"Yes. I met with him and Ramon." She held out the page. "But that's all I'm going to say, so please keep it to yourself. Here. I have to go."

He waved it off. "No, no. It is yours. I only wanted to warn you."

She let the page dangle between them a moment longer, then gave up and stuck it in the folder Jack Gladwell had handed her.

"Consider me duly warned." She couldn't help but give him a quick hug. The man was as close to a father as she had on this continent. "And thank you for your concern. You wouldn't be you if you weren't."

"You are welcome, always. I am sorry to have kept you." Santi stepped back, then closed his eyes and groaned. "The prince is in your suite now, isn't he?" He immediately waved his hands in front of his face as if dispelling a foul odor. "No, no. Say nothing. I do not wish to know."

"Someday we'll laugh about this over a bottle of wine," she a.s.sured him. "Then I'll tell you everything."

"Please, my child, some things...well, I can imagine." He shooed her out the door with a, "Go."

Chapter Twenty-Two.

"Thirty-five minutes, not bad," Stefano said as Megan re-entered the suite and made her way through the entry hall toward the kitchen.

"I tried my best." She paused when she spotted him in the kitchen and arched one narrow eyebrow in curiosity. "You're cooking."

"Not cooking," he corrected, holding up the chef's knife and spinning it for her. "Slicing and dicing."

"My cantaloupe?"

"Okay, so I'm cubing it, rather than dicing it. But yes, your cantaloupe."

He wasn't used to being kept waiting, so he hadn't quite known what to do with himself. For the first few minutes after Megan left, he'd paced the room, wondering why Jack Gladwell was at the Grandspire. As one of the ten or twenty wealthiest individuals in the world and the owner of a conglomerate of companies in which he took an active interest, the man undoubtedly had a full schedule. If he wanted to see Megan, it was for a specific purpose. Was she receiving a promotion? A transfer? Any such offer coming from Gladwell himself meant a jump in both prestige and pay.

It also meant a tough decision for Megan, as if she wasn't facing a tough decision already. If that's what Gladwell wanted.

Finally, Stefano stopped pacing to make himself useful. He picked up a few of Anna's scattered belongings from the living area-a set of bright purple headphones, a book, her hair brush- and returned them to her bedroom, setting them neatly on her desk. He washed a gla.s.s and fork that had been left in the sink, then decided to prep the cantaloupe Megan purchased at the market that morning. The small kitchen and well-organized cabinets made finding a cutting board, knife, and bowl simple.

He thought activity would keep him from speculating on the topic of Megan's meeting. Unfortunately, since he was perfectly capable of slicing a cantaloupe and using his brain at the same time, he continued to turn it over in his mind. Soon, his thoughts turned to where things were headed with Megan they'd been interrupted. He'd bet his entire yearly budget that she'd changed her mind about marriage. He could tell from the spread of her fingers across his chest as they talked. From the way she'd ignored her phone, despite the fact Anna might be on the line, so she could stay in his embrace. From the mix of desire, tenderness, and antic.i.p.ation filling her soft blue eyes.

Yes, she had her doubts. What woman wouldn't when faced with marrying into his family? But she wanted to say yes. He felt it clear to his bones. He'd wanted her to deal with Anna first, knowing she wouldn't focus until she did. Instead, when he'd told her to answer her phone, she'd gotten Gladwell.

Now that she'd returned to the suite, as much as he itched to get right back to where they left off, he sensed that he needed to tread carefully and slowly. She was worth waiting for, if she had something else to work through first. He had to be certain that when she said yes, the commitment was rock solid, that she'd evaluated all the pros and cons and could agree with her eyes-and her heart-wide open. Anything less and she wouldn't be being true to herself.

"The meeting must have been important," he said casually as he tossed a section of the rind into the trash. "Did it go well?"

"I suspect everything Jack Gladwell wants is important, at least to him." She paused to remove her shoes and place them to the side of the countertop barstools, as if using the moment to gather her thoughts. "He congratulated me on the success of the grand reopening and the event bookings I've made. Apparently Ramon said nice things about me in his reports."

And she wondered how her name came up in Sarcaccia as a possible hire?

Stefano kept the thought to himself as he waited to see what else she'd say, but she walked past him to open the fridge and get herself a can of soda.

Certainly there was more to report. A multi-billionaire with investments all over the world wouldn't wait in the manager's office for Megan simply to tell her she did a good job. He tried again as he slid several chunks of cantaloupe from the cutting board into the bowl. "You've impressed Jack Gladwell. From what I know of him, he's not an easily impressed man."

A tinge of color spread over her cheeks. "You know him?"

"Not personally, but my parents have met him several times. He's heavily invested in Sarcaccia's wine industry."

"Oh." She held up a can of his favorite soda, but he shook his head. That's when he noticed that when she'd opened the refrigerator, she'd discreetly placed a thick folder on the opposite kitchen counter, tucking it beside the canisters of flour and sugar. She hadn't had the folder with her when she'd left. Whatever had been discussed during the meeting with Jack Gladwell, she wasn't ready to share it with him.

It shouldn't bother him-he certainly didn't share all the boring details of his work with her-but deep down, the sight of the folder unsettled him. Mostly because he suspected it contained more than boring details.

She took a seat at one of the barstools and sipped her drink as he finished cleaning up the cantaloupe. "I'm glad you waited for me. I promise, no more interruptions."

"Even if Anna calls?"

A wry smile lit her face. "I'll trust Marta to keep her occupied until you need to catch your flight. I want us to finish what we started. That is, if you're not too busy with your melon."

The spark in her eye reminded him of the first time they'd shared the sofa, the day he'd met Anna. The day they'd made love. The day she'd said no. Well, this time he meant to seal the deal. If she didn't want to discuss Gladwell, perhaps it was because she prioritized a marriage discussion.

Good.

"Before you say anything more, I have something to show you. I've been holding it all weekend." He covered the cantaloupe and placed it in the refrigerator, rinsed his hands at the sink, then walked to the sofa to retrieve the envelope from his bag.

Her expression made it clear she'd noticed the envelope when he'd pulled it out the first time. "I'm intrigued. What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

A quizzical look flitted over her face as she accepted it, slid her finger under the flap, then withdrew the sheaf of papers inside. He leaned against the counter and waited. After a moment, her eyes widened. "Stefano? What is this?"

"It's the information the committee is planning to give the candidates for the conference center position when they approach them. A complete job description, information on the center itself, and the proposed compensation package. I received a copy and thought it best to share it with you early."

She inhaled as she perused the top page. After she finished, she raised her eyes to his. They were filled with a confusion he didn't understand. "Why?"

He pulled out the stool beside hers and sat, wanting to be at her level. "Because your decision is tougher than any other candidate's. If you do decide to interview for the job, you'll be weighing all this, plus your relationship with me. Either way, I felt you needed time to know what you might be getting into." He paused. "Whatever decisions you make."

"It looks wonderful. Sounds wonderful." She set the papers on the countertop without reading further. "But I'm not sure I should be doing this right now."

"Why not?" he asked. The timing should be perfect. She could wrap up her work at the Grandspire and move to Sarcaccia on her own timetable. "The committee wants to start booking conferences soon, since the center is scheduled for completion in less than a year. You'd get in at exactly the right time to set the tone for the center and the type of events it hosts. It should be a great challenge, exactly what you said you wanted for your next position."

The more he'd read about the qualifications, the more convinced he'd become the position was right up her alley. And given the revenue she'd generated for the Grandspire, she should walk into the job, even without his recommendation. He'd seen the list of candidates and heard enough of the committee's discussions to know she'd blow them away during the interviews.

She took a long sip of her drink as he spoke, then set the can on the counter. Her shoulders were back, her entire body rigid, as if she were bracing for a punch. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why presenting her with information on a job made her more tense than the conversation they'd begun earlier.

Patience wasn't his strong suit, but he waited until she was ready to speak. At long last, she met his gaze.

"Forget the job for the moment. I think we both know there's a bigger decision to be made here. Before I went downstairs, we were talking about something else." She angled her index finger between them. "I don't want a job-any job-to cloud that discussion. Like you said, it's about what works between you and me."

"Then let's talk." His confidence bolstered, he shifted enough so his knees b.u.mped against hers. A smile lit her face as he did so, one that went all the way to her expressive eyes. Better yet, her expression was filled with the same barely-contained antic.i.p.ation he felt.

It was a smile he knew he'd remember as long as he lived.

Softly, he asked, "Megan, do you love me?"

Her expression clouded. A heartbeat pa.s.sed, then two. She straightened on her stool, her knees pulling away from contact with his. "Wait...you're asking me-" Her lower lip twitched. "Tell me, Stefano, why do you want to marry me?"

He frowned, unable to make sense of the sudden change within her. Surely by now, after the weeks they'd spent together, she'd know how she felt. But what was he supposed to say? If he professed his love for her now, would she believe him? Or accuse him of trying to control the situation, saying whatever it took to get his way?

"Is it because it's convenient, especially if I can be employed in Sarcaccia? Because of Anna?" Darkness edged into her voice as she added, "Or do you want to marry me because it's the right thing to do?"

"Megan, it's all of the above, and much, much more. I would hope that I've demonstrated that over the last two months." He wondered why his simple question spurred such a reaction. "But you didn't answer my question, and frankly, I think it's a very important one: Do you love me?"

He had to know. While he'd been raised with limited freedoms, she'd enjoyed autonomy. He couldn't ask her to change her life so drastically for anything but love. She had to know clear to her bones that she was making the right decision, and for the right reasons. He couldn't face another debacle like Ariana.

Losing Megan would pierce him in a way ending his relationship with Ariana hadn't and never could.

"Whether or not I love you isn't the point-"

It was the whole point. He tried a firmer approach. "What are you trying to tell me, Megan? Where is all this coming from?"

He caught the slight shake of her hands before she stood and planted them on her hips. "You want me to declare my love for you so you can say, 'Great, I have a palace apartment for you, I have a school for our child. And best of all, I have a job for you.' That's not what I want, Stefano."

"I thought we weren't talking about the job anymore." How, after all these years, did he not understand women? "So what is it, exactly, that you do want? Because right now, you're confusing the h.e.l.l out of me."

"You idiot! I want you to marry me for me!"

Instantly, her face went red with embarra.s.sment, as if she wished she could take back the outburst. When he remained silent, she pressed her palms together as if the action would keep her composed. "Look, I don't want you to marry me because it's convenient. Or because you're afraid that when the press gets wind of our relationship-which they will, eventually, whatever the nature of our relationship may be-that you need to protect me, and you can do it best if I'm under your wing."

He pushed off his stool and took a step toward her. She should know that after all that had happened with Ariana, he wouldn't propose out of convenience. He wasn't sure how in asking Megan the same question-if she wanted to marry him for him-he'd managed to shoot himself in the foot. On the other hand, the first part of her statement was I want you to marry me. And that was all he wanted, for the rest of his life. She only needed rea.s.surance.

He was more than happy to give it to her.

Joy unfurled in his chest, so powerfully he couldn't stop the smile on his face. "Of course I want to marry you for you. When I brought up the job, I was simply trying to make your decision easier by ensuring your life in Sarcaccia wouldn't be all about being my wife. You can have a fantastic career if you want, your own ident.i.ty separate from the royal family. And if protecting you and Anna is wrong...well, that would my responsibility as your husband."

Husband. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue when it came to Megan.

Megan didn't seem to agree. The smile he expected to light her face in response to his own failed to materialize.

"All that being said, it's my decision whether or not I take on that challenge." She eased away from the barstools, once again using physical distance to shut him out. "It's not something you can protect me from. And I don't want a job because you got it for me. I want a job I've earned and that I've chosen of my own free will. None of that has anything to do with marriage."

He gestured toward the envelope he'd given her, which lay on the granite countertop. "That's all this was. Information so you could make the decision that's best for you. I would never push you into a job. It wouldn't make sense. If you hated your job, how happy could you be? All I want is for you to be happy, whether you're my wife or not, whether you're working or not, though obviously I'd prefer it if being my wife made you happy."

She exhaled, visibly relenting. At that moment, his gaze snagged on the folder she'd brought back from her meeting. Again, seeing it tucked beside the kitchen canisters bothered him. When he faced her once more, he saw she'd noticed the direction of his gaze.

The air stilled between them. He knew then that his gut instinct about the folder was right. The physical s.p.a.ce between them was the least of his problems. A gulf existed between them when it came to trust.

Without trust, they couldn't move forward.

"Tell me again what Gladwell wanted."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

At her hesitation, he continued, "No. Let me guess. He made you an offer to stay on here at the Grandspire. Maybe with a raise, given the success of the revitalization. Or did he offer you another position, perhaps at one of his other properties? The man must own a dozen hotels. Then there are the casinos-"

"My meeting with Jack Gladwell has nothing to do with what we're discussing-"

"Oh, I think it does." Otherwise, she wouldn't have been so testy about the conference center job information he'd given her. She wouldn't have hidden the folder or avoided his question about how her meeting went. She'd have simply come back from her meeting and said, I love you, Stefano. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.

He strode into the kitchen and grabbed the folder. The look of surprise, then dismay on Megan's face-and her subsequent attempt to school her features into a more neutral expression-reinforced his suspicions.

She didn't trust him. Not the way she should, given what he was asking of her. The joy that had spread through him only a moment before shriveled and died, leaving him hollow inside.

"There's a job offer in here, isn't there?

She looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze once more. Too long a moment. "Yes, there's a job offer in there." She took a step toward the kitchen counter. "But it doesn't matter."

Before she could reach over the counter to take it away, he flipped open the folder. He knew he had no right to intrude in her private affairs in this way, but at this point, he had nothing to lose. He had to know what Jack Gladwell offered. Several sheets of fine stationery, the top page of which bore the logo for Gladwell's hotel conglomerate, filled the folder. A quick glance told Stefano that Megan was being offered the Grandspire's manager's position-and at an impressive salary-but what caught his attention was the smaller, ripped newspaper page sitting on top.

Oh, Megan. The words echoed like a whisper through his head. He set the folder on the table and held the page under the kitchen lights so he could see it clearly. It was a gritty, obviously zoomed-in photo taken at the Magic Fountain, one that showed him sitting with Anna and Megan.

He didn't speak Catalan, but he knew enough to get the gist of the headline, something about a disguised royal and a girlfriend with a child. His mouth went dry as dust as he stared at the photo. It was as if his past mistakes were repeating themselves. He couldn't allow what happened with Ariana to happen to Megan. "Did Jack Gladwell give you this?"

"No. One of my coworkers saw it and wanted me to know. But it's not important...if you read the paragraph below the picture, they say they don't even know if-"

"How can you say it's not important after all I went through with Ariana? Of course it's important!" Did she not grasp the ramifications?

She moved closer, rounding the counter to within arm's reach. Her voice was calm and rea.s.suring. "Stefano, it's not the same."

No, it's not. Because this time, he was crazy in love. He was older and wiser and knew what that sc.r.a.p of newspaper meant. And this time, there was a child involved.

The fact she hid such important information indicated issues were far bigger than the two of them. The risks if she didn't trust him were more grave than heartbreak.

His jaw ached, as if resisting what he knew had to be said. "The thing is, Megan, Ariana and her parents trusted my family enough to call and let us know what was happening. To tell us that the media tracked her and that she'd been forced to hide out in a hotel-"

Hands spread, Megan said, "But Stefano, you created the spectacle then. Your parents primed the media. Then, when they were watching, you gave them what they wanted by running across the courtyard half-dressed. You said it yourself: You were young and foolish. But there's no spectacle now. There was no reason for me to tell you about the photo because it doesn't matter."

"There will always be media-"

"Look, your life is what it is. You're going to get attention no matter what you do. You can't protect me from that. You can't even protect yourself from that, not entirely. But whether or not I can live with it is my decision. And that decision has to be based on-"

"There are things I can do to protect you. You just have to trust me. That's what this boils down to. But you don't."

"I do."