Filthy Rich Prince: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book Page 7

  Nico came over to the bed, gazed down at the child sleeping amidst the pillows Lily had piled around him. Her heart pounded in her temples, her throat. They were so much alike. So very much.

  “It is amazing,” he said softly, a touch uncertainly. “I had thought perhaps—”

  He shook his head, and Lily bit her lip. She wanted to ask what he’d thought but wasn’t brave enough to do so.

  Nico reached out, and Lily instinctively grabbed his arm. “No,” she said. “You’ll wake him.”

  His tortured gaze met hers. It surprised her to see him look so vulnerable, so unsure. He was Nico Cavelli, the Crown Prince of Montebianco—and yet at the moment he looked like a man lost and alone. It made her heart ache. He dropped his hand to his side, and she felt that aching guilt all over again. Was it truly so wrong to let him touch his son? Or was she being over-protective? She didn’t know, and yet instinct made her want to enclose her baby in her arms and never let anyone touch him for fear they would take him away from her.

  “I have always been so careful,” Nico said, still watching his child. “This was not supposed to happen.”

  “No,” Lily whispered. “But I’m not sorry it did.”

  Nico’s sharp gaze turned on her. “Indeed not. You have gained a kingdom out of the bargain, and more wealth than you could have ever dreamed possible in your life.”

  Lily gritted her teeth in an effort not to scream at him. “I was talking about our son. I couldn’t care less about the rest of it.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Yes, very easy for you to say when there is no question you’ve benefited enormously from giving birth to my heir.”

  Anger and hurt warred in her breast. And the desire to lash out. “I do hope you’ve made sure he’s yours before you committed your esteemed royal self to us for life.”

  He looked at his son. “There is no denying this child belongs to me. But even so, I am certain of it.”

  A prickling sensation danced on hot feet over her skin. “How? How are you certain, Nico?”

  His gaze was haughty. “No matter how strong the resemblance or how convincing the evidence, did you think I would not order a paternity test? He is mine.”

  Lily grabbed his arm. The muscle beneath her fingers was warm and unyielding. “You stuck a needle in my baby without telling me? How dare you!” She wasn’t surprised he’d done it, now that she thought about it, nor was she surprised he could get the results lightning fast. But still, she was furious about the pain it would have caused Danny to have blood drawn. If her baby hadn’t been wearing long sleeves, she’d have noticed the mark.

  “Do not be a hypocrite, cara. He’s been vaccinated, which certainly involves needles the last time I checked. It was a necessary precaution.”

  Lily glared at him. Her voice shook as she spoke. “Don’t you ever do anything to my child again without permission.”

  “You mean our child, Lily.” Danger saturated his words, warning her to beware. He shrugged out of her grip, turned away to look at Danny sleeping. “This is my son. He will be king someday.”

  And then he began speaking in Italian, shutting her out completely. Lily didn’t say anything as he spoke quietly, though she trembled from the force of the emotions whipping through her. Danny was no longer solely hers, no longer her little boy to raise and love. He was a prince, a future king, an exalted being she couldn’t understand from her perspective as a small-town American girl. Would he despise her someday?

  She couldn’t bear to think it, and she sucked in a sharp breath as Nico reached out and touched Danny’s cheek. This time, she didn’t try to stop him.

  A moment later, he turned to her, his gaze icy. “We dine in an hour. Be ready.”

  Lily crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Why did she feel like events were escaping her before she could truly understand them?

  “I think I should stay with Danny. He’s had a long day. He needs me.”

  “Gisela is qualified to look after him, I assure you. She is a very fine nanny.”

  “I don’t want a nanny,” Lily protested. “There’s no need.”

  He shook his head, clearly pitying her. The thought made her angry. And bewildered. Why did she feel so out of sorts around him? Why did she let him intimidate her? She’d spent three evenings with him two years ago, and she’d never once felt less than his equal. Now? Oh God, now she felt like she would never measure up, like everything he said or did was a criticism. She was out of her depth and she resented it. Resented him.

  “You have much to learn, Lily. Princesses have many duties. A nanny is required if you are to perform them all.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “He needs a mother, not a nanny.”

  “Dinner is in an hour,” Nico said. “We are dining with the king and queen. Refusal is not an option.”

  Lily couldn’t find her voice as he walked away. At the door, he turned back. “Wear something formal. Gisela will come to look after our son.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dinner was held in the king and queen’s private apartments in a different wing of the palace. If Nico’s quarters were grand, these were opulent. Lily tried not to stare wide-eyed at the priceless paintings, the frescoes and bas-reliefs, the gilding, and the footmen who looked as if they’d been plucked from another era complete with powdered wigs and silk knee pants.

  Earlier, she’d thought Nico believed her incompetent because he’d sent not one, but two women to help her dress. Thank God he’d done so. She had to acknowledge that she’d have never managed alone. She was gowned in a dress as fine as anything a movie star had ever worn to a Hollywood awards ceremony, her hair was pinned into a smooth chignon, and she sported an absolute fortune in jewels. Nico had placed the diamond choker around her neck himself, and she’d put on the earrings and bracelet with shaking hands while he thankfully refrained from commenting.

  And yet, in the hour since they’d been here, the queen refused to look at her and the king frowned a lot. Worse, they spoke in Italian. Or perhaps that was ideal since she didn’t have to formulate responses to any questions or think up appropriate conversation.

  She had no idea what they spoke about, and yet she could see the tension lining Nico’s face. Especially when Queen Tiziana said anything. His fist clenched on the table each time. She wasn’t even certain he was aware of it. What must it have been like growing up with these two for parents? The thought made her shiver involuntarily.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  She vowed that Danny would never spend a single moment in their company without her being present. She wasn’t certain if they were truly cold, or if it was simply some sort of royal reserve. Perhaps they were perfectly nice people once you got to know them. But until she knew for certain—and she thoroughly doubted it—she would protect her son fiercely.

  When Nico stood and informed her it was time to leave, she put her hand in his without argument and allowed him to lead her from the table. The king said something, but Nico ignored him. The king spoke again, sharper, and Nico ground to a halt.

  Slowly, he turned, spoke a few words and bowed. The king’s face softened, though the queen’s did not.

  “Good night, my son,” he said. “And goodnight, Liliana. Thank you for joining us.”

  Lily blinked and dropped into her best grade school curtsy. It seemed the appropriate thing to do. “Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty.”

  By the time they entered Nico’s quarters, Lily had managed to work herself into a temper. Why had he forced her to endure that? It was humiliating. Even when she’d been working the ten to two a.m. shift at Lucky’s gas station for minimum wage, she’d never been so mortified. It was as if she’d been invisible.

  “What happened tonight?” she asked, an edge to her voice as she dropped her wrap on a velvet couch. A velvet couch when she was used to threadbare hand-me-downs. Part of her wanted that threadbare couch back again, along with the tiny living room and air conditioner that rattled like it w
as on its death bed.

  Nico’s gaze was shuttered as he contemplated her. “You dined with their royal majesties, the King and Queen of Montebianco. Charming, are they not?”

  She didn’t think he required an answer. Indeed, he went and poured a measure of brandy into a glass, held it up in silent question. Lily shook her head. He stoppered the crystal decanter and moved to a window, his back to her, one hand in his pocket as he sipped the drink.

  Oddly, she felt sorry for him. And worried for her own child. “It must have been quite different growing up in a palace,” she said. “I never realized how different.”

  She turned her head to look at her surroundings, seeing it for the first time in a different light. How would a toddler ever play in a room like this? It was filled to the brim with things that could break or be stained in the blink of an eye. And with things that could injure—sharp corners, glass, small objects that could be swallowed.

  In short, it was a nightmare.

  “True,” he said. “And yet I spent the first six years with my mother.”

  Lily blinked. “Your mother? But, I thought the queen—”

  Nico laughed, but the sound was more a snort of derision. “Queen Tiziana is not my mother, cara. My mother died many years ago.”

  Lily twisted the rock on her hand, suddenly uncomfortable. Moments like this, she regretted never learning more about the man who’d fathered her child. There may not have been time in the three days they’d known each other, but she could have read more about him once she’d found out who he was. It had just been so hard to read about him and to know he wasn’t at all what she’d thought he was, though.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “It matters not,” he replied. “Life is uncertain, si? We cannot look back with regret. It changes nothing.”

  She felt her anger dissipating, her curiosity about her husband growing. Clearly his life had not been one of unbroken perfection. It humanized him in a way she’d been hard pressed to visualize since coming to the palace. “Where did you live before coming here? Was it very far?”

  He took a seat opposite her, the brandy cradled in his palm. “Not far enough.”

  Lily didn’t quite know what to say to that. She didn’t think he meant to share so much—but perhaps he did. Did it change her opinion of him, knowing he’d lost his mother at an early age and been taken in by that icy couple sitting in their miserable grandeur on the opposite end of the palace?

  She didn’t want to soften toward him, didn’t want to have a reason to look at him differently. He’d forced her to marry him, bribed Carla to turn over Danny, uprooted her life and changed it so thoroughly she could never go back. And he’d done it all without any care for her wishes.

  She despised him and his autocratic ways. And yet—

  “My mother had an apartment in Castello del Bianco, and a luxury villa a few miles south on the coast. It was not a bad life.” He shrugged and leaned forward. “I’m sorry you had to sit through dinner with them, Liliana. My father is truly not so bad, but when the queen is near, he is more reserved. He is angry with me, but he can do nothing to change it now. He will get over it.”

  “I—thank you.” Good grief, she certainly hadn’t expected an apology!

  He stood and set the drink on a side table. “Come, let me remove that necklace for you.”

  Lily’s hand fluttered to her throat. Oh yes, the necklace. The one with the tricky clasp that she’d never manage on her own. He’d changed gears so quickly it threw her, but she went to him, turned and waited, her pulse thrumming so fast that he must have surely seen it beating in her throat.

  His hands, large and smooth, settled on her bare shoulders, sent a chill skimming down the indent of her spine. Lily didn’t speak, in fact didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until his fingers slid toward the nape of her neck, and it rattled out of her in a shaky sigh.

  His fingertips slipped beneath the diamond choker, stroked her skin with little motions that made her crazy. A feeling she didn’t want to examine shot straight to the liquid center of her. Her body ached with sudden desire. She hadn’t been touched in so long…

  “It is our wedding night, cara. What would you have us do first?”

  “D-do?”

  She pictured him turning her in his arms, pictured his mouth on hers—and then, later, his mouth on her pussy. She’d missed that. So much.

  “Si, there are many things we could do.” His lips touched her nape, lifted after the barest shivering caress.

  Lily bit her lip to stop the moan begging for escape. He might arouse her, but she didn’t need to let him know it. He’d already won every battle between them thus far. Did he need to win this one too?

  His fingers slid over her collarbones, down to stroke over the creamy mounds of flesh peeking over the top of her bodice, then back up to her neck.

  “Perhaps we should do these things in a bed, cara.”

  He needed a woman. It’d been too long since Nico had lost himself in the pleasures of a female body. Tonight, more than any other, he could use the oblivion a few hours of fucking would bring. He was on edge. Perilously so. When he’d walked into the apartment earlier and seen his baby playing on the floor with the nanny, he’d felt like he’d landed on a different planet. He, Nico Cavelli, had a son. A son.

  It terrified him in the oddest way. He still didn’t understand it. But for the first time since Gaetano had died, Nico wanted to walk away from his duty and his country and return to the carefree life he’d had as one of the most eligible bachelors in the world.

  A life he understood. Being illegitimate, he’d never had to live his life a certain way. He hadn’t been expected to marry or produce heirs. He’d lived to excess, always pulling the attention away from Gaetano. Tiziana resented him for it, but Gaetano had been grateful. His brother wasn’t cut out for the spotlight, had dreaded his upcoming wedding to a woman not of his choosing.

  Pain blanketed Nico. The night before his brother drove off the cliff, Nico had told him to be a man. To marry and do his duty and, for once, stop worrying about the public scrutiny.

  Nico regretted that he’d not been more sympathetic, that he hadn’t listened to what Gaetano was trying to tell him. If he had—if he’d allowed his brother to finally talk about it—perhaps things would have turned out differently. It was never going to be easy to be a gay man in a nation such as Montebianco, but Nico could have stood by his brother’s side and fought for his right to be who he was. To love who he wanted to love.

  The pain slammed him again and again, like a rogue wave battering the shore. It was nothing less than he deserved.

  “Nico?” Her voice was hesitant. “I-is everything okay?”

  Nico dragged his attention back to the woman standing in front of him, her creamy skin glowing in the refracted light from the chandelier as she bent her head to allow him access to the necklace. She trembled beneath his scrutiny.

  “Si,” he clipped out.

  He needed to focus on her, to shove away the pain. She’d carried his child in her body, had given birth to a son who would carry on the Cavelli name. The knowledge made him suddenly possessive.

  And more. The blood of his ancestors pounded through him, urged him to storm her defenses, to conquer and pillage, to make her his and plant his seed inside her again. She was his wife now. It was right that they make a brother or sister to join Daniele. His boy would never be lonely. Not like he’d been.

  Until he was brought to the palace and had Gaetano to love, Nico’d had no one. Before her death, his mother had used him as a pawn in her game with the queen. And though Queen Tiziana tried to separate Nico and his brother, Gaetano’s love for him was mutual. They were practically inseparable until they were grown and life had separated them naturally. And more than life, since Gaetano had chosen to take the final step to end his torment.

  Nico had often asked himself if he could have done more to help his brother. To force the king and queen,
and parliament, to accept Gaetano for who he was. It was a question that would never stop haunting him.

  “Basta,” Nico muttered, turning Lily in his arms. He wrapped her in his embrace and lowered his head to capture her lips almost savagely.

  Per Dio, he would have a few hours peace…

  He took her by surprise—and yet on a deep, instinctual level she’d known what was coming. Lily’s head dropped back, her mouth opening beneath the onslaught of his before she could think twice about it. This kiss was like the one on the plane but notched up by several hundred degrees.

  This was what she remembered from two years ago, this all-encompassing inferno. A part of her knew she had to resist him—and yet she didn’t want to. She wanted to lose herself in the heat of him, wanted to feel again all those things she’d felt before. She hadn’t been with a man since that first time, hadn’t wanted to be with anyone.

  Nico Cavelli was the only man she’d ever been naked with. It was a sobering thought.

  In spite of her anger at the circumstances that had bound them together as man and wife, she sensed something deeper than just a physical need in him, something that cried out for contact and closeness. After what he’d revealed to her about his childhood, she was confused by the conflicting feelings crashing through her. Had he done it on purpose to elicit her sympathy?

  She didn’t know, and she was on the verge of not caring why. He held her tightly, his tongue stroking against hers, his mouth both gentle and fierce at once. He tasted like brandy, sweet and edgy and sharp.

  Lily trembled involuntarily as he pressed her close, as the hard contours of his body fitted to the soft curves of hers. She had no doubt where he was taking them. There was something altogether bewildering about kissing this man she shared a child with. He was a prince, and she was just a girl from the wrong side of town, but right now those distinctions didn’t seem to matter.