The Heir

“I think it is your brother who is brokering the deal,” his uncle says heavily. “You have to stop the process, Dante. You have to stop the rot. The last great leader was your grandfather, and I believe with all my heart that you can be the next. You must step up. Avanti needs a strong and wise leader. Do your duty. One day your child could hate you for snatching away what is his or her birthright.”

He stands up stiffly and starts walking away.

Dante jumps up. “Oncle,” he calls.

His uncle stops, looks at him sadly, and says, “I have kept my promise to your mother and done everything I can for you. There is no more I can say. Do your duty. Make your mother proud.” Then he walks away.

“There are other things afoot too,” his aunt whispers. You have to come back. You have to do something to stop Linnus and your father. They’re destroying the country so they can buy bigger yachts and more expensive watches and clothes for their wives. Please, Dante,” she begs.

Dante is very quiet in the car. His face is like stone and I know he is thinking about what his uncle said so I don’t try to start a conversation. It seems wrong for me to talk of anything trivial after the momentous revelations in his uncle’s house. He escorts me to my room and slides the back of his hand down my cheek.

“Go to sleep, Rosa. Don’t tire yourself out too much during your shopping trip.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

“I’ll see you tonight, bella,” he says with a smile, then he is gone.

I lie on my bed, but I am unable to sleep. I feel as if I have been thrown right in the middle of a maelstrom. I call Star, then Cindy, but neither is around. As I close my eyes, someone knocks on my door.

“Come in,” I call, thinking it will be Elsa, but to my shock, the queen enters.

Chapter 31

Rosa

She is wearing a cream two-piece Dior. If I remember correctly, she is wearing it with the same shoes the model wore on the catwalk. I scramble out of bed and drop into a small curtsy.

“Ah, I have caught you while you were sleeping,” she observes quietly.

“No, not at all. I was just lying down.”

“That’s good. Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

She turns and starts walking away. I hesitate for an instant then I follow her out of the room. We walk down the corridor into the west wing.

“So … you and Dante are not staying on?” she asks, glancing at me.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?’

I bite my lip, not sure what I should say. “I think Dante prefers to live in Italy and of course, I have my job too.”

“Your job at the magazine?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. That is nothing. You can easily find another one or Dante can set you up with a magazine. Surely he must have pulled some strings to get you your job in the first place?”

There is nothing I can say to that because that is true. My spine becomes straighter. “Yes, but he doesn’t want to live here.”

“Surely, you must have realized by now that a woman can persuade her man to do whatever she wants.”

If she was anyone else but Dante’s stepmother … I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to manipulate Dante to do anything he does not want to do, Your Majesty. I want him to be happy.”

She smiles slowly. “How naïve you are, Rosa. Dante’s life is not in Italy. It is here, and so is yours.”

I stare at her. I don’t understand what is going on. I understood why Dante’s uncle wanted him to come back, but why does she? We come to a door.

“Look,” she says and opens the door. She holds back while I walk into it. I look around it in a daze. It is a nursery. The walls are cream with a gorgeous gold and maroon wallpaper on one wall. There is a gold cot with the coat of arms painted on the side. An antique rocking horse stands under a tall window.

“This will be your baby’s nursery. I had it aired and prepared,” she says behind me.

I walk to the rocking horse. It has such sad eyes.

“That belonged to Dante,” she says softly.

I try to imagine Dante rocking on it in this huge cold room. I touch it and it starts to silently rock. I know without any doubt she is poison. She does not have my best interest at heart. I don’t want to live in this palace with her. I don’t want my child to sit on this old horse, lie in that gold cot, or have to live in this massive cold room so far away from his parents, always tended by nannies. I turn around to face her. Her eyes are cold and watching.

I smile politely at her. “Thank you for showing me this room. I will certainly think about what you said.”

She nods and turns away from me. “Good. It will be wonderful to see children running around in this palace again.”

“It is up to Dante,” I say softly. I refuse to let her manipulate me into making Dante do something he doesn’t believe in.

“Of course.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I understand Cassandra is taking you shopping this afternoon.”

“Yes. We’re supposed to leave about two.”

“That’s nice.” She rings a bell on the wall.

I look at her awkwardly and she stares back at me. Not saying a word.

Her look makes me want to fidget. “I guess I better be getting back to my room.”

“I’ve rung for the help. Someone will show you back to your chamber.”

I wish I could have told her that I knew the way back, but I’m not sure I can find my way back. “Oh, thanks.”

The minutes with her with neither of us speaking feel like a lifetime. I almost kiss the short, fat woman who arrives at her bidding.

“Thank you again for showing me this room.”

“You’re most welcome,” she says so expressionlessly it actually leaves me cold.

Chapter 32

Rosa

Inside my room, I stand gazing blankly out the window. When I came to Avanti I never expected to be in the middle of such strong family politics. I stand watching birds flying by and after a time I spy a man riding on a horse, but it’s such a distance from the palace that I’m not sure if it’s Dante or not. Still he is a good rider, fast and sure.

I watch him until there is a knock on my door.

“Ready?” Cassandra asks when I open the door.

“Ready,” I say with a smile. “Just let me grab my purse.”

“You won’t need it.”

“I won’t?”

“Dante wants to pay for everything.”

I can’t help the surprised expression on my face.

She laughs. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Being able to buy whatever you like. Never having to choose between A or B. It’s actually a lovely feeling.”

“It must be,” I say softly.

She laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

We settle into the back of a grey Mercedes. The ride into the city is quick as there is almost no traffic. I gaze curiously out of the window at the changing scenery. The thing that strikes me most is how clean and fresh everything looks: the perfect condition of the streets, the sidewalks, and the buildings. There is not so much as a cigarette butt littering the ground. Eventually, the car pulls up at the entrance of a place called Louis Rye Sart.

“This is it,” Cassandra says. “My favorite store. Since we don’t have much time and we need to get you something for tonight I thought we’ll just go here. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”

She gets out of the car, and I follow her. There is a CLOSED sign on the door.

“It’s closed,” I say.

Cassandra laughs. “I know. They closed

it for us, silly.”

A blonde woman in a stylish suit opens the heavy glass door. “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” she says with a bow. She turns to me. “My name is Freja and it is an honor to welcome you to our shop, Miss Winchester.”

The store is like an art gallery. The walls and ceiling are white and there are no racks of dresses and blouses or shelves filled with merchandise. Instead, mannequins dressed in the latest Italian and French fashions stand in alcoves and niches throughout the store.

“This way, please,” she says, leading us into an elevator.

When the doors open, we enter an area that looks similar to one of the rooms in the palace. This is obviously the special saloon that was reserved for the super-rich. The décor had been chosen to make them feel at home.

“I have something very special for Miss Winchester to wear to the ball. If she likes it we will make all necessary alterations and have it sent to the palace in two hours.”

A woman dressed in black comes forth, a dress draped over her outstretched arms. Freja lifts the dress by the hanger’s hook and holds it up for me to see.

I work in the fashion industry, but I cannot help the gasp that exits my mouth. When I was young I used to read books about dresses that were made by elves. This dress looks like it has been made by a little child going blind in India. The floor length gown is so meticulously hand-embellished with pearls and tiny crystals that one can hardly see the saffron colored background material.

“It’s perfect,” Cassandra declares. She turns to me. “You must try it.”

Before I know it, I have been herded into a plush changing room and the woman in black is silently helping me into the dress.

Cassandra pushes aside the velvet curtain and clasps her hands. “Why, it doesn’t even need to be altered. It is wonderful.”

I stare at myself. It is definitely the most beautiful thing I have ever worn, but the kind of work that has gone into it makes it an haute couture gown and I’m not about to blow £30,000 or something equally ridiculous of Dante’s money on such a dress. No way. I’d be embarrassed to do something like that.