A Proposal From The Crown Prince

‘But...’

‘Our people need jobs. Our schools and hospitals need investment. Our youth need a reason to stay. We don’t want them all heading off the island to start their lives elsewhere.’

As he had done.

‘But why, Nico? You’ve only just come home. Why shake things up now with your consultants and plans? Give your uncle some time.’

‘There is no time, Grandmamma.’ He paused, unsure how much to tell her. ‘Look. You know I spent the last year at Harvard doing an MBA. As part of that I studied our finances really carefully.’

The island monarchy wasn’t purely constitutional and the royal family still took a very active role in government. Once Nico had begun to comprehend how much rode on his new position as heir to the throne he’d realised how ill equipped he was for such a responsibility and so had given up his research position at MIT to study business at Harvard instead. It hadn’t taken him long to realise how much work he had ahead of him. A lifetime’s work.

‘I loved my grandfather, you know that, but he was a lavish spender, his father too. Look at how they redecorated the palace—all that marble imported in. And the rest: planes, cars, villas, ski lodges...’

‘And an apartment for every mistress, an annuity for every mistress, jewellery for every mistress—and there were a lot of mistresses.’ Bitterness coated his grandmother’s voice for one unguarded second.

‘For two generations the island was ignored in favour of jet-setting and pleasure. L’Isola dei Fiori needs a lot of careful managing to make up for fifty years of neglect.’

‘And you think tourism will do that?’

‘I think it’s a start. We need more, some kind of real industry as well but that’s a whole other step. One day I would like to see the island a beacon of innovation for renewable energy and other forms of eco-friendly engineering. Expand the university, bring in the expertise, offer the right companies, the right entrepreneurs the right deal so they settle here, build here and create jobs here.’ That had always been his dream. That was why he had put in the hours at MIT, made the right contacts, had worked towards his PhD, never giving up hope that, even if he couldn’t persuade his uncle to throw the weight of the government behind him, he could still return in his own time, at his own will, to start up his own research company.

But the current crisis needed a quicker fix and his own dreams had to be set aside, just as he’d set his research aside.

‘Tell me how I can help, Nico.’

He patted his grandmother’s hand gratefully. ‘You’re a key part of my strategy, Grandmamma. First of all I need you to work on my uncle. I know he’s done his best to put things right but selling the odd yacht and ski lodge isn’t enough. He needs to give the tourism campaign his full backing and ensure the rest of his ministers do as well.’

‘What did he say today?’

‘The usual. That I’m too young to understand, that I’ve been gone too long, that I think fancy degrees from fancy universities make up for my own lack of sense.’ He grinned at her. ‘Nothing he hasn’t said a million times before.’ It didn’t stop the words from stinging though. He was thirty-two, not twenty, and he was proud of his degrees. He’d worked damn hard for them. But his uncle preferred to believe the rubbish in the papers than the evidence before him. Nico had been labelled a playboy Del Castro in his teens, like his father and grandfather before him, and his uncle had no intention of challenging that narrative.

Graziella drew herself up. ‘I’ll speak to him.’

‘Thank you, Grandmamma. There are another couple of things. I need to marry...’

‘Yes?’ Her eyes lit up. This was exactly the kind of project she relished.

‘And I need you to choose me a bride. I know you have a list of suitable names and that’s fine. Better to find a girl who has been raised to manage this kind of life than throw some hapless innocent into the circus. I just have one request...’

‘Just one?’

‘I need a bride who is willing to be wooed. Publicly. The marketing consultant thinks a royal wedding is the perfect international showcase for L’Isola dei Fiori and we should milk it as much as possible. You know, boat rides into the grottos, horse rides through meadows, a royal ball...’ He grinned at the revolted expression on her face.

‘I had no idea you were such a romantic, Nico.’

‘I’m not a romantic. I’m a realist. There’s nothing people like better than a royal love story. So pick me a girl who will play her part and I’ll marry her. The papers follow me around anyway. I might as well make use of my reputation.’

As a young, unattached prince he’d attracted the gossip magazines like wasps flocking around a sweet drink at the tail end of summer. If he’d lived quietly they might have left him alone eventually but he’d hung out with a young, moneyed crowd, enjoying time away from his studies at parties in New York, summer houses in the Hamptons, winter breaks in the Bahamas, on yachts, in clubs throughout Europe. At first it had been an exquisite relief, freedom after the strictures of a childhood at court. At some point it had become habit.

His grandmother nodded. ‘Everyone loves a reformed playboy, I suppose. I’ll find you a suitable bride. But, Nico? Just be discreet, when you find other amusements.’ And for a fleeting second she looked so vulnerable Nico felt a surge of anger against the grandfather who had put that look on her face—and emptied the palace coffers to do so.

‘No need. When I marry I’ll be faithful. It might be arranged but that’s no reason to treat marriage like it’s meaningless. I hope I’m better than that.’ As he said the words a fleeting image passed through his mind, a slim girl on the beach, hair tumbling around her breasts, eyes on his. He’d known then it was his last act of freedom, a sweet goodbye. Something to carry him through the years of duty that lay ahead.

‘And the other thing?’

He winced. He knew she would dislike his next proposal. ‘If we’re going to start the campaign soon we need a few places ready for the tourists we’re hoping to attract. There’s a few decent city hotels, a couple of beach places and some lovely guesthouses but none of the boutique hotels that the kind of holiday makers we want to attract prefer. The consultant has suggested that we invest in several now, do them up over the winter ready for next season.’

‘And?’

‘And one of the places she suggested is Villa Rosa.’

His grandmother didn’t answer but she drew herself up, her mouth tight. Nico watched her sympathetically. Until early last year the villa had been occupied by an aging beauty who, had been involved in a very public and very steamy affair with his grandfather, who had visited her, semi discreetly, by sailing around to the cove at night. The owner had died recently and the villa, as far as he knew, lay empty. His grandmother had always behaved with a dignified ignorance where his grandfather was concerned but installing a mistress on the island had pushed even her resilience to the limit.

‘It has a certain notoriety that will draw people in: the parties that were held there, the famous people that stayed there—and of course the thermal pool and the secret beach.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m sorry to bring it up, Grandmamma, but I think the consultant’s right. It is the perfect location and the Villa Rosa markets itself. Plus the lawyers say it’s likely that my grandfather shouldn’t have gifted the villa away in the first place; because it is so close to the cliff top and because it has access down to the beach it’s situated on Crown land and therefore...’

‘Therefore it can’t be sold or owned by a private individual.’

‘Or inherited,’ he confirmed. He hesitated. ‘I know you keep tabs on everything that goes on around here. I wondered if you know who owns it now? I could ask around but I don’t want word to get out that we’re interested.’

His grandmother shrugged. ‘Apparently that woman left it to a niece or something but it’s been empty or used as a holiday home since she died—they tell me it needs a lot of work. What are you going to do? Serve her notice?’

Nico shook his head. ‘No. I’ll offer her money to sell. We don’t want the delay or cost of going to court—nor the publicity. But we can pay a fair price, tied up in a lot of legal documents that will hopefully persuade her to say yes sooner rather than later.

‘Do you know anything about this owner? Where she’s from?’

His instincts had been right. His grandmother knew everything. She tilted her chin. ‘England, but I believe she arrived on the island a week ago. By public ferry, coach class, one battered bag.’

Which meant she had been there when he and Posy...an unwelcome thought hit him. He hadn’t, had he? ‘What’s her name?’

‘Marlowe. Rosalind Marlowe.’

Relief flooded through him. Not the same woman after all. And coach class with one bag? That added up to one cash-strapped Englishwoman. She’d be putty in his hands. The sooner he got his tourism project up and running, the sooner he got married, then the sooner he could work on his ideas and create something real, something sustainable in his homeland. And then this whole Crown Prince deal might start to feel less like an unwanted burden and more like something he could live with.

It was time to pay the owner of the Villa Rosa one very official visit.

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