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as a heartless, conniving slut.
And what about Leo? Her heart ached then not for herself, but for him. He’d have to deal with the shame and humiliation of being seen as the betrayed lover, the duped prince. She closed her eyes, forced the tears back. Recriminations would not serve either of them now.
Several grim-faced stylists were waiting when she emerged from the shower and they launched into a description of their strategy before she’d even taken the towel from her hair.
‘You want to look muted and modest today, but not ashamed. Not like you have something to hide.’
‘I don’t have anything to hide,’ Alyse answered before she could stop herself. ‘Not any more.’
The stylists exchanged glances and ignored what she said. ‘Subtle make-up, hair in a loose knot—earrings?’
‘Pearl studs,’ the other one answered firmly, and numbly Alyse let them go to work.
Forty-five minutes later she emerged into the sitting room where Leo was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit and talking on his mobile, his voice terse. Nervously Alyse fiddled with her earrings, her heart seeming to continually lurch up into her throat. She’d always managed to handle the press before, but then they’d always been on her side. How hard was it, really, to smile and wave for people who seemed to adore you?
Today would be different. She’d turned on the television while the stylists were organising her outfit and had seen that Matt’s interview was breaking news even on the major networks. Ridiculous, perhaps, but still true. They’d managed to dig up a photo of her walking to lectures with him and, innocent as it had been then, it looked damning. She had her hand on his arm and her head was tilted back as she laughed. She didn’t even remember the moment; she’d only walked with him a couple of times. They hadn’t even been that good friends, she thought miserably, but who would believe that now? The media was implying she’d indulged in a long, sordid affair.
‘No need for that,’ one stylist, Aimee, had said crisply, and turned off the TV. ‘Let’s get you dressed.’
Now as she waited for Leo to finish his call—he was speaking in rapid Italian too fast for her to understand—Alyse smoothed the muted blue silk of her modest, high-collared dress, a satin band of deeper blue nipping in her waist. ‘Virgin blue’, the colour was apparently called. How unfitting.
Finally Leo disconnected the call and turned to her, his brows snapping together. ‘A good choice,’ he said, nodding towards her dress. ‘The jet is waiting.’
‘The jet? Where are we going? What’s—what’s going to happen?’
‘We’re heading back to Maldinia. I considered keeping our heads high and honouring the rest of our engagements in Paris and Rome, but I don’t think that’s the best course of action now.’
‘You don’t?’
Leo shook his head, the movement brisk and decisive. ‘No. I think the best thing is to come clean. Admit what happened and that I’ve forgiven you. Keep it firmly in the past.’
‘And how...?’
‘I’ve arranged for us to do a television interview.’
‘A television interview?’ Alyse repeated sickly. She might have been on the cover of dozens of magazines, but she’d never actually been on TV. The thought of being on it now, a public confessional, made her head spin and her nerves strain to breaking. ‘But—’
‘I’ll explain it all on the plane,’ Leo said. ‘We need to get going.’
The outside of the hotel was mobbed with paparazzi and the security guards had to fight their way through to get to them as they waited at the door.
Alyse ducked her head as she came out, Leo’s arm around her, flashbulbs exploding in her face, questions hammering her heart.
‘Did you ever love Leo, Alyse?’
‘How long were you seeing Matthew Cray?’
‘Have there been others?’
‘Was it for money or fame, this marriage masquerade?’
‘Do you have any conscience at all?’
She closed her eyes, her heart like a stone inside her as Leo and the security guard guided her into the waiting limo. As soon as the doors had closed she let out a shaky sigh of relief, halfway to a sob.
‘That was awful.’
Leo turned away from the window, his face expressionless. ‘It will get worse.’
‘I know.’ She took a deep breath, let it fill her lungs before releasing it slowly. She still felt shaky from her first encounter with a malevolent press—one of many, she had no doubt. ‘Leo, I’m so sorry this has happened. I know it’s my fault.’
‘As far as I can tell, it’s Matthew Cray’s fault.’
‘But if I hadn’t—’
‘Alyse, you can beat yourself up all you like about what happened years ago, but it doesn’t change things now, so really there’s no point.’ His expression didn’t soften as he added, ‘And I don’t want you to. I know you’re sorry. I understand you regret it.’
‘But—but do you forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive.’
She should have been comforted by his words, but she wasn’t. He spoke them so emotionlessly, his face so terribly bland; any intimacy they’d once shared seemed utterly lost in that moment. Cold, stern, unyielding Leo was back, and she had no idea how to find the man she’d begun to fall in love with. Perhaps he didn’t exist any more; perhaps he’d never existed.
Weary and heartsick, Alyse leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.
* * *
Leo gazed at Alyse, her face pale, her eyes closed, and felt a needling of guilt mixed with an unexpected pang of sympathy. After being adored by the press for six years, it had to be hard to be cast as the villain.
Not that he’d ever cared what the media thought of him one way or the other. Perhaps Alyse didn’t care either. Perhaps it was simply guilt that made her look so tired and wretched.
Leo knew he should have tried harder to comfort her. He probably should have held her and told her not to worry, that they’d get through this together. That none of it mattered. He hadn’t done any of that; he hadn’t thought of doing it until now, when it felt too late. He simply didn’t have it in him.
I don’t know how much I have to give. No, he sure as hell didn’t. Ever since the news of Alyse’s indiscretion had broken he’d felt his fragile emotions shutting down, the familiar retreat into cold silence. It was safer, easier, and it was what he knew. And he also knew it was hurting Alyse. He supposed that was a step in the right direction; at least he was aware he was hurting her.
But he still didn’t have the ability, or perhaps just the strength, to stop it.
Alyse opened her eyes, her gaze arrowing in on him. ‘Tell me about this television interview,’ she said and Leo nodded, glad to escape his thoughts.
‘It’s with Larissa Pozzi,’ he said and Alyse blanched.
‘But she’s—’
‘Broadcast on all the major networks. We need the publicity.’ Alyse just shook her head, and Leo knew what she wasn’t saying. Larissa relished scandal and melodrama, was always handing her guests tissues with her overly made-up face in a moue of false sympathy. Being interviewed by her was a necessary evil; he had chosen it because it would get their message across to the most people most quickly.
‘And what are we meant to say?’ Alyse asked.
‘That we’d had a fight and you were foolish. You’ve regretted it deeply ever since and