‘To produce an heir,’ he echoed. ‘So I went back to Monterosso and did what I considered to be my duty. I was shown princess after princess. There were sheikhas and sultanas. Countesses and duchesses. But none of them...’ His voice shook, husky and helpless with intent. ‘None of them were you, Rosie. And that’s why I can’t marry any of them.’
‘Corso...please... Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t admit you’re the only person in the world who tells me the truth? Who is always fighting my corner, even when I don’t deserve it. Even when I hurt you—you were still looking out for me. Your jealousy didn’t impact on your generosity. You told me that I needed to open up my heart to my future wife, or my life would be empty. But you know something?’ He stared at her. ‘The only thing which will make my life empty is not having you in it.’
He could see the glimmer of tears which were making her stormy eyes look rain-filled and remembered the quick squeeze of the arm she’d given him, after his mother had died. He wanted to kiss her. To hold her and cradle her against the rapid pounding of his heart. But for too long he had thought about whathewanted and this needed to be about her.
‘Corso,’ she said, but he shook his head.
‘Let me finish, Rosie. Please. Because you need to hear this. All of it.’ He stared down at the blue Monterossian vase on the table, which was filled with bright sprigs of autumn berries. ‘You told me I’d be crazy not to connect with my brother and deep down I knew you were right, even though I baulked at the thought. My father had been a cold and distant man but until the discovery of the letter, I’d always thought his marriage to my mother was completely faithful. That was the version I was led to believe.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t want to confront the reality that he’d been conducting a love affair with another woman, and giving his other son all the attention he never gave me.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘But I pushed aside the residual traces of childhood jealousy and telephoned Xanthos, suggesting we meet up.’
She nodded, her gaze intent. ‘What did he say?’
‘He agreed—reluctantly. I flew to Berlin, and so did he.’
‘And was the meeting...a success?’
Corso heard the breath of hope in her voice. He shook his head. ‘Not really. It seems my construct of the whole situation was completely wrong. Xanthos had never even met my—our—father. His mother had been only eighteen when she’d had him and I gather it was...’ suddenly it was difficult to hold back his disdain and his judgement ‘...a transactional, rather than an emotional relationship. Hepaidto have sex with her,’ he explained baldly and saw her look of bafflement turn into shock. ‘That’s all he would tell me,’ he concluded grimly. ‘And I don’t blame him.’
She nodded, her blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. He could practically see her mind working. But unsurprisingly, she didn’t fixate on any of the more salacious aspects of the whole affair. Instead she turned her ocean-grey gaze to him. ‘Do you think you’ll meet again?’
Corso shrugged. ‘Who knows? We’ll have to wait and see. He had a tough time.’
‘You didn’t have it so great yourself,’ she pointed out. ‘Your dad was never around and when he was, he was remote—we all knew that. And then your mum died.’
‘That’s why I used to hang around at your place,’ he said, his next admission coming from somewhere he’d never dared access before. ‘Because it felt like home.’
‘Oh, Corso.’
But he steeled his heart against the tenderness in her voice because he still wasn’t done. ‘My last royal date took place three months ago, which might make you wonder why I didn’t come and explain all this before. But I wanted you to make the most of your new job and your new life. To have the opportunity to work in your chosen field and decide whether or not you wanted to continue in it.’ He paused and suddenly his throat was so dry that he was finding it difficult to breathe. ‘Or whether you would be prepared to give it all up and marry me.’
There was the clattering sound of a teaspoon being dropped to the floor. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded suspiciously, as if he were having a joke at her expense.
‘I want to marry you, Rosie Forrester. Because I love you and the thought of not being with you is unendurable. I need to know if you can ever forgive me for my lack of insight. For my arrogance and stupidity. For the way I rode roughshod over your feelings and didn’t take them into account. I need you to know that I’m sorry, truly sorry. But most of all, I need to know if you’ll be my wife.’
‘But we...can’t, Corso. You know we can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Monterosso wants you to marry a royal princess.’
‘Monterosso wants their king to be happy and you are the key to my happiness.’ He let out a ragged sigh. ‘I’d convinced myself I didn’t feel the things which other men claim to feel—that I was immune to love and to emotion—but I was wrong. Because you brought something to life in me, Rosie Forrester. You took my cold and unfeeling heart and opened it up. You made me love you and I need...’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘I need to know how you feel about me.’
Her gaze was very bright and very clear. ‘You know exactly how I feel about you, Corso,’ she whispered.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered back.
‘I love you,’ she said simply. ‘You. The man. And that’s all I want. To live with you and lie with you.’ Her voice trembled. ‘To be your support by day and your lover at night. To feel your child moving within me—many children, if we’re lucky enough to have them. To fill that big palace of yours with love and make it a real home. That’s what I want.’
His lips curved. ‘Not palaces, nor diamonds, or fancy yachts which skim the ocean?’
She shook her head. ‘Those things aren’t important.’
‘To some people they are.’ He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. ‘Me included, if you must know.’
She frowned. ‘I didn’t think you were into status symbols.’
‘Status symbol or not, you’re going to need a very big diamond if you’re going to become my wife,’ he said drily. ‘But you do realise what you’re taking on, don’t you? Because you know better than anyone the demands of royal life. Constantly being on show. Having every look and word you utter analysed for nuance, or meaning. You’re going to have to learn never to give too much of yourself away, Rosie, and I’m afraid that your trust in people will inevitably become eroded—’