Page 22 of The Prince's Green Card Scheme

So why does it feel like it’s come at a cost?

CHAPTER 11

PAOLO

“Passport?” the customs officer asks as I step up to the desk.

This seemed like such a good idea yesterday. But today, all I have is questions. What if I get recognized? What if I get thrown out? What if the passport doesn’t work?

I’m kind of hoping that people round here have forgotten about me while I’ve been gone. I doubt I’ll have been forgotten completely, but at least I won’t be front-page headlines anymore, so I won’t be at the front of anyone’s mind. People are remarkably good at not paying attention.

“All right, sir, you’re good to go. Enjoy your stay in Bellamare,” the officer says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Thank you,” I breathe, hoping my relief isn’t too obvious. But if the officer notices it, she doesn’t comment.

As I head through the airport, I feel like I could be dancing on clouds. I step out into the daylight and grin. I’m home. I can’t believe this is working.

Despite the fact that it’s summer, I pull my scarf around my face and push my glasses up my nose. Quickly, I flag down a taxi and jump in the back, keeping my sunglasses over my eyes for the whole journey. I can’t get recognized now. I’ve come too far for that.

I give the driver directions to the town just outside our stately home. I don’t want to direct him straight to the house. That would be suspicious. But if I head to the town, I can at least walk up to the palace without too much hassle.

Fortunately, the driver says nothing to me on the journey, so all I do is stare in silence out of the window for forty minutes, watching the green fields go by, making out the ocean in the distance. I’ve missed this place so much more than I realized.

When the driver pulls into the town, I thank him and hand him his fare in cash. Then I jump out, shoving my hands in my pockets as he drives away.

Then I start hiking up to my home.

I didn’t even bring a bag. After a ten-hour flight, that’s starting to look like an oversight now. I guess I was assuming that my parents were just going to let me back in the house so I could pick up all my old stuff again.

That’s assuming that they even stillhaveany of my old stuff. What if they threw it all out with me?

As I approach the door, my heart starts pounding in my chest. Maybe this is a really, really bad idea. It’s not like anyone’s going to want to see me. That’s why they got rid of me in the first place.

I pace back and forth for a while at the door, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to whoever opens it. At least it won’t be my parents. It’s not like the king answers his own front door.

If I’m lucky, it will be one of the staff who used to like me.

If I’m not lucky, it’ll be one of my brothers.

At least if it’s Miguel or Luca, our screaming match will bring someone running.

Finally, I raise my fist and do it. I hammer on the door seven or eight times, not intending to stop until someone comes for me.

When Maria opens the door, I let out a cry of surprise. Her mouth drops open in shock, her hands falling limp at her side. “Prince Paolo?” she asks, almost whispering. “Can it really be you?”

I nod, releasing the breath I’d been holding. I smile. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m home.”

Her face quickly changes from delight to a panicked fury. “Come, come,” she says, ushering me inside. “What on earth are you doing here? By the saints, have you been seen? You’re going to be in such trouble.”

“I know,” I groan, running my hand through my hair. “But I had to come back. I’m a different person now. I promise. I want to do better. I want to pay my respects to Grandfather. I want to prove myself.”

“It’s not me that you have to persuade,” she says, leading me through the house.

I grimace, knowing that she’s right.

“We should hide you,” she says as we step into one of the small, unused rooms near the kitchens.

This stately home is one of those built so many years ago, when servitude was still meant staff running around houses through secret passages so they couldn’t be seen by the aristocracy. We still call those staff servants today, but that’s mostly a linguistic thing now.

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