47. AMANDA

“Do we really have to do this?” I ask Maria, blowing my hair out of my eyes.

I’ve been staring at books of fabric swatches and paint colors and accessories for what seems like a month now, but in reality it’s been less than a week.

“It’s expected,” she says. “When royals begin to live together, it’s tradition for the new wife to leave her mark on their living quarters. And in your case, it’s one more step towards solidifying your relationship with Dante in the eyes of the people.”

I wince. “So it’s pretty much a given that Renaldo will have his people ‘leaking’ secrets about my decorating choices to the media?”

“It’s a reality of life for royals,” she says. “Everything you do is in the public eye.”

“Everything?” I say, arching an eyebrow.

She smiles. “In this day and age, I wouldn’t put it past them to have a hidden camera in your bedroom.”

“Don’t say that!” I giggle nervously. “I’m paranoid enough as it is.”

“Welcome to life at the Morovan palace,” she shrugs. “This is the reason the Trentinis pay their staff so well and tend to hire generations of the same families. Privacy is of the utmost importance.”

I sigh. Dante’s – our – apartments really are too masculine. Gothic, almost. I get the sense he had it decorated in the aftermath of his sister’s death and hasn’t changed anything in the ten years since. So I guess it’s time to turn a new page.

“Can we put this away for a little while and talk about something enjoyable for a change?” I ask.

“You’re the princess, Amanda. You tell me what to do, not the other way around.”

I grin. “Uh-huh. And then you give me that look that says ‘do you really think that’s a good idea?’ and we end up doing what you think we should do.”

“My secret is out,” she says with a laugh. “I always said you were sharp. I can only beg you not to tell Dante about my technique.”

She takes a seat next to me at the table, pushing the sample books away and folding her arms in the space she’s cleared.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“I’d really like to start planning a visit to Montana,” I say. “I haven’t been home in so long. And I can’t wait for Dante and the twins to see the ranch. I think they’re excited about it, too.”

“May I offer some advice first?”

“Of course.”

“Whenever you use the word ‘home’ now, you should make sure you’re referring only to Morova,” she says. “It’s a small distinction, but one the people will pick up on. In their eyes, you belong to them now. You are Morovan now, after all. Marrying Dante has made you a naturalized citizen.”

I’d never thought of that. Another thing to add to the pile of things I need to get used to. My romance with Dante has seemed so unreal at times, it’s easy to lose track of the very protocols that are my field of study.

When I’m in his arms and in our bed, it’s easy to lose track of everything.

“You’re right,” I say. “Okay, let’s talk about planning a trip to my family ranch. Better?”

“Perfect.”

“Dad got back a couple of days ago, and there are some things he has to take care of, but he should be ready for us in a week or so. Do you think that’s doable?”

Maria opens her ever-present iPad and pulls up a calendar. After a quick scan, she smiles.

“Luckily, the height of summer is low season for social events,” she says. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Dante and I have talked about keeping the visit low-key. We want to make sure the kids have a chance just to enjoy themselves while we’re there.”

“Of course. Now, what metropolitan center is closest to your father’s home?”

Metropolitan center? In Montana?

“Well, there’s Billings,” I say. “And Missoula. They’re both about 100,000 population. Great Falls and Shelby are closer but smaller. Why do you ask?”

“For accommodations. That long a drive won’t be ideal, but I suppose we could rent a helicopter to speed things along.”

I tilt my head. “I’m not sure I understand – we’ll stay at the ranch. The house has three bedrooms. The kids can share one.”

Maria looks as if I’m speaking Chinese to her.

“I meant the staff,” she says. “They’ll need somewhere to stay.”

“Staff? What are you talking about?”

“The royal family travels with secretaries, valets, drivers, security. A dozen in all, at least.”

This is insane. Why on earth would we need a dozen people to fly somewhere for a visit?

“Okay,” I say, putting up my hands. “We need to talk about this stuff. I really don’t think – ”

At that moment, Carlo appears in the doorway of our chambers, agitated and huffing from exertion. I’ve never seen him any less than fully composed. What in the world is going on?

“Carlo, are you all right?” I ask, rising to take him by the arm and lead him to the sofa.

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” he pants. “I ran here from my office – neither of you were answering your phones.”

“We have them muted. What’s the emergency?” My stomach suddenly drops. “Is it the children? Dante? Has something happened?”

He runs a big hand through his hair. Seeing him in a state like this has goosebumps rising on my arms.

“Something has indeed happened,” he says. “But not what you think. Maria, please turn the television to 4Roma.”

She snaps up the remote and turns on the TV. After a few clicks, we’re looking at something on the screen that stops my heart cold.

It’s a still photo of a blonde with her face digitally blurred, lying in a bed, holding a camera in a selfie pose. She’s naked, her body blurred like her face.

Next to her in the bed is Dante, asleep, his arm under her head.

Maria looks at me, eyes wide. My shock must show on my face because she rushes to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Steady,” she says. “Don’t panic. I’m sure this isn’t what it appears to be.”

“They’re saying the photos are from the prince’s bachelor party in Ibiza,” says Carlo. “I’ve been trying to track down Emilio to talk about this, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

On the TV, Lorenzo Ricci sits behind the anchor desk with a scowl. The photo of Dante and the woman shrinks to the screen behind him.

“For those just joining us, you’re looking at photos from Prince Dante’s bachelor party less than three weeks ago,” he says sternly. “Yes, you heard that right. The prince in bed with a woman who is most definitely not Amanda Sparks, just days before their so-called storybook wedding.”

My mouth is dry. I feel like I’ve been cruising down the highway at sixty miles an hour and accidentally shifted from fifth gear to reverse.

“We received these photos from an impeccable source and have independently confirmed that they are real and were taken the night of the twenty-sixth,” says Ricci. “The revelation comes as no shock to this reporter. I have said for years that Dante is not the man to lead the Morovan monarchy, and this simply adds to the mounting pile of evidence.

“It is absolutely clear that the royal marriage is simply hasty window dressing to keep the councils from taking direct control of the Trentini fortune for the good of the nation.”

Maria shakes a fist at the screen.

“Bastardo!” she barks. “He calls himself a journalist! He’s nothing but a rumor monger!”

“I don’t know,” I say through numb lips. “Looks pretty authentic to me.”

“Your Highness,” Carlo says, taking me by the shoulders. “I’ve known the prince his entire life. I don’t pretend to understand the circumstances of these photos, but I can say one thing with utter certainty: I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been since you arrived at the palace.”

“Carlo is right,” says Maria, taking my hand. “Dante is a new man.”

I don’t know what to think. Carlo and Maria are my friends, but they’re also on Dante’s payroll. They claim to know him, but neither of them is disputing that the photos show him in the arms of another woman.

And do I have the right to be outraged? Or even surprised? Our marriage was laid out in black and white as a contract. Nowhere did it say that Dante had to be faithful to me.

My guts are twisting inside me. Was I blinded by naïve hope? I was a convenient virgin who happened to be in the right place at the right time – no one said I was anything more than that.

Except Dante told me he loved me. Why would he do that if he didn’t really feel that way?

“I can’t watch this anymore,” I say, wiping tears away with my palm. “I need to be alone. Leave, please.”

Maria and Carlo exchange a nervous glance.

“Please don’t worry, ma’am,” says Carlo. “I’ll be sure to send Dante here as soon as we manage to get in touch with him. There must be an explanation.”

“Fine,” I say absently, showing them the door. “I’ll wait for him here.”

They look at me uncomfortably as they file past. I close the door behind them and drop to the sofa.

Great, racking sobs shake my body to the core as I see my whole world falling apart.