THE dark-haired figure seated at the antique desk and illuminated by an ornate, gold trimmed lamp slapped shut the leather folder, placed it on the growing pile to his right, and reached for yet another folder, opening it with an impatient flick. Dio, was there no end to these damned documents? How could so small a place as San Lucenzo generate so many of the things? Everything from officersâ commissions to resolutions of the Great Council, all needing to be signed and sealedâby him.
Prince Rico gave a caustic twist of his well-shaped mouth. Perhaps he should be grateful the task seldom came his way. But with his older brother, the Crown Prince, in Scandinavia, representing the House of Ceraldi at a royal wedding, the temporarily indisposed Prince Regnantâtheir fatherâhad for once been obliged to turn to his younger son to carry out those deputised duties he was generally excluded from.
Ricoâs eyes darkened for a moment with an old bitterness. Excluded from any involvement in the running of the principalityâhowever tedious or trivialâyet his father still condemned him for the life he perforce led. The twist in his mouth deepened in cynicism. His father might deplore his younger sonâs well-earned reputation as the Playboy Prince, yet his exploits both in the world of expensive sports like powerboat racing, and on the glittering international social circuitâincluding the bedrooms of its most beautiful womenâgenerated invaluable publicity for San Lucenzo. And, considering just how much of the principalityâs revenues derived from it being one of the worldâs most glamorous locales, his part in contributing to that glamour was not small. Not that either his father or older brother saw it that way. To them, his exploits brought the attention of the paparazzi and the constant risk of scandalâboth of which were anathema to the strait-laced Ruling Prince of San Lucenzo and his upright heir.
Not, Rico grudgingly allowed, as he scanned through the document in his hand, that they were not sometimes justified in their concerns. Carina Collingham was an unfortunate instance in that respectâthough how he could have been expected to know she was lying when she told him her divorce was through was beyond him.
Despite his instantly having dissociated himself from her the moment heâd discovered the unpalatable truth about the marital status of the film actress, the damage had been done, and now his father had yet another complaint to lay at his younger sonâs door.
His older brother, Luca, had taken him to task as well, berating him for not having had Carina security-checked adequately before bedding her. Better to exercise some self-restraint when it came to picking women out of the box like so much candy.
âThereâs safety in numbers,â Rico had replied acerbically. âWhile I play the field, no woman thinks she has the ticket on me. Unlike you.â Heâd cast a mordant look at his brother, along whose high Ceraldi cheekbones a line had been etched. âYou watch yourself, Luca,â heâd told him. âChristabel Pasoni has plans for you.â
âChristaâs perfectly content with the way things are,â Luca had responded repressively. âAnd she does not cause a scandal in the press.â
âThatâs because her fond papa owns so much of it! Dio, Luca, canât you damn well ask her to tell Papa to instruct his editors to lay off me?â
But Luca had been unsympathetic.
âThey wouldnât write about you if they had nothing to write. Donât you think itâs time to grow up, Rico, and face your responsibilities?â
Ricoâs expression had hardened.
âIf I had any, I might just do that,â heâd shot back, and walked away.
Well, heâd wanted responsibilities and now heâd got someâsigning documents because there was no one else available to do so, and atoning for having had a misplaced affair with a stilltechnically-married woman.
Maybe if I sign every damn document in my best handwriting before Luca gets back Iâll have earned a royal pardonâ¦
But his caustic musing was without humour, and impatiently he scanned the document now in front of him. Something to do with a petition from a convent to be rescinded of the obligation to pay property tax on land on which a hospital had been built in the seventeenth centuryâa petition which, so the helpful handwritten note appended by his fatherâs equerry reminded him, was nothing more than a pro forma request, made annually and granted annually since 1647, requiring nothing more than the customary royal assent. Dutifully, Rico scrawled the royal signature, put down the quill, and reached for the sealing wax, melting the required dark scarlet blob below his name, and then waiting a few moments for it to cool before impressing on it the royal seal. He was just replacing the seal when his phone went.