Rebecca Winters - One Summer at The Villa - The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal

“I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.

Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked in at the moment she sipped.

Her pulse jumped and she swallowed too much of the bubbly liquid, coughing as it seared a path down her throat.

Raúl failed to notice as he murmured, “Excuse me a moment, my dear,” and strode over to Cristiano.

Oh, God. She had to keep them apart. She had to convince Raúl to invest in Monteverde tonight. There was no time to lose. She wasn’t about to let that arrogant, rude bastard derail her plans.

Just as she got the coughing under control and started toward the two men, someone bumped her elbow.

Antonella held her glass out in time to prevent a spill. An elderly woman in a garish tropical-print muumuu gasped, her hand over her heart as if she were having an attack. “Please excuse me, Your Highness! Oh, how clumsy of me!”

“No, no, it is fine,” Antonella said, her voice a little rough from the coughing. “I didn’t spill a drop.”

But the woman was unconvinced and insisted on a thorough inspection. Then it took several more minutes for Antonella to disentangle from the ensuing conversation. Once the poor lady seemed soothed, Antonella moved away with a murmured apology and went looking for Raúl.

It didn’t take her long to realize the frightening truth, however.

Raúl had left the room. And so had the Crown Prince of Monterosso.

SHE stood for everything he despised.

Cristiano sat at the polished mahogany table, directly across from Antonella Romanelli, and watched as she directed all her attention on Raúl Vega. Vega basked in her lovely glow like a man showing off a prized possession.

And why not?

She wore an ivory silk gown that clung to her body like a sleeve and displayed her breasts to perfection. With her sooty fall of hair, generous cleavage, and sharp sense of self-awareness, Princess Antonella was the kind of woman who lit up a room simply by entering it. He’d seen photos of her, but nothing had actually prepared him for the impact of her physical beauty. She was, in a word, stunning.

She had a voice that reminded him of a hidden spring, sweet and pure until she poured on the honey, and a sensual way of moving that made a man’s mind turn to more elemental matters. When she’d turned to him outside her cabin door, he’d felt as if a weight had settled on his chest and wouldn’t lift. He’d come prepared for battle, certain he was more than ready for it, and been felled by a lightning strike to his gut.

Dio.

He had to remember that without the Romanellis, peace would have come to Monterosso and Monteverde many years ago. Countless people would have lived instead of dying senseless, bloody deaths.

Paolo Romanelli had been an egomaniacal despot. His son, Dante, was certainly no better. He’d deposed his own father, after all. What kind of son did that? What kind of daughter flitted around the world, taking and discarding lovers, seemingly indifferent to her family’s excesses?

He’d counted on that indifference to help him gain what he wanted. Antonella was a woman of expensive tastes and a dwindling bank account. He had the means to keep her in designer gowns and expensive spa treatments, yet he’d nearly blown the whole game with his visceral reaction to her on deck. He needed her pliable, not bristling with indignation.

Cristiano’s fingers tightened on the stem of the wine glass he held. He had a chance to end it. A chance to crush Monteverde into submission once and for all. Once he gained control of their government and deposed the Romanellis, children from both nations would grow up happy and free instead of living in fear of bombs and bullets.

There was currently a ceasefire, but it was tentative. One random bomb from an extremist group, and even that fragile peace would be in jeopardy.

He intended to make it permanent, no matter the personal cost. No matter who he had to destroy.

Antonella laughed, the sound light and bubbly. So what if she was beautiful, so what if she seemed to possess a hint of vulnerability that intrigued him? Because surely it was an act. A very polished, very accomplished act. He’d known women like her before. Spoiled and shallow, nothing more than beautiful exteriors with empty souls.

Raúl bent toward her. At the last second, she expertly turned her head and his kiss landed on her cheek. Interesting.

Cristiano took a sip of wine. She thought she had Raúl wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow, but she was mistaken. Cristiano had gone to a lot of trouble to sweeten his deal. Though Raúl had yet to commit, he would not refuse Monterosso’s offer. He was far too good a businessman to allow a woman, no matter how enticing, to divert him from his company’s best interests.

For the first time since they’d sat at the table, Antonella’s gaze landed on him. He felt the jolt to his toes, and it irritated him. He refused to look away first. A pale flush crept over her cheeks as their gazes held.

He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her to be embarrassed, but perhaps sitting in the company of her current lover while contemplating another man was a bit much even for one so jaded as she.

Raúl’s hand came down on Antonella’s and she jumped, her head whipping around to look at him. Her flush deepened and Cristiano felt a stab of triumph. She wanted him, no matter what she’d said on the deck. It was a start in the right direction.

She looked guilty as hell as Raúl gazed at her with concern. “Are you feeling well, my dear?” Raúl said. “You look distressed.”

“What? Oh—no, I’m fine. It’s just a little hot. Don’t you find the tropics rather hot?” she asked the gathered diners.

Several people chimed in with opinions and a discussion ensued about the balmy temperatures, the fact it was hurricane season, and whether or not—God help him—a Piña Colada was preferable to a Bahama Mama. Empty chatter that scraped across his raw nerves and made him resent her even more.

When dinner was finally over, the guests adjourned to the deck to watch the fireworks over Canta Paradiso. Antonella, he noticed, clung to Raúl as if she were afraid to let him out of her sight again.

Too late, mia bella.

“Ah, Cristiano,” Raúl said as he guided Antonella over to the railing where Cristiano stood, “are you enjoying yourself in this lovely paradise?”

“ Si. The scenery is quite…extraordinary.”

Antonella dropped her gaze as his own slipped over her. Was that another blush?

Raúl failed to notice the exchange. “I still can’t believe it’s been five years since last we met.”

Antonella blinked up at her lover. “You know the Prince?”

“We attended Harvard together,” Raúl replied, breaking into a broad smile as he clapped Cristiano on the back.

“Actually, it’s only been four years since we last met, Raúl.”

“Ah, yes,” Raúl said, clearing his throat. They both knew that Cristiano hadn’t exactly been the best of company in the several months after Julianne’s death. He’d been bitter, angry. And he’d pushed his friends and family away with equal measures of wounded contempt.

“We must not allow so much time to pass again, yes?” Cristiano said.

Raúl gave him a solemn smile. “As you say, mi amigo. ”

Antonella’s lush lower lip was fixed between her teeth. A frown drew her sculpted brows together, furrowed her forehead.

An arrow of heat shot to Cristiano’s groin. All his senses had gone on high alert the moment he caught a whiff of her luscious scent. Lavender and vanilla? A hint of lemon? He’d wanted to drown in it when he’d kissed her, wanted to breathe her in for as long as he could.