The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

Diego gave his head a shake. “Sorry. I just . . .” He looked over at his brother. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”

“Very. Has been for a few weeks, if one is inclined to look,” Raoul said. He frowned. “It’s not a good idea, Diego.”

Diego immediately felt the urge to come to her defense. To their defense, but he took a careful breath and smiled at someone passing by. “I can’t seem to shake it. She’s amazing. Sweet and kind and loving and infuriating.”

Raoul’s features softened just a bit, and Diego thought he looked rather sad. He wondered if Raoul was thinking of Ceci. Of course he must still be grieving. “She’s the nanny,” Raoul cautioned. “You’ve always kept your . . . indiscretions away from the palace.”

Diego’s gaze snapped to his brother. “There haven’t been any indiscretions,” he bit out, trying hard to keep his cool. Rose was different. She was important.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Raoul gave a small smile, and Diego noticed the lines of strain around his brother’s eyes.

“Let’s leave it for tonight,” Diego suggested. “It’s your birthday. Let’s enjoy the evening. I hear the cake is a work of art.”

Raoul put his hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Just be careful. I don’t want Rose to be hurt, or you either. And the children need stability.”

“Neither of us would do anything to hurt the children,” he replied, his previous resolution to keep his cool disintegrating. He would not create a scene, but he saw now what Rose had wanted from him. To own their relationship and not act as if it was something to hide. He glanced up at Raoul. “It’s not because of her class, is it? Because she’s got more class in her baby finger than most of the women here tonight.”

Raoul laughed, easing the tension. “Of course it’s not. She’s lovely. But perhaps too lovely. Being a part of this family has its challenges. We’ll talk later.”

Raoul left his side to greet Rose and the children, exclaiming over their new clothes and squatting down for a hug. Rose met Diego’s gaze over Raoul’s shoulder and smiled timidly, her cheeks coloring prettily.

His heart thudded, and he smiled back.

He went over to greet her, hoping he didn’t stammer or look foolish.

“You look dashing,” she said quietly, touching his lapel lightly before dropping her hand.

“And you really came.” He smiled down at her. “Rose, that dress . . .”

“Thank Stephani. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and insisted I be dressed appropriately. She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

Once her first blush had faded, he realized she was more distant than he liked. Her reply lacked her usual warmth. Was she still mad at him? Nervous? He tried to lighten the mood. “Which is why Raoul is determined he’ll never have another assistant. She knows his routines and moods better than anyone.” He looked into her eyes. “Rose, about the other night—”

“I really must get the children. I’m on duty tonight.”

Her feelings couldn’t be clearer and he wished he could really talk to her, but the crowd was making its way into the massive dining room. Diego gestured with his hand. “Shall we go?”

Raoul approached with Emilia and Max holding onto each of his hands. “Ready?” he asked, motioning for the children to take Rose’s hands instead. The king joined them, nodding at Diego and then smiling at Rose. “Miss Walters,” he said. “I’m pleased you could join us. The children look wonderful—and happy.”

She dropped a curtsy. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied, looking down demurely. Diego saw his father’s eyes light with approval. Maybe there was a hope. After tonight he’d have a frank conversation with his father and brother about his feelings and intentions, and how it should best be handled both inside and outside the palace.

He was willing to work with them, but he would not give up. He wanted her in his life, and he’d prove to her that she belonged there.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rose entered first, holding the children’s hands and walking to the far end of the dais, where seats had been arranged for the three of them. Emilia was tall enough to manage without any sort of bolster, but Max needed the extra height. Rose helped him clamber up as Diego, Alexander, and finally, Raoul, the guest of honor, entered the room to a round of applause.

As soon as everyone was seated, a flurry of activity came through the doors as servers appeared, whisking covers off plates and placing the starters gently in front of the guests. The first course was prawns in a béarnaise sauce, though a more child-friendly variation was presented to the children. Rose assisted them through the proper flatware and etiquette, but they’d eaten en famille so many times that after only a few words they had their napkins properly on their laps and were delicately tasting the succulent prawns. Rose tried them as well, paired with a spectacular crisp, smooth white wine.

Several minutes later, the plates were taken away and a new course was placed in front of her. This, she was told when she asked, was sea bream with chanterelles and truffles, and the flavors melted in her mouth. While she’d eaten well in the kitchen, this was elevated to a whole other level. She closed her eyes and simply savored, and regrettably left a third of it on her plate, and about half of her wine pairing as well. How was she to get through a main course and dessert without her dress becoming suddenly too small, or her head too light?

The children picked at the fish, which was clearly not their favorite. But when their entrées came, they ate with gusto. The veal was tender and mild, the fava beans done to perfection. While Rose knew she shouldn’t, she ate every morsel, and the Pinot Noir pairing was amazing. Emilia and Max cleaned their plates, and she reached over to dab Max’s mouth with his napkin. He grinned up at her, his little bowtie bobbing, and she nearly laughed.

“Miss Rose?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You look very pretty.” He batted his dark eyelashes, and she wasn’t sure if she should melt or roll her eyes at his obvious charm.