The Prince's Second Chance Page 17

  “Aren’t you mad?”

  “At whom?”

  “Cameron,” Sierra said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

  Gabriella noted that her daughter had yet to refer to her father by anything other than his given name or his formal title. Obviously she was going to need some time to accept the familial relationship between them, and she silently cursed the inopportune timing of the prince’s trip. Sierra was still reeling from the news that Cameron was her father, and Gabriella believed her daughter would have benefited from having him around to answer her questions, assuage her doubts.

  “Honey, I know this is all new to you, but your—Cameron,” she hastily amended, “has lived his entire life in the public eye. For a lot of women, being seen with a prince, having her name linked with his—however temporarily—is an enormous thrill.”

  “So it doesn’t bother you that he was photographed with a redhead in Rome and a blonde in Bordeaux?”

  Of course it bothered her. Enough that she’d taken the time to do some quick internet checking herself, which gave her the information to answer her daughter’s question.

  “He’s on a business trip,” she reminded Sierra. “The blonde happens to be an American ambassador also in France for meetings, and the redhead is an internationally-known model currently dating the youngest son of the Italian prime minister.”

  Sierra was silent, as if absorbing this information.

  “You used to badger me with questions about your father,” Gabriella reminded her. “If there’s something you want to know now, just ask me.”

  “I guess I was just wondering…or maybe remembering. When I was little and asked you about my dad, you always told me that you’d loved him very much.”

  Gabriella nodded.

  “Was it true?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I might not have given you a lot of information about your father, but what I did tell you was always the truth.”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  And because Gabriella didn’t like to be dishonest with her daughter, even if she’d only recently acknowledged the truth to herself, she nodded again.

  “So why didn’t you go with him?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “What makes you think he asked?”

  “I heard him,” she admitted. “When you told me to go to bed, I stayed in the hallway, listening to your conversation, and I heard him ask you.”

  There was no point in lecturing Sierra about eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. What was done was done. So she only said, “Then you heard me tell him that I couldn’t go because I have responsibilities here.”

  “That’s a cop-out,” Sierra said. “You know it and he knows it, too.”

  “I’m willing to answer any of your questions about Cameron but not about my personal relationship with him.”

  “Do you still have a personal relationship with him?” Sierra challenged.

  Gabriella didn’t have a ready response to that one.

  Sierra hated keeping secrets from Jenna.

  What was the point of having a BFF if she couldn’t talk to her? But Gabriella had been adamant that she couldn’t tell anyone about her father. Not even Jenna. Not yet.

  But she had to talk to someone. And there was no one that she trusted more than Jenna. And she knew that she could trust her, because she’d told Jenna about the night she’d snuck out to meet Paolo, and Jenna hadn’t whispered a word to anyone, not even Rachel or Beth.

  So when she got home after her doctor’s appointment Friday afternoon—without her cast finally—she picked up her phone and texted Jenna.

  Can you get away? Need 2 talk 2 u.

  And Jenna, because she was her BFF, texted back right away:

  Where?

  Half an hour later, they were sipping iced cappuccinos down at the waterfront.

  It was only the beginning of the second week of a three-week trip, and Cameron already wanted to go home.

  Usually he enjoyed the travel that was an essential aspect of his job, the opportunity to visit new places and meet new people. But in the short time that he’d been away, he’d realized that there wasn’t anywhere in the world that he wanted to go unless it was with Gabriella and Sierra.

  By the time he got to Germany, he was feeling edgy and impatient to be home. He thought about calling Gabriella. In fact, not a day had gone by since he’d left Tesoro del Mar that he hadn’t picked up the phone at least half a dozen times to dial to her number. But each time, he’d set it down again. He wanted her there with him, but she’d refused. Of course, he’d been too stubborn and proud to beg, and now he was alone.

  Well, not exactly alone. He was on his way to meet Dieter Meier for dinner. Dieter was the president of a major manufacturing firm in Nuremburg and an old friend from Cambridge, and Cameron was looking forward to catching up with him. But he promised himself that he would call Gabriella after his dinner with Dieter.

  Except that when he got back to his hotel, there was a woman in his room. And not the woman he’d been missing.

  “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  Chantal St. Laurent’s glossy, painted lips curved. “I know the manager.”

  “Okay—what are you doing here?”

  She rose to her feet, somehow balancing on four-inch ice-pick heels, and crossed the room to where he’d stopped, just inside the door. She’d poured herself into a short spandex dress that was the same color blue as her eyes. There were diamonds at her ears and her wrists, so that she glittered with every step and every turn. She looked good, spectacular even, but her presence stirred only basic male appreciation—and more than a little suspicion.

  She ran a manicured nail down the front of his shirt, tracing the buttons. “Hoping to catch up with an old friend.”

  They used to run in the same circles, but he wouldn’t have said they were friends. For a brief time they’d been lovers, but even then, they’d never been particularly friendly toward one another.

  She slid her fingertip beneath the fabric, lightly scraped her nail against his bare skin. He grabbed her hand, pulled it away.

  “I don’t have time for your games, Chantal.”

  She pouted. “You just don’t remember how much fun my games are.”

  “I do remember,” he assured her. But mostly what he remembered was that she had a red-hot body and an ice-cold heart. “I specifically remember that you screwed me over more than you ever screwed me, and that wasn’t a lot of fun.”

  “Let me make it up to you.”

  She tried to reach for him again, but he caught both her wrists and held her away.

  “You can make it up to me by leaving this room. Now.”

  He dropped her wrists, but instead of going to the door, she moved toward the bar. She took her time selecting a glass, added a few cubes of ice from the silver bucket, then poured a generous splash of scotch over them.

  She swirled the liquid around in the glass, then looked up at him with those big blue eyes that had brought legions of men to their knees. “Please don’t send me away, Cameron. Not when I came all the way from St. Moritz to be with you.”

  He didn’t ask what she’d been doing in St. Moritz. Truthfully, he didn’t care. But he did wonder, “How did you even know I’d be here?”

  “I’ve been following your career through the newspapers, hoping that our paths would cross again.” She took a long sip of the scotch. “I’ve missed you, Cameron.”

  “Was I ever gullible enough to believe the lies that trip so easily off of your tongue?”

  She set the glass down again with a snap. “You’re not the man I remember.”

  “You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that,” he told her.

  “You’ll regret turning me away,” she promised him.

  “I regret that you aren’t already gone.”

  She picked up her glass again, tossed the last of her drink in his face.

  He should have anticipated the attack. Unl
ike Allegra, Chantal had always been impulsive, her moods mercurial, and he’d baited her. Not because he wanted a reaction, but because he wanted her gone.

  He was still blinking away the alcohol that stung his eyes when he heard the door slam. Well, he’d got what he wanted in that regard, anyway.

  He flipped the security lock and went to the bathroom to shower off the remnants of expensive scotch and cheap memories.

  Gabriella awakened to the sound of someone knocking on her door. No, it was more of a pounding, and the impatient, incessant hammering made her heart jolt painfully in her chest. It wasn’t quite 4:00 a.m., and nothing good ever came from someone at the door at 4:00 a.m.

  She pushed out of bed, yanking on her robe as she made her way down the stairs. She grabbed the phone from the charger on the way to the door, in case she needed to call 9-1-1. A flick of the switch had light flooding the front porch and revealing the identity of the late-night visitor.

  She flipped the lock and yanked open the door.

  “Alli? What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I came to save you from the media hounds that will be on your doorstep before sunrise.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The news just came across the wire,” her editor warned her. “Alex saw it and immediately called me at home.”

  Her heart jolted again. “What news?”

  “About Sierra.”

  “What about Sierra?” Katarina demanded.

  Gabriella and Alli both turned to find Katarina on the stairs, Sierra behind her.

  Alli glanced past Gabriella. “That she’s Prince Cameron’s daughter.”

  Gabriella didn’t waste her breath swearing. She’d known the truth would come out eventually and while she wasn’t happy about the timing, she didn’t think it was cause to panic—although apparently her editor did.

  “The presses are running overtime,” Alli told her. “But the print media’s only part of it. The story’s already all over the internet. There are photo montages on YouTube and blog posts about your affair.”

  Okay, so she hadn’t expected the truth to come out quite like this. She swallowed, hard, as her stomach muscles cramped into painful knots.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Go pack a suitcase,” Alli advised, her gaze shifting to encompass both Katarina and Sierra in her instruction.

  “I’m not letting the paparazzi chase me from my home,” Gabriella’s mother said.

  “Hopefully it will only be for a few days,” Alli soothed.

  “And where are we supposed to go?” Sierra demanded.

  “There’s nowhere we can go that the reporters and photographers won’t find us if they’re determined to do so,” Gabriella acknowledged dully.

  “Actually, there is one place,” Alli said.

  “Where?”

  “The royal palace.”

  Gabriella stared at her, certain her friend had lost her mind. “Okay,” she said, playing along. “Let me just call the prince regent to see if there are any vacancies in the castle.”

  “No need,” Alli told her. “I already did.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Prince Rowan and I go way back…to the beginning of June when you wrote that story about his cousin and the daughter of the King of Ardena, anyway.”

  “You really called him?”

  “He’s sending a car and bodyguards to make sure you get from here to there without incident.”

  “Well, then, we should get dressed,” Katarina suggested, finally starting back up the stairs. “We can’t go to meet royalty in our pajamas.”

  It was impossible not to be impressed by the royal palace. But as her daughter goggled over the marble floors and crystal chandeliers and her mother inspected the heirloom vases overflowing with fresh flowers and family portraits in ornate frames on the walls, Gabriella found herself even more impressed by the graciousness of Rowan Santiago, the prince regent, and Princess Lara, his wife, who both came to the foyer to greet them when they arrived.

  Gabriella automatically dipped into a curtsy, and her mother and daughter followed suit.

  “Please,” Lara said, taking her hand. “It’s an ungodly hour to worry about such formalities.”

  “It’s an ungodly hour to be anywhere other than bed,” Rowan added, “and your rooms are ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Katarina said gratefully.

  “Hannah—” he gestured to the woman who hovered in the background “—will show you the way.”

  Sierra stifled a yawn as she fell into step beside her grandmother. Gabriella stayed back.

  “I don’t imagine sleep will come easily with everything that’s on your mind,” Lara said gently to her. “But you should try to get some rest.”

  “I will,” she agreed. “I just wanted to thank you. I know those words are grossly inadequate, and I’m sorry that we showed up at your door under such circumstances, and so very grateful that you’ve opened your home to us.”

  Rowan put an arm across his wife’s shoulders, a casual gesture of comfort and affection. “She’s going to change her mind in a few hours.”

  The knots of anxiety that had begun to loosen when the driver pulled through the palace gates tightened in Gabriella’s stomach again, but she forced herself to ask, “What’s going to happen in a few hours?”

  Lara smiled. “The kids will be awake.”

  The sun was high in the sky and the vultures were circling when Cameron’s plane landed at the Port Augustine airport.

  He was surrounded by bodyguards as he made his way from the plane to the car, but still he felt the press of the paparazzi pushing in on him. He ignored the shouted questions, the deliberately provocative comments and the blinding flash of cameras. He had only one focus: getting to Gabriella and Sierra.

  He knew they were at the royal palace, and that they were safe there. But he didn’t know if they had seen El Informador.

  His secretary had handed him a copy of the paper as he’d stepped onto the plane, and after he’d read and reread the outrageous article, he’d spent the remainder of the almost three-hour flight thinking about how badly he’d screwed every thing up.

  As he ducked into the back of the black Mercedes SUV and the vehicle slowly began pulling away from the media mob, he accepted that Gabriella would have seen the article. It was inevitable, really. What worried him was that she might believe it.

  Rowan and Lara’s two sons were very spirited and utterly adorable. Matthew was six-and-a-half, William was almost four, and when the three generations of Vasquez women met them at breakfast the next morning—along with seventeen-year-old Princess Alexandria and thirteen-year-old Prince Damon—they were all immediately charmed. Prince Christian had eaten with Rowan much earlier, Lara informed her guests, so that they could indulge in a morning ride before the demands of the day caught up with them.

  The boys chatted up a storm while Gabriella nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped her coffee, and for a few blissful minutes she let herself forget why she was hiding out at the palace and simply enjoyed being there.

  When Lara slipped away to take a phone call, Katarina excused herself to head out to the gardens and Lexi invited Sierra to join her for a swim, leaving Gabriella with three very handsome—and very young—members of the royal family. By the time Lara returned, the boys had finished their breakfasts and gone down to the stables and Gabriella was indulging in a second cup of coffee.

  “Should I apologize for everyone abandoning you or are you savoring a few quiet minutes?” the princess asked.

  “I’m savoring,” Gabriella admitted. “Probably because I know it’s the calm before the storm.”

  “Did you manage to get any sleep last night?” Lara asked gently.

  “Some,” she said. “Enough that I’m thinking a little more clearly this morning and wondering if it wouldn’t just be better to face the press and get it over with so that they move on to something
else? And I think, if I was the only one who would face the backlash, I would do it.”

  “You’re worried about your daughter,” Lara guessed.

  She nodded.

  “I hope she doesn’t mind staying here for a few days. I know kids—teenagers in particular—can be particular about their own space.”

  “Mind?” Gabriella smiled. “She said she feels like a princess.”

  “She is a princess,” Lara reminded her.

  “I know,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure Sierra has let herself acknowledge that fact.”

  “Because it would mean accepting that Cameron is her father,” the princess guessed.

  Gabriella nodded. “It hasn’t been an easy time for Sierra. She hasn’t known about Cameron very long—I thought I was doing her a favor, by keeping the identity of her father a secret. Because I knew that if anyone found out she was his daughter, her life would change.” Her smile was wry. “Obviously I screwed up there.”

  “No one can blame you for wanting to protect your child,” the princess said. “Although I don’t know if it’s fair—or even possible—to protect her from her birthright.”

  Gabriella sighed. “I know.”

  “But speaking of Cameron—he should be arriving here shortly.”

  “He’s back from Germany?”

  “His plane landed about twenty minutes ago.”

  Gabriella winced. “I can’t imagine he’s pleased to have his trip interrupted to deal with this media frenzy.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Lara said. “I’m sure Cameron is more accustomed to seeing his name in the headlines than most people.”

  “Does that mean… Is it in the headlines today?”

  The princess nodded and passed her a copy of El Informador.

  “La Noticia covered the basic story, too,” Lara told her. “They couldn’t very well be the only newspaper in Europe that ignored it, but they reported only the facts that had been independently confirmed.”

  Gabriella didn’t reply, her attention already snagged by the harsh words spread across the top of the front page.