âIâll take care of everything.â His gaze never wavered.
Her stomach lurched. âWhat does that mean?â
âWeâll be married.â He said it without a pause, without the slightest hesitation.
And she wanted to cry againâpartly from another, stronger, wave of relief. And partly because, really, it was all wrong.
Once, sheâd dreamed of marrying his brother. It had to be beyond inappropriate simply to switch brothers. And since those four magnificent days two months ago, Rafe had made something of an art form of avoiding her. A man you marry shouldnât spend weeks dodging youâand then, at the mention of a baby, drop right to his knees and propose.
* * *
The Bravo Royales: When it comes to love, Bravos rule!
Chapter One
Genevra Bravo-Calabretti, princess of Montedoro, heaved the lightweight ladder upright and braced it against the high stone wall.
The ladder instantly tilted and slid to the side, making way too much racket as it scraped along the rough old stones. Genny winced and glanced around nervously, but no trusty retainer popped up to ask her what she thought she was doing. So she grabbed the ladder firmly, righted it and lifted it, bringing it down sharply to plant it more solidly in the uneven ground.
Breathing hard, she braced her fists on her hips and glared at it, daring it to topple sideways again. The ladder didnât move. Good. All ready to go.
But Genny wasnât ready. Not really. She didnât know if sheâd ever be ready.
With a very unprincesslike âOof,â she dropped to her bottom in the dry scrub grass at the base of the wall. Still panting hard, she wrapped her arms loosely around her spread knees and let her head droop.
Once her breathing evened out, she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the clear night sky. The crescent moon seemed to shine extrabright, though the lights from the harbor below obscured most of the stars. It was a beautiful May night in Montedoro. She could smell roses, faintly, on the air.
A low moan escaped her. It wasnât right. Wasnât fair. She ought to be out with friends in a busy café or enjoying an evening stroll on her favorite beach. Not dressed all in black like a lady cat burglar, preparing to scale the wall around Villa Santorno.
Useless tears clogged her throat. She willed them away. Sheâd been doing that a lot lately, pulling herself back from the brink of a crying jag. The worry and frustration were getting to her. Not to mention the hormones.
She didnât want to do this. She felt ridiculous and pushy, in addition to needy and unwanted and more than a little pathetic.
But seriously, what choice had he given her?
âI am not going to cry,â she whispered fiercely as another wave of emotion cascaded through her. âAbsolutely not.â With the back of her hand, she dashed the moisture from her eyes.
Enough. She was stalling and she knew it. Sheâd dragged that damn ladder all the way up the hill. She wasnât quitting now. Time to get this over with.
Gathering her legs under her, she stood and brushed the bits of dry grass and dirt from the seat of her black jeans. The ladder was waiting. It reached about two-thirds of the way up the wall, not quite as far as she might have hoped.
But too bad. No way was she turning back now.
She put her foot on the first rung and started to climb.
A minute later, with another low moan and a whimpery sigh, she curled her fingers around the ladderâs highest rung. The top of the wall seemed miles above her.
But she made herself take the next step. And the next. Until she was plastered against the wall, her hands on the broader, flatter top stones, her black Chuck Taylor All Stars perched precariously on that final rung.
âBad idea,â she whispered to the rough stones, though there was no one but the night to hear her. âBad, bad idea....â Right at that moment, she wished with all her heart for the superior upper body strength of a man.
Her wish was not granted. And there was nothing to do but go for it or go back. She was not going back.