Page 170 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘The monster you were so afraid of… It was your father, wasn’t it?’ she said, wondering why she had never seen the answer before now. Fear could drive so many conflicting emotions, she knew that, because her fear of rejection—after her dad had just disappeared—had made her terrified of trusting her own heart for so long. Was it any surprise that Rene had chosen to hide that terrified child behind the façade of a reckless playboy prince?

His gaze darkened, his voice when he spoke, though, was tight.

‘Okay, yes, my father was obsessed with appearances. He also suffered from violent mood swings and could not control his temper whenever he considered my behaviour to be unacceptable.’

‘But if he was hurting you, why didn’t anyone stop him?’ she asked, disturbed not just by the words but also the pragmatic tone.

‘Don’t be naïve, Mel.’ He sighed, suddenly looking weary. ‘The palace officials were forced to cover it up because he was their prince and their employer.’

She reached across the table to cover the hand he had fisted on the cloth, disturbed not by the patronising words—which she understood now were just another of his many defences against feeling too much—but by the flat acceptance in his eyes.

‘He hurt you, Rene,’ she said. ‘And they didn’t protect you when they should have.’

He shrugged, then tugged his hand free, to rake it through his hair. ‘He needed help. In retrospect, I believe my mother’s sudden death had a catastrophic effect on his mental health—and I became the focus of his rage and pain. But because of who he was, they didn’t give him the help he needed.’

A tear slipped over her lid. Why was he still protecting that man? And punishing the boy for something that had never been his fault?

‘But you needed help, too,’ she said, a gulping sob queuing up in her throat.

He swore again, then brushed the tear from her cheek.

‘Don’t you dare cry for that little bastard, Melody,’ he murmured, the horrified expression on his face part shame, part shock. ‘It was never that bad.’ She knew he was lying. She had seen the scars, and those were just the injuries which had left a mark. What about all the others—not just to his body, but also to his confidence and self-esteem?

He got up from the table, his agitation clear as he crossed the terrace to stare out at the sea again, his back rigid with tension.

‘And let’s not forget,’ he continued, ‘I have got my own back on him by being the worst prince Saltzaland has ever seen.’

The rueful tone only made her heart hurt more for that little boy who had had no one to protect him. Getting up from the table, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, knowing they weren’t helpful, and crossed to him.

‘Except that’s not true either, is it?’ she said softly, refusing to let the flippant remark pass. ‘Saltzaland has a well-run monarchy. You work much harder than you let on.’ She had seen the shift he’d put in at the New Year Ball, being effortlessly charming, and always diplomatic. And still remembered his fury at her unprofessionalism that evening. She had also seen the way all his staff responded to him, not out of duty or deference to his title but out of genuine warmth and respect. ‘You stopped drinking and carousing years ago.’

He turned to stare at her, his gaze wary—as if he couldn’t bear for anyone to see there was much more to him than the reckless playboy.

‘Just because you let the press print whatever they like about you,’ she added, annoyed she’d believed those exploitative stories and unfounded criticisms for so long, too. ‘It doesn’t make it true.’

He blinked slowly, then shook his head. ‘Who knew?’ he said as he cradled her cheek. ‘Beneath the kickass Valkyrie is a hopeless romantic.’

The cynical tone made her sad.

‘I’m allowed to be angry for that boy,’ she said, refusing to apologise for her feelings. ‘He deserved so much better.’

She swallowed down the urge to say more, though. He wasn’t ready yet, to hear how much her feelings had grown, how strongly she felt, not just for the boy but also the man. She could wait for that. The approval and awareness in his gaze was enough. For now.

‘Maybe.’ He lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, to whisper across her lips, ‘But how about we stop wasting time now and get back to what we do best?’

She pushed down the regret—that he was still determined to sidetrack her with sex.

‘What about our meal?’ she asked.

The question came out on a shuddering sob as his hands delved beneath her panties to cup her bottom—and pull her against him.

‘We’ll have to take a raincheck,’ he groaned as he devoured her neck and ground the growing ridge in his jeans against her yearning body. ‘It’s you I want right now, not conch fritters.’

The desire rose—fast and furious and, as always, unstoppable.

He found one stiff peak and suckled it greedily through her dress. She barely managed to choke out a ‘Yes,’ as the heat built to an inferno.

Lifting her into his arms, he headed across the terrace towards her bedroom. She dropped her head back and let the passion sweep away her doubts—and the fear of rejection which had made her a coward for so long.

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