The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

He wanted to talk to her alone, without the children around. Emilia and Max tended to have big ears, and they had enough to deal with without trying to sort out adult problems.

He waited until half past nine and then knocked on her door—hers, not the one to the nursery. She opened it halfway.

“May I come in?”

She sighed. A big, heavy sigh. “I know,” he added. “Boundaries and all that stuff. I won’t order you to let me in. I just want to talk for a few minutes.”

She opened it the rest of the way, and stepped back so he could enter.

Diego had always liked this room. It was less ostentatious than the family suites, and much smaller, and Mariana had always kept little keepsakes around. It was decorated differently now, though. He was shocked to realize that it had been redecorated since Mariana’s death. Was there to be no trace of the maternal figures of this family left at all?

“You look surprised,” she said quietly. “Surely you’ve been in the nanny’s room before.”

“It’s been redecorated,” he said roughly. “But this suits you.” The green and pink decor was pretty, steady, calm. Just like her. He swallowed and let his gaze sweep over her. She, too, had changed. Instead of her official-looking pencil skirt and blouse, she wore soft flowy pants and a light pullover shirt. Her feet were bare and her toenails were a dainty shade of pink.

When she wasn’t in black and white, she did seem to love her pastels.

“What can I do for you, Diego? I just got the children to sleep.”

He noticed a glass of wine on an end table, barely tasted. “I need to apologize. For the position I put you in and for not stopping by today. I had an unexpected conference call that I couldn’t reschedule.” Indeed, he was probably going to have to book some travel to Tanzania soon to oversee the implementation of a new education program, which had hit an administrative snag.

Rose sighed. “I’m sorry too, for being so short with you earlier. It was more Raoul I was frustrated with, and myself.” Her cheeks colored prettily. “I mean, Prince Raoul . . .”

He waved a hand, dismissing her consternation. “It’s fine. I had a few words with him at dinner, too. Is Max okay? He seemed upset.”

W

hen Rose sighed again, he realized how tired she sounded.

“He was crying when he arrived back from dinner,” she admitted. “Emilia was on the verge herself. I finally got it out of them that they miss their mother and also Mariana. Emilia is only a few years older, but she did say something I haven’t been able to dismiss—that no one talks about her mother and it seems as if she never existed.”

Diego’s heart hurt. “It’s so hard to know,” he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets, “if reminders are helpful or make things worse.”

“I think right now they’d be helpful. At least in moderation. I think they’d like to talk about their mother without worrying about upsetting their father.”

“Who isn’t around much anyway,” Diego added.

She nodded. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not. God, you’re not. I don’t know what they’d do without you, Rose.” He stepped closer to her. “Which is why I need to apologize for yesterday. I knew there would be photographers and I ignored it because I wanted to . . .” This was the tricky part. “I wanted to spend the day with you. Show you what our city has to offer. Instead, I just opened things up for speculation and gossip.”

Rose went to the table and retrieved her wine, then turned back. “You might as well come in and sit down.” She gestured to the sofa in the sitting area of the suite. He tried to ignore the fact that a very plush bed was behind her. This was the whole problem. It wasn’t just that she was good for the children or that he liked her. There was attraction there, too.

She poured another glass of wine and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and sat down on the far side of the sofa.

She took the chair next to him. “I did have a good time,” she admitted, turning the glass in her fingers. “And so did the children. But we can’t keep blurring the line. I like you, Diego.” She looked up at him briefly, but looked away again. He wondered why she was avoiding eye contact. Was she lying? Or simply trying to avoid too much of a connection?

“I like you too much,” she continued. “And when this job is over, I’m going to need another. No one wants to hire a nanny who’s been involved with the family.”

“But we haven’t been involved,” he protested, even though he knew in his heart that was a lie. Nothing had been completely platonic between them. Not since that first night.

“What’s true doesn’t matter. Having us linked in the tabloids would be enough to guarantee I don’t get work again. And I . . .” She looked away and took a drink of wine. “I have my own responsibilities.”

It was an odd thing for her to say. Not on the surface, but paired with her body language, he got the feeling she was keeping a secret from him. Or at least, she thought she was. There really wasn’t much about her life he didn’t know. Vetting had been thorough. She would do anything for her family, same as he would. It was a trait he admired.

“Rose,” he said softly, “this job . . . the children need stability, and they already love you. It’s a secure position until they are much, much older. Please don’t worry about your employability.”