The Royal Bastard Read online

  A muscle jumped in Rocco’s cheek before he set his menu on the table and scanned the restaurant for their waiter.

  She was pushing him and she knew it, but if she missed this opportunity, would he ever open up? In a low, comforting tone, she said, “Rocco, I’m not stupid. There’s more to that family than trivia for you. Was your mother involved with them somehow when she lived in Sarcaccia? Is that what you’re not telling me?”

  He turned back to the table, his eyes locking with hers. “Yes. Intimately.”

  Justine gaped at Rocco’s blunt, unexpected response. Before she could recover, the waiter approached their table and took their orders, with Rocco asking for a bottle of Zinfandel.

  “I need to settle in for this,” he explained to Justine once the waiter left. “A good Zin will make it easier, though if it gets too crowded in here, or anyone moves within earshot, the bottle’s coming back to the cabin with us. What I’m telling you is for your ears only. And even then, only because you wouldn’t agree to come with me otherwise.”

  The waiter returned a moment later to present the bottle and pour. Once Rocco and Justine were alone again, Rocco raised his glass by the stem and studied the movement of the rich red liquid as he gave it a swirl. Finally, he shifted his focus to Justine. “Before I tell you this, I want you to know that I still love you. I think I fell in love with you that first night we met, when you turned away from that tall Norwegian skier to talk to me. I was eating dinner at the bar and you asked what was on my plate.”

  “Jägerschnitzel. Sauerkraut. And that crazy carrot salad.” She remembered it as if it were yesterday. “You were still, when everything else in the bar was loud and in motion. I think you were the only person in the room who didn’t know my name.”

  She’d had a long day of competition, but the hollowness in her stomach drove her out of her hotel in search of dinner despite the fact she had another event the next day. The traditional German bar across the street was the closest place to find a meal, so she’d hoofed it through the snow only to discover the place was packed with raucous skiing fans. She’d almost left, but spotted an open place at the bar and sidled in to place an order. A Norwegian skier she’d met years before squeezed in by her elbow. Having finished his events that afternoon, he was well on his way to an evening spent warmed by beer, bratwurst, and buxom German women. Justine turned to the man on her other side and asked what he was eating to avoid the distraction. That simple act changed her life.

  “You won the combined the next day.”

  She raised her glass and grinned. “You bet your schnitzel I did. Broke the course record. One of the best runs I ever had.”

  “Followed by one of the best nights I ever had.”

  Justine’s face heated at his heartfelt words. The night had blown away the day’s victory in terms of what it meant. She took a slow sip of her wine and smiled at him over her glass. “When I went to the bar with my coach after the combined, the patrons were was giving me high fives and cheering, crowding me. Not you. I spotted you at a corner table having dinner alone. You just smiled and gave me a nod, one that said, ‘good to see you again.’ Everyone else wanted to have photos taken with me so they could post them online or brag to their friends. Much as I appreciated winning and all the attention, that smile meant more to me than you could know.”

  Once her coach left, she’d walked to Rocco’s table and asked to join him, despite the fact she didn’t even know his name. It was a spur of the moment decision, one driven—as usual—by her heart instead of her head. Rocco represented an island of calm in the tumult of the bar. She’d soon discovered him to be an island of calm in the tumult of her entire World Cup tour. His mind was on saving lives rather than winning medals and accolades. She loved getting to know him…until she reached the parts he refused to share.

  “My mother worked for the Barrali family.” The edge of Rocco’s lips quirked, though his tone remained even. “She was eighteen, just starting at university, and applied through the school’s student employment office for a job as a college prep tutor. Turned out the client was none other than King Carlo. He was the crown prince then, only a year or so younger than my mother. It was her job to ensure he did well on his college entrance exams and wrote competitive application essays.”

  Justine suspected Teresa was brilliant. Rocco always claimed he got his intelligence from her, and Justine knew her mother-in-law had graduated at the top of her high school class and been accepted to both Harvard and Oxford, though she’d decided to remain near home and attend university in Sarcaccia on scholarship. But Justine had never heard about a position with the royal family.

  “She must’ve been thrilled. Tutoring a future king would be an amazing credential for her resume.” Working for the Barralis would’ve opened doors all over Sarcaccia, let alone the rest of the world. “I imagine she came to know him quite well.”

  “She did.” Rocco paused as the waiter delivered their meals. Once the young man was out of earshot, Rocco said, “In fact, my mother fell head over heels in love with him.”

  “Oh, no.” Obviously the relationship had been one-sided; Carlo was famously in love with his wife, Fabrizia, whom he’d married immediately following his college graduation. Though the king and queen each adhered to royal decorum and avoided public displays of affection, their devotion was evident in the way they spoke of each other and in the stolen glances they shared. “Did she lose her job?”

  Rocco surprised her by laughing. “No. She stayed until Carlo finished his entrance exams and his applications. She did so well preparing him that the king and queen gave my mother a sizable bonus and wrote excellent letters of recommendation for her when she left.”

  “They weren’t aware she’d fallen for her student?”

  “No.” He forked a bite of his fish, then swallowed before meeting Justine’s gaze. “Not even when she got pregnant.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rocco had to give Justine credit. She didn’t gasp, drop her fork, or utter a, “you’re kidding me” when he dropped the pregnancy bomb. Instead, she looked at him for a drawn-out moment in wide-eyed shock, nodded her understanding of what he’d just conveyed, then picked up her fork and speared a green bean. She didn’t need to ask the question aloud; she knew Rocco was the result of the pregnancy.

  They finished the meal in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. What little was said concerned the quality of the meal or the logistics of boarding a train to Rome the next morning. They skipped dessert, paid the bill, then bypassed the casino—now filled with passengers from a variety of countries seeking an evening’s entertainment—to retire to their cabin with the rest of the bottle of Zinfandel.

  As soon as Rocco locked the door behind them, they each blew out a long breath, as if they’d been running for hours and had finally crossed a finish line.

  “Well…that was startling.”

  “I assume you have more to say than ‘startling.’” Rocco toed off his shoes and pushed them into the corner before shedding his backpack. He hadn’t been willing to leave it in the room while they’d gone to the computer station and to dinner.

  “I’m stunned and full of questions, if that’s what you mean.” She put her hands to the top of her head, elbows splayed as she turned to look at him. “It’s unbelievable…but I believe you.”

  “Pour the wine and I’ll answer what I can. Whispers, though. I suspect the walls are thin.”

  Justine took a seat in the corner beside a Formica-topped table to uncork the wine, which she proceeded to pour into two plastic cups. Once she’d passed a cup to Rocco, she kicked off her shoes, leaned back in the chair, and stretched so her sock feet rested on the edge of the bed.

  He braced himself to explain what he knew of his mother’s relationship with King Carlo, but Justine surprised him by asking, “Why’d you start by telling me that you still love me?”

  Rocco walked to the bed with his wine, then sank back against the pillows. “I wanted you
to know that I didn’t keep this from you because of anything you did. I had days—lots of days—where I almost told you. The worst were when I skipped major World Cup events. If you hadn’t gotten hurt, I’d have had to skip the Olympic Trials, too. I wanted you to understand why, for you to know how much I wanted to be there to cheer you on, but I swore to my mother long ago that I’d do whatever it took to keep my paternity a secret. Long before I met you.”

  Comprehension lit her gaze. “She was concerned about the television coverage.”

  He gave a curt nod. Skiing received far more attention in Europe than in the United States, with major events aired from start to finish. “Sports reporters like to interview family members watching in the stands. I couldn’t risk having to answer questions about us. How we met is safe enough, as is my career, but anything about my background before I graduated from Johns Hopkins could lead to my mother, and then to Carlo.”

  “You talk to reporters at medical and engineering conferences all the time.”

  “For professional journals with a focused readership. Their questions center on my work, never my personal life. With the sports reporters, it’s different. They have to appeal to a broad audience and personal interest stories are the way to do it.”

  “You really think a reporter could tie you to the Barralis?”

  “My mother didn’t want to take the risk. Truth be told, neither did I. First, I want nothing to do with the man or his family. Second, if it ever came to light, imagine the distraction it’d be from my work. Tabloid television would be all over it. Hell, the regular news networks would be all over it. It’d completely change my life. Both of our lives.”

  Justine shifted in her chair. “After all these years, I’m amazed no one knows. You’d think it would’ve slipped somewhere along the line.” Her brows rose as another thought occurred to her. “How did she conceal the pregnancy?”

  He’d asked his mother the same question. “Apparently she didn’t start to show until the very end of her time with the Barralis. Then she told her friends and family she was taking a semester break from school and traveling with a friend she’d met while working at the palace, using part of her bonus money. In reality, she stayed in her apartment, started work on her undergraduate thesis, and made plans for child care.”

  “And the whole time she was hiding out, Carlo knew?” At Rocco’s acknowledgement, Justine asked, “He didn’t help her? What about his parents?”

  “They didn’t tell his parents. My mother apparently told Carlo that she didn’t want to have a baby entering the world under a cloud of scandal and insisted I be kept secret. She also feared losing control of her decision-making ability to the king and queen…where she’d live, where I’d be educated, perhaps even custody.” Rocco finished his wine, then handed the plastic cup to Justine for a refill. “Carlo’s parents and their staff had tight control of his finances. At seventeen, he didn’t have a lot of independence, not the way his classmates did. He gave her money when he could do so without his parents being aware, but it was hit and miss. My mother was resourceful. She wanted to handle things herself until Carlo was older and they could marry.”

  Justine scoffed at that. “Waiting until Carlo reached the age of majority wouldn’t avoid a scandal. Marrying an unwed mother would’ve been taboo for royals then, especially in Carlo’s case, since he was heir to the throne.” She gave Rocco an obvious perusal. “Then there’s you. If Carlo had married your mother, anyone who saw him with you would know he fathered you.”

  “Believe me, I’m well aware I look like the man.” Even if King Carlo’s face wasn’t familiar due to the man’s regular media appearances, Rocco would’ve known from the way his mother secretly studied him as he moved from his teen years into his twenties, as if she were seeing into her past. Her expressions vacillated between nostalgia and regret, love and pain. Much as she tried to hide it, especially once she met and married Jack Cornaro, Rocco knew her too well.

  “No wonder you got twitchy when I said you look like Prince Vittorio and Prince Alessandro. They’re your half-brothers. You’ve never met them though, have you?”

  “No.” Given their lofty positions, he imagined they’d view him with nothing but scorn. Particularly Vittorio, who was next in line to the throne.

  “Ever been curious?”

  “They don’t know I exist. None of the Barrali children do.” He shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t see the tension the very thought of Carlo’s legitimate offspring wrought within him. “Besides, I already have a brother and sister.”

  “I thought all three of you were born before your mother married Jack Cornaro.” The words weren’t even out of Justine’s mouth when her expression changed. “No.”

  “Before you ask, yes, Enzo and Lina are aware King Carlo is their father. They’ve also kept it secret.”

  “But the twins are nearly five years younger than you are. He would’ve—”

  “Been married to Queen Fabrizia by then.” Rocco set his plastic cup on the nightstand. “That’s why I have no desire to meet him. My mother loved Carlo deeply. She planned her life around him. Took enormous risks for him. He claimed to love her, but he didn’t fight his parents when his marriage to Fabrizia was arranged…or didn’t fight them hard enough. Even after he married Fabrizia, he continued to keep my mother on a string.”

  “Oh, Rocco.”

  “My mother was pregnant with Enzo and Lina at the same time Carlo was proudly announcing the birth of his twin sons to the world.” Rocco heard his voice crack and hated that the man had the power to churn up such anger. “Can you imagine, fathering two sets of twins with two different women at the same time? Yet he stood on that palace balcony, with Fabrizia beside him, holding Prince Vittorio and Prince Alessandro with such pride on his face…as if they were a perfect family. All the while, there was a pregnant woman in an apartment not ten miles away with a toddler in her lap watching him on television, believing that he was going to leave Fabrizia and marry her now that he had his heirs with a proper, aristocratic wife.”

  Disgust roiled Rocco’s stomach. He hadn’t shared this with anyone before. Even when he was with Enzo and Lina, they’d kept their thoughts on their mother’s past to themselves. None of them wished to appear unsupportive of their mother, who’d sacrificed so much for them.

  “It bothers you, even after all these years.”

  “When I let myself think about it, which is rare.” Dwelling on it helped no one, so he pushed it from his mind whenever necessary. “I know my mother was wrong to believe it, but she was young and in love with the father of her children. Of course, her fairy tale ending never happened. Carlo’s father died only a few weeks after Enzo and Lina were born and Carlo took the throne. You can imagine my mother’s shock when Carlo called her the day after his investiture and said it needed to end. He couldn’t keep seeing her. He had to think of his country first. When she said she’d wait as long as was necessary, the cold-hearted bastard informed her that he’d fallen in love with Fabrizia.”

  He let loose a nasty bark of laughter. “Of course, I’m the real bastard in all this.”

  “Don’t say that.” Justine crossed the cabin, wine bottle in hand, and deposited it beside his cup on the nightstand. “Scoot.”

  Nudging his hip with hers, she sat beside him on the bed and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Rocco.”

  He held their clasped hands in front of him, taking solace in the knowledge that Justine was on his side. Despite giving his word to her when she agreed to accompany him to Baltimore, he’d been uneasy about telling her, wondering what she’d think of him. What she’d think of his mother.

  “I’m sorry, too. The thing of it is, my mother said that after she got over the initial hurt, she realized that Carlo was doing what he had to do. That he’d only told her he loved Fabrizia so she’d go live her life, rather than wait for him. From the time she told me the truth about my paternity, she insisted that Carlo is a good man. That they wouldn’t have been together for
so many years otherwise, and what he’d done was a great personal sacrifice.” He practically spit the words. Even as a youngster, he’d been shocked at his mother’s naiveté. “She told me that if I ever spent time with him, I’d understand.”

  “But you weren’t interested.”

  “Not in the least, and she certainly didn’t encourage it. On the other hand, the blessing of Carlo’s callousness is that Jack Cornaro came into my mother’s life. He’s the only father I’ve ever had. Now he was a good man. Jack loved my mother unconditionally. How many men would fall for a woman with three kids under the age of ten?” Rocco glanced sideways at Justine. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears that reflected the emotion in his own voice. He squeezed her hand briefly. “I wish you could’ve met Jack. He would’ve loved you, too.”

  “What matters to me is that he loved you.”

  Rocco smiled at the memory of being introduced to Jack for the first time. The lanky, easygoing American had met Teresa while working in Sarcaccia. He’d expressed over-the-top amazement that Teresa hadn’t taught her three young children about American football or baseball and had taken them to parks to teach them the basics, earning their friendship even as he cautiously courted their mother. When he’d been reassigned to Italy, he’d persuaded Teresa to marry him and make the move. He’d ensured the three children never wanted for anything, taking them on vacations throughout Europe and the United States, encouraging their academic and extracurricular pursuits, and even contributing toward their college education, despite the fact Teresa had a solid job and insisted she could handle it alone.

  “You once told me that he never missed your soccer games, even though he often had to take off work to be there. That he was the one who urged you to apply to Johns Hopkins for your undergraduate degree, even though you knew it’d be tough to get accepted.”