The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

“You sound like your tio Diego,” she cautioned, placing his napkin back in his lap.

“That’s because Tio Diego loves you.”

Her heart stopped for a second. “Oh Max, don’t be silly,” she said.

“He does.” He’d switched to Spanish, but she was able to translate easily. “He loves you like my father loves my mother.”

She had to blink rapidly as she smiled at him, at a loss as to how to respond. Finally she patted his knee. “So what kind of cake do you think we will have tonight?”

Cake was a good diversion. He chattered for a few minutes about his favorite kinds, but Rose couldn’t get his words out of her head.

And then the cheese course arrived, a signature Navarro Cabra al Vino and figs, along with a spectacular Rioja. Even though she only had a few sips, her head was a little fuzzy, and she drank deeply from her water glass. Music played in the background, and when she looked over, Diego caught her eye and smiled. She nodded back, determined that she keep things polite if distant. It was all just so complicated, and the longer the evening went on, the more out of place she felt.

When she looked over at the children, she discovered that they’d eaten the middle of their cheese but left the wine-soaked rind, which was likely a bit strong for their tastes. Emilia’s legs began swinging beneath the table, a sure sign she was getting tired, and Max started playing with

his figs.

She really hoped there was cake soon, so she could take the children off to bed. While the opulent setting and incredible food had weaved a spell, she couldn’t totally escape the reality of the situation. She picked at her figs and looked around the room. These were not her people. They were either rich or aristocratic or both, and she was neither. She could practice etiquette and say the right things without much difficulty, but that was a far cry from belonging.

Maybe Diego had wanted her to attend tonight to show her she could hold her own, but instead she was just more aware than ever that she was out of place. And because of their “secret,” she didn’t feel as if she had any support. The sooner the dinner was over, the better.

She touched Max’s knee when he fidgeted through Diego’s toast to his brother, and sent him a look of warning to sit still as Raoul responded. As he sat through yet another round of applause, she leaned forward. “There will be cake now, and then we can go back to the nursery. If I know Senora Ortiz, the cake will be worth the wait.” She winked at them, but she’d spoken the truth. The cook was fabulous at everything, but she was particularly talented at cakes and pastries.

A cart was wheeled in, with a tiered cake adorned with edible flowers at its center. Raoul stood and motioned the children forward, and together they blew out the candles on the top layer. Raoul, as the guest of honor, cut the cake and tasted the first corner from his fingers, then laughed and cut pieces for Max and Emilia. After that, cake was delivered to everyone, along with strong coffee and a dessert wine that Rose declined.

The cake, though . . . it was scrumptious, with the flavors of almonds, oranges, and lemons. She’d never had anything like it. The menu card at her place said it was Tarta de Santiago.

“Will Papa open his presents?” Emilia asked, tasting a tiny bite of the cake and getting powdered sugar on her lips.

“Not now,” Rose said. “He’ll open them later. Once dessert is done, we can go back upstairs. I’ll tuck you into bed and your father will visit tomorrow and will open your very special presents. Okay?”

“Si, Miss Rose,” Emilia answered.

She was such a precious girl, Rose realized. Her dark curls and big eyes were so like the pictures Rose had seen of Ceci, and she was sweet and polite. Rose hoped, though, that she was able to have fun and just be . . . a kid. Max seemed to accomplish that a bit more easily.

After cake, guests began moving freely about the room, and soon they would go en masse to the ballroom, where music and dancing awaited. Rose made sure faces and fingers were clean and unsticky, then took the children to say good night to their father before taking them to bed.

Raoul was sitting in his chair with a child on each knee when Diego slid up behind her.

“You’re coming back down to the party, right?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear.

She shivered. “I hadn’t really planned on it. My job for the evening is done.”

He came around to face her, and she knew she’d have a hard time resisting his handsome face and charming eyes.

“It would be a shame to waste that dress. It will catch the light of the chandeliers, you know. Come down for a few minutes at least. Have a glass of champagne and listen to the music. It’s not every day you get to hear him live.”

It was tempting, and Diego had said nothing of dancing. Just champagne and music. “I don’t think so. It’s been a long day.”

Raoul stepped to Diego’s side. “Miss Walters, you look lovely. And the children were perfect tonight. Thank you. Seeing them happy again is the only gift I really need.”

She smiled up at him. “I would say it is my job, sir, but I’m very fond of them.”

“They feel safe with you.” He reached out and took her hand in his, not quite a handshake but not quite anything more, either. “Diego made a wonderful choice when he picked you as our nanny.”

Her heart warmed and her eyes stung a little. “Thank you,” she whispered. Diego still stood close to her, and he put his hand on her shoulder in support. In that moment Rose’s feelings were overwhelmingly surreal. The crown prince was saying incredibly kind things and his younger brother was touching her rather intimately . . . in public. She felt appreciated . . . and she felt loved. What an extraordinary family. Earlier she hadn’t felt supported, but now . . .

“You’ll come down and join the party, won’t you? After the children are in bed?” Raoul looked at her earnestly.