokes, like her.

  Without thinking, Izzy slid her hand to her hem and tried to tug her dress a little further down her thighs.

  The prince caught the movement and his head turned, his dark gaze flitting over her.

  Their eyes met briefly.

  Heart pounding, she found herself looking at the sensual curve of his mouth and for a fleeting, unsettling second she had a wild impulse to lean forward and kiss him just to see how it felt.

  Shaken by the intensity of that sexual connection, she looked away quickly.

  The man had no sense of fun and he was so maddeningly sure of himself she wanted to punch him. Having never before wanted to punch someone and kiss them at the same time, Izzy decided that she must be more drunk than she’d first thought.

  She tried telling herself that arrogance wasn’t attractive but even so she was sneaking looks at the dusky shadow roughening his jaw and the width of those powerful shoulders.

  Seriously disturbed by her own thoughts, Izzy wriggled to the furthest edge of her seat and hoped that her reaction was somehow linked with the volume of champagne she’d consumed because being stupid about a man definitely wasn’t one of her goals. She’d already made that mistake and she never, ever made the same mistake twice.

  ‘So is it always like that?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Royal events.’ She thought about the frozen features, the restrained behaviour. ‘About as much fun as holding a party in a cemetery, although come to think of it lots of the women did look like skeletons. Why wasn’t there any proper food?’

  ‘There were canapés.’

  ‘Which no one was eating. No one was doing anything except standing around looking like wax models of themselves. What’s the point of a party if no one enjoys them
selves? No one let themselves go.’

  ‘You more than compensated for the rest of the guests.’

  She shot him a defiant look but shame oozed through the defiance because underneath the alcohol-induced high she knew she’d behaved badly. The crazy thing was, she hadn’t meant to.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a crime to enjoy yourself at a party. So doesn’t anyone ever have a good time at a royal event? With your never-ending budget you ought to be throwing the best parties in town.’

  ‘Royal events are for other people.’

  They were out of the city now, and speeding down a narrow road that started to climb.

  Izzy realised she didn’t have a clue where they were going. This was her first visit to the small Mediterranean principality of Santina and she knew nothing about the geography.

  ‘What do you mean “for other people”?’

  ‘We don’t hold, or attend, events for our own entertainment. There’s always a reason. A state visit, to support a charity, to thank a section of the community, to show we’re interested—’ he shifted gear and accelerated out of a sharp bend ‘—there’s a never-ending list of reasons.’

  ‘And tonight was the engagement of your brother and my sister.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hearing something in his voice she leapt to the defence of her sister. ‘He’s lucky to have Allegra. She’s worth a hundred of those judgemental, stuck-up skinny women back at that party.’ She’d expected her hotheaded defence of her family to draw a sarcastic response but this time when he turned his head there was no sign of condescension or arrogance.

  ‘I hope you’re right because Alex can’t afford for this to go wrong. None of us can.’ He focused on the road again but the frown stayed on his face. ‘Did anything seem strange to you about the engagement?’

  ‘Apart from the fact my sister must be mad to marry a prince? No. Why?’

  The pause was fractional. ‘No reason.’

  ‘Clearly there is a reason or you wouldn’t have asked the question.’ Although her head was spinning, Izzy felt a flash of unease. ‘Allegra would never marry him if she didn’t love him. And he must love her back or he wouldn’t marry her.’

  ‘You think love conquers all?’ This time his smile was sardonic. ‘How old are you?’

  Stung by the mockery, Izzy gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter what she said or did, he still managed to make her feel small. ‘Old enough to know that you and I trapped together is a recipe for disaster. And just for the record I think love is the only reason to get married. There is no other reason.’ She thought about her parents and then immediately pushed the thought away because the reality of their marriage clashed so badly with her own ideals. If she ever reached the point when she was ready for another relationship then she was going to do everything differently.

  The prince kept his eyes on the road. ‘So you believe in fairy tales?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I said I believed in love, although just for the record I think it’s hard to find. Also for the record I’d like to say that you are the most cynical guy I’ve ever met and you have an unfortunate tendency to stereotype everyone at first glance. Now just drop me off in the next village and I’ll find myself somewhere to stay. That way we just might not kill each other.’

  ‘We just drove through the last village. There is nowhere to drop you.’

  ‘What village?’ Izzy turned her head to look over her shoulder and then wished she hadn’t as her brain suddenly felt fuzzy. ‘I saw two houses. Or was it one house and I have double vision?’

  ‘For the rest of your stay you are drinking water.’

  ‘Just as long as you have a nice slice of stale bread to go with it.’ But Izzy was starting to realise that her stay with the prince wasn’t likely to be diluted by the presence of other people. ‘When you said you lived miles from anywhere you weren’t joking.’

  ‘I rarely joke.’

  She looked at his black dinner jacket. ‘I thought you were in the air force. Why aren’t you wearing a fancy uniform?’

  ‘I left active service five years ago. Now I advise the DD.’

  ‘DD?’ She tried to get her spinning brain round it. ‘Dear Daughter?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Defence Department.’

  ‘Oh. Cool.’ Izzy peered into the darkness and saw nothing but tall cypress trees and olive groves. ‘So do you spend a lot of time here?’

  ‘As much as I can. I value my privacy.’ His eyes glittered with a dark emotion that was alien to her. There were dark layers to the man that were hidden away, buried deep beneath a royal exterior that no observer was allowed to penetrate.

  Izzy recognised instinctively how complex he was and the gulf between them widened because she knew that she wasn’t at all complex.

  Her school report came to mind.

  Isabelle is as shallow as a bird bath but is unlikely to provide even that useful service unless she gives up dreams of stardom and attempts to make something of her life.

  She’d been determined to prove them wrong but so far she wasn’t making much progress.

  ‘Look, I’ll just phone a taxi or something when we get to your place,’ she muttered. ‘It would be better for both of us. I can take care of myself.’

  ‘You’ll stay at my palazzo until I’ve decided what to do with you.’

  Like a piece of rubbish, Izzy thought, that needed recycling. Which bin do I throw her in? Plastics or green waste? ‘Right, because we both know I’m really going to fit in there. I can’t think of anything I’d love more than being trapped somewhere isolated with just you for company.’ Her singsong response was supposed to conceal how hurt she was but she saw his eyes narrow speculatively.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought a woman who chose to wear a strapless dress made from nothing but sequins cared too much about fitting in.’

  ‘Well, that shows you know nothing about women.’

  ‘Funnily enough I thought I knew a great deal about women. Apparently I was wrong.’ His voice was a lazy masculine drawl and her spine tingled.

  ‘If the women there tonight are the sort you’ve been mixing with it’s no wonder you’re ignorant. They weren’t really women. They didn’t smile or laugh, except when they were laughing at me,’ she muttered, ‘and frankly I’m fed up with being the butt of everyone’s humour. That’s why I’d rather you dropped me off here. Let’s face it, we have nothing in common. I’ll just mess up your precious palazzo and although I’m pretty robust all this frowning disapproval is starting to get to me. I don’t want to leave the island with confidence issues.’

  He shot her a look. ‘I cannot imagine you suffering from confidence issues.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Izzy said darkly. ‘Sometimes I feel as though the whole world is frowning at me. Like now, for instance. You keep looking at my dress as if you can’t quite believe your eyes. You’re obviously deeply prejudiced towards sequins.’

  ‘They’re not exactly subtle.’

  ‘So? I love this dress.’ She refused to apologise for it. ‘And it’s hypocritical of you to be superior given all the bling you royals own.’

  He shifted gears, that strong male hand alarmingly close to her knee. ‘I own “bling”?’

  ‘Did you see that sparkly tiara thing your mother was wearing this evening?’

  ‘That “tiara thing” was a gift from a sixteenth century British monarch.’

  ‘Well, it was sparklier than anything I own so it’s a bit hypocritical of everyone to turn their noses up at my love of shiny things just because some of us can’t afford the real thing. A party needs sparkle and yours didn’t have anywhere near enough. Talking of which, you do realise that I don’t have any luggage, don’t you? So unless you happen to own something that might fit me I’m going to be wearing this not-exactly-subtle dress every day I’m in captivity.’

  ‘You are not in captivity.’

  ‘So I can leave whenever I like?’

  There was a brief pause. �
�No. The focus needs to be on my brother and your sister. Not you.’

  ‘So I am in captivity.’

  ‘Consider it a holiday. You were planning to stay in the hotel for a week. We’ve merely altered the destination and I can assure you that the coastline around my palazzo is stunning. My staff are currently in the process of transferring your luggage—please tell me you own something that doesn’t sparkle.’ His gaze flickered to hers and she felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the air because there was something in that look that made her stomach flip.

  Even without a smile on his face he was indecently, impossibly sexy.

  ‘Do pyjamas count?’ It was a good job she could never fall for a man without a sense of humour, Izzy thought shakily, otherwise she’d be in deep trouble. And she’d thought she’d been too badly hurt to even look at a man again. It was the champagne. Surely it was the champagne.

  ‘Your pyjamas are the only clothes you own that don’t sparkle?’ His gaze skidded to hers and she turned scarlet, wishing she’d never mentioned pyjamas.

  Tension throbbed between them and Izzy bit back a wild laugh because even she recognised that the attraction between them was beyond inconvenient. And she didn’t welcome it any more than he did. Her last relationship had been an utter disaster, the fallout from it played out across the world’s media. She had no intention of providing more relationship fodder for public entertainment.

  What might have happened next she had no idea because a pair of enormous gates manned by armed security guards swung open and the car sped through the gates without slowing down. Impressed in spite of herself, Izzy sat tensely as they sped down a tree-lined avenue that eventually opened out into a magnificent courtyard dominated by an illuminated fountain.