Page 4 of His Royal Bride Replacement

With his assistance, Rosy stood upright and anchored the crutches to use as support. The Prince escorted her back out to the echoing foyer of the palace and signalled a young man, who came running, and instructed him to take Rosy back to her home.

Alessio strode back into his office, got on his phone to their resident tech expert and asked for a full background report to be done on Rosalia Castelli. He had no intention of making enquiries through the palace’s HR manager because that would ignite speculation. But there was no harm in satisfying his curiosity, he reasoned, and she was a mystery with her perfectly spoken Italian and her unexpectedly rich store of English curses, both accompanied by that edgy English accent catching on certain syllables.

Coffee was brought. He sipped, unwillingly reliving the accident. It had been a dangerous near miss. Rosy could’ve been badly hurt, could’ve ended up beneathhiswheels. He breathed in deep. She might be supple, slender and strong in appearance, but her actual build was slight, petite and fragile. Luckily, she was bashed and bruised and nothing worse. And why was he still worrying about her? She would be fine. She lived with her family. They would look after her. His family hadneverlooked after him, however…but the staffhad. Only she didn’t have staff. In a hotel though? Alessio stamped down hard on that inner flood of thoughts. He only knew that he had never wanted to give anyone a hug so badly…

* * *

‘Are you sure that you can manage?’ Vittoria checked.

‘Yes, go away while I check these accounts,’ Rosy urged, sitting back behind the desk, one ankle propped up on a stool. ‘I’ll be running around again by tomorrow. I’m feeling much better.’

‘Don’t overdo it,’ her sister warned her anxiously.

But Rosy was coping, and she liked to keep a close eye on the account books. Vittoria was an experienced hotel manager, well, she had done two years in a tiny London hotel, and Patrick was a chef. Neither one of them was any good at maths and neither one of them was much good at sticking to a budget. It was Rosy’s calculations that kept them on the straight and narrow. And in truth, the deeper she got into the books, the more she realised that those winter debts were still in there merely waiting to catch up with her sister and brother-in-law again. Only a fabulous summer season with a hotel crammed with high-spending guests would correct that before winter arrived along with the natural downturn in tourism.

Would she have agreed to throw her lot in with theirs had she known how challenging it would be? When their father had died and the house was left equally between the two sisters, Rosy had allowed her share to go in with her half-sister’s share to enable the purchase of the hotel in Sedovia. Why? Well, she hadn’t felt entitled to her share at all because that house had originally belonged to Vittoria’s mother, only her sister had insisted. Of course that was pure Vittoria, always generous, but no sense with money whatsoever. And here was Patrick spending on extravagant stuff like truffles and lobster because he was determined to make the restaurant super successful to bring in extra customers.

Rosy sighed and laid down her calculator, her head aching. It had been a tough week but her ankle was almost better. She had helped on Reception and prepared vegetables in the kitchen for Patrick, but she hadn’t been able-bodied enough to help with the bed changes or the laundry or the serving of meals and snacks. Vittoria was looking pale and stressed this week and she had been ill as well, even if, for some reason, she was keeping her apparently upset stomach a secret.

‘You didn’t get his autograph!’ Vittoria had exclaimed in disappointment when she’d heard about her sister’s actual face-to-face meeting with Prince Alessio. The Prince who was literally her sister’s idol, the perfect guy. And lifting Rosy off her feet into his sports car when she was injured had only gilded his reputation.

‘I don’t think he gives those.’

‘You don’t seem impressed,’ Vittoria had said in surprise.

‘No, heisgorgeous,’ Rosy had conceded, ‘no doubts about that. His photos don’t lie. And truthfully, he was much nicer and a lot less arrogant than I expected. He was kind and considerate but very polite and royally distant.’

‘Naturally.’ Vittoria had sighed. ‘He’s on the brink of marrying his princess…his childhood sweetheart.’

‘I don’t think I believe in that,’ Rosy had admitted with cynicism. ‘It’s much more likely that their parents looked at them—Eboltz with a daughter and Sedovia with a son—and decided it would be perfect if they married and united the two countries. I mean, Eboltz is the size of a postage stamp, so why not?’

Vittoria had frowned. ‘What about romance?’

Rosy had wrinkled her small, snub nose. ‘It’s my bet they’re making the best of things. Both rich as sin, both very attractive, both royal heirs. And he’s sown all his wild oats and presumably she has too.’

‘There’s never been an ounce of scandal about Princess Graziana. You’re such a sceptic, Rosy,’ her sibling had complained.

Rosy marvelled that she could evenbecynical, growing up as she had on a diet of sweet cartoons and romantic movies and novels. But then, actual romance had never come her way. At school she had stayed flat as a board, skinny and undeveloped and unsought-after by boys. University, when she had been studying for her fine art degree in London, had not been much more promising. She had male friends but more of the ‘good mates’ variety.

She had yet to pin down what it took for a man to attract her. Men who had demonstrated interest in her had withered in receipt of her lack of interest. Yet the Prince had what it took to attract her in spades, which mortified her. She wasn’t about to fangirl over him. That was only a physical thing, she reasoned uncomfortably, based on that long luxuriant hair, those stunning eyes of his and that very hot and seriously great physique he sported. If she hadn’t found him attractive, she wouldn’t be normal.

* * *

Alessio woke up the following morning to an unexpected text from Graziana, who was not in the habit of regular communication with him. Furthermore, the text had been sent in the middle of the night.

I’m sorry. I am so very sorry about this.

Alessio couldn’t even imagine Graziana voicing such an apologetic sentiment. As a rule, she was self-contained and never ever humble. What on earth did she mean?

CHAPTER TWO

Rosy walked outonto the portrait gallery to double-check the state of the wall to which the now restored portrait of the Prince’s great-grandfather would be returned when Lucy returned to work the next day.

Lucy Ragusa, her immediate boss, was a world-renowned art expert and restorer and, six months earlier, Rosy had been hired as her full-time assistant because the older woman had been unwell. Her failing eyesight was a not-so-secret secret within the small conservation department of the royal household. The job had been a golden opportunity for Rosy with the added benefit of receiving skilled training in her chosen field. She had learned so much in the past six months of working at the palace.

As she moved back towards the office she heard Prince Alessio’s distinctive dark, deep drawl carrying up from the museum on the floor below and she came to a sudden halt. Without hesitation, she leant over the gallery balustrade and stole a look. She needed to thank him for having her bike repaired and returned to her, but she didn’t want an audience. In truth her bike had had so much replaced and so much added it was like an entirely new bike.

Alessio stood below, black hair tousled, big wide shoulders encased in a khaki tee, faded fitted jeans sheathing his long strong legs. As he lounged back against a display table, soft fabric stretched across his taut abdominal muscles, her mouth ran suddenly dry. He shifted position, his powerful thighs flexing as someone unseen offered to fetch coffee and Rosy discovered that her eyes were locked to the Prince like superglue. With difficulty she shook her head and frowned at her distraction and headed straight for the stairs. He was within reach and alone and, according to his casual clothing, off duty. She would never get a better chance to thank him.

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