Castiglione's Pregnant Princess (Vows for Billionaires) by Lynne Graham

Author:Lynne Graham [Graham, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781335419248
Amazon: 1335419241
Publisher: Harlequin Presents
Published: 2018-03-19T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

ONE OF VITALE’S security team drove the four-wheel-drive up what Vitale assured her was the very last twisting, turning road because Jazz was carsick and they had to keep on stopping lest she throw up. It made her feel like an irritating young child and the politer Vitale was about the necessity, the more exasperated she suspected he was. So much for the honeymoon she had assured her family he was taking her on, even if events had conspired to ensure they only got to take a long weekend in Italy before the royal ball in Lerovia. It would be the honeymoon from hell, she decided wretchedly.

And then the car turned down a leaf-lined lane and way at the top of that lane lay the most beautiful house she had ever seen. Not as big as she had expected, not extravagant either. It was a sprawling two-storey farmhouse built in glorious ochre-coloured stone that was colouring into a deeper shade below the spectacular setting sun above. It was surrounded, not by a conventional garden, but by what looked very like a wild-flower meadow and the odd copse of leafy trees.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, speaking for almost the first time since she had left the plane about something other than an apologetic reference to the reality that she felt ill again.

Vitale sprang out of the car and opened the passenger door with a flashing smile that disconcerted her, his lean, darkly handsome features appreciative. ‘I thought you mightn’t like it,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not luxurious like the town house or the palace. It’s more of a getaway house.’

‘It’ll probably still be fancier than I’m used to,’ Jazz pointed out, simply relieved that he was acting human again instead of frozen.

A light hand resting at her spine, Vitale walked her down the path and into a hall with a polished terracotta tiled floor. Jazz shifted away from him again to peer through open doors, registering that the furnishings were simple and plain, not a swag nor any gilding in sight, and she relaxed even more, smiling when Vitale called her back to introduce her to the little woman he called Agnella, who looked after the house. Jazz froze to the floor when Agnella curtsied to her as if she were royalty.

‘Why did she do that?’ she asked Vitale as they followed their driver and their luggage up the oak staircase.

‘Because you’re my wife and a princess even though I don’t think you quite feel like one yet,’ Vitale suggested. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to curtsy to my mother every time you see her because she’s a stickler for formal court etiquette. When I’m King, which is a very long way away in my future,’ he admitted wryly, ‘I will modernise and there will be a lot less bowing and scraping. Unfortunately, the Queen enjoys it too much.’

‘Is that so?’ Jazz encouraged, stunned by his sudden chattiness.

‘Yes, the monarchy in Lerovia would never be described as one of the more casual bicycling royal families,’ Vitale admitted with regret.

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