Defying the Prince

musical instruments, it wasn’t a place for someone inexperienced. She was irresponsible, aggravating—

His mouth tight, tension mounting with every angry stride, Matteo reached the recording studio in record time. A summer storm was brewing and he could hear the wild crash of waves exploding over rocks at the foot of the cliffs, but nothing that nature produced could match the force of his own temper.

As far as he was concerned this was the final straw.

She had no respect for rules. No concept of appropriate behaviour.

He’d told her the place was out of bounds but she didn’t listen to the word no unless it suited her.

Enveloped by the darkness, he opened the door, ready to unleash hell.

And then stopped.

A clear sweet voice resonated around the studio, the quality and emotion enough to wipe his mind of all thoughts except one—

This was the song he’d been waiting for.

He’d entered the studio ready to let rip, but now he could do nothing but listen as her voice soared and her fingers flew over the keys creating harmonies that made him catch his breath.

Emotional, heartbreaking, beautiful—the song was all those things and more and he was knocked sideways by the beauty of the sound. She was mesmerizing and there was a musical sophistication in her performance that outstripped anything he’d played over the past few months.

Goose bumps spread across his skin and then she hit a top note and those goose bumps changed to chills. She wasn’t just good, she was incredible, and he was afraid to breathe in case he drew attention to himself and disturbed the flow of the music.

She reminded him of one of the Sirens from Greek mythology, the sound she made a dangerous enchantment luring enamoured sailors to their deaths.

But this time she wasn’t singing for anyone else.

She was singing for herself. In the dark, where he couldn’t be distracted by a vibrant sequined dress, red lips or towering stilettos. Here, in the dark loneliness of the empty recording studio, there was just the woman and the voice, and the voice was world class.

The rich, perfect sound lifted the tiny hairs on the back of his neck and sent sensation pouring through his body, rapidly followed by a stinging infusion of guilt as he realised how wrong he’d been about her.

He’d called her talentless.

Opportunistic.

Slowly confronting the magnitude of his error, Matteo listened to the words of the song—a soulful lament urging people not to judge from the outside.

Look at me, I’m not what you see …

The lyrics were uncomfortably apt and he stirred under the weight of remorse because, although it was true her image had projected something different, he was a man who prided himself on being able to see beneath the surface of every person and every situation. But with her he’d been blind. He’d seen the press coverage, the sequined dress and he’d judged, but he hadn’t listened.

The harmony and chord progression were skilled and unusual, but what really stunned him was the rare purity of her voice. She was insanely good, her talent so glaringly obvious that he, who had heard just about everything in his years listening to music, was speechless.

Had she sung like that at his brother’s engagement party?

He yanked his mind back, forcing himself to remember the moment she’d grabbed the microphone. What little he remembered was nothing like that. Her voice had been hard and a little forced. False. Desperate.

Look at me, I’m not what you see …

She could have been singing the song for him. If it hadn’t been for the fact she hadn’t realised he was in the room he would have thought she’d picked it especially to make her point because it was an honest reflection of his own attitude to her.

He didn’t recognise the song and although he couldn’t see her face he knew from the depth of emotion she poured into the sound that her cheeks would be wet with tears as she hit the last few bars and sang, ‘That’s not who I am …’

Silence followed.

Matteo was about to declare himself when she sensed him. Or maybe he made a noise. Either way, her head whipped round.

‘Hello? Is someone—?’ She must have made out his outline in the semi-darkness because she gave a soft gasp of fright. ‘What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.’