The Prince's Chambermaid

From his new hotel in the south of France, Rupert had written a sycophantic letter offering them free use of the honeymoon suite—and Xaviero had given a shout of laughter as he’d hurled it straight into the bin.

Even Peter, now married and with his own little parish somewhere along the east coast of Scotland, had written offering his tentative congratulations and had mentioned that his church was badly in need of a replacement roof. And Cathy, feeling expansive, had sent him a cheque to pay for it and wished him every happiness in his new life.

Back on Zaffirinthos Casimiro was fully recovered and back at the helm, though seeing his brother’s obvious joy had made him seem a little wistful.

‘Perhaps he needs a Queen,’ said Cathy hopefully and Xaviero laughed.

‘You want the whole world to feel like we do, is that it, mia tesoro?’

She rose up on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his. ‘Mmm. You think that’s possible?’

‘No,’ he answered thickly, before pulling her closer. ‘I don’t. I think what we have is unique.’

And of course, it was. No two people were the same as them, nor ever would be. But to Cathy, Xaviero was not a prince or a world-class polo player or next in line to an island kingdom. He never had been. He was simply her man—her gorgeous golden-eyed man—and she loved him with every fibre of her being.