CHAPTER ONE

      VINCENZO DI LAURENTIS, thirty-three-year-old crown prince of the Principality of Arancia, stood before the camera on the balcony of the royal palace overlooking the gardens to officially open the April Fifteenth Lemon and Orange Festival. This was his first public appearance since the funeral of his wife, Princess Michelina, six weeks ago. He waved to the crowds that had come out en masse.

      His country was nestled between the borders of France and Italy on the coast of the Mediterranean. Eighty thousand people lived in the city of the same name. The other thirty thousand made up the population that lived in the smaller towns and villages. Besides tourism, it had depended on the lemon and orange industries for centuries.

      For the next two weeks the country would celebrate the mainstay of their economy with marching bands in the streets, food fairs, floats and statuary in the parks decorated with lemons and other citrus fruit.

      Vincenzo had just gotten back from a series of visits to three continents, doing business for the monarchy with other heads of state. It felt good to be with his father, King Guilio, again. On his return, he’d forgotten how beautiful Arancia could be in the spring with its orchards in full flower. He felt an air of excitement coming from the people that winter was over. As for himself, the darkness that had consumed him over the last six weeks since Michelina’s death seemed to be dissipating.

      Their marriage had never been a love match. Though betrothed at sixteen, they’d spent very little time together before their wedding fourteen years later. When he’d walked into their apartment earlier this afternoon, more than any other emotion, he was aware of a haunting sense of guilt for not having been able to love her the way she’d loved him.

      Romantic love never grew on his part for her, only respect and admiration for her determination to keep up the image of a happily married couple. They’d suffered through three miscarriages hoping for a child, but it hadn’t happened.

      His passion had never been aroused when they’d made love because he hadn’t been in love with her, but he’d done his best to show her tenderness. He’d known passion with other women before he’d married Michelina. But it had only been a physical response because he was never able to give his heart, knowing he was betrothed.

      Vincenzo suspected Michelina’s parents had undergone the same kind of unfulfilled marriage. He knew his own parents had struggled. It was the rare occurrence when a royal couple actually achieved marital happiness. Michelina had wanted their marriage to be different, and Vincenzo had tried. But you couldn’t force love. That had to spring from a source all on its own.

      However there was one thing he had been able to do that had brought them their first real happiness as man and wife. In fact it was the only thing that had gotten him through this dark period. Just a few days before she’d died, they’d learned they were pregnant again. Only this time they’d taken the necessary steps to prevent another miscarriage.

      Relieved that his last duty for today was over, he left the balcony anxious to visit the woman who’d been willing to be a gestational surrogate for them. Abby Loretto, the American girl who’d become his friend. Since twelve years of age she’d been living on the palace grounds with her Italian father, who was chief of security.

      Vincenzo had been eighteen, with his own set of friends and a few girlfriends his own age, when Abby had arrived on the scene. Yet Abby had become the constant in the background of his life, more like a younger sister flitting in and out of his daily life. It was almost like having a sibling. In a way he felt closer to Abby than he’d ever felt to his sister, Gianna, who was six years older.

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