Chapter Nine
The next morning, Antonia stumbled into the bathroom feeling as if she could peel off her face. She’d slept in her makeup from the night before, something she knew better than to do at this age. Assessing herself with an eye pinched shut, she estimated the number of kilometers between her and her beloved facewash at the palace. Judging from Lou’s deep slumber, it would be a while before they made it back there.
She washed with soap and water, but it wasn’t enough. She needed creams, purifiers, cotton balls… She sighed, resting her palms against the smooth marble countertop of the bathroom. Could she find a drug store somewhere nearby?
She scoured her mental map of the hotel and its environs, blinking against the bright light of the bathroom. She remembered a cluster of businesses outside the casino…there had to be a drug store there. A little lady’s visit to the pharmacy was in order. Energy arrived, thrumming through her. Perfect. She could slip out while Lou was asleep and be back in time to enjoy their full morning together.
Slipping out of the bathroom, she pulled on her dress from the night before, zipping it up quietly in the early morning rays creeping through the slats on the far wall. Louis stirred as she arranged her hair. She looked presentable enough, all things considered. The soap hadn’t been able to get everything off, but at least it wasn’t quite so caked on. She pulled a face, dying to smooth a toner over her skin. The fresh sensation of a clean face was like a mirage in the desert at this point, taunting her with its beauty.
As she slipped on her heels, Lou flipped over, peering at her in the dim bedroom. “Antonia? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to run downstairs to get something,” she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll be quick.”
“Can’t I send for it? Come back to bed.”
“Feminine needs, my prince.” She shot him a look, hoping he wouldn’t press further. There were just some things a woman needed to take care of herself.
He nodded, burying his face in the pillow she’d used. “Okay, okay. I’ll be here…”
She let herself out of the room and hurryied toward the elevator. Once in the lobby, she checked with reception to ensure that there was, in fact, a pharmacy outside as she suspected. They gave her directions, and when she burst outside the hotel into the clear, crisp morning air, the lack of paparazzi almost startled her. Either it was too early for them, or they’d disappeared with the end of the tournament. Besides, what would they really care about Louis and her anyway? Only the hullabaloo of the poker tournament had drawn them in the first place.
She hurried down the lane, following a path of bushes and bright red shrubbery toward the small row of businesses just beyond the hotel property, rubbing her arms against the cool morning air. When she approached the pharmacy, it looked as if the owner had just recently opened for the day. As she pushed against the glass front door, a tiny bell jingled.
“Bonjour.” She smiled at the shopkeeper and browsed the far wall of cosmetics. Ample options were arrayed before her; she quickly found her favorite brand of toner and her best facial cleanser. Relief swelled inside her. She grabbed the bottles and headed for the counter, reaching for the money purse inside her bag.
As the shopkeeper rang up her order, her eyes drifted over the glass display case in front of her. Candies of every sort, useless hair ties, and a hefty magazine rack. She skimmed the glossy covers, wondering if maybe the tournament had shown up already. Maybe it was too soon. As she turned toward the register to pay, a cover caught her eye.
A familiar face—Louis’s. Partially obscured by his hand as he hurried from…somewhere. She leaned closer, inspecting the cover. Her stomach shriveled into a tiny knot. She was beside him, and they were in Nice, leaving the restaurant from Tuesday night. In a small inset picture in the corner: her very own father. She puzzled out the French headline—it didn’t take much language skill to figure out it referred to them as a couple, and said something about drama.
“Madame?” The shopkeeper peered at her over the register, and she snapped her head up to look at him. He’d been speaking to her. What the hell is my father doing on the cover of this magazine? She closed her mouth, which had been slack-jawed, and snatched up the magazine to add it to her tally. Fishing out the appropriate bills from her purse, she shoved the money at the man and hurried out of his store, heart pounding.
Shit, shit, shit. She needed a translator immediately. But somehow, waking up Louis with this unsavory turn of events didn’t seem right. She’d log onto one of the computers in the lobby and do the research herself. Hell, she might even check her email. Start piecing some things together.
At the hotel, the front doors whooshed open silently as the bellmen anticipated her arrival. She scurried over the gleaming tiles of the foyer, her clacking heels the only sound in the early morning save the distant murmur of a receptionist on the phone. She slid into a seat in front of the computer, navigating wildly to an internet browser so she could type in this damned title and find out what the magazines were saying about her.
Her heart pounded with each French word she typed. It couldn’t be good. This stuff was never good. Clicking submit, she read the results.
Prince of Monaco beds the enemy; turning professional drama into love?
She stared at the translation, stunned. The enemy? She flipped through the pages, desperate to find the article and type in more of the story. Inside was a full spread of covert shots from throughout the week; the two of them getting into the black car outside the hotel, the car entering the palace grounds, their tour through the city, more photos from their supposedly secret getaway to Nice.
How did they follow us everywhere? Fear shivered through her, and she hesitated before typing in the first few lines of the story. The resultant French was choppy, especially since she couldn’t get all of the accented characters right, but the message was clear: after some falling out with her family’s company in Italy, Louis was, according to this, making amends with his recent interest in Signor Giovanni’s only daughter.
As she typed in more, the bulk of the reporting was fluff, as to be expected. But one thing remained unclear: making amends for what?
Opening a new tab in the browser, Antonia typed in a simple search: Prince Louis of Monaco, Signor Giovanni, Scandal.
The results popped up faster than she could even comprehend, the majority of them leading to popular magazines and gossip syndications. She clicked the first one in Italian—Head of Giovanni Design Denounces Monaco & Its Prince.
As she read the article, her stomach sank. All the pieces fit together now—all the overheard complaints of her father over the past several months, all the plotting and brewing he’d been doing in secret, plans she’d stepped in on by accident, stuff she’d tried hard to not be involved in.
Her father had spread malicious things about Louis. Things she didn’t know the truth or extent of, accusations that extended far beyond what a week with the man could reasonably discern. Her stomach knotted, sinking to her feet in an iron nut.
With a sigh, she opened her email client, hesitant to see what might be waiting for her. A string of new emails awaited her: most from her father, all untitled, which made her uneasy.
She looked at the oldest one: it was a response to the last email she’d sent, asking about who she might have a word with. Her father had replied, The scoundrel Prince Louis of Monaco. Don’t go near him with a ten-foot pole. Truly loathsome. Hope he rots. Sent your replacement telephone to the hotel, it should arrive Friday evening or Saturday morning before your flight.
The next emails were variations of congratulations about her wins. Then it appeared he’d caught wind of her forays with the prince somewhere around Thursday. There was one email: Saw the news tonight. Are you seeing the horrid Prince? After all he did to our family, to our business. Please tell me this is made up media snot. You are a Giovanni, not a Monacan defector.
She closed the emails, anxiety knotting her belly. If she knew one thing about her father, it was that he resorted to drastic measures when threatened. Somewhere between the emails and the magazine and the tabloids, the truth resided. And based on what she’d picked up over the last several months at the office, her father had been orchestrating a smear campaign against Louis, one that had effectively devastated his reputation.
Swallowing hard, she sat staring at the keyboard for a long while before she felt ready to move. She had plenty of questions for Louis—but was she ready to face whatever revelations might come? It would be so much easier if the weekend could just continue in its uninterrupted, easygoing reverie.
But that was no longer an option. The glossy cover of the magazine glared at her from the desktop, reminding her that this rabbit hole went much deeper than she’d ever imagined.
And if she wanted to continue to enjoy any time at all with her prince, she had to hear his side. Immediately.
She snatched up the magazine and marched toward the elevator.
***
Louis hummed with satisfaction as he rolled onto his side, letting the quiet morning air settle into him. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep since Antonia had hurried away on her personal mission. Sleeping in was hardly sanctioned, but he needed this one day to laze around as long as possible. The upcoming work week was sure to be hellish, with how much leisure time he’d snagged with Antonia during the tournament.
He dozed off and then startled awake when he heard the door opening. Yawning, he relished the soft pillow beneath him and the light sheets covering him for the last time. It was time to get up.
Rolling onto his back, he watched as Antonia strode into the bedroom, dropping a small plastic bag on the boudoir. Her face revealed nothing, but the shift in the air around her was palpable. He sat up, brows knitting together.
“What’s wrong?”
She avoided his gaze as she slipped off her heels. Without a word, she revealed a magazine from under her arm and tossed it onto the bed.
One of the most infamous tabloids in the southern region, and on the cover, the two of them, along with an inset photo of her father. His belly clenched into a sick knot.
“Do you know my father?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came.
“Answer me.” Her voice was icy, contrasting with the dark fire in her eyes.
“I do.” He cleared his throat. “The city-state has worked with your family’s company for years. I’ve never met him personally, though.”
Her gaze was steady on him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve worked with my family’s business?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze fell to the sheets, desperate to wipe the scary neutrality off her face, to change the fire in her eyes to passion, to glimpse a smile agagin. “It didn’t seem relevant. And to be honest, I didn’t want to talk business. You didn’t seem to either.”
Her gaze was like a branding iron on him. “Why would my father say all those things about you?”
He scoffed. “You tell me. I was just as surprised as anybody. I don’t know him, and he certainly doesn’t know enough about me to say any of the things that he did.”
“Then why would he say it?”
“Because we ended our contract with your business.” He held her gaze, tension prickling across his neck. “He wanted to hurt me.”
Her nostrils flared but she didn’t move. “Why did you end the contact with our business?”
“Because I’m trying to make Monaco more independent.” A firm edge appeared in his voice, one he couldn’t control. He was so sick of having to defend these strategies. “We enjoyed a decade-long relationship with Giovanni Designs, but it’s time to focus on our own growth and stability. Your company will recover. You have other clients. We need to grow our own industries, encourage our own entrepreneurs—we are too dependent on everyone outside of Monaco.”
Her expression softened. “Didn’t you tell him that?”
“We explained the best that we could. Nor do we owe our clients a reason. But he heard what he wanted.”
Her gaze wandered over his face, concern replacing the stoicism. “He’s a terrible bully.”
He laughed a little. “Can you say that about your own father?”
“I’ve known him longer than anyone. I know how bad he can be.” She sighed, fiddling with the neckline of her dress. “I just can’t believe you didn’t mention this sooner.”
“I’m sorry.” He moved toward the edge of the bed, holding her gaze. “I should have told you sooner. Are you angry with me?”
“Yes.” She fixed him with the neutral look again, and then turned away. “Though I see your reasons.”
“Please forgive me. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
She turned to him sharply. “What do we have?”
The question was like a punch in his gut. He wanted nothing and everything from her. “We have something that I want to continue exploring. I’m crazy about you, Antonia. I want you to stay with me in Monaco.”
Her face clouded over and she drifted closer to the bed. “And do what? I have a life, you know. I won’t be your pretty little princess.”
He cracked a grin. “You couldn’t not be pretty if you tried, my sweet. But you can do whatever you like. I can push through a job for you. Monaco isn’t for the lazy or gluttonous. We have work to do.” And if she were to come through and design linens for the city-state, all the better. The one regret about letting her family’s company go was the loss of the genius designs. And now, that talent could return.
She reached for his hand, tracing the outline of his fingers. “My father would kill me.”
“But what do you want? Do you like my idea?” His heart raced as he awaited her answer. Having her here was suddenly the only thing he wanted; he couldn’t imagine his life without her by his side. Please say yes.
She sighed. “I do. I’m tempted to say yes and just move in now. But…”
“But?”
“But I have to speak with my father. Though I am so furious with him much of the time, he is still my father. I’ll call him later today and we’ll talk.”
He smiled, pulled her onto the bed. “That’s as good as ‘yes’ for me. I want you here, in Monaco. Please stay with me.”
She softened in his embrace, a grin finally breaking through. “I want to be here with you too. I do.”
“Yogurt and granola on the balcony, every morning.” He stroked her hair, placing small kisses along her neck. “Dinners on the sea. Sweet moments with you by my side. Is there anything else one needs in life?”
She nuzzled him, placing soft kisses along his cheek. “I suppose not. You make a frighteningly good case for my relocation. Would I be able to continue with design?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. What is your role at your family’s company?”
“Chief of Design.” She traced a fingertip along his jawline.
“So you were responsible for those linens in the casino.”
“All my work.”
He tutted. “I think we can make room for you here. With genius like that, we have to.”
She grinned up at him, and they kissed, his heart beating easier now. Somehow, he’d struck the balance between his unsavory initial motives and the best path to the future. As long as Antonia agreed to be with him, to stay just a bit longer, all would be well.
Even so, the pending phone call with her father nagged at him. He wasn’t out of the woods quite yet.
***
Later that afternoon, after an exquisite lunch and a very lazy shower with Lou that took far longer than necessary, Antonia had gathered the courage to ring her father. With a fresh face and comfortable clothes, she perched on the bedside, staring at her new telephone.
She could do this. It was within her powers. Her father would be angry, sure, but he had to see that he’d done the prince wrong as well, so wherever her heart led her was nobody’s business.
Or something like that.
Picking up the phone, she dialed the country code for Italy followed by her father’s office phone. He would surely be there, hunched over paperwork, muttering about one client or another.
On the fourth ring, her father’s trademark sigh, followed by a flat-toned, “Hello.”
“Father.”
“Antonia! Where the hell are you?”
“I’m in Monaco.”
“Your train was due back this afternoon. You never showed—your mother was waiting.”
“Why was she waiting for me? She never comes to get me.”
Her father harrumphed. “It doesn’t matter. You made her waste her time and we are worried sick about you. Why haven’t you called?”
She pinched her eyes shut. Because I’ve been this independent since I was 14. You’ve never cared until now. “I’ve been in the tournament, father. It’s been a whirlwind. You knew I lost my phone. I took the chance for a vacation—is that a crime?”
“What is this business with the godforsaken prince? Tell me these rag mags are making it up. Tell me this, Antonia, or I’ll have a heart attack right here.”
She gritted her teeth. His threats and outlandishness came right on cue. “Father, you cannot plan a heart attack. And I am with him. We’ve been spending some time together. Is that a crime as well?”
“It is when you’re part of the Giovanni family!” She had to move the phone away from her ear, he roared so loudly. “You return instantly to Milan or else consider yourself unwelcome in this family!”
“Father, why are you so outraged? His reasons for ending the contract are understandable. I don’t think—“
“You will not take his side with me. Do you hear me? I have no business dealing with a traitor, and I will not stand for my daughter becoming one either.”
She swallowed hard. “Aren’t you even going to congratulate me on winning the tournament? Or is this all about your pride?”
He huffed. “Your mother and I were thrilled to see that you won. But your win has been overshadowed by this unfortunate news. You know what to do now. Inform me what train you’ll be on once you book it.”
“I’m staying here.” Her voice wavered, tears pricking her eyes. He was such a bull—an unforgiveable bull. This was just one incident of thousands in her life where he’d threatened exile from the family for not bending to his wishes and whims.
“You have one day to book your return trip. Need I remind you of the consequences?”
“Father, just give me some time here. I want to stay and see if I like it. I can find a job here, and use my talents—”
“For whom, the man who sent our company into financial ruin?” His voice was aghast, so raw and loud that she winced. “I won’t have it. You have shamed me!”
And then the line went dead. Tears clouded her vision and a few drops escaped as she lowered the phone. Louis approached quietly, sitting beside her on the bed. He rubbed her back, not saying anything.
“He’s so hardheaded,” she said, wiping a few tears away. “He refuses to listen to me. He refuses to listen to anybody except himself. And to him, he’s the king of the world.”
“Fathers can be like that sometimes. Especially when power and success are mixed in.” He clasped her hand in his. “I struggle with the same.”
“He says I’m a traitor.” She turned to him, lip quivering, struggling to maintain some semblance of control. “How can that be true? I’m just following what feels right. Business is business; you’ve explained it to me. I had been thinking of moving anyway—I’m sick of Milan. If not Monaco, I would have gone elsewhere, I’m sure of it.”
“He is clearly the unreasonable one. Should you expect him to come around?”
She sighed, deflated. “Eventually, but I can’t be sure. I’ve never had something like this happen before.”
“Call your mother. They always know what to advise.”
Drawing a shaky breath, she nodded. “I will. Soon.”
He kissed her cheek and went into the other room, where he’d set up his laptop and a wireless printer. Feeling like a vacant shell of herself, she stared into space for a while, measuring all the mountains she still had to overcome: calling her mother, begging for forgiveness, but also staying true to her own decisions.
As her mind worked over the details of everything she’d learned, one point continued to stick out above the rest: why did Louis even approach her if he knew she was of the Giovanni family?
If Louis had been so hurt and angered by the slander her father created, then why even bother chatting her up at the poker table?
Maybe he didn’t know who I was. Maybe he wanted to just say hi. Maybe it was to see how I’d react to him. Maybe I was so gorgeous he couldn’t resist. Or maybe…
Thoughts cartwheeled uncontrollably through her mind. Something didn’t add up, but she was too emotionally drained to think about it further. When she’d recouped a semblance of energy, she’d start figuring out the gray areas of the matter.