CHAPTER THREE

      PRINCE LUCA VALENTI woke to pitch-blackness. He almost wished for the disorientation that came with waking in a different time zone, in a strange bed, but no, he was not so lucky.

      He knew exactly where he was and what day it was. He was at the Crystal Lake Lodge in the Rocky Mountains of Canada.

      And it was the worst day of his life.

      Oddly, since it was the worst day of his life, his thoughts did not go immediately to the sudden onslaught of difficulties he was experiencing.

      Instead, for some reason he thought of her, Imogen Albright. It wasn’t that the wind had tangled her hair, or that she had looked adorable and completely unprofessional in her plaid shirt and faded jeans and those sneakers with the neon pink laces, that made him think of her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t addressed him correctly, or that she had offered her hand first. It wasn’t even the look of distress on her face when they had found the maid in such anguish on the bathroom floor.

      No, it wasn’t those things that made her, Imogen Albright, his first waking thought.

      And it was not really that the fragrance in this room was like her—fresh and light and deliciously clean—and that it had surrounded him while he slept and greeted him when he opened his eyes.

      It wasn’t any of that.

      No, it was the way her eyes had met his and held for that endless moment after he had told her the Lodge was a magnificent building.

      When he had glanced back at her, she had been looking at him, those huge blue eyes, an astonishing shade of sapphire, with a look in them that had been deep and unsettling.

      He had felt—illogically, he was sure—as if she knew, not just how troubled he was, but something of him.

      It was as if Miss Albright had easily cast aside all his defenses and seen straight to his soul. For a moment, it had almost looked as if she might step toward him, touch him again—and not his hand this time, either.

      Had he actually taken a step away from her? In his mind, he had, if not with his body. It had seemed to him, in that brief encounter, Imogen Albright had seen all too clearly the things he most needed to keep secret.

      That this was the worst day of his life.

      And there had been something in her eyes that had made him want to lean toward her instead of stepping away.

      Something that had suggested she, too, knew of bad days and plans gone awry. That she, somehow, had the power to bring calm to the sea of life that was suddenly stormy. In the endless blue sky of her eyes, in that brief moment, he had glimpsed a resting place.

      Still, wasn’t awry an understatement? His life—strategically planned from birth to death—was veering seriously off the path.

      At this very moment, Luca was supposed to be a newly married man, not alone in a bed in some tiny mountain village in Canada, but in the sumptuous honeymoon suite that had been prepared within the Casavalle palace for him and his new bride, Princess Meribel.

      Meribel was of the neighboring kingdom of Aguilarez, and years of tension between the two kingdoms were supposed to have been put to rest today with the exchange of nuptials between them. Instead, here they were in chaos. In an attempt to minimize the mess, he had issued a statement this morning.

       Irreconcilable differences.

      Not the truth, but the truth might have plunged both kingdoms into the thing Luca was most interested in avoiding: scandal.

      Meribel’s tearful announcement to Luca the night before the wedding had come on the heels of other disturbing news.

      His father’s first marriage—the one that had ended in the kind of scandal that the Kingdom of Casavalle now avoided at all costs—might have produced a child. A child who would now be an adult. An older sibling to Luca.

      Which would mean the role Luca had prepared for his whole life was in jeopardy. The eldest child of the late King Vincenzo would head the monarchy of Casavalle. Was it possible that was not him? It made the ground, which had always felt so solid under his feet, feel as if it was rocking precariously, the shudders that warned of an impending earthquake.

      Luca was a man accustomed to control, raised to shoulder the responsibility to his kingdom first, above any personal interests. And yet this whole cursed year had been a horrible series of events that were entirely—maddeningly—out of his control.

      Maybe today was, in fact, not the worst day of his life. Wasn’t the worst day of his life that day four months ago when his father, King Vincenzo, had died? With so many things unspoken between them, with Luca needing the gift he would now never receive?

      His father’s approval.

      On the other hand, if one was inclined to look for blessings in terrible situations—which Luca admittedly was not—perhaps it was a good thing his father had died before everything in their carefully controlled world had begun to shift sideways.

      The cancellation of his wedding to Princess Meribel meant the cementing of the relationship between Casavalle and Aguilarez was now, once again, in jeopardy.

      There was a possibility that the throne—by law—would go to a person unprepared to take it. A person who had not spent their whole life knowing it was coming, every breath and every step leading to this one thing: taking the reins of his nation.

      Luca’s thoughts drifted to Imogen again.

      His brother, Antonio, was supposed to be here at Crystal Lake Lodge. But with the news this morning, Luca had felt a need to deal with these issues himself, as they would have more effect on his life than on anyone else’s. Besides, it had felt necessary to get away from Casavalle as the people discovered the wedding they had been joyously anticipating for months was now not to be.

      The disappointment would be palpable. Every face he encountered would have a question on it. He would have to say it over and over again—irreconcilable differences—hiding the truth.

      Luca had come here armed with a name. He had almost asked Imogen if it was familiar to her. She had said she knew everyone in this village. The village his father’s first wife, Sophia, had escaped to, hiding from the world after the disastrous end of her royal marriage. But in the end, Luca had not asked Imogen. He wanted to phrase any questions he asked very carefully. A kingdom relied on how these questions were answered. There would be time to get to the bottom of this.

      And speaking of time, he looked at his watch and calculated.

      He had obviously missed the dinner Imogen had said she would prepare. He glanced at his cell phone. It was 3:00 a.m. but he was wide-awake. Hello, jet lag. It would be breakfast time in Casavalle, and Luca was aware of hunger, and of the deep quiet around him.

      Why hadn’t the sound of the helicopter returning woken him? It was unusual that Cristiano had not checked in with him on his return. Unless he had, and Luca, sleeping hard, had missed it?

      Was there news of the woman? The baby?

      Good baby news would be refreshing, Luca thought, not without a trace of bitterness. He was aware of feeling, as well as sour of mood, travel rumpled and gritty. He reached for the bedside light and snapped it on. Nothing happened. He let his eyes adjust to the murkiness and looked for the suitcase Cristiano would have dropped inside the door.

      There was none.

      He got up and searched the wall for the light switch. He found it and flipped it, but remained in darkness. Still, he made