Page 87 of The Prince Who Loved Me

Sebastien took a deep, bracing breath and wheeled the cart into the room.

Donnarumma had been sitting on the edge of a cushioned chair, but he sprang to his feet and bowed low. “Your Highness,” he said in French.

“You may rise,” Sebastien said in the same language, bringing himself back to the pomp that surrounded his royal status. That he did nothing to earn except be born at the right time. He picked up the pot on the serving cart. “Tea?”

Donnarumma rushed to his side, nearly grabbing the teapot out of Sebastien’s hands. “What has this country done to you?”

“Think of it as being back in the military. You do the job that needs to be done, not the one you were born for.”

The secretary gave one more tug, but eventually relinquished his hold. “His and Her Majesty would like an audience with you and the girl tomorrow at his hotel.”

The girl. Like Brandi wasn’t nearing thirty. Which Donnarumma would know.

It was phrased as a request, but Sebastien knew a command when he heard one. “I, of course, will be there. Brandi will make her own decision.”

Donnarumma’s mouth flattened with distaste. “The invitation is for you both.”

“And if His Majesty had given her any warning, she could have cleared her schedule. Brandi has responsibilities that don’t revolve around the whims of the leader of a country so far from her own.” He poured himself a cup and sat on the loveseat. “What’s this about?” he asked in English.

The secretary opened his briefcase and handed Sebastien a Casagnian magazine, opened to the pages reserved for celebrity sightings. And there he was at Fountenoy Hall, laughing and holding Brandi’s hand, the picture sandwiched between one of a French actor getting divorced for the fifth time and another of his sister Violetta in a bikini on a yacht.

None of this would matter if Sebastien wasn’t a prince, but still he had to smile. It was a great picture, even if he wanted to slowly maim the photographer.

“His Majesty was already on the way here when we heard the report of your gallery viewing.” The secretary had also switched to English and he held out his phone.

Sebastien watched a video of him going after the photographer at the gallery, Massimo wrestling to keep Sebastien from his attack. A surge of satisfaction welled up at the sight of the his bodyman laying him out with one punch. He handed back the phone.

“Not only have you gone against your father’s wishes about your hobby, but your date was showing off her underwear.”

Sebastien thought he had learned not to care about hisfamily’s feelings over his art, but the headache forming showed that was a lie. Still, that wasn’t his immediate concern, as he’d been dealing with it for years. “You’re blaming her because some unethical photographer lay in wait on the floor?”

Donnarumma’s sniff echoed in the parlor. “There are ways the girl could have protected herself.”

“She shouldn’t have had to.”

Donnarumma opened his briefcase and pulled out a file. “You should read the other details we found.”

“You mean when you investigated her.”

“You know it’s common procedure when a girl attaches herself to you.”

“Ahem.” The girl in question leaned against the doorjamb to the parlor, arms crossed over her chest. Even though she was stiff in the seemingly casual pose, seeing her tugged at Sebastien’s chest like a homing call. His place was with her.

Would she welcome him by her side right then? He rose but didn’t approach. The pleasant expression she donned wasn’t real and her eyes were still hooded. It was the barrier she had used in the past to hold her emotions in. Seeing that look aimed at him made his gut clench.

The secretary had been standing already, but he turned from the fireplace. “You’re the girl?”

“That’s me.” The edge of annoyance came out in her voice.

Donnarumma gave her a respectful bow. “I am Verrier Donnarumma, of the Casagnes court. The King and Queen request your presence tomorrow at their hotel.” The man held out a card, which Brandi took. “We will see you at nine on the clock.”

Brandi’s eyebrows shot up. Sebastien held back a smile at her ire.

“If you’re free,” Sebastien amended, earning a glare fromthe secretary.

“I’m afraid my calendar is full during the day. However, I’m free after five o’clock. Why don’t y’all come by for dinner?”

Sebastien grinned at her while the secretary gasped. “The King commands it!”