Page 25 of Crowned For The King's Secret

‘My apartment. I thought we could have a meal on the terrace.’

‘Couldn’t we have had dinner in the dining room?’

He stiffened, the slightest tension entering his pose. ‘Some of the palace was allowed to fall into disrepair over twenty-five years. Much of it needs extensive renovation, and we’re still finding some of the original furniture in the cellars.’

She didn’t move. ‘Why yoursuite? Your private rooms? It’s not exactly neutral.’

He narrowed his eyes. Tilted his head to one side. ‘There’s a problem?’

‘Can I trust you?’

He reared back, before collecting himself. A look passed across his face, almost like a flinch. There was a pain there, and a tiredness too, a heaviness about him, as though the world weighed him down.

‘After what’s happened, I understand why you wouldn’t. Trust is earned, and I know I’ve broken yours. I’m trying to make amends. If you’re not comfortable, we can go to my office. Ask my staff to bring the dinner there. It would be a shame to miss the meal Michel was excited to cook for us, because I didn’t consider how you might feel in less than neutral territory.’

What he said seemed real, genuine. His stance was open, his posture as relaxed as she’d ever seen it.

‘There’s no real neutral territory in the palace.’

‘Perhaps I should have flown you to dine in Switzerland instead.’

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed then and so did he. A tiny moment of humour breaking the pressing tension, giving her more clarity. If he was trying to make amends, then didn’t it make sense for her to hear what he had to say?

‘Michel would have been devastated if you’d done that. I’d hate to disappoint him. We can eat here.’

Sandro nodded. ‘Thank you. Please. Come through.’

Sandro motioned to large glass doors, sheer curtains in front of them drifting from a breeze. He led her through to a large marble terrace, overlooking some expansive gardens lit up with beautifully placed lighting. Huge pots of olive trees and flowers adorned the space. Candles flickered about the terrace, and along the balustrade. The scene it all set was intimate, as if it was arranged for seduction rather than practical conversation.

Sandro looked about the area, eyes widening a fraction almost as if he was surprised. On a small, intimate table for two sat what looked like a luscious antipasto platter. Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten much all day. A staff member in a neat black uniform appeared from the shadows.

‘Would you like a drink? Champagne? Red wine? Something else?’ Sandro asked.

Around him she didn’t want to let her guard down.

‘Do you have some sparkling mineral water?’

She was handed an icy cold glass and took a sip. Sandro asked for a red wine. As they sat at the table, the staff member bowed and left. She picked up some of the meats and cheeses for herself. The night wrapped round them, quiet and dark, the candles and carefully placed lighting painting everything in a warm glow.

‘Nic seems to like Isadora,’ Sandro said.

‘She is very good with him.’ Which in many ways Victoria loathed, but no one could ever take away that she was Nic’s mother. Although that old insecurity rose again. ‘But she’s not me. I never wanted to subcontract the care of my child to another person. I know what it’s like to have that happen. It’s...lonely.’

‘You were raised by nannies?’ Sandro took a long sip of his wine, pinned her with his intense blue gaze.

She took a deep breath. This wasn’t something she really wanted to talk about. He’d invited her here with things to say and she’d come here to listen. She wasn’t supposed to be telling her story. But still, he’d asked a question, and it might make him understand why she’d been so resistant to Dora’s presence in the beginning.

‘At times. My father was Ambassador to many countries, primarily Lauritania. My brother travelled with them. They said it was important that he learn about other places, diplomacy. My father always said Lance would be prime minister one day.’

‘Did he want to be?’

She shook her head. ‘Never. He rebelled in his own way.’

He’d become a complete rogue, for the tabloids at least. To her, he was her beloved big brother who’d tried to help her pick up the pieces of her life, as much as she’d tried to protect him from it. Was he worried about her now? He’d tried so hard to help her get back on track, and she had promised herself after Bruce had died she’d never give Lance anything to worry about ever again...

Vic stopped, took a slow, settling breath. A sip of sparkling water. They were thoughts for later, and she tried to concentrate on now.

‘What about you?’ Sandro asked.

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