Page 5 of Off-Limits To The Crown Prince

Her nostrils flared, and her eyes sparked at the mention of increasing her fee. Avarice was something he understood, a common currency, and he was happy to fuel it so long as it was legal and he got his way in the end. His former girlfriend, Allegra, was a perfect study in how money won over loyalty. Luckily he had more than the reporter had offered for a story on how his father had been picking gems from the crown jewels and giving them away as favours. Replacing them with paste. He’d never forgotten the lessons learned in that episode about unburdening yourself to the wrong person.

Hannah opened her mouth to speak. Alessio held up his hand, because there was more.

‘Butyou accompany me as official palace artist in residence. You won’t receive a better offer from any other client,’ he said with a smile which felt like victory. ‘Take it...or leave it.’

CHAPTER TWO

HANNAHSQUIRMED,TRYINGto get comfortable in the chair on which she’d been directed to sit by Alessio’s secretary. Who’d have thought something so ornate, with all its carved wood and brocade upholstery, could be so hard and uncompromising? A bit like its owner, and maybe that was the point. Being left like this to awaitHis Highnessheld all the appeal of that one time she’d been sent to the headmaster at her austere boarding school for‘having your head in the clouds rather than in reality, Miss Barrington’.No sympathy for the plight of a teenager who’d been ripped from everything she knew and loved.

She’d received a detention that day for telling him that reality sucked. After losing her parents, her imagination was a safer place to reside. Drawing obsessively. Trying to remember every line of their faces as the memories faded. The love she saw when they’d looked at her, rather than the feigned interest of her uncle and aunt.

She shut those thoughts down. They had no place here.

Hannah stared at the looming oak doors of what she’d been told was the Prince’s office. Everything seemed to loom in an ominous way here, in this imposing castle which rose from a landscape of olive groves and vineyards in turreted glory. Hannah worried at a tiny thread which dared to loosen itself from the chair’s rich brocade. Her imagination didn’t seem safe now, with Hannah spending far too much time dreading the shape of the next fortnight. Alessio was a reminder of that day, of all she’d lost. She took a deep breath, chased away old memories of her time before the accident when her reality had allowed her to dream of princes who set her heart fluttering complicated rhythms. Of a time when her parents had said she could have anything she wanted if she dared to dream, such as one day riding for her country as Alessio did. Thoughts of a timebeforehadstarted nipping her heels with her arrival in Lasserno polished, primped and plucked. Sue had taken to Prince Arcuri’s invitation with an unhealthy enthusiasm, seeing it as her only chance to turn Hannah into something she was not—a woman of the world.

Hannah looked down at her hands. They were almost as unrecognisable as the rest of her with manicured nails, moisturised cuticles and not a stain of paint to be seen. Her hair had been stylishly trimmed, and brows sculpted to perfection. At home in England Hannah never needed much. No fancy dresses or make-up. Simple food on the table. She didn’t go out. Her life was paint and canvas, palette and brush. Her art was her work and her work was her life, but Alessio’s commission dictated there were some things she required.

New clothes to suit the list of occasions he’d sent were packed in a large suitcase. Well, not exactly new. Her uncle’s duplicity meant haunting charity shops, but with a bit of inventive tailoring she’d come up with a wardrobe that would satisfy the eyewatering requirements of His Royal Highness, the proverbial pain in her backside. But, standing in front of a mirror this morning in her jeans and boots, tailored navy jacket with crisp white blouse, she’d been unrecognisable. Hannah didn’t know who the person was, staring back at her. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

One of the oak doors glided open. Her stomach twisted into sharp, complicated knots as Stefano stepped into the hall. She’d come to know him a little over the past week when she’d been getting everything in order to come here. His missives had been polite, his manner on the phone efficient, sympathetic and kind, but she’d been able to glean nothing about his employer from him. All she’d discovered had been found online.

That the press believed the man’s austere demeanour hid greater sins.

‘His Highness will see you now.’

She walked through the open door and it thudded shut behind her. She took a few steps over the plush crimson carpet then stopped, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the room.

Magnificent frescoes covered the ceiling. Adorning the walls were paintings of what must have been former rulers. Uniformed and striking a pose, warriors on horseback with swords drawn, all staring down in their own princely kind of way from their vast gilded frames. But more magnificent than anything else in the opulent space was a man lit up in a shaft of sunlight like a god. Standing behind an expansive antique desk, he outshone any of his forebears, more regal than all of them put together in his dark suit and ultramarine tie.

She almost forgot herself as she stared, Alessio’s black hair gleaming, his intense eyes hooded and assessing, the slash of one aristocratic eyebrow raised quizzically. What were all those rules she had to remember again? Sensible thought had fled. Before she made a total fool of herself, she gave a hasty curtsey because it seemed the thing to do, then hurried towards the desk. He made some dismissive waving kind of motion which she took to mean,Have a seat, and sank into the armchair opposite. Just in time, because her legs seemed like overcooked noodles in their inability to hold her up. The corner of his mouth threatened an almost smile, and her heart skipped a few beats, its rhythm constantly out of synch in his presence.

‘You had a good flight?’

‘The royal jet was an extravagance.’ With all its buttery leather and plush carpets. She’d been treated like a princess by the efficient flight crew. ‘I could have flown commercial.’

‘Think of it as a reward for uprooting your life over the next fortnight. I trust your other clients weren’t too disappointed about your upcoming absence.’

She noticed it wasn’t spoken as a question.

Positively enthusiastic had been the general response. The Prince had been irritatingly right. They all saw the value of their own portraits increasing because she’d agreed to take on the commission. She’d been surprised they hadn’t met her at the airport and thrown streamers in a grand farewell as she boarded the aircraft. She shook her head, which earned her another tilt of his mouth in what she suspected was Alessio’s version of a smile. Her silly little heart tripped over itself at how the tiny move softened every harsh feature on his face to something more. More handsome, more vital, more...human.

But this man wasn’t human, he was a prince. Unattainable. Untouchable. As a young girl she dreamed of princes, but dreams didn’t make reality. She could never forget it.

He sat in the leather chair at his desk. Even that move was perfectly executed. ‘I thought we would have a brief discussion about expectations whilst you’re here.’

‘You mean, in addition to the indexed folder I was given on the plane?’ There seemed to be so many dizzying rules and requirements, how to address staff, what to wear. An agenda for almost every minute of the day. It was no wonder the man in front of her looked so serious. There didn’t seem to be a moment when he sat still, apart from when he was asleep, because the time he ‘retired’ had been scheduled in as well. When was there ever space to simplybe? Sit on a comfortable couch, with a warm drink in hand, and stare out of a window at a view. Imagine...a different life.

She looked at him, sitting straight and perfect and still. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in his shirt. As if he were carved out of painted stone. It seemed he was more statue than flesh and blood.

How exhausting.

‘At all times, your behaviour reflects on me. I ask you to recognise that and adjust your manner accordingly.’

She sat up a little straighter in her seat, the heat flaming in her cheeks. A slice of something hot and potent cutting through her. ‘I might not be aristocracy but I wasn’t brought up in a shoebox. I know how to behave in civilised society.’

He cocked his head. Those umber eyes of his fixed on her with an almost otherworldly intensity. ‘How gratifying to hear. When we’re in public together, you’ll walk behind me. The only woman who will ever walk at my side is my princess.’

‘So where is this princess now? Do I get to meet her too?’

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