The Prince's Cinderella Bride. Christine Rimmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Two

      “What is going on in that head of yours?” Sydney O’Shea Bravo-Calabretti, formerly kick-ass corporate lawyer and currently Princess of Montedoro, demanded. “Something’s bugging you.” The women sat in kid-size chairs at the round table in the playroom of the villa Sydney and Rule had bought and remodeled shortly after their marriage two years before.

      Lani, holding Sydney’s one-year-old, Ellie, kissed the little one’s silky strawberry curls and lied without shame. “Nothing’s bugging me. Not a thing.”

      “Yes, there is. You’ve got this weird, worried, faraway look in your eye.”

      Okay, yeah. Yesterday’s confrontation with Max in the little stone house had seriously unnerved her. She’d thought about little else since then. She’d told no one what had happened on New Year’s, not even Sydney. And she never would. But she had to give Syd something, some reason she might be distracted—anything but the truth that, while Sydney and Rule and the kids were here at the family’s villa, Lani had led His Highness up to her room at the palace and done any number of un-nannylike things to his magnificent body.

      Limply, she offered, “Well, the current book is giving me fits.” That should fly. She was in the middle of writing the final book in a trilogy of historical novels set in Montedoro. Syd had been her best friend for seven years and knew that she could get pretty stressed out while struggling with the middle of a book where the story had a tendency to drag.

      Syd was so not buying. “The current book is always giving you fits. There’s something else.”

      Crap. Lani frowned and pretended to think it over for a minute. “No, really. It’s the book. That’s all. There’s nothing else.”

      “Yolanda Vasquez, you are lying through your teeth.”

      So much for the sagging-middle excuse. What to try next?

      No way was Lani busting herself. Syd had her back, always. But it was just too tacky to get into, the nanny-slash-wannabe-writer getting naked at New Year’s with the widowed heir to the throne—whom the whole world knew was still hopelessly in love with his lost wife. “Lying through your teeth,” she echoed brightly. “What does that mean, really? Some expressions are not only overused, they make no real sense. I mean, everything we say, we say through our teeth, right? I mean, unless we have no teeth.”

      Syd didn’t even crack a smile. “You think you’re distracting me from asking what’s up with you. You’re not.”

      “Nani, Nani...” Ellie squirmed around until she was facing Lani. Then she reached up her plump right hand and tried to stick her fingers into Lani’s mouth.

      Lani gummed them. “Mmm. Yummy, tasty little fingers...” Ellie giggled and bounced up and down. Lani kissed her again, that time on her button of a nose, after which she started squirming again and Lani hoisted her high. Ellie laughed in delight as Lani swung her to the floor.

      The little sweetheart was only thirteen months and already walking. For a moment, she wobbled, steadying herself on her fat little feet. And then she toddled to her brother’s open toy box and started rooting around in it.

      Syd’s phone chirped. A text. She took it out and read the message. “Rule. He won’t be home till after seven.” She started composing a reply. Lani breathed a cautious sigh of relief that the subject of what could be bothering her was closed.

      Over at the toy box, Ellie pulled out a soft green rubber turtle, which she carried across the playroom to four-year-old Trevor, who sat quietly building a slightly tilted Lego tower.

      “Turt,” she said, beaming proudly, and held it out to him as Syd chuckled and texted.

      Trev gave Ellie his usual so-patient big-brother look, took the toy from her and set it down on his other side. Ellie frowned and toddled carefully around to reach the turtle again. She bent with great concentration and picked it up. “Tev,” she said.

      Trevor went on building his tower.

      Sydney put her phone down. “So you’re not going to tell me?”

      Resigned to continued denials, Lani dished out yet another lame evasion. “Syd, I promise you, there’s nothing to tell.” Were her pants on fire? They ought to be.

      And right then, before Sydney could say anything else, Ellie cheerfully bopped Trev on the head with the rubber turtle—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his full attention.

      Trev scowled. “No hitting,” he said, and gave her a light shove.

      She let out a cry as her baby legs collapsed and she landed, plop, on her butt. The impact caused Trevor’s shaky tower to collapse to the playroom floor.

      Trev protested, “Lani! Mom! Ellie is being rude!”

      Ellie promptly burst into tears.

      Both women got up and went over to sort out the conflict. There were hugs and kisses for Ellie and a reminder to Trev that his sister was only one year old and he should be gentle with her.

      Trev apologized. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

      And Ellie sniffed. “Tev. Sor-sor.” She sighed and laid her bright head on Sydney’s shoulder.

      Then Sydney’s phone rang. She passed Ellie to Lani and took the call, after which she had to go and attend a meeting of one of her international legal aid groups. Lani was left to put the kids down for their nap.

      She felt guilty and grateful simultaneously. Once again, she’d escaped having to tell Sydney that she’d had sex with Max on New Year’s Eve.

      * * *

      At the muffled creak of one of the tall, carved library doors, Lani glanced up from her laptop.

      Max.

      He wore a soft white crewneck sweater and gray slacks, and his wonderfully unruly hair shone chestnut brown in the glow from the milk-glass chandeliers above. His iron-blue eyes were on her, and her heart was galloping so fast she could hardly catch her breath.

      He’d said he wanted them to be as they used to be.

      Impossible. Who did he think he was kidding? There was no going back to the way it had been before. And the more she thought about it—which was all the time since their conversation in the gardener’s cottage—the more she was certain he knew that they couldn’t go back.

      And she would bet that was fine with him. Because he didn’t want to go back. He wanted to be her lover, wanted more of the heat and wonder of New Year’s Eve.

      And okay, she wanted that, too. And she knew it would be fabulous, perfect, beautiful. For as long as it lasted. Until things went wrong.

      Because, as she’d tried so very hard to get him to see, love affairs ended. And there were too many ways it all could go bad, too large of a likelihood she’d be put on a plane back to Texas. Yes, all right. It might end amicably. But it also might not. And she wasn’t willing to risk finding out which of the two it would be.