Page 32 of The Wanted Prince

“You won’t lose your family.”

“I could.” He looked up, despairing, his eyes dark with woe. “If I can’t clear my name, they might come to believe it. And I couldn’t go home, or go back to my work.”

“It won’t come to that. Who’s next on your list?”

Alessandro didn’t move, so I dug through his suitcase. I found the list in the pocket and smoothed it out. “Pedro, Francisco, next up is, uh… Maria Alessia Giovanna della Francisca. Who is she? What’d you do to offend her?”

Alessandro muttered something, too low to hear.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

He dug both hands deep into his tangled hair. “My ex-fiancée. I broke our engagement.”

I gaped for a moment, sure I’d misheard. His ex-fiancée? When had he been engaged? How had I never heard of her, or heard of the fallout? And how had he fallen for someone not me? And how was I jealous? He’d never been mine! But still… had he really? He’d fallen in love? Some other woman had captured his heart, and he’d proposed to her, and they’d nearly been married?

I stood as the bottom dropped out of my dream, and smiled like I didn’t care, because really, why should I?

“Your ex,” I said. “That should be a fun one.”

CHAPTER 12

ALESSANDRO

Getting to Maria wasn’t so easy.

Her father had once been a big-name director. Her mother was nobility in Santaviedo. Her Italian villa was tightly secured. No way could I catch her off guard like the others. The only way to see her was to reach out and ask, and hope my message made it through her ranks of assistants. I half-hoped it would and half-prayed it wouldn’t. Hers was the deepest wound and the most personal yet, to the point that if she’d framed me, I’d almost get it. She’d come up with a punishment to fit my crime.

Her response came through our third day in Modena, a one-line text from her assistant:

2 p.m. today at Due Girasoli. Ask for the Princess Suite.

Two hours later, we were parked in the street, scoping out the hotel she’d picked for our meeting.

“It’s quiet,” said Laura. “But it’s expensive.”

I knew what she was thinking: it was well-secured. There’d be no sneaking me in sight unseen. But that didn’t matter here. “It’s discreet,” I said. “Everyone working here works for Maria. It’s more than their jobs are worth to alert the press.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She’d been out of sorts since we arrived in Modena, tired from the road and all the hiding. I wanted to say something to cheer her up, but all I could think about was Maria. I’d played out our encounter a million times in my head, but in no version did it end well. In one version, she slapped me. In another, she cried. In the worst one, I confronted her and she looked up and smiled.

I’m just going to ask, was it you? Did you frame me?

Of course I did, darling. Now, try to prove it.

And she laughed and laughed, and I knew I was sunk. She had no mercy in her, nor did I deserve it.

“We should go up,” said Laura.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The hotel towered above us, all gleaming marble. A bird on a turret ruffled its wings, then it flapped off up the street to the east. I watched it go, then I drove up. The valet took my cheap rental with a look of distaste. At the front desk, I asked for the Princess Suite, and the blank-faced clerk nodded.

“Sixth floor. She’s expecting you.”

We rode up in silence, the floors blinking by. I tried to catch Laura’s eye, but she seemed distracted, fiddling first with her purse and then with her bracelet. Ten minutes from now, I knew she might hate me. She might never want to see me again. If I couldn’t forgive myself, why should she?

The doors slid open. I cleared my throat. Laura started for the Princess Suite, but I held her back.

“Wait, Laura…”

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