The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

“I didn’t know it was like that. Love is love, hermano.”

“Thank you. And happy birthday.”

Diego left through the main ballroom doors, paused to pluck a single white rose from an arrangement, and took the curving stairs two at a time.

He slowed when he approached her door, and ran his free hand over his trouser leg, nervous about knocking. He’d never been in this position before. Never cared enough about a woman to lay it all on the line, but this was different. They would figure it out—how to be together, how to make it work for the children’s sake. Even if he had to move out of the palace while she was here, to give a better impression of propriety . . . he’d do it.

He took a deep breath, let it out, and tapped on the door.

She didn’t open it. “Go away, Diego.” Even muffled by the thick wood, he could hear the frustration and longing in her voice.

“No. There’s something I need to tell you, Rose. And this isn’t going to go away.”

Through the closed door he heard, “So tell me. And then go away.”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d ever pictured saying these words to a woman. He rested his forehead against the door. “I love you.”

The knob rattled as she opened the door a crack. “If you’re just saying that to get me to let you in . . .” Most of her face was hidden, but he could see the strained look in her eyes as she peered out at him.

“I’ve never said those words to another woman.” He held up the rose. “And I’m certainly not going to use them as a ploy. I love you, Rose. And my determination to make this work is because I believe we belong together, not because I’m used to getting my way.”

She stood back and opened the door. “Get out of the hallway,” she said with a sigh. “Before someone hears you.”

He stepped into her suite and held out the rose. “I could send you bouquets of flowers and fill this room,” he said, “but sometimes a single bloom says enough, don’t you think?”

She took it in her hands, an odd look on her face. “And why white?”

He considered telling her he’d plucked it on the run, but instead scoured his brain for meanings. “White roses. They’re wedding roses, did you know that? And new beginnings.” He stepped forward and clasped her hand. “Let’s make tonight a new beginning for us.”

Her eyes glistened as she met his gaze. “Do you realize that once, many years ago, I handed you a white rose?”

He frowned, wondering what on earth she was talking about, when she continued.

“I was selling flowers on a train platform, trying to make money for school. I was so poor in those days . . . my family didn’t even know how tight my budget was, and that some days I hardly had anything for food. I lived on day-old buns, peanut butter, and porridge. You bought a rose from me, and then you bought all my flowers and told me to brighten someone’s day by giving them away.”

He stood back and stared at her. He vaguely remembered the day . . . he’d been . . . where? Somewhere with Ryan, and they’d gone out, and he’d had a very nice evening. Woke in the morning feeling like a million dollars and in a generous mood. And he’d seen the skinny girl with the flowers and had impulsively given her a wad of cash.

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“That was you?”

She nodded. “I was going to school to learn childhood education. The degree that took me to the agency and led me here. And that one day of sales got me through the month.”

He couldn’t believe it. She’d been here months already and had never breathed a word. “Did you know who I was?”

She nodded, still holding the stem of the rose in her fingertips. “Of course I did. My roommate was a big polo fan. The ‘sport of kings’ and all that. She was always very excited when there’d be word that you were playing. A real prince.” She smiled a little, a sweet little curve of her lips. “I never told her about the flowers, though. I wanted to keep that little bit of you to myself. That day I saw a Diego Navarro who was different from what I read in the rags. And I’ve seen that generous, caring man time and time again since I arrived here.”

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered. “If that’s true, why do you keep fighting it? Us? Because that sounds an awful lot like fate to me.”

“Don’t you see? If we’re together, I won’t get to have you to myself. Our relationship will be in the spotlight. And I know it’s not fair of me to blame you . . . you didn’t choose this, you were born to it. But it’ll bring attention to the children, and a possible scandal to your family . . .” She blinked and a single tear fluttered on her lashes. “It’s not that I don’t care about you. This is just so different from what I thought I wanted. And I’m . . . afraid.” She looked up at him and her lip quivered. “Look at you. You’re the Playboy Prince. I’m just some plain English girl. I’m scared I won’t be enough for you. That you’ll figure out I’m dull and ordinary, and it’ll be too late. And I’ll be the one left hurting and broken.”

“Don’t say that. If anything, you’re too good for me. You’re sweet and generous and lovely and you go through your day trying to make everyone else’s a little bit better.” He stepped closer and put his hand along her cheek. “I don’t care what people say, Rose. I’ll never inherit the throne, but I still want to have a purpose. These last weeks . . . with you . . . I’ve felt more vital than ever before in my life.” He lifted his other hand and put it along her jaw so he was cupping her face, and then he dropped a soft, sweet kiss on her lips.

Lips that trembled beneath his.

“What is it?” he asked.

She bit down on her lip. “It’s your father. It’s Raoul. They don’t know, and when they find out they’ll never approve. I can’t sneak around anymore, and I’m not sure I’m up to all the barriers we’ll face. You’re the prince. I’ll be labeled an opportunist, a gold digger . . .”