There was a rap on the office door.
‘Yes,’ Antonio said.
The palace secretary himself opened the door to his office. ‘Sir? Miss Phillips? Is everything all right?’ he asked, looking concerned.
‘It will be,’ Antonio said. ‘Miles, I’ll brief you properly later. But for now this isn’t to be discussed anywhere or with anyone—and that includes my mother, Luca and Gabriella.’
There was a slight note of warning in his tone, and the older man flushed as he walked over to his desk. ‘Of course, sir.’
Antonio sighed. ‘I’ll talk to them when I’m ready,’ he said, and this time his voice was a little gentler. ‘If anyone needs me urgently in the next hour or so, we’ll be in my apartment. But I’d appreciate it if you could stall anyone if possible, Miles. Tia and I really need to talk in private and without interruptions.’
‘Of course. If you need anything…’
Antonio patted his shoulder. ‘You’re there. I know. And I’m grateful for that.’
Miles nodded, then looked at Tia, his expression awkward. ‘I apologise, Miss Phillips, for earlier. When you called the office, and when you first came here.’
It had upset her, but she could understand why he’d acted that way. ‘You were doing your job,’ she said. ‘Protecting the Prince.’
‘And Tia’s going to be under your protection now, too,’ Antonio said. ‘I’ll brief you shortly. Tia, come with me.’ He looked at her and added swiftly, ‘Please.’
Good. Because she wasn’t Antonio’s subject or his employee, and she wasn’t going to let him order her about.
The palace had seemed daunting enough from the outside: a massive white stone building with towers and turrets and spires and huge windows; a long driveway lined with enormous Norway spruces covered alternately with blue and white lights; and huge entrance doors at the top of the sweeping granite steps. Tia had found the interior even more daunting, with the enormous foyer that felt more like a cathedral space, with a Christmas tree that had to be a good forty feet tall; the angel on top was close to touching the ceiling, and it was beautifully decorated with what looked like priceless one-of-a-kind baubles, one of which seemed to be in a special display. Crowds actually came in to the palace to see the tree, which was how Tia had managed to slip in and ask to see the palace secretary in the first place.
It was magnificent. But it was also very formal, and it didn’t leave her with the warmth she felt with their own Christmas tree back in London, with its decorations that had been collected year after year by her mother and every single one of them had meaning and memories. Their rather threadbare artificial Christmas tree didn’t go up until the week before Christmas; here, it was early November and already everything was in its place. Then again, she supposed, things were different with the public rooms of a palace; visitors would expect to see decorations on display this early.
Behind the beautiful garlands of fir and pine on the mantels and staircases, the rooms were richly decorated, with cream walls and lots of gold everywhere. There were huge windows, large mirrors that reflected the light back from the windows and the crystal and gold chandeliers and made the rooms seem even more massive, ceilings covered with priceless paintings, Christmas trees in every room whose decorations she suspected had been put in place with a ruler measuring the precise distance between each one, enormous exotic poinsettias gracing side tables, sweeping staircases leading into long corridors, luxurious carpets you literally sank into as you walked on them…
It was another world, one where the likes of Tia could never fit in.
And it was overwhelming.
Tia was aware that Antonio was talking to her as he ushered her up the sweeping staircase to his first-floor apartment, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. All she could see was the regal magnificence of their surroundings, and it left her feeling more and more out of place.
Finally he opened a door and indicated to her to enter.
His sitting room was much more ordinary than the rest of the palace. The furniture here didn’t look too antique and too priceless to touch, let alone sit on, and to her relief there was much less gold in evidence. There were photographs on the mantelpiece in what looked like solid gold frames, mainly of what she assumed was Antonio’s family; but there were also photographs of Antonio’s team in the army, and tears pricked her eyelids when she recognised her brother among them.
‘Let me get you that tea,’ Antonio said, ushering her into the kitchen—a sizeable room by normal standards, but thankfully smaller than the rooms she’d seen so far in the palace.
‘Thank you. That would be nice.’
‘What would you like to eat?’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not really hungry.’
He gave her a speaking look. ‘You’re pregnant. You need to eat.’
She didn’t reply but, a couple of minutes later, she found herself sitting at his kitchen table with a mug of tea made just how she liked it and a chicken salad sandwich.
‘I really didn’t expect you to—’ she began.
‘Eat,’ he cut in. ‘Then we’ll talk.’
It left her with no choice but to follow his instructions. And she had to admit that the sandwich and the mug of tea did make her feel better. He didn’t say a word until she’d finished, simply sipped his tea.
And then he looked at her. ‘OK. So, first off,’ he said gently, ‘how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Really fine? Because I know some women have a tough time in pregnancy.’
She shrugged. ‘I had a bit of morning sickness in the early weeks. Nothing out of the usual.’ She opened her handbag, took out a photograph and handed it to him. ‘I wanted to give you this.’
‘Thank you,’ he said politely.
‘It’s our baby. From the twenty-week scan, last month.’
‘Our baby,’ he echoed.
She still had absolutely no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling. His voice and his face were completely expressionless as he looked at the photograph. On the surface he was all urbane charm, just as a prince should be. But was he shocked? Horrified? Secretly pleased? She didn’t have a clue. Who was the real man behind the royal facade?
‘So,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask you the difficult question first. Do you plan to keep the baby?’
‘It’s way too late for a termination.’ Not that she’d wanted that, in any case.
‘I didn’t mean that. Were you planning to give the baby up for adoption after the birth?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re keeping him. Or her.’
Not ‘it’. She was grateful that at least he hadn’t said that. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I have financial responsibilities towards you.’
‘That isn’t why I came. I can manage.’ It would be a struggle, but she was used to that. She’d muddle through, the way she always had, working whatever hours she could fit in around the baby and her mum.
‘Tia, this is a Valenti