She stiffened. “I didn’t realize I was a problem to be solved.”
“You’re not!”
“Of course I am,” she replied. “I am an issue that needs to be handled. Strategized.”
“That sounds cold.” He touched her knee. “Just come to the party. Enjoy yourself.” His gaze was so warm and intense that she didn’t want to look away. Felt herself being convinced by those dark depths and his honeyed voice. “Please, querida. Be a part of our family for the evening.”
“But I wouldn’t be there as a part of your family. That’s what you don’t seem to understand.” If Raoul dictated it, she’d have no choice. But for right now, she did.
She removed his hand from her leg. “Diego, for the past two weeks, we’ve had some amazing stolen moments together. But for me to go to this dinner . . . I wouldn’t be able to pretend I wasn’t the nanny. And I would feel like . . . well, like I was the plaything that the papers called me.”
She got up from the sofa. “I think I need to think about us for a bit, Diego. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t see each other for a few days. This is so confusing.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes, it is.”
He nodded. “I know this situation is a lot to handle and it can be overwhelming. If you need some time to think, I’ll respect that. I would never want to hurt you, Rose. Just know that I want you to be there.” His voice softened. “I want you to feel you belong there.”
Her throat tightened, and a stinging took up residence just behind her nose. “I know that,” she answered, and it was true. She knew he didn’t want to hurt her, but she also saw that he didn’t know how to fight for her. It didn’t have to be a grand gesture to the whole world, but perhaps, if this party was truly a big thing, he could have an honest chat with Raoul about his feelings. About their feelings.
That he was backing away felt like a letdown, even if it was cushioned by respect.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll speak to Stephani about a dress for Emilia tomorrow, and anything else the children might need.” And for arrangements that didn’t include her sitting with the family at dinner. The Prince’s Plaything. The Palace Plaything. The Playboy’s Plaything. There were any number of variations, but all of them were the same. Maybe their feelings for each other were genuine, but in the eyes of the world, she would always be the help. A gold digger. Perhaps an opportunist. And she was starting to realize that the potential labels really did bother her. She and Diego had been self-indulgent these last few weeks, and it had to stop.
They either had to go into this all the way or not at all. There was no “easing” in. If she was worth it, if they were worth it, Diego had to stop worrying about fighting with her and start fighting for her. Until he was willing to do that, it would be better to cool things off.
“I need to get some sleep now, Diego. Maybe we should call it a night.”
He placed his half-full wineglass next to the bottle, and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to leave you this way,” he said quietly. ”I promise, Rose, I didn’t come here to upset you. I’m trying to do the right thing and in the right way. Remember, this is all new territory for me, too.”
The confession softened her resolve just a little bit. “I’m not upset,” she said, which was only a half-lie. “I mean, I really do need to think. We always knew this was going to be complicated.” Though she hadn’t thought it would be this complicated. Still, if Diego couldn’t tell his family about her, how could he expect her to face the world, which wouldn’t be nearly as understanding or kind?
A flash of hurt crossed his face before he sighed. “Then I guess all I can say for now is buenas noches,” he whispered, and kissed her forehead. “If you need anything—and I mean anything—over the next few days, I’ll either be down at the stables or in my office. I’m still working on that education program snag.”
He was a good man; she knew that.
But being a good man wasn’t the issue. Navigating the ins and outs of a complicated relationship was. They had to be completely united in their approach, and Rose wasn’t convinced he really understood her perspective—or if he ever would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The days leading up to Raoul’s special day were a flurry of activity around the palace. Rooms were prepared for guests, menus finalized and tweaked, silver polished, and linens pressed. A secret celebrity and his band were being flown in to perform after the cutting of the birthday cake, and extra security arrangements were put in place.
And this was a small party. “Nothing too fancy,” she remembered Diego saying. Rose had skirted around her share of drawing rooms and cocktail parties, but this was something utterly different.
The day before the big event, Stephani stopped by Rose’s room while the children were at dinner with their father. She breezed into the room with a garment bag in her hand and a determined set to her full mouth.
“Did we forget something for tomorrow?” Rose asked, shutting the door behind her. “Emilia’s dress came from the shop this afternoon.”
“Yes. Your dress.” She held out the bag and shook the hanger.
Rose took a step back. “Oh no. We already discussed this. I’m going to deliver the children to the party and pick them up after cake.”
“No, you’re going to be sitting with them. In this.” She shook the hanger again.
Rose sighed. “Stephani . . . this is too awkward.”
“Because of Diego?”