Page 61 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

He might not have been able to have her in his life but he’d wanted so badly to help her and he did what he could.

That first week he’d had his own head of security recommend a good man to her ministers. Tomasz, once formally hired, had gathered a strong team around his new employer and Leo had felt some relief knowing she was at least well protected.

The research he’d ordered on her prime minister proved what he’d already believed from the conversation they’d had. She had a capable, honest and loyal man advising her.

He’d have poured money into her little, broke state but even concealing company behind company it would only take one determined journalist to uncover the truth, as inevitably someone would, and Leo would be accused of trying to annexe the duchy by stealth.

Instead he’d contacted everyone with wealth and influence that he knew. Charming, cajoling, or bluntly calling in favours so that she’d get the assistance she needed. Offers of help began landing on the desk of her finance minister. For who’d dare risk alienating the powerful Prince of Grimentz by refusing?

There was nothing official to be done about her uncle. The man had made poor choices, not illegal ones. For a time he’d caused as much fuss as possible. He’d released his autobiography filled with ‘secrets’ that had painted the Della Torres as grasping imbeciles and his youngest niece the worst of all, causing a storm across the world.

But she’d weathered it. His brave, beautiful girl had weathered it all. Her people had closed ranks around her, lent her their strength, and she’d emerged stronger and more popular still.

Her uncle, however, had found suddenly that he was no longer welcome in any of the grand houses of Europe. In the States his lucrative second book deal had been cancelled and across the world invites for interviews and TV appearances had gradually dried up. There didn’t seem to be any connection. Who had that wide an influence?

One man perhaps. You made an enemy of the Prince of Grimentz—or hurt something he cared about—and you’d come to regret it.

The two countries had retained the new kinship that had emerged from the storm. Some that had come to help with the rescue efforts had stayed. Others invited to take temporary refuge in San Nicolo had decided not to return. There’d been numerous marriages and many babies now on the way.

Children.

He’d never imagined he’d feel the profound lack of a child in his life. Not just because he needed an heir, but because he wanted to be a father.

Leo closed his eyes, blocking out the view of San Nicolo.

No, that wasn’t accurate.

He didn’t just want to be a father. He wanted to be the father of Violetta’s children.

But of course that couldn’t happen. He wanted to have respect and admiration for his future princess but how Violetta made him feel was so much more than that. It gave her the power to hurt him and he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him again.

The May Ball was tonight. This year, not only was every citizen of Grimentz invited to the city for the festivities as usual, but, by way of a thank you for all their assistance since the storm, everyone from San Nicolo was also invited.

Their grand duchess, too.

They would finally meet again in person. It was time to let go of this infatuation. The May Ball would be the perfect opportunity for that. He might even discover she no longer held the fascination for him that she had.

He turned his back on the suite and its glorious view to Violetta’s standard sailing proudly in the spring breeze. Closed the door softly and vowed he wouldn’t cross the threshold again until his new princess was found and installed there.

It was well past time to move on.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LEOHADTRIEDon three tuxedos and rejected them all. Even his perfectionist valet was at a loss to the objections.

Something wrong with the fit. Shoulders weren’t sitting right. Not black enough, too black.

‘Too black?’ Matteo asked, looking at him as if he’d lost it. ‘May I remind sir, it’s ablacktieevent?’

‘I look too austere, too unapproachable. What about my white dinner jacket?’

His valet’s lips pursed in distaste.

‘Sir, if you insist on wearing the white dinner jacket this evening, then expect to find my letter of resignation on your desk in the morning. I would have no other choice.’

‘What sartorial faux pas has he threatened this time?’ said Seb, strolling in.

Dressed in an immaculate white dinner jacket.

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