Rose entered first, holding the children’s hands and walking to the far end of the dais, where seats had been arranged for the three of them. Emilia was tall enough to manage without any sort of bolster, but Max needed the extra height. Rose helped him clamber up as Diego, Alexander, and finally, Raoul, the guest of honor, entered the room to a round of applause.

As soon as everyone was seated, a flurry of activity came through the doors as servers appeared, whisking covers off plates and placing the starters gently in front of the guests. The first course was prawns in a béarnaise sauce, though a more child-friendly variation was presented to the children. Rose assisted them through the proper flatware and etiquette, but they’d eaten en famille so many times that after only a few words they had their napkins properly on their laps and were delicately tasting the succulent prawns. Rose tried them as well, paired with a spectacular crisp, smooth white wine.

Several minutes later, the plates were taken away and a new course was placed in front of her. This, she was told when she asked, was sea bream with chanterelles and truffles, and the flavors melted in her mouth. While she’d eaten well in the kitchen, this was elevated to a whole other level. She closed her eyes and simply savored, and regrettably left a third of it on her plate, and about half of her wine pairing as well. How was she to get through a main course and dessert without her dress becoming suddenly too small, or her head too light?

The children picked at the fish, which was clearly not their favorite. But when their entrées came, they ate with gusto. The veal was tender and mild, the fava beans done to perfection. While Rose knew she shouldn’t, she ate every morsel, and the Pinot Noir pairing was amazing. Emilia and Max cleaned their plates, and she reached over to dab Max’s mouth with his napkin. He grinned up at her, his little bowtie bobbing, and she nearly laughed.

“Miss Rose?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You look very pretty.” He batted his dark eyelashes, and she wasn’t sure if she should melt or roll her eyes at his obvious charm.

“You sound like your tio Diego,” she cautioned, placing his napkin back in his lap.

“That’s because Tio Diego loves you.”

Her heart stopped for a second. “Oh Max, don’t be silly,” she said.

“He does.” He’d switched to Spanish, but she was able to translate easily. “He loves you like my father loves my mother.”

She had to blink rapidly as she smiled at him, at a loss as to how to respond. Finally she patted his knee. “So what kind of cake do you think we will have tonight?”

Cake was a good diversion. He chattered for a few minutes about his favorite kinds, but Rose couldn’t get his words out of her head.

And then the cheese course arrived, a signature Navarro Cabra al Vino and figs, along with a spectacular Rioja. Even though she only had a few sips, her head was a little fuzzy, and she drank deeply from her water glass. Music played in the background, and when she looked over, Diego caught her eye and smiled. She nodded back, determined that she keep things polite if distant. It was all just so complicated, and the longer the evening went on, the more out of place she felt.

When she looked over at the children, she discovered that they’d eaten the middle of their cheese but left the wine-soaked rind, which was likely a bit strong for their tastes. Emilia’s legs began swinging beneath the table, a sure sign she was getting tired, and Max started playing with his figs.

She really hoped there was cake soon, so she could take the children off to bed. While the opulent setting and incredible food had weaved a spell, she couldn’t totally escape the reality of the situation. She picked at her figs and looked around the room. These were not her people. They were either rich or aristocratic or both, and she was neither. She could practice etiquette and say the right things without much difficulty, but that was a far cry from belonging.

Maybe Diego had wanted her to attend tonight to show her she could hold her own, but instead she was just more aware than ever that she was out of place. And because of their “secret,” she didn’t feel as if she had any support. The sooner the dinner was over, the better.

She touched Max’s knee when he fidgeted through Diego’s toast to his brother, and sent him a look of warning to sit still as Raoul responded. As he sat through yet another round of applause, she leaned forward. “There will be cake now, and then we can go back to the nursery. If I know Senora Ortiz, the cake will be worth the wait.” She winked at them, but she’d spoken the truth. The cook was fabulous at everything, but she was particularly talented at cakes and pastries.

A cart was wheeled in, with a tiered cake adorned with edible flowers at its center. Raoul stood and motioned the children forward, and together they blew out the candles on the top layer. Raoul, as the guest of honor, cut the cake and tasted the first corner from his fingers, then laughed and cut pieces for Max and Emilia. After that, cake was delivered to everyone, along with strong coffee and a dessert wine that Rose declined.

The cake, though . . . it was scrumptious, with the flavors of almonds, oranges, and lemons. She’d never had anything like it. The menu card at her place said it was Tarta de Santiago.

“Will Papa open his presents?” Emilia asked, tasting a tiny bite of the cake and getting powdered sugar on her lips.

“Not now,” Rose said. “He’ll open them later. Once dessert is done, we can go back upstairs. I’ll tuck you into bed and your father will visit tomorrow and will open your very special presents. Okay?”

“Si, Miss Rose,” Emilia answered.

She was such a precious girl, Rose realized. Her dark curls and big eyes were so like the pictures Rose had seen of Ceci, and she was sweet and polite. Rose hoped, though, that she was able to have fun and just be . . . a kid. Max seemed to accomplish that a bit more easily.

After cake, guests began moving freely about the room, and soon they would go en masse to the ballroom, where music and dancing awaited. Rose made sure faces and fingers were clean and unsticky, then took the children to say good night to their father before taking them to bed.

Raoul was sitting in his chair with a child on each knee when Diego slid up behind her.

“You’re coming back down to the party, right?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear.

She shivered. “I hadn’t really planned on it. My job for the evening is done.”

He came around to face her, and she knew she’d have a hard time resisting his handsome face and charming eyes.

“It would be a shame to waste that dress. It will catch the light of the chandeliers, you know. Come down for a few minutes at least. Have a glass of champagne and listen to the music. It’s not every day you get to hear him live.”

It was tempting, and Diego had said nothing of dancing. Just champagne and music. “I don’t think so. It’s been a long day.”

Raoul stepped to Diego’s side. “Miss Walters, you look lovely. And the children were perfect tonight. Thank you. Seeing them happy again is the only gift I really need.”

She smiled up at him. “I would say it is my job, sir, but I’m very fond of them.”

“They feel safe with you.” He reached out and took her hand in his, not quite a handshake but not quite anything more, either. “Diego made a wonderful choice when he picked you as our nanny.”

Her heart warmed and her eyes stung a little. “Thank you,” she whispered. Diego still stood close to her, and he put his hand on her shoulder in support. In that moment Rose’s feelings were overwhelmingly surreal. The crown prince was saying incredibly kind things and his younger brother was touching her rather intimately . . . in public. She felt appreciated . . . and she felt loved. What an extraordinary family. Earlier she hadn’t felt supported, but now . . .

“You’ll come down and join the party, won’t you? After the children are in bed?” Raoul looked at her earnestly.

“I hadn’t planned on it, sir.”

“I insist. You deserve a little fun, too. Have a glass of champagne.”

Now she was in a tight spot. She couldn’t very well refuse, could she? “I supposed I could pop down for a few minutes.”

“Good.” He gave her a nod and a smile.

She cleared her throat. “All right, let’s get these two packed off to bed, shall we? Come on Emilia, Max. Special stories tonight. And extra time with the toothbrush thanks to all that cake.”

Max made a face and they all laughed, and then Rose took them by the hand and left the room. But she felt Diego’s gaze on her back, and heard her promise to return echo in her head.

* * *

The dancing was in full swing by the time Rose entered the ballroom. She stayed to the perimeter, trying to remain inconspicuous, and found a place close to the wall where she could hear the music and watch the dancers beneath the chandeliers. She smiled a bit as she realized that the setting didn’t actually resemble what she’d imagined. No one was spinning around in a swirl of skirts to a waltz or anything so staid. Instead hips and feet were moving and shoulders shaking as they kept up with the band. The lights were dimmed and created a more intimate glow than there’d been at dinner, and the stage lights reflected off the crystals. Raoul was in his thirties, and many of his guests were just on either side of that number. The atmosphere was more like an exclusive club than a palace ballroom.

A footman she didn’t recognize came past with a tray of champagne. She selected one, took a sip, and sighed. One glass, a couple of songs, and she’d disappear. Still, this was one for the memory banks. Her friends back home wouldn’t believe it, would they? She smiled to herself. If nothing else, the last few months had been an adventure.

“You did come.”

Diego appeared at her side, his hair slightly damp from dancing, presumably. He’d taken off his tuxedo jacket, his bowtie was gone, and the top button of his blindingly white shirt was undone. He’d never looked so delicious, and the wicked glint of his eyes only fanned the flames. Why could she not resist him? Why did she react to every look, touch, sound of his voice?

“I said I would.” She ignored the flutters and lifted her glass. “Champagne. And the music is fabulous.”

“Look,” he said, pointing. “Even Raoul is dancing.”

Indeed he was. He was on the floor, dancing smoothly though still with a certain amount of reserve, Rose thought. And Stephani was his partner, looking thoroughly elegant in her Versace little black dress and her dark hair swept back in a neat updo.

“My goodness,” she said, laughing. “Now there’s something I didn’t expect to see.”

The song ended and the tempo slowed a bit. “Put your glass down and come on. You’re going to dance with me.” He reached for her free hand and gave it a tug.

She pulled back a little. “Oh, is that such a good idea?”

“Raoul’s dancing with Steph.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference in an executive assistant and the nanny, Diego. And I’m pretty sure they haven’t been carrying on in secret.”

“One dance.” His dark eyes pleaded with her. “Please.” He lowered his voice. “Por favor,mi corazón.”

Ah, yes. The language and accent that would make any woman swoon, and she was no exception. She couldn’t refuse when he spoke that way and looked at her with what she could only describe as bedroom eyes. She drank the rest of her champagne, put her glass on a table, and took his hand. “One,” she said firmly.

Tremors rippled through her stomach as she stepped onto the floor with him and he took her in his arms. She felt as if everyone was looking at them, but when she looked around it seemed no one was even paying attention. Her gaze darted up to his face and he smiled at her, tightening his fingers around her hand while his other palm rested firmly against the small of her back. “Relax,” he murmured, as he started to move his feet. “Just dance with me, Rosalie.”

She swallowed nervously, but managed to shuffle her feet a bit, until bit by bit she let go of the tension in her limbs and melted into the embrace. He guided her easily, expertly, his shoulder warm beneath her hand, the scent of his cologne magnified by the heat of his body.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, leaning close to her ear. With the music and crowd, she knew it was the only way she’d be able to hear him, but his close proximity added to the crazy awareness happening right now. “I’m crazy about you, Rose.”

“Oh, Diego.” She leaned back a little and looked into his face. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth. Since you came here, you’ve turned everything upside down. And in a good way, you see? I never thought I could feel like this. That I’d want to. But I do.”

The air she gulped into her lungs strained against her ribs. “Just dance with me, Diego. One dance. Then I have to go . . .”

He squeezed her hand. “Everything’s changed, can’t you feel it?”

Her heartbeat thudded with fear and anticipation. “Has it?” she asked, shaking her head. “I can’t keep sneaking around, and you heard Raoul tonight. The children . . . they need me. They have to come first.”

“And why can’t they still? We can make this work.” He straightened a bit, and Rose saw the stubborn tilt to his jaw. “I’ll make it happen.”

And just then Rose was reminded of her first night at the palace, where they’d met at the fountain and she’d felt so outmatched. Palace playboy or not, Diego was a Navarro, and he was confident and used to getting his own way. The stakes were far higher now. Real feelings were involved, and she didn’t want to be either manipulated or hurt.

“What are you going to do, issue a royal decree?” She lifted an eyebrow. “This is what I want, so deal with it?”

“If I have to.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She moved to pull out of his arms, but he held her fast.

“Don’t run.”

“Is that an order, too?”

He frowned. “Rose, what’s got into you? I’m trying to tell you how I feel! That I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.”

She knew what had got into her. More than a romantic date on the rooftop, or a kiss in the intimate confines of her room, or even holding hands ever so briefly walking down a hall. It was this setting, tonight. When she was next to him, she tended to forget. But it was just like that day in the city. Someone would always point out that she didn’t measure up. That she didn’t matter.

What had got into her was fear, plain and simple. Because she wanted to say yes. She wanted to say yes so badly that she was nearly willing to throw caution to the wind.

The song ended and Rose stepped back. “I have to go,” she said, trying hard not to stutter.

“Don’t,” Diego said, reaching for her hand. But she stepped back, then pasted on a smile and affected a little curtsy in case anyone was watching. Of course they were watching . . . how could they not?

“I said one glass and one dance. I have to get back. Good night . . .”

She turned and wanted to run but didn’t. She walked carefully, deliberately, to the edge of the room again, then skirted the perimeter until she got to the doors. Her heart pounded as she hoped he wasn’t going to follow her, but she was too afraid to look back. Instead she smiled at people along the way, nodding politely. Then once she got outside the room, she let out a breath and picked up her pace.

When she got to the stairs her feet were aching so much from her shoes that she slipped them off and hooked them in a finger as she climbed to the next story and then headed down the long hall toward the nursery and her room just beyond it.

Once inside she shut the door, dropped her shoes, and leaned back against the cool wood.

This wasn’t just caring anymore. She was utterly, totally, in love with him. How could they possibly live here together? She certainly couldn’t continue sneaking around with him, couldn’t bear the thought of being only his mistress, absolutely couldn’t be his wife . . . good heavens, what a scandal. And this was his home. She could leave . . .

But she thought of the children and knew she couldn’t leave them. Not after they’d already had so much upheaval.

What in the world was she going to do?