A Proposal from the Crown Prince Page 14

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘I STILL CAN’T believe they were just left here to stand empty.’ Bruno, the Ballet Company’s irascible ballet master, stood, hands on hips, and looked disbelievingly at the studio. Posy had already toured him through the theatre itself and onto the stage before showing him the maze of backstage rooms she had discovered: offices, dressing rooms, rehearsal spaces and, best of all, two huge studios, barres and mirrors still in place, the floor perfectly sprung.

  ‘They were filthy,’ she said. ‘But I had them cleaned up and I’ve been using them for exercises. It’s not far from the palace and, although there’s a gym there I can use, this floor is just so much better. The only problem is the temperature. It’s still warm enough, just, but give it a few more weeks and it won’t be any good for my muscles, far too cold. But there’s so much to do here, fussing about heating in here feels silly.’

  Bruno nodded. He didn’t ask why a future princess, a girl who had given up dance, needed a professional studio at the right temperature and Posy knew she wouldn’t have had an answer for him. Just as she didn’t know why she had put all her energies over the last couple of weeks into cleaning up the studios rather than the offices or something else more practical. Why she darned so many shoes. Why she put herself through a class every day, even though there was no teacher, no other students, just the music and the comforting repetition of barre and centre work.

  ‘So, I was thinking it seems a shame to waste this gorgeous space.’

  His eyebrows snapped together. ‘You want to set up a ballet company?’

  ‘No.’ She paused, momentarily seduced by the idea before dismissing it. ‘No, L’Isola dei Fiori is far too small to sustain one, I think if we could attract some of the better touring companies we’ll be doing well. Besides, a theatre like this needs variety: plays, operas, concerts. It’s the only way to make it viable. No, I was thinking summer retreats for professional dancers and summer schools for children. It ties perfectly in with Nico’s tourism idea—the whole family could come here for a holiday, drop aspiring ballet-mad child here for the day and they can go off and explore the island knowing they’re leaving their child in expert hands.’

  ‘Your hands? I always thought you’d make an excellent teacher.’

  Ouch. It was a compliment but it stung harder than his harshest critique. What did they say? Those who could do...she’d always thought she could.

  ‘No, not me. I won’t be able to train or get the experience needed in time. To get the right kids—and the right fees—I’ll need high-calibre teachers with workshops from some of the big names. Workshops from people like you, from some of the soloists, not just ours—yours—but from Paris, Rome, a really international school appealing to an international audience. Realistically we’re more likely to attract Italian tourists, maybe Spanish and French, than people from the UK so we need to cater for that.’

  ‘And this will fulfil you?’ Bruno’s eyes fixed on her, the exact same expression on his face as when he focused on a poorly turned-out foot. ‘Organising summer schools, fundraising for the theatre, getting the arts into schools here? This is how you see your life now?’

  Posy turned away so he couldn’t see the yearning on her face. ‘No one can dance for ever, Bruno. We all need a retirement plan. And you just said I’d make a good teacher. This is an extension of that.’

  ‘One day you’ll make a great teacher. Not now. You’re twenty-four, Posy. You have your entire career before you. Don’t you remember when you were in Year Three and I brought you to dance an exhibition, just like those children out there are doing?’ He waved a hand in the direction of the other studio where the four young dancers were practising for the evening. ‘That was...what? Five years ago? I promoted you and Daria straight into the Company that week. How can you walk away?’

  Posy swallowed. She couldn’t admit to him that she’d eavesdropped, overheard his damning words. He saw the Company as a whole, wouldn’t understand her motives, would think she’d walked away because of a selfish need to shine. Right now, back in the studio, still sweating from the class he’d taught, she didn’t understand her reasons either. ‘Life has changed for me, Bruno.’

  ‘Is he worth it? Your Prince?’

  ‘I think so.’ She pushed Nico’s brusqueness earlier out of her mind. He must be stressed with the big announcement later, the prospect of meeting her entire family. She knew how he felt. Every time she thought of the all too public engagement announcement she felt nauseous, like stage nerves amplified one hundred times.

  It didn’t help that she hadn’t slept last night, her mind a whirling mass of confused thoughts, all of them centred on Nico. On the things she’d said to her family about him. Trying to analyse her feelings until she was almost crying in frustration. One thing was all too clear: she was in too deep now to just walk away. Her life was more and more embedded here on the island. Maybe she should just accept the inevitable and admit she was planning to stay. That it made sense on many levels: she’d be protected; she’d have a purpose, a role she could really get excited about. The only real problem was Nico himself. Because if she was developing real feelings for him...

  If? Funny how she still tried to fool herself. But how could she really admit there was no ‘if’ about it? Maybe it was a good thing he’d been so offhand earlier. She’d missed him so much, had been so relieved to hear his voice that she’d been on the verge of telling him she didn’t need the three-month grace period, that she was in. That she had a purpose here—and she wasn’t sure she could walk away from him either. No, she couldn’t tell him the last part. Not yet. It wasn’t part of their agreement, after all. One step at a time.

  ‘So what are you dancing this evening? We have time for some coaching. You still represent us, Posy, whether you wish to or not.’

  ‘Me?’ She turned in surprise. ‘I’m not...’

  ‘Of course you are. You want to launch this scheme, then you need to show why it’s important. What will it be?’

  Posy stood stock-still. For the last five years of her life she had wanted this man to single her out for a solo. And now he had it was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong reason and simply too damn late for her.

  ‘I hadn’t thought there would be any need to.’

  ‘Well, think now. Quick, we don’t have much time.’

  There was only one real answer. ‘Juliet?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Do you have the music?’

  She always had the music. The studio didn’t have a working sound system but she’d brought in some speakers and so she slotted in her phone and pulled her shoes out of her bag, glad that she’d joined in with the class Bruno had just conducted for his students. She was warmed up and supple, even if she had only been managing an hour, two hours tops, over the last few weeks rather than the eight hours she really needed to meet Bruno’s standards.

  She finished tying the ribbons on her pointe shoes, took a deep breath and took her position in the middle of the studio. She was Juliet, young, at a ball in her honour, her life before her. She could do this...

  * * *

  Nico froze. The studios had long viewing windows and so, from the dark, dingy passageway, he could see everything inside them both. In the first studio two serious-looking young men and two equally serious-looking young women were painstakingly going over and over a short routine. There was nothing glamorous about the loose buns, legwarmers and battered shoes; this was very clearly work.

  As was the scene in the next studio. Posy was also wearing a leotard. She had paired hers with a long wrap skirt, her hair bundled up so the nape of her neck, her shoulders were clearly visible. She looked delicate, like a wisp—or she would have done if it weren’t for the play of muscles in her legs, her back. There was a lot of power in that slim build. She was listening intently to a whippet-thin man, probably in his early fif
ties, who gesticulated a lot as he talked, pausing to demonstrate a move, a pose. Nico froze when the man held Posy, manipulating her into place. His territory, his body whispered, his.

  ‘Once more,’ the man said. ‘You’re fourteen, remember? Filled with anticipation, with happiness. Now go...’

  She nodded, took up a pose—and then as the music started she began to move. Nico had seen her dance before, on the beach and on the stage, but here she was in the studio, her natural element, up on the tips of her toes, the blunt edge of her shoes making her look as if she were floating, balancing on the merest edge and yet able to make it look effortless. He stayed stock-still, watching until she finally spun to a stop and held her pose. It looked so easy somehow and yet her skin shone with perspiration and her chest heaved with exertion. But she was grinning, clearly as exhilarated as he was after a long mountain-bike ride, after scaling a sheer rock face or riding the rapids. All things he could no longer do. Had she felt as caged as he, without her usual outlet? More so, he suspected. Dancing wasn’t just her pastime; it was her entire life. She’d tried to explain but he’d never understood before.

  Now he understood all too well.

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ the man said. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, Posy. You’re a little out of practice and your technique isn’t quite as spot on as usual, all of which is to be expected after a break of a few weeks...but there’s a quality to your dancing, Posy, a poignancy, a maturity I have never seen before. A fire.’

  Posy hadn’t moved but Nico could tell she was struggling to contain herself, to keep that poise she prized herself on. The poise he prized in her. The poise that made her such a perfect choice to be his bride. ‘Thank you, Bruno. From you that means everything.’

  Everything. Such telling words. Nico swallowed hard. His chest seemed to have petrified, his heart heavy within it. He hadn’t felt this kind of physical emotional pain since, well, since he was sixteen and found himself a front-page laughing stock. Only that had been a deliberate betrayal. This wasn’t a betrayal at all, just a realisation...

  No. He’d known all along that Posy wasn’t for the island. Wasn’t for him. She’d played her part brilliantly, was prepared to carry on playing it.

  The question was for how long—and how long would he let her?

  Bruno’s voice brought Nico back to the here and now. ‘Look, Posy. I know you have left us but I meant it when I said the door was open for you to return at any time. I admit, I saw a role for you as coryphée, maybe as an assistant to me one day, but if you dance with the emotion I saw just now? Then there may be another role for you. No one knows yet but Isabella is pregnant. She’ll be cutting down on her work soon and that leaves a space for a soloist. I don’t see why that couldn’t be you. Why you couldn’t get that chance to prove yourself.’

  Posy froze, her eyes wide with hope. ‘A soloist? Me?’

  ‘You should have been there years ago but somehow you never quite made that leap. Now may be your time. You’re finally ready if you want it enough. I can keep that door open for you for three weeks at the very most but I’ll need a decision by then. Earlier if possible. I’m sure your Prince is very nice but you can marry any time. You can’t say the same about dance. Think about it.’

  ‘I will.’

  Just two words. But as she said them Nico realised with a physical pain that he hadn’t managed to encase his heart in stone at all and somehow, without his even being aware, Posy had snuck in through his defences and lodged herself there. Which put him in the uncomfortable situation of doing the right thing.

  Nico turned and walked away. He had some thinking to do but he already knew what his decision would be.

  * * *

  ‘Hello, stranger.’ Posy turned and smiled shyly at Nico as he walked into her room. ‘Are you ready for tonight?’

  Nico’s hand brushed his pocket, feeling the solid bulk of the two boxes he had concealed in there; the larger held a diamond necklace, begrudgingly unearthed from the vault by his aunt, who didn’t see why, just because there was going to be a new Crown Princess, she should give up the heirlooms she had enjoyed for years—no matter that, as Queen, she had access to plenty more.

  The other held a ring. Not an heirloom, a diamond flanked by two sapphires the colour of the sea. A ring he had bought himself, knowing it was perfect for her. All he had to do was give it to her.

  The box was leather, lined with satin, and yet it weighed him down as if it were lead.

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. You look beautiful, like a prima ballerina.’

  ‘Thank you. Luckily I had already chosen this dress so no costume changes needed.’ She had opted for a simple cream gown, ballerina style, fitted to just below her breasts the skirt falling softly to mid-calf length. The cream was shot through with gold thread so she shimmered as she walked. She’d pulled her hair back, a heavy dark coil on top of her head, wrapped around with gold thread. Small cream and gold pins twisted in the shining mass.

  ‘You’re looking forward to dancing?’

  ‘It’s a dream come true. I know it’s not a full-length ballet and I’m in the middle of the ballroom, not on a stage, but I’m finally dancing Juliet in front of an audience. Everything I’ve spent my life working for is happening right here. I’m equally thrilled and terrified but I’m ready for this. I’ve been ready for a long time.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘You deserve it.’

  She turned then, concern on her face. ‘Are you okay? You’ve been, I don’t know, maybe a little preoccupied all day. Can I help?’

  He took a deep breath. It was time. ‘Posy, remember when you agreed to help me out?’

  ‘Agreed to...you mean the relationship?’ Her eyes were wary. She knew something was up.

  ‘Yes. You agreed to three months before deciding either way. Time enough to showcase the island and to get the press to change the story. To give you time to work out whether you could live this life and figure out an alternative if not.’

  ‘I did, but...’

  ‘It’s unfortunate that the September Ball is halfway through that three months, unfortunate that my uncle wants our engagement announced tonight. An engagement is a bigger thing than a love affair, especially when it’s an engagement to a Crown Prince. Ending a relationship is one thing but an engagement is quite another. It could cause quite a scandal, reignite interest in you.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re probably right. But...’

  ‘Remember what you said that afternoon, when I offered you a three-month trial and said you could walk away at the end? You said I could do the same, if I wanted to. You gave me the same get-out clause. Told me that if this wasn’t right for me then I needed to let you know, that you wouldn’t hold me to this engagement.’

  Her eyes widened but she tilted her chin so she was looking right at him, as if she could see into the heart of him. But she couldn’t; he’d made sure of that. ‘Say the words, Nico.’

  ‘I’m invoking that clause, Posy. I don’t think we should get married and I won’t be announcing our engagement tonight. You’re free.’

  ‘I see...’ she said tonelessly. She was the same girl in the same dress but it was as if all the light had gone out of her.

  ‘It’s not you...’

  She stepped back at that, colour high in her cheeks. ‘You don’t need to say it, Nico. This isn’t some grand love affair—you don’t have to worry about my feelings. Of course it’s me. You don’t care who you marry as long as she looks right and acts right and isn’t as emotional as your mother or as cold as your aunt and needs nothing from you but is prepared to pretend she adores you and bears your children. Right? So I must be failing in one of those criteria, which means it is very much me.’

  His hand fell to the ring box again. ‘I thought you’d be relieved.’

  �
�When my whole family is here expecting me to announce my engagement? The palace is full of people expecting it! I didn’t used to care what people think but turns out, after being plastered over the front pages, I’m a little more sensitive than I realised. I don’t want people to gossip about me any more.’

  Of course. The only reason she’d agreed to this whole engagement was because of the gossip—that and because she had no idea what to do with her life. One of those things was solved; he would take care of the other. ‘I’ll tell your family we are taking things slowly, that although we’re still secretly engaged, in light of your promotion at work we’ve decided not to make it public yet to give you time to return to London for a few months. I’ll let my family know the same thing. We’ll then announce your appointment as Patron of the Arts, starting with your intention to renovate the theatre and introduce a programme into schools—we’ll make sure everyone goes away thinking that’s the announcement planned for tonight.’

  ‘So I won’t be a Contessa after all? I can’t say I’m sorry, although I was looking forward to being upgraded on flights.’ She was trying to smile but her mouth trembled and Nico had to take a step back to stop himself from kissing her until she trembled for a whole other reason. ‘Then what? I just walk away?’

  If only it were that easy. He needed a clean break but he had to think of her and the best way to manage her exit strategy. Somehow it was easier if he coated it in business speak. ‘I’m sorry but I think we need to carry on this charade for a while longer.’ It took everything he had to keep looking her full in the face, to keep his voice casual, even a little bored. ‘It would be great if you do actually take on the patron role for real. You have a platform now. It would be a shame to waste it. If you could come over a few times to work on that and the tourism project...’

  ‘So that’s what we’re calling it now? You mean being photographed with you? Pretending we’re together.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll come to London. And then next spring we can issue a press release saying we’ve drifted apart. Perils of a long-distance relationship.’