Rose spent the day keeping to the regular schedule of meals, lessons, playtime, and naptime. When their tea arrived, she discovered a pot of blissfully hot English brew, a slice of orange cake for herself, and the regular light snack for the children. Not one of the staff had mentioned the newspaper, but Rose had noticed a few sidelong glances and looks of sympathy sent her way. She assumed it was because she’d suddenly turned from nanny to a subject of romantic speculation. To anyone on the “outside” it probably seemed dreamy. But the reality was that any dalliance could ultimately get her fired. And even if it didn’t, it could affect her credibility and her ability to get work.

The cake tasted like comfort and solace. She wondered if Senora Ortiz had sent it as a pick-me-up. Or perhaps Diego had suggested it, as a peace offering of sorts. But how would she know? He’d also been conspicuously absent today, not stopping by even once, though he normally spent a part of his afternoon with the children and . . . well, and with her.

She frowned. That shouldn’t matter in the least. So what if they’d become friends of a sort? It was only because of the children. And there was certainly no future in it. She’d do best to keep her feet firmly on the ground and her head out of the clouds. When Diego wasn’t around, she could see things in a much clearer light. Blurring professional and personal lines was a big mistake, and one she needed to rectify right away.

Teatime came and went with no sign of Raoul, either. Rose seethed inside as she got the children ready for dinner. Granted, he hadn’t actually promised to see them before dinner, but he’d said he’d try. At this rate the only time they saw their father, or indeed their grandfather, was at the evening meal. That was not parenting. She’d seen it before with other families she’d worked for, and it had never sat quite right with her. Why have children if you were going to put them in a corner and pretend they didn’t exist? Maybe her family had its fair share of dysfunction, but they at least knew each other and had memories to share over the contentious Christmas table each year.

She put a last touch on the bow of Emilia’s dress, combed down a stubborn piece of Max’s dark hair, and took their hands as she dutifully delivered them to the dining room.

Diego was in the salon off the dining room and stood as they approached. “Don’t you look lovely . . . Emilia.”

Rose’s chest deflated. She should not have assumed the compliment was for her. She’d chosen a plain black pencil skirt for today, but her customary white blouse was fitted and had a ruffle from collar to waist that she thought was exceedingly pretty. But of course he was talking to Emilia, who looked quite cute in her flowered dress and delicate shoes. Besides, a compliment would be very inappropriate. Particularly today.

He stepped closer to Rose and smiled. “How was your day?”

She shrugged and offered a polite smile in return. “Fine, sir. The paper had some interesting reading.”

She wasn’t sure if the look of consternation was brought on by her use of “sir” or if it was the mention of the story in the paper. Diego’s brows pulled together and his lips thinned. “I should have warned you. Pictures tend to happen.”

“I particularly liked the part about me being the new palace plaything,” she replied smoothly, watching Max and Emilia wander to the dining room door and peek inside. She’d taken some time later in the day to sit down with the article and work through anything that she didn’t understand right away. “Palace Plaything” had definitely stood out.

“You’re not a plaything.”

She looked up at him. “But the women you’re usually photographed with are, you see? I should have realized that it was a bad idea to go with you. I have my own reputation to worry about. The terms of my employment require me to be above reproach.”

“And you are. We were,” he insisted.

“Perception counts,” she replied coolly. “I like you, Diego, and I had fun. But I was right in the first place. I’m staff, you’re royalty, and never the twain shall meet.”

He frowned. “I’m not familiar with that expression.”

Her throat tightened. “It means we each know our place.”

Dinner was called, and she straightened her shoulders. “And now you are called to dinner and I’ll make my way down to the kitchen. Good night, sir.”

“Good night,” he echoed, but she felt his gaze on her back as she left the room and headed toward the stairs and the kitchen below. She’d drawn the invisible line, and it hadn’t been that difficult.

Not putting a toe across it would be more of a challenge. The papers tended to call him irresistible. She was just glad he still hadn’t put together their previous, rather inauspicious meeting on the train. For him, a handful of pounds to pay for a few baskets of flowers was nothing. But it had been a very big something for her. And right now she certainly didn’t need another reason to feel connected to him.

* * *

Diego sat through dinner wishing he was anywhere else. While he appreciated Raoul’s attempt to keep the children to a regular routine—Ceci had always insisted they join the adults for the evening meal—it was depressing and colorless for Emilia and Max. He could see it on their faces. They picked at their food, and Diego noticed Max swinging his legs beneath the table in absolute boredom. Ceci had always asked them about their day, and Raoul usually joined in. Now they ate in silence as the men conversed a little, usually about state business. Then they went back to the nursery.

His heart hurt. He remembered it being much the same for him and Raoul after Mother died. Mama Mariana had been their saving grace.

Just like Rose was now. And what he’d wanted to be a fun, pleasant outing had earned her the label of . . . what was it she said? Palace Plaything.

Ugh. No wonder she’d been cold with him. Even her speech in the salon earlier had been uptight and annoyingly proper, just like that first night by the fountain.

She was no plaything. She was a godsend to the children and a spark of life in a dreary household.

He looked over at his brother, at his father. They were discussing some upcoming function and dinner that the palace was hosting and paying very little attention to Emilia and Max. Indeed, Diego was the only one who noticed Max stabbing his potato terrine over and over and over again, a look of supreme boredom on his face.

“Max,” he said quietly, “don’t play with your food.”

Max looked up and Diego was startled to see tears in the boy’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Max blinked a few times and one tear slid down his little cheek. He wiped it away, sat up straight, and dipped his fork into his potatoes, taking a defiant bite.

Still Raoul didn’t see.

Five minutes later, when their main course was taken away, Diego motioned for their footman and gave him a quick instruction. Then he smiled at Emilia and Max. “The two of you are excused. You can have your dessert upstairs. One of the maids is going to deliver it to you.”

The look of utter relief nearly made him laugh. Raoul and Alexander stopped talking long enough to stare in surprise, but Diego didn’t care. He was going to say something and make them listen.

The children placed their napkins on the table and beat it for the door. While Rose was technically supposed to come to get them, they knew their way back upstairs.

“They have not had their dessert,” Raoul said, staring at Diego. “We eat as a family. Ceci—”

“Ceci is not here,” Diego replied, his heart pounding with apprehension. This was not a welcome topic, and he was likely to get slapped down for it. But it was important. “And sitting at this table and being miserable is not eating as a family.”

Alexander cleared his throat. “Diego,” he cautioned.

“No, Padré.” Determined, he carried on. “In the offices you are each Your Highness. Here at the table you are Padré or Abuelo. Those two little children are miserable. You didn’t even notice that Max was on the verge of tears. They miss Ceci. They miss Mariana. And I understand the importance of duty and the hours you must work, but Raoul, you need to spend time with your children.”

Raoul’s eyebrows had lifted and his eyes lit with indignation. “Do you, Diego? Do you know the hours I must work?”

Diego had put up with being the younger son for many years, and he’d stayed quiet about his feelings. But not tonight. For a few months now he’d picked up the slack without anyone noticing or caring. “You don’t think I put in work, too? Maybe it’s not ‘state’ business, but I’ve been running the stables and the breeding program ever since Lucy married Brody. I sit on the board of several charities that are near and dear to my heart. And in the last month, with few exceptions, I’ve taken hours out of every day to kick around a soccer ball with Max, watch a movie with Emilia, or have tea with them both.”

“They have their nanny . . .”

“And she is not family.” It pained him to say it, but he needed to get his point across. “Rose is a wonderful nanny, and thank God they have her. Otherwise they’d be totally alone.”

He softened his voice. “Raoul, I know you’re grieving. I can’t imagine how painful it is. But your children need you. They have anything a child could want except for your time and your love. Don’t deny them that.”

Raoul’s face had paled.

“Yesterday, I took the three of them on an outing. We had a wonderful time. Did you know Emilia is a first-class negotiator? You should have seen her bargaining at one of the market stalls. We had lunch in a taverna. And we got our picture taken. As a result, your very proper British nanny got her picture in the paper and suffered a blow to her reputation because she was there with me and not you.”

“It’s not my fault you have a reputation of being a . . . playboy.”

Diego picked up his wineglass, his fingers tightening around the bowl, but he kept his voice smooth. “There are times that my reputation serves you very well, hermano. Remember that.”

Alexander leaned forward. “Diego, enough.”

But neither of them denied it. Diego put a human face on what could be construed as a stuffy, outdated institution. He also was a perfect distraction. While he’d been traveling, the press had followed him around, leaving the royal family in relative peace, to grieve. It hadn’t been by accident.

“You’re the crown prince,” he finished softly, not wanting to cause further tension. “But Ceci brought out other wonderful qualities in you. She made you a better man. A husband and a father. Don’t lose those qualities now, Raoul. That’s all I’m asking.”

Raoul nodded. “I’ll clear my schedule for a few hours tomorrow. Maybe have lunch outside in the garden.”

“That’s all it takes,” Diego agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go apologize to Rose for this awful position she’s in.”

He pushed out his chair and put his napkin on the table, leaving his tart untasted.

But before he went to see her, he went back to his rooms and changed out of his trousers and tie and put on a pair of jeans and a light cotton shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. The evening was warm and he’d had enough of feeling stuffy today. His videoconference had demanded a polished appearance, so he’d been in a suit since ten.

He wanted to talk to her alone, without the children around. Emilia and Max tended to have big ears, and they had enough to deal with without trying to sort out adult problems.

He waited until half past nine and then knocked on her door—hers, not the one to the nursery. She opened it halfway.

“May I come in?”

She sighed. A big, heavy sigh. “I know,” he added. “Boundaries and all that stuff. I won’t order you to let me in. I just want to talk for a few minutes.”

She opened it the rest of the way, and stepped back so he could enter.

Diego had always liked this room. It was less ostentatious than the family suites, and much smaller, and Mariana had always kept little keepsakes around. It was decorated differently now, though. He was shocked to realize that it had been redecorated since Mariana’s death. Was there to be no trace of the maternal figures of this family left at all?

“You look surprised,” she said quietly. “Surely you’ve been in the nanny’s room before.”

“It’s been redecorated,” he said roughly. “But this suits you.” The green and pink decor was pretty, steady, calm. Just like her. He swallowed and let his gaze sweep over her. She, too, had changed. Instead of her official-looking pencil skirt and blouse, she wore soft flowy pants and a light pullover shirt. Her feet were bare and her toenails were a dainty shade of pink.

When she wasn’t in black and white, she did seem to love her pastels.

“What can I do for you, Diego? I just got the children to sleep.”

He noticed a glass of wine on an end table, barely tasted. “I need to apologize. For the position I put you in and for not stopping by today. I had an unexpected conference call that I couldn’t reschedule.” Indeed, he was probably going to have to book some travel to Tanzania soon to oversee the implementation of a new education program, which had hit an administrative snag.

Rose sighed. “I’m sorry too, for being so short with you earlier. It was more Raoul I was frustrated with, and myself.” Her cheeks colored prettily. “I mean, Prince Raoul . . .”

He waved a hand, dismissing her consternation. “It’s fine. I had a few words with him at dinner, too. Is Max okay? He seemed upset.”

When Rose sighed again, he realized how tired she sounded.

“He was crying when he arrived back from dinner,” she admitted. “Emilia was on the verge herself. I finally got it out of them that they miss their mother and also Mariana. Emilia is only a few years older, but she did say something I haven’t been able to dismiss—that no one talks about her mother and it seems as if she never existed.”

Diego’s heart hurt. “It’s so hard to know,” he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets, “if reminders are helpful or make things worse.”

“I think right now they’d be helpful. At least in moderation. I think they’d like to talk about their mother without worrying about upsetting their father.”

“Who isn’t around much anyway,” Diego added.

She nodded. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not. God, you’re not. I don’t know what they’d do without you, Rose.” He stepped closer to her. “Which is why I need to apologize for yesterday. I knew there would be photographers and I ignored it because I wanted to . . .” This was the tricky part. “I wanted to spend the day with you. Show you what our city has to offer. Instead, I just opened things up for speculation and gossip.”

Rose went to the table and retrieved her wine, then turned back. “You might as well come in and sit down.” She gestured to the sofa in the sitting area of the suite. He tried to ignore the fact that a very plush bed was behind her. This was the whole problem. It wasn’t just that she was good for the children or that he liked her. There was attraction there, too.

She poured another glass of wine and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and sat down on the far side of the sofa.

She took the chair next to him. “I did have a good time,” she admitted, turning the glass in her fingers. “And so did the children. But we can’t keep blurring the line. I like you, Diego.” She looked up at him briefly, but looked away again. He wondered why she was avoiding eye contact. Was she lying? Or simply trying to avoid too much of a connection?

“I like you too much,” she continued. “And when this job is over, I’m going to need another. No one wants to hire a nanny who’s been involved with the family.”

“But we haven’t been involved,” he protested, even though he knew in his heart that was a lie. Nothing had been completely platonic between them. Not since that first night.

“What’s true doesn’t matter. Having us linked in the tabloids would be enough to guarantee I don’t get work again. And I . . .” She looked away and took a drink of wine. “I have my own responsibilities.”

It was an odd thing for her to say. Not on the surface, but paired with her body language, he got the feeling she was keeping a secret from him. Or at least, she thought she was. There really wasn’t much about her life he didn’t know. Vetting had been thorough. She would do anything for her family, same as he would. It was a trait he admired.

“Rose,” he said softly, “this job . . . the children need stability, and they already love you. It’s a secure position until they are much, much older. Please don’t worry about your employability.”

Then he took a deep drink from his glass, because he realized that what he said was absolutely true, and the idea of having her here, in the palace, potentially for years, and being off-limits was a sobering and uncomfortable thought.

He couldn’t do it. But he couldn’t leave now, not when things were still so unstable within the family. Maybe his father and brother didn’t see it, but for Diego it had always been family first. Even if he really wanted to strike out on his own, he wouldn’t until he was sure things were okay here in Marazur.

Silence was thick between them, until Rose put down her glass and folded her hands in her lap, incredibly proper and every inch a British lady. Humble upbringing be damned, the woman had poise and presence.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” she asked.

He downed the rest of the wine. “I spoke to my brother tonight after I excused the children. You are a wonderful nanny, Rose, but they also need their father. The atmosphere in the house is so different since Ceci died. Raoul doesn’t laugh anymore or include them. He promised to make some time in his schedule tomorrow to be with them.”

Relief crossed her face. “Oh, thank you. I mentioned it this morning and he said he was going to try, and then neither of you put in an appearance. That’s why I was so short with you earlier. Well, that and the obvious.”

“They really were upset, then.”

“Max only ate half his tart before he started crying for his mother. Emilia got mad and snapped at him, but I think it was because she was also upset and if he kept it up, she was going to cry as well.”

It was so unfair. “What did you do?” Diego asked.

“I wiped tears, calmed everyone down, got them in their pajamas, and we sat on Max’s bed and read stories. It took a long time, but I finally got them both settled.”

She looked up at him, her bluebell eyes wide. “And then I had a little cry myself, and poured a glass of wine.”

“You care about them.”

“Of course I do. I hate seeing them hurting. I love them.”

And just like that, Diego knew he was in trouble. She’d said it so quickly, without thinking, that he knew it was true. Rosalie Walters with her sometimes prim ways, warm smile, and big heart, was sneaking past all his defenses. He loved it and hated it all at once. In this family, marriage meant loss. The king had lost his wife and Diego had lost his mother. Then his sister-in-law, and Mariana, too. He’d rather keep his heart safe and sound than go through that again. It would be ten times worse to lose the woman he loved.

And yet there was something wonderful about looking at Rose and feeling seen. Recognized. Appreciated.

“I should go,” he said, standing and putting his empty glass on the table.

“Yes,” she said softly, “you should. After today’s newspaper, it wouldn’t do for you to be caught coming out of my room late at night.”

“The staff is discreet.”

“They’re also human, and I have to work among them.”

“Right.”

She walked him to the door, put her hand on the knob. Such small, delicate fingers, he noticed. And such a strong, caring woman.

He put his hand over hers. “Rosalie . . .”

He didn’t know why he’d used her full name. She looked up at him, surprised, their hands still clasping the doorknob. He knew she couldn’t possibly be aware of it, but her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and his gaze dropped and clung to her mouth. His head kept a steady chant of It’s a mistake, but nonetheless he reached out with his free hand and pulled her close against his body.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then he dipped his head and kissed her, shutting out the voice in his head.