Luckily, she didn’t question him any further. Instead, Lucy walked towards the pond, trailed her hands through the water which, from experience, he knew would be warm. He was only sorry the water lilies weren’t in bloom. Lucy would love the water lilies.
‘Why is the temperature in the rest of the castle so cold when in here it’s like this?’
‘If the temperature falls in this place, it will all die.’ After everything else he’d done, he would not lose this too. ‘What does it matter if I’m cold? To protect it until Bruno can repair the heating, I’m diverting most of the resources to the conservatory.’
She frowned. ‘You’re diverting some to me too. I should go and leave you be. Not add to your worries.’
‘You’re welcome here, Lucy. And I don’t want you to leave until I’ve heard you play.’
She pressed the thumb of her right hand deep into her left palm and rubbed, staring into the distance. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it—the action seemed almost reflexive. She moved further into the space, gently brushing aside some plants hanging across her path.
‘This is such a special place...’
‘It’s where I proposed to my fiancée.’
He didn’t know why he’d made that admission. It was one of the reasons he only came here out of necessity lately—although with Lucy’s presence the pain of the memory seemed somehow distant. Not so bright and fresh...more like a sun-faded photograph.
‘Thank you for bringing me here, then. It must be hard, with those memories. Especially since this is your favourite place in the castle.’
When he’d planned his proposal his intention had been to take Celine to a tropical island, chasing summer. But Alessio’s father had abdicated, throwing Lasserno into crisis. Instead he’d brought her here, because the conservatory had always seemed to him like another world.
‘She didn’t really like it. Said the humidity made her hair kink.’
Lucy stared at him but said nothing, and he appreciated her silence. He noted that in the humidity her hair had developed a distinctive curl to it. She didn’t seem to mind—or perhaps she didn’t even notice.
Lucy strolled back towards him, a fine sheen of perspiration across her skin, making her gleam. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why did your engagement end?’
The real truth he couldn’t admit. He wouldn’t have Lucy thinking less of him—not when in this moment he felt as if life had some hope again. The sensation would fade soon enough, when reality intruded, but for now he wanted this. To keep it and hold it for himself. Where was the harm?
He shrugged. ‘I’ve taken a...a step back from my role as His Highness’s secretary to repair the castle. My fiancée liked my status and links to the Crown more than she liked me.’
Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh, I’d marry you for the conservatory alone. Who cares about a prince?’
Laughter burst from her. The joy on her face was infectious. He couldn’t help himself. He laughed too. She did that to him—brought back the connection to his humanity when before it was as if he’d forgotten how to have fun. And that feeling—the shining light of happiness and his enjoyment of Lucy’s company—flared inside him, strong and bright.
‘You’re worth more, you know,’ she said. ‘You’re not your work. No one is.’
His role was all he had. All he’d been born to. All he’d aspired to. All he’d ever wanted. He and Alessio against the world, carving their own path. But he wondered now, as he watched Lucy nibbling on her lower lip with an inward-looking expression on her face, whether she’d been speaking to him or herself.
‘How would you know?’ he asked.
She seemed to shake herself from that introspection and come back to him.
‘You’re dedicated to what appears to be an unpleasant job right now. You’re here in the castle on your own, freezing yourself, making sure that the conservatory your brother loves stays alive. You’ve taken me in—some muddy stranger on your doorstep. You seem like a good man, and finding a good man is hard.’
‘I’m simply a man, Lucy. More flawed than most, I promise you.’
It was a warning to her not to get close. A reminder to himself not to forget who he was and what he had to do here—even if the reasons seemed to be a little fuzzy and out of focus today.
‘My mother says that if you break up with someone you should reclaim the places you went together as a couple just for yourself. To own them again. I did that after...’
‘After you broke up with your boyfriend?’
She let out a deep and heavy sigh. ‘After I found my ex-boyfriend in bed with another member of the orchestra. A pretty young viola player.’
A hot burst of anger roared through him like a flash fire. How could anyone do that to her, especially someone he supposed she’d loved?
‘You’re a beautiful young violinist, and he was a fool.’