The Mediterranean Prince's Passion (The Royal House of Cacciatore 1)

‘You did. You changed me,’ he said softly. ‘You forced me to look at things I did not wish to. You made me see that, yes, I was running away—all the time—running from feelings, because feelings can hurt.’ He shrugged. ‘But, more than that, you made me see my life for what it was, and without you it is empty. I want to be with you, Gabriella.’

She forced herself to be practical, because if she started slipping into her greatest wish and then circumstances snatched it away again… ‘But Gianferro will never allow it!’

‘Because?’

‘Because I’m a commoner and you’re a prince! He will never approve of me!’

‘He certainly does approve of you,’ he contradicted drily. ‘He was storming round the throne room yesterday morning, asking what it was that you had which could make me see sense, when he had been trying to drum it into me for years!’

‘Approval is one thing,’ she said slowly, ‘but us having a life together is quite something else. And how can we? I live here and you live in Mardivino. You can’t live here, for practical reasons, and if I came out to join you in Mardivino then we’d have to conduct our affair in secret.’

‘Not if we were married.’

Ella stared at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Sudden onset of defective hearing, Gabriella?’ he teased.

‘Did you just mention marriage?’

‘I did.’

‘You want to marry me?’

‘Of course I do! Don’t you want to marry me?’ He shot her a look of affectionate reprimand. ‘Though you still have not told me you love me!’

‘Of…’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, my God—of course I love you, my darling, darling Nico—you know that I do.’

‘Si,’ he agreed, with arrogant contentment. ‘I do.’

‘But we can’t get married!’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too soon!’

He shook his dark head and placed his hand on his heart in the most romantic gesture that Ella could ever have imagined. ‘No, it isn’t,’ he contradicted softly. ‘In fact, in this we are following tradition, for Royal courtships are never long drawn out.’

‘But won’t you need Gianferro’s permission?’

‘I would marry you without it, cara mia.’ His eyes glittered. ‘But my resistance is academic, since he has already given it.’

Ella blinked. ‘S-seriously?’

He nodded. ‘Oui, c’est vrai.’

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘You told me that Italian was the language of love!’

He smiled. ‘And so it is,’ he agreed softly. ‘But French is the language of the law—and marriage is both—a combination of love and obligation.’ There was a pause, a silence broken only by the loud drumming of a heart. Was that his, or hers? ‘Will you marry me, Gabriella?’

She didn’t blurt her answer out. She gave it the consideration that she knew she must, for a Royal marriage was different. She loved him, yes, but obligation and duty were paramount if they were to be happy together, and she must only accept his offer if she could be certain that she would make him a good wi

fe.

‘Oh, yes, Nico,’ she said softly, fervently. ‘I would be proud and honoured to be your wife.’

EPILOGUE

EVERYONE loved a Royal wedding, and Mardivino was no exception. The world’s press went crazy about the story of the youngest of the three darkly handsome princes falling in love with an ‘ordinary’ girl from England.