A man in a colorful palace uniform beckoned her. Only then did it dawn on her that they’d arrived at the Cavelli Palace. The Moorish fortress sat at the highest point of the city, its white walls gleaming in both sun and moonlight. It commanded sweeping views of the sea and sparkled like a diamond in the center of a pendant. She’d gazed at it for two days, wondering if Nico was here, what he was doing, if he ever thought of her.
She’d certainly gotten her answer, hadn’t she?
She was hurried through a door and down a series of corridors, finally arriving at closed gilt double doors. The palace guard rapped and spoke in Italian. A moment later a voice answered, and the doors swung open.
Blood rushed to Lily’s head as she crossed the threshold. The room was a confection of ornate Moorish arches, mosaics, antiques, priceless artwork, and tapestries. The gilt alone could pay for Danny’s college tuition wherever he chose to go. A massive crystal chandelier threw glittering light into every corner. Her senses were overwhelmed as she tried to take it all in.
The doors clicked shut behind her and she whirled, her gaze colliding with that of the man’s walking in from an adjoining room.
If he wanted to intimidate her, he was doing a fine job. He was tall and broad, his body encased in a glittering uniform that surprised her with its ornate formality. A red sash crossed from his right shoulder to his waist. The uniform was dark, black or navy, and studded with gold. Medals draped across his chest in a colorful row of ribbons and polished silver discs and stars. A saber, dripping with tassels, was strapped to his side.
He lifted his hands and peeled off first one white glove and then the other while she gaped. He tossed them onto a chair with the hat she hadn’t noticed before.
Desperately, Lily tried to conjure the image of the somewhat shaggy-haired student she’d thought him to be in New Orleans. He’d smiled a lot then. Laughed. How could this person be the same? Did he have a twin, perhaps? A twin who’d given her a false name?
For once, she wished she’d read more about him. Her knowledge was limited to gossip magazines and celebrity websites. She’d steadfastly refused to find out anything more once she’d discovered just how colossal a mistake in judgment she’d made. What good would it have done to pour over his biography when she was never going to see him again? Lily Morgan and a prince. Yeah, that was freaking hilarious.
“This is what is going to happen,” Nico said coolly. “You are going to answer me truthfully and completely, and then you will call your friend Carla—”
“I want to call her now,” Lily said firmly, only mildly surprised he knew her best friend’s name. He’d been busy the last few hours, that’s for sure. “She must be frantic with worry, and I want to know my son is well.”
Nico held up a hand. “All in good time, signorina. First you answer my question, and then you call.”
Lily was tired and achy from too little sleep and the cold prison cell, and her head still throbbed dully. Her temper was on its last thread, and she no longer cared if she was talking to a prince or not. He put his pants on the same way as everyone else—not to mention he’d once deigned to sleep with her—so that gave her as good a reason as any to speak to him as an equal. “I’m calling her now, or I’m not answering.”
Nico’s eyes gleamed with suppressed annoyance. “You do not wish to test me, signorina. Your position is precarious enough, do you not think?”
Lily’s chin nudged up a notch. “What do you plan to do, throw me back in the dungeon?”
“Perhaps. Trafficking in stolen antiquities is a significant crime in Montebianco. We take our heritage very seriously here.”
Lily’s right temple pounded. “I didn’t steal anything. If you check with the street vendor, you’ll know it’s the truth.”
“We are having some difficulty locating him. Not to mention that street vendors do not typically sell priceless artworks as if they are cheap trinkets.”
“You’re lying.” The man had a stall in the market, for goodness sake. How hard was it to find him again?
“I assure you I am not. He seems to have disappeared. If ever he was there in the first place.”
Lily’s bravado leached away under the weight of his arrogant surety. She was too tired to fight him, and too worried about her baby to care about matching wits with this cold-blooded man any longer. She just wanted it over with. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“I want you to tell me if this child is mine.”
Lily’s lungs refused to work properly. Liquid fear softened her spine, her knees, but somehow she remained upright. “What kind of question is that?” she asked on little more than a whisper.
His eyes flashed fire. “It is the kind of question you will answer truthfully if you wish to remain free.”
She nearly choked. “You call this free?”
“Lily,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. And something else. Pain? Weariness?
She swallowed, dropped her gaze to study the tiles at her feet. Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. It was the moment of truth, the one she’d never thought would come. Would he somehow care for her and Danny? Would he help them and be a father to her boy?
Of course he wouldn’t. He was marrying a princess, God help the poor woman, and he wasn’t about to change his ways just because he had yet another child in this world. He might give her money to take care of Danny, but Lily knew that everything came with a price. She’d basically taken care of herself since she was fifteen years old, and she would continue to take care of herself and her baby on the strength of her will and determination. She would not accept handouts from this man.
A finger under her chin tipped her head up. She hadn’t realized he’d moved so close. The touch stung, brought memories to the surface she’d rather forget. His eyes were mesmerizing, as pale and blue as a winter lake. She’d wanted to drown in them once. Wanted to drown in him.
Part of her still did.
“Why does it matter?” she said, fighting a wave of panic.
His gaze never wavered, piercing her to the core. The contrast of his soft words was jarring to her senses. “Is this boy mine?”
In a split second, a million possible outcomes crossed her mind. And yet there was only one answer she could give, no matter how it tortured her to do so. “Yes,” she whispered.
She was utterly still as his hand dropped. A moment later, while time stood still, he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I remember this hair,” he said softly. “It is still like the finest silk in my hands.”
He’d moved closer still, his body mere fractions away. The hilt of his sword grazed her beneath the ribs. “You remember?” she said, then cursed herself for sounding so desperate for an affirmative answer.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered long enough that warmth blossomed between her thighs. Had she ever been kissed so thoroughly as when he’d kissed her? She stared at his lips, remembering the first brush of them. Remembering how his tongue dipped in to stroke her own, the way she’d sighed and opened to him, the utter rush of desire that flooded her as the kiss deepened into something that left them both gasping for breath and sanity when it was through.
He smelled so good, like citrus and spice and warm Mediterranean nights. She wanted to lean into him, wanted to kiss him again, wanted to know if what she’d felt with him had been real or a fluke.