A Night of Royal Consequences

‘WHERE THE HELL is she? Someone must know.’

The staff stared at him blankly. He was back in the warehouse where the lemons were stored. As soon as he’d sorted the problems in Fabrizio, he’d returned to his estate expecting to find Callie still working there. He hadn’t realised how much he’d miss her until she wasn’t around. ‘Callie Smith?’ he exclaimed, exasperated by the continued silence. ‘Anyone?’

Apologetic shrugs greeted his questions. No one knew where she was. Or they weren’t telling, he amended, glancing at Anita, who was staring fixedly six inches above his head. He’d made it back just before the end of the season when the casual workers left. Most of the pickers had already gone home, but some had stayed on to make sure everything was stored properly and they were set fair for next year. Why would Callie stay when I’ve been so brusque?

Wheeling around, he strode to the exit. Fresh from resolving a potential uprising in Fabrizio, he could surely solve the mystery of one missing woman. Max had accepted a pay-off equivalent to the GDP of a small country, and Luca had paid this gladly with the proviso that Max stayed out of Luca’s life and never returned to Fabrizio. He had the funds to buy anything he wanted, even freedom from Max, but could he buy Callie? In the short time he’d known her, he’d learned that, not only was Callie irreplaceable, she was unpredictable too. Her newfound freedom after years of duty to her father had lifted her, and in the space of a couple of days Luca had succeeded in knocking her down. Throwing money at a problem like Max worked. Callie was just as likely to throw it back.

He entered the office on the estate and everyone stood to attention. In a dar

k, tailored suit, Luca was dressed both as a prince and a billionaire, and not one member of staff had missed that change. ‘Relax, please. I’m here to ask for your help.’

As always, his people couldn’t have been more accommodating. They gave him Callie’s home address from her file. Now there was just Callie to deal with, he reflected as he left the building. He doubted she’d be quite so helpful, and his smile faded. He’d never been unsure of an outcome before, but he couldn’t be sure of Callie.

He took the helicopter for the short flight to the airport, where his flight plan to the north of England was already filed. He’d fly the jet himself. The thought of being a passenger appalled him. He needed something to do. Callie occupied every corner of his mind. The unfinished business between them banged at his brain. There was no time to lose. He didn’t leave loose ends, never had.

* * *

Could it really be more than two months since she’d first met Luca? It was certainly time to take stock of her life. That didn’t take very long. She was living in one freezing, cold room over a dress shop where she worked six days a week to fund her studies at night school. She was determined to get ahead by building on the Italian language she’d already picked up on her trip to Italy. Her love affair with the country was in no way over, and it had turned out that she had a flair for languages. She had moved to another town, because she didn’t have a home to go back to as such. Her old home next door to the Browns had new tenants, and though the Browns had begged her to stay on with them, Callie had insisted that they’d done enough for her, and that it was time for her to go it alone. ‘I wish I could have brought you more exciting news from my adventures,’ she’d told them.

‘Exciting enough,’ Rosie had exclaimed, her eyes fever bright when Callie talked about the Prince.

Callie hadn’t told anyone about the time she’d spent locked in the Prince’s arms, and had deflected Rosie’s questions by telling her that staying in a five-star hotel had kept her away from the real Italy. ‘The posh hotel was lovely,’ she’d explained, ‘but it was bland.’

‘Unlike the Italian men?’ Rosie guessed, still digging for information.

‘And so I looked for a job amongst the people,’ Callie had driven on in an attempt to avoid Rosie’s question. She had never lied to her friend, and she never would.

‘You’re too hard on yourself, love,’ Pa Brown had insisted when Callie explained that without the young maid’s suggestion she would still have been sitting in the hotel, rather than experiencing the lemon groves she had grown to love. ‘You wanted to get out and do an honest day’s work. You asked for help to find some. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all need help sometimes.’

Pa Brown’s words resonated with Callie more than ever now. He was right. In her current situation, she would have to ask for help at some point.

Yes. From Callie Smith, Callie concluded. Like millions of women who’d found themselves in this situation, she’d get through, and get through well. Though there were times when she wished she’d agreed to see Luca when he first flew to England to set things straight between them.

‘Why won’t you see him?’ Rosie had asked with incredulity on the first occasion. ‘He’s an incredible man and he cares about you. He must do, to leave everything to fly here to find you. And he’s a prince, Cal,’ Rosie had added in an awestruck gasp, ‘as well as one of the richest men in the world.’

Callie remembered firming her lips and refusing to add to this in any way. She had simply given her head a firm shake. The money meant nothing to her and neither did Luca’s title. She couldn’t risk her heart being broken again, and the feelings she had for Luca were so strong they frightened her. But Rosie knew her too well. Realising Callie wouldn’t change her mind, Rosie had put an arm around Callie’s shoulders and hugged her tight. ‘I know you love him,’ Rosie insisted. ‘And one day you’ll know that too. Just don’t find out when it’s too late.’

It hadn’t ended there, of course. Luca wasn’t the type to meekly turn around and go home. He didn’t know how to take no for an answer. He’d called several times, sent flowers, gifts, notes, hampers of dainty cakes and delicacies from a famous London store. He’d even despatched an elderly statesman called Michel to plead his case. Callie had felt particularly bad about the old man, but Ma Brown had made up for her refusal, treating Michel to a real northern afternoon tea before politely telling him that his Prince had no chance of changing Callie’s mind at the moment. ‘You shouldn’t even have given him that much hope,’ Callie had insisted. ‘I don’t want to be any man’s mistress and Luca’s a prince. He’s hardly going to take things in the direction I...’

As her voice had tailed away, Pa Brown had piped up, ‘The direction you want is love, Callie. Love and respect is the direction you’re entitled to want, when you give your heart to someone special.’

As Ma Brown had sighed with her romantic heart all aflutter, Callie had known it was time to move on. Her relationship with Luca, such as it had been, had started to affect the Browns, so she’d told them what she planned to do, and had packed her bags. And here she was three months later in Blackpool, the jewel of the Fylde coast. It was blustery and cold this close to Christmas, but there was an honest resilience about the place that suited Callie’s mood. And there were the illuminations, she mused with a rueful grin as she glanced out of her top-floor window at the light-bedecked seafront. Known as the greatest free light show on earth, one million bulbs and six miles of lights brought tourists flocking, which meant there were plenty of part-time jobs.

The irony since she’d been here was that Luca was never out of the press. She couldn’t believe she’d spent so much time in blissful ignorance as to his identity when his face stared out of every magazine and newspaper. Even when she went to the hairdresser’s, she couldn’t escape him. She had read every column inch written about him, and knew now that Luca had won his position in Fabrizio thanks to his sheer grit and determination. That, and the love of an adoptive father who had always believed his ‘boy from the gutters of Rome’, as Luca was referred to in the red-tops, was an exceptional man in the making.

Callie had become an expert in press releases and could quote some of them by heart. Luca, who was already a titan in business, was now equally respected in diplomatic circles. A tireless supporter of good causes, he had just completed a world tour of the orphanages he sponsored.

The photos of him were riveting. Luca relaxing, looking hot as hell in snug-fitting jeans, or Luca riding a fierce black stallion, looking like the king of the world. He could be cool and strong on state occasions, when he was easily the most virile and commanding of all the men present. In a nutshell, the new ruler of Fabrizio currently dominated world news, which made him seem further away to Callie, and more unreachable than ever. Much was made in the press of his lonely bachelor status, but Luca clearly had no intention of changing that any time soon. Flowers arrived regularly at the Browns’, a clear indication that he hadn’t given up his search for a mistress yet.

The flowers were still arriving, Rosie had informed Callie only last night, together with the handwritten letters bearing the royal seal, which Rosie had insisted on squirrelling away for Callie. ‘You’ll look at them one day,’ she’d said, not realising that Callie steamed them open and had read every one.

She’d never fit into Luca’s glitzy life, Callie concluded, however much affection and humour he put into his letters. But there were deeper reasons. Her mother had died believing her father’s lies, and Callie had listened to them for most of her life. ‘Tomorrow will be better,’ Callie’s father would promise each day. But it was never better. He always gambled away the money, or drank it, and so Callie would do another shift at the pub. Did she want another man who lied to her, even if not telling her that he was a prince was a lie of omission by Luca to test how genuine she was? She would be the one lying if she couldn’t admit to herself that each time she saw a photograph of Luca, she longed for him with all her heart.

‘The trick is knowing when to say thank you, and get on with things,’ Pa Brown had told her in their last telephone conversation, when Callie had asked what she should do about the flowers. ‘You can send us your thank-you notes, and we’ll pass them on. Don’t you worry, our Callie, Ma Brown’s loving it. She’s like Lady Bountiful, spreading those flowers around the neighbourhood so they do some good. You can thank that Prince Luca properly when you see him in person. I certainly will.’

We won’t be seeing him, Callie had wanted to say, but she didn’t have the heart.

‘Stop beating yourself up, girl,’ Pa Brown had added before they ended their most recent call. ‘You went to work in the lemon groves, which was what you’d dreamed about. You turned that dream into reality, which is more than most of us do.’