He reminded Violetta so much of another stern, guarded man.
Having her sister back in her life was bittersweet. They’d never been close. They hadn’t been allowed to—raised separately for different roles. But a new bond was developing between them and Violetta cherished it. As she did her new family.
However, it only made her longing for a family of her own more acute. And her longing for the man she wanted that family with.
Her love for Leo was a constant, as was the ache in her heart whenever she thought of him, alone, in his big, brooding fortress.
It hurt. No matter what she was doing or where she was, it hurt. Every day.
Even though on that last morning he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Opening the car door himself and just about pushing her in. He cared for her. She believed it, with every fibre of her being. He was just scared that she would let him down as his parents had.
But she recognised that too, that he’d never really been allowed to make his own choices. Oh, the irony that she was the one who’d been able to forge her own destiny. Whereas he, the powerful man, was still trapped by the expectations of his birth and the damage inflicted by his parents. She just needed to give him time to work it out for himself—that it was okay for him to choose love.
In the meantime she’d show him what true love and loyalty looked like, and she’d wait until they could meet again.
However hard he made it for her.
The people of Grimentz and San Nicolo were happily mixing in ways they hadn’t for generations, but so far their respective prince and grand duchess were not.
Over the last ten months there had been several functions they were both due to attend but he’d not in the end appeared at any of them. He was busy rebuilding his country so she could understand his absence. It might have nothing to do with her being there too.
Two days ago they’d both again been on the guest list for a charity dinner. This one in Cannes. Violetta had been so filled with nervous anticipation she’d barely slept the night before. Surely he’d be there this time. She was going to see him again. Her heart had soared at the thought.
But Sebastien had arrived in his place and she couldn’t pretend any more. This was the fourth event in a row where he’d failed to appear. The man was actually avoiding her.
He really had meant it when he’d said they couldn’t have any kind of relationship. Short of taking a boat across Sérénité, marching up to his castle and, like the famed Elisabetha, demanding admittance, there hadn’t been a way to see him again.
Except she’d been invited to the principality’s May Ball and she’d hatched her crazy, daring plan. Roping in Seb to help.
She’d waited long enough. She was sure Leo loved her but obviously he wasn’t prepared to do a damn thing about it. The stubborn, wonderful man would just have to be saved from himself.
And she’d have to be the one to do it.
‘Everything is ready for tonight, sir.’ Helene closed the leatherbound folder with her notes on the final preparations for the ball. ‘The San Nicolo VIPs are arriving at eight and the grand duchess herself is due to arrive at...at...’
His head of household stammered to a stop. No doubt recalling the unspoken rule amongst his staff that no one talked about Violetta in his presence. They thought he didn’t know but since she’d departed the castle that day no one had made a single mention of her and too many conversations had suspiciously halted when he’d walked into a room.
‘Thank you, Helene,’ he said. ‘You and the team have done an excellent job.’
With a hurried curtsy and a flush of colour to her cheeks, she left.
Leo checked his watch. Four p.m. In just a few hours he would see Violetta again.
An unavoidable meeting but he was glad it was nearly here after weeks of anticipation. Good to get it over with.
He was on edge, distracted, and knew he’d get no more work done this afternoon. Irritated by his lack of discipline, he swept from the room and stalked off down the corridor with such force two Meissen figurines set by the door wobbled precariously on their consoles. He didn’t much care for them aesthetically, but he kept them close by because they’d belonged to his mother. It was the one sentimentality he allowed himself about her. Perhaps the time had come to remove them, consign them to a forgotten attic.
Or, like his grand duchessa, donate them to the people.
Violetta had gifted the entire Della Torre royal art collection to the state, to sell or keep as they needed. She’d donated much of her personal wealth too, trying to swell the public purse. Then she’d embarked on a series of foreign visits to promote San Nicolo’s exports and generate more trade opportunities and refill the coffers bankrupted by her uncle.
His people had loved her for it, as if she were also theirs. Loved her for everything, in fact. The press was full of her, praising every step she took with those dainty feet of hers.
As for him? He’d definitely picked up on the air of disappointment that he’d failed to make hertheirprincess in reality. That there was something wanting in him that had made her turn him down.
He ignored that. What did they know? It was the other way round.
She’d declared her love for him and he’d rejected her.