Page 7 of Lorenzo & Lily

“By who?”

Her head turned away and down, her falling hair hiding her from his view. “Does it matter?”

“Fuck yes, it matters.” He heard a throat clear behind him, and his head whipped around to Jones, who gestured down the beach.

They weren’t alone anymore, and his voice had clearly been too loud as the others on the beach were looking right at them. Liliana, thankfully, was oblivious to his outburst and was digging in the sand.

“We can’t have this conversation here. Where do you live? I’ll come by tonight.”

Her eyes met his again. “Lily will be there.”

“I know. I think when we tell her I’m her father and that she’s a princess, she may want familiar and comforting surroundings.”

She sucked in a breath. “Lorenzo–”

His hand sliced through the air. “No. It ends today. She finds out today. She’ll have plenty of time to get used to me at the castle once you both move in.” He hadn’t realized he’d made that decision until the words flew from his mouth, but they were true. He had to keep her close, keep them both close.

She took a step back and his eyes narrowed. “We can’t–”

“You can. And you will.”

“The public, the press–”

“Will find out that their playboy prince has had an illegitimate child. You can’t hide shit like this for long. In the castle, she’ll be protected, and so will you. Speaking of, you’ll have an agent following you both, effective immediately.”

“Stop. You can’t.”

“I can’t what? I can’t protect my daughter? I can’t protect you?”

She gripped the blanket tighter. “Please, just listen to me.”

“You’ve had years to explain things to me. Now, you can wait until tonight, when I’m cooled down enough to hear it. What is your address?”

She reluctantly told him; it was only a few kilometers from where they stood, and from his castle.

She’d been so close. They’d both been so close.

He was never letting them go again.

She looked at Liliana, then back to him. “I don’t get home from work until about six-thirty. Could you come around seven? That’ll give me time to settle her and give her a bath.”

“Work? Do you mean your volunteer work?”

She shook her head. “No, I have a job. I’m the event planner at a nearby hotel.”

His eyes widened as his anger dissipated. When he’d known her, her parents – who were of the high society Rome-based Brionnes – would never have allowed their daughter to earn her living. “I’ll be there at seven. We tell her together, do you understand me?”

She nodded, her face still troubled. “Lorenzo–”

“And that’s another thing. Why didn’t you let me tell her my name?”

“She knows.”

“Knows what?”

“She knows her father’s name is Lorenzo.”

He sucked in a breath. “She knows about me?”

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