Any hope of not being in the news was demolished by six o’clock the next morning, when the paper was delivered to the palace offices as well as to households and news outlets throughout Marazur.

Rose got a copy every day, using it to help reacquaint herself with the language. It was all in Spanish, but her stomach dropped to her feet and she didn’t need a translator to explain the half-page photo of her, Diego, and the children splashed across the front page.

It was taken while they were shopping in the market. Max was on Diego’s shoulders, and Emilia held Rose’s hand. To an outsider, they looked like a normal family out shopping, but there was nothing “normal” about it. They appeared far too familiar with each other. Maybe if she hadn’t been smiling up at them it would have been dismissed more easily. But she doubted it. An appearance of the playboy prince was news. So was an appearance of the children. And her?

She scanned the words below the picture. Even in her limited Spanish, she knew that it had gone beyond news into speculation territory. Perhaps even scandal. Something about a young and pretty nanny, and Diego’s reputation.

Thank God no one knew about that stupid kiss. The press would have had a field day with that sort of photo!

She reached for her coffee, appreciating the strong brew this morning. The children were chatting at the table, munching on fruit and pastries, oblivious to the turmoil now swirling through her. Raoul would see this. It might even go beyond Marazur . . . damn, damn, damn! This job wouldn’t last forever, would it? And if she strayed from her official job description, it could hurt her future at the agency.

A knock at the door jerked her out of her thoughts, and she dropped the paper on a chair and went to answer it.

To her surprise, it was Raoul. On the few times he’d stopped by the nursery, he’d given a cursory knock and then came in with a “hello.” Her stomach plummeted. Did his serious face have something to do with today’s headline?

“Your Highness.” She managed to get the proper address out of her mouth without stuttering.

“Miss Walters.” He smiled, but she thought it looked rather grim.

“Please, come in. The children will be so happy to see you.” She stood aside to let him pass.

“Papa!” Max scrambled down from the table first, and came running. A little of the strain left Raoul’s face as he knelt down and scooped the boy into his arms. Emilia, on the other hand, got up, put her napkin on her chair, and came over quietly. Rose frowned. Manners were one thing, but Emilia struggled so hard to be proper these days that she didn’t smile very much. The biggest smile Rose had seen was yesterday at the market stall when Emilia’d been haggling with the vendor.

Raoul spent a few minutes with the children and then told them to return to their breakfast. Once they’d gone back to the table, he looked down at Rose. He wasn’t angry, she realized, with more than a little relief.

“You’ve seen the papers this morning?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He nodded. “It’s written all over your face. You look terrified. You’re not in trouble, Miss Walters.”

Miss Walters. He always called her that, as opposed to Diego, who only called her by her first name.

“I’m sorry that the children are in the paper, sir,” she apologized. She was sorry for far more, but she was a grown-up. The children were innocent.

“They’ve been in the paper before,” he said, shrugging. “When we’re out in public, we expect the press will follow. It’s how it is. But my late wife believed in taking them places and doing things with them.” There was an edge of pain to his words, though. One such outing was the reason they’d been in the limousine that fateful night.

He picked up the paper from the chair and looked at it. “The children look happy,” he remarked, then pinned his gaze on her. She had such a hard time reading his expressions, unlike his brother who seemed quite easy to figure out. “So does my brother.”

She willed herself not to blush—or break eye contact.

“He has been spending a lot of time with the children. He loves them and they love him. You did know of the excursion yesterday?”

“Of course. Diego cleared it with me. And I made sure you had adequate security. These things happen. Particularly when Diego is involved.” He shrugged. “He is a darling of the paparazzi.”

She fought back the instinct to stick up for Diego. It really wasn’t her place. But after yesterday, she was beginning to realize that Diego was often in that visible position because his family had put him there and didn’t expect anything different.

“I wanted to be sure you were okay. I don’t suppose you’re used to handling publicity of this sort.”

She wasn’t, but now that she knew he wasn’t angry, she was feeling slightly better, at least on the professional front. “I will be fine,” she assured him.

He turned to leave. “Did you want to stay and spend some time with the children?” she asked, startled he was going so soon. He’d barely been around at all lately.

“I have a meeting in ten minutes. I will stop by later, though. Perhaps around teatime. I’ll have Stephani check my schedule.” He went into the room though and made sure to kiss the children and wish them a good day.

After he was gone, Rose picked up the paper and stared at Diego, holding Max on his shoulders. It should be Raoul, she thought, with a little bit of bitterness and indignation. The fact that Diego saw the need and stepped in only made him more attractive in her eyes. A man who took on his own responsibilities and some that shouldn’t be his to bear. That his own family couldn’t see his value had to be frustrating. Not that he ever showed it.

If the tabloids were to be believed, Diego Navarro was a man who didn’t understand the meaning of “responsibility.” But the papers were very wrong. He knew what responsibility meant; he also knew about loyalty, compassion, and family.

In the photo, she was looking up at him and smiling. She could understand how it might be construed as something personal, because it was.

She liked him. She more than liked him. And that was starting to become a very real problem.