The Brides of Bella Rosa: Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

“Isabella, I’m sorry. I…I think you’ve probably guessed why I was upset near the waterfall. I just need a few minutes to unwind. If you could wait out by the chapel…”

“You want me to go and wait for you?”

“Yes. Please.”

She was already shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t go.”

He stared at her as though he wasn’t sure she understood. “Isabella…”

“Max.” She grabbed his arm and looked up into his tortured face. “I think you should talk about it. I think you should tell me…”

“No.” He pulled away from her touch. “I don’t talk about this. Not to anyone.”

“That’s why you must,” she insisted passionately.

He began to back away, but she wouldn’t let him go. “Max, don’t you see? You need to talk about it. You’ve probably been holding it all inside for ten years. You have to talk.” Tears filled her eyes. Taking his arm again, she shook it, not sure what else she could do to convince him. “Tell me about her. What was she like?”

He stared down at her. “Laura?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said. “Tell me about Laura.”

He turned woodenly and slumped onto the garden bench. She slipped in beside him, taking his hand in hers.

“What did she look like?” she asked gently.

“An angel.” His voice was gruff as gravel and he cleared his throat. “Blonde hair, light as a feather. And so fragile…” His voice broke.

Isabella squeezed his hand. “You loved her.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I loved her from the moment I saw her.” His voice was getting stronger. “She was good and kind and so very loving. Our life together was like a fairy tale. We were so happy.”

Isabella nodded as he went on and on about his wonderful wife. His pain was clear in his voice and it was agony just to listen to him. But it was also good. She needed it, too. She wanted to understand him.

“When we found out we were going to have a baby,” he said at last, “we thought life couldn’t get any better.”

A baby. Isabella blinked hard and looked away. She hadn’t realized Laura was pregnant. That only made it all so much worse. Her heart already ached for him, now it broke in two.

“Our favorite place to have a picnic was by the waterfall,” he was saying. “But we shouldn’t have gone that day.” His voice was almost a monotone now. “I’d been up most of the night before trying to solve a problem with the accountant. I was dead tired. But Laura had been planning a special celebration and I didn’t want to disappoint her. So we went, and we toasted the baby that was on the way, and we ate Laura’s special croissants that she had just learned how to make.” His voice was suddenly choked. “And then we lay back on the blanket, wrapped in each other’s arms. And the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and she was gone.”

His hand was gripping hers tightly now, so tightly she could hardly stand it, but she didn’t complain.

“I looked around. I couldn’t imagine where she could have gone. And then I saw a bit of her dress floating in the water.” A shudder went through him and he pulled his hand away from hers, leaning forward, his face in his hands. “I was in a frenzy. I pulled her from the water. Her foot had been stuck between two stones. I was so sure I could make her breathe again. I tried and tried. But it was too late. She was dead.” His voice was harsh now, harsh and grating.

“Gone forever.”

And then his shoulders began to shake and she knew he was releasing his grief at last.

He blamed himself. She’d seen it in his eyes, in every fiber of his being, as though despair and regret were all he knew. He blamed himself and it was so unfair. How could she get him to see that?

She stayed beside him, very quiet, until she could sense he would accept a bit of comfort, and then she touched his back, rubbing her hand softly up and down.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Oh, Max, I’m so sorry.”

He rose slowly and turned toward her, his face ravaged. “Don’t be sorry for me,” he said coldly. “I don’t deserve it. I let her die. I let them both die.”

She gasped. “Max, how can you say that? You were asleep.”

“Yes. Exactly. I was asleep. I should have…” His voice faded.

“See? You can’t even say what you should have done. You couldn’t help it. Accidents are called accidents because no one means for them to happen.”

He was shaking his head, looking at her with haunted eyes. “I should have saved her.”

She searched her mind for some way to get him to see this from another perspective. “Should your father have saved your mother when she jumped from the balcony?” she said a bit wildly, and then clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing she didn’t know enough about the incident to use it this way.

But to her surprise, he didn’t seem to notice that. He answered directly. “He couldn’t have done anything. She was alone at home when it happened. How could he have stopped that?”

Isabella threw out her hands. “And Laura was alone when she went into the water. You weren’t there. You were asleep.” She shook his arm again. “Max, you couldn’t help it. It’s not your fault.”

He looked doubtful, but she could tell he was beginning to mull that over. She shook her head.

“At least you talked about it,” she said.

He gave her a sardonic look. “Quite the junior psychologist, aren’t you?” he said, but there was no animosity in his voice. To his own surprise, he did feel better. Not much, but a little better. Maybe.

And she could see the truth in him, in his face, in his attitude. She was glad she’d risked everything on pushing him to talk. For now, it seemed to have worked out for him. There was so much guilt, so much self-doubt in his heart. And for her, there was so much new background that she knew about him. No matter what she learned, everything only made her regard for him grow. Her father and Susa were wrong. She was glad she hadn’t stayed away from royalty after all.

There was just one thing that still nagged at her. She didn’t know the details of the crash that had taken his face, the accident no one seemed to know anything about. That was still a mystery.

“You’re going to have to ride with me again,” he told her as he led in the stallion, and she nodded, thinking what a contrast this was to the other night in the dark.

“It’s way past noon,” she fretted. “Now don’t you wish we’d brought the picnic I made?”

He nodded, feeling a touch of chagrin. Looking at her, he realized what a fool he’d been. He’d thought he could keep her at arm’s length if he only tried hard enough. Now he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Though he couldn’t see how anything real and lasting between them could work out in the long run, for now, when she was near, he was going to live in the moment. No more pretending, especially to himself.

“I’m hungry as a wolf,” he admitted.

She grinned up at him. “I have a solution to that. There’s a place very near here we can get the most wonderful food.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked suspiciously.

“Do you know the little stand by the reservoir? Where the Spanish family sells tapas?”

His face cleared. “Yes, I’ve driven past it.”

“And you’ve never been tempted to stop?”

He half smiled down at her. Her lively interest in everything was contagious. “Actually, I have, but…”

She put a hand on his arm. “We’re going there.”

That was going a little far. “What? Who’s going where?” He thought she understood he didn’t do things like that.

“You and me. We’re going to go have some of his delicious tapas. You’ll thank me for this.”

He stood where he was, shaking his head and looking stubborn. “Isabella, I don’t think…”

“Oh, Max, please.” She hung on his arm and looked adorably hungry. “It’s just outside your walls. We’ll go out the gate and we’ll ride up and you can stay outside, under the trees. I’ll go in and order the food. There are tables along the water.” She made her face even more appealing. “At this time of day, we’ll probably be the only ones there. You won’t have to come face-to-face with another soul. I’ll do that part.”

He was still frowning but she could see he was going to bend. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She gave him her most playful smile. “You know very well you need this. You want it.” She pulled on his arm. “Come on.”

He gave in. He couldn’t help it. To do anything else would seem churlish right now. He helped her up in front of him on his horse and they made their way through the gate, to the outside of the estate. This was territory he hadn’t traveled in years, except to rush past in his limousine. There was something freeing about just venturing this far beyond his own walls.

The tables on the rise above the river were completely empty. He sat at one of them and she went in, bringing out a wonderful collection of small, delicious items, including prawn croquetas and chopped pork empanadas and sautéed artichokes. Señor Ortega trailed behind her carrying two bottles of cold beer, and Max tensed, waiting for the man to react to his scars. Maybe Isabella had warned him, but he showed no sign of noticing a thing, chattering on in his Spanish-accented Italian about how they should come back tomorrow because he was planning to make the best tapas ever seen in these parts and if they didn’t return, they would miss that.

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