“You’ll be thirty-two in January....”
He put his hand to his heart and teased, “You remembered.”
“Of course I remember. Aren’t you worried you won’t find the right woman?”
“But don’t you see? I did worry. And I was practical. At the age of twenty-nine, with plenty of time to spare, I went looking for a bride. And you can see how well that went.”
“Not well at all.”
“So I’m becoming more philosophical about it. What will happen will happen.”
“Dami,” she scolded, “it’s your inheritance....”
Now he looked at her sternly. “I’m fully aware of that. You are not to worry about it. It’s not your concern.”
She was quiet. But only for a moment. “So, then, you’re telling me that Vesuvia didn’t love you, either. She just wanted to be a princess.”
“And that was all right with me. I needed a suitable bride. She liked the idea of marrying a prince.”
“Oh, Dami. You sound so cynical.”
“Because I am cynical.”
“No, you’re not. Not in your heart.”
He chuckled. “Go ahead. Believe wonderful things about me if you must.”
“Thank you. I will.” She leaned toward him, all eyes. “What changed your mind about proposing to her?”
“At first, as I said, she behaved reasonably. But she didn’t stay reasonable, because at heart she’s not reasonable. In the end, it’s always a big drama with V. She can’t just...sit at a table and talk, over cocoa.” He watched her smile, only a hint of one, a slight lifting at the corner of her tender mouth. “With V there must be grand gestures, and often. She craves expensive gifts and constant attention. She loves to stage a big dramatic scene. I can’t count the number of times she walked out on me in restaurants after telling me off in very colorful Italian.”
“Whew. Yeah. I can see how that would get pretty old after a while.”
“It’s been over for months now, really. At least, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Not for her, though?”
“Let me put it this way. I’m through. I’ve told her I’m through. She says she understands and then she starts calling again.”
“So maybe she loves you after all. Maybe she still loves you....”
“Luce, it’s not love. Believe me.”
She reached across the table and put her soft hand over his. “You look so sad, Dami.”
Sad? Was he? “My parents married for love.”
“Oh, yeah.” She squeezed his hand. Her touch felt so good. “They’re, like, legendary, your parents. The American actor and the Montedoran princess, finding true love, living happily ever after....”
With his thumb, he idly stroked the back of her hand—until he realized he was doing it and released her. She gave the tiniest shrug, pulled her arm back to her side of the table and slowly ran a finger around the rim of her demitasse. He thought about kissing her—and not on the forehead.
And what were they talking about?
His parents. Right. “Growing up, we all—my brothers and sisters and I—loved what they had. We all knew we wanted to grow up and have that kind of love for ourselves. Well, except for my twin, Alex. Alex was always...separate. Alone. But in the end, he found his way to Lili. He found true love after all. That’s what we do, we Bravo-Calabrettis. We marry for love. We mate for life. Of the nine of us, only my youngest sisters, Genny and Rory, haven’t found the one for them yet. They have plenty of time. They’re both in their early twenties—like you.”
“And what about you, Dami? You haven’t found the one.” She regarded him solemnly. “I hope you do.”
He thought how perceptive she was, really, for someone so young. Once, Alice had told him that Lucy was more grown-up than he realized. He hadn’t believed her at the time. But he was beginning to see he’d been wrong.
“Dami?”
He gave a low laugh. It was a sound without much humor. “No, I haven’t found ‘the one.’ I honestly believe now that I’m the exception who proves the family rule. I enjoy the thrill of a new romance. I can’t get enough of the chase. But I don’t have what it takes for a lifetime of happiness with one woman.”
“Oh, come on.” She cast a glance at the ceiling and gestured grandly with both hands, the way she liked to do. “So it didn’t work out with Vesuvia. You know what Hannah would say?”
He put on a pained expression. “Don’t tell me. Please.”
Lucy only grinned. She was very fond of her former foster mother. “Hannah would say, get over yourself. Try again. Forget finding someone suitable—look for someone to love. And choose a nicer woman this time.”
“Nice women bore me—present company excluded, of course.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Good save.”
“I am the Player Prince after all. It’s my job to be smooth.”
She drank the last of her cocoa. “That was so good it had to be sinful.” Then she pushed her chair back and stood.
He gazed up the length of her, taking in the pretty curves of her bare shoulders and the brave beauty of that inch of scar tissue her gown didn’t hide. “Did I tell you that you are incomparable in red?”
She dimpled at him. “It never hurts to say something like that more than once.”
“You’re very fine, Luce. Absolutely splendid.” His pulse had accelerated and his breath came faster. Warning signs, he knew. Temptation was calling again and the urge to surrender becoming more insistent.
He knew what to do: move, get up, break the sweet spell of this breath-held moment. Stop thinking that he wanted her more today than yesterday, more now than an hour ago, more in this minute than the minute before.
And what was he doing, anyway, keeping on with this, with her? If he wasn’t going to take her to bed, he needed to stay away from her.
But he wasn’t willing to do that. He wanted this time with her as much as she seemed to want it with him.
The truth skittered through him, striking off sparks: he didn’t want to stop. And he wasn’t going to stop.
Impossible. Sweet Lucy Cordell, of all people. He never would have imagined. Not in a hundred years.
But he imagined it now, in detail. With growing excitement. In spite of her brother’s probable fury. Even if it ended up costing him her friendship.
Really, he ought to be a better man. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
She stepped away from her chair, pushed it in and came around the table toward him in a rustle of red satin, her eyes never letting go of his, all woman in that moment, the girl he had known before eclipsed, changed. When she stood above him, she reached down and put her hand on his shoulder.
Her touch burned him, made his throat clutch, tangled his breath inside his suddenly aching chest. He couldn’t bear it. He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth, pressed the tips of them against his lips. Heat seared his belly and tightened his groin. She sucked in a sharp breath. He kissed her fingers one more time and then let go.
That was when she said so sweetly, “Stand up, Dami. Please.”