where he met Mother!â she declared sentimentally, imagining the two of them being serenaded in a gondola at midnight, floating silently along the dark canals...
âSophia? Come back to us?â
The princeâs soft and humour-laden murmur brought her back to the present with a jolt. âI was thinking what a romantic city it must be for lovers,â she explained a little bashfully, adoring the thought of her parents in such a setting. How wonderful it must have been!
âYou know it? Youâve been there?â he asked with interest.
âOh, no! But Father talked about it and I feel I know it. Weâd look at a travel book of the city together and heâd tell me about the palazzos, St Markâs Square, the churches crammed full of paintings by famous artists... I feel I know it. I have the map of the island in my head, how the Grand Canal curves like a backward âSâ bend, where the Rialto Bridge is... And itâs so beautiful. To me, Venice looks as if itâs the backdrop in a medieval fairy tale.â
âIt was, once. And I agree. Itâs the most beautiful city in the world,â Rozzano murmured. âVenetians feel sorry for anyone not born there!â
âNow what tells me that youâre Venetian yourself?â she asked drily. His eyes twinkled at her. Fascinated to learn about her motherâs birthplace, she added, âHave your family lived there long?â
âAbout seven hundred years,â he replied without any hint of arrogance.
âSeven...!â Open-mouthed in amazement, she gave up trying to imagine what it must be like to trace your ancestors so far back and decided to tease him. âDear, dear.
And still stuck in Venice!â she chided. âNot the kind of people to go off and colonise the world, then!â
He threw back his head and laughed in delight before coming forward to take her hands in his. Extraordinary! He kept touching her. Why?
Staring into her startled eyes, he kissed the fingers of both hands. âWhen you find a jewel, you donât swap it for paste.â
She lowered her lashes, frowning. The touch of his lips had been warm and soft and sheâd wished... Ashamed by her waywardness, she did her best to keep her fingers limp and unresponsive beneath his and searched for the threads of the conversation, bending her mind to getting the loose ends tied up.
âI still donât understand why youâre here,â she said, suddenly crisp and efficient âAnd why didnât Father tell me who my mother was? Being Italian isnât a crime. It doesnât make sense.â
The hands holding hers tightened a fraction. âI imagine he was protecting her.â
Sophia stiffened at the gravity in Rozzanoâs voice. Sheâd been right. There was more. Something she wouldnât like. âWhy?â she asked, feeling the fear clutch at her heart and squeeze it hard.
He was watching her like a hawk. âShe had run away.â
Her eyes widened in shock. âFrom what?â
âMarriage.â
Absently his thumbs stroked her long fingers and she had to work hard to keep her breathing steady. âGo on,â she mumbled.
âThere had been an understanding that she would marry a family friend when she reached eighteen. Sheâd been virtually betrothed since childhood. I understand, however, that she was very independent and emotional.
For most of her teenage years she fought against a loveless marriage.â
âSo would I!â Sophia declared fervently, feeling appalled at the family pressure her beleaguered mother must have endured.
âYe-e-s.â
A faint frown drew Rozzanoâs brows together as if her remark was not to his liking. Abruptly he dropped her hands and began to stroll around the room again, picking up objects absently and putting them down. Sophia and Frank followed his every move and she realised just how dominant the prince was, how he
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley