That complicated, arcane equation was still running in her head.
He had just said that Ben’s father had been the son of…she forced her mind to say it…the son of the Prince of San Lucenzo. But he had said he was Ben’s uncle. His dead father’s brother. Which meant that his father was also…
She stared. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible.
He let her stare. She could see it. Could see he was just standing there while she clung to the edge of the table in the kitchen in her tiny little Cornish cottage where, a few feet away, from her stood.
‘I am Enrico Ceraldi,’ he enlightened her.
She sat down. Collapsing on the kitchen chair with a heavy thud.
He cast a look at her.
‘Did you really not know who I was?’ There was almost curiosity in his voice. And something flickered in his eyes.
‘Of course I bloody didn’t.’ The return burst from her lips without her thinking. Then, as if she’d just realised what she’d done, her face stiffened.
‘I’m sorry,’ she spoke abruptly. ‘I didn’t mean to be—’ She broke off. Something changed in her face again. She lifted her chin, looking directly into his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to speak rudely. But, no,’ she said heavily, yet still with her chin lifted, ‘I did not recognise you. I’ve heard of you—it would be hard not to have.’ Her voice tightened with disapproval. ‘But not with the surname, of course. Just your first name and…’ she paused, then said it ‘…your title.’
She got to her feet. The room swayed, but she ignored it. A bomb had exploded in her head, ripping everything to shreds. But she had to cope
with it. She straightened her spine.
‘I find this very hard to deal with. I’m sure you understand. And I am also sure you understand that I have a great many questions I need to ask. But also—’ she held his eyes and spoke resolutely ‘—I need time to come to terms with this. It is, after all, quite unbelievable.’
She looked at him directly. Refusing to look away.
Long, sooted lashes swept down over his dark eyes. Eyes, she realised, with the now familiar hollowing still going on inside her stomach, that were more used to looking out of photographs in celebrity magazines and the gossip pages of newspapers.
I didn’t recognise him. I simply didn’t recognise him. He’s all over the press and I never recognised him.
But why should I? And why should I think that someone like him could turn up here and tell me that…that Ben is…
Shock kicked through her again.
She bowed her head. It was too much. It was all too much.
‘I can’t take any more.’
She must have spoken aloud, defeat in her voice.
For one long, hopeless minute she just stared blankly into the eyes of the man standing opposite her. The brother of Ben’s father. Who was dead. Who had been the son of the Reigning Prince of San Lucenzo. Who was also the father of the man standing opposite her.
Who was therefore a prince.
Standing in her living room.
‘I can’t take any more,’ she said again.
Rico shifted his head slightly, and glanced behind him as the occasional dazzle of other traffic on the motorway illuminated the interior of the vehicle.
She was asleep. So was the boy. She was holding his hand, reaching out to him in the child seat he was fastened into.
His mouth pressed together and he looked away again, back out over the glowing stream of red tail-lights ahead of him. Beside him, Falieri drove steadily and fast, the big four-by-four eating up the miles.
Rico stared out over the motorway.
Paolo’s son. Paolo’s son was sitting in the car. A son that none of his family had known about.