The Princess and the Rebel Billionaire Read online

  He turned and placed the dish on a waiting trivet on the marble counter, and found two plates already set out with fresh salad, complete with gleaming red tomatoes, and the gloss of oil and balsamic vinegar. A marble bowl filled with crusty bread sat beside it. Matteo touched it; still warm.

  ‘That door must lead to the housekeeper’s quarters,’ he guessed, nodding towards a slim white door, almost camouflaged between the kitchen cabinets. ‘“Discreet household staff included,”’ he quoted from M’s literature.

  ‘It looks delicious.’ Isabella’s eyes had lit up at the sight of the food. He supposed having actual staff would just be commonplace for her, growing up in a palace. But for him, even since he’d reached the heights of his career and grown more or less accustomed to having staff and help around for the day-to-day essentials of life, it still felt like an incredible luxury.

  If Giovanni could see me now. On holiday with a princess, with staff to do all the cooking and cleaning.

  His brother wouldn’t believe it. Not even in his wildest dreams. Not after their childhood in Rome, both taking on their share of the household tasks while their mother worked two jobs to keep a roof over their heads.

  But Giovanni couldn’t see him, and neither could his mother. Or if, as Matteo sometimes let himself hope, they could look down from above and watch him, they couldn’t tell him what they thought of his lifestyle—his success, his billions in the bank, his fame.

  Sometimes, he wished they could, so he could hear their advice. Other times, he thought it was just as well they couldn’t. He could only imagine the bickering.

  ‘There was a table out on the balcony upstairs,’ he said impulsively as he dished up the lasagne onto the waiting plates. ‘Why don’t we take it up there to eat?’

  Isabella nodded and, between them, they loaded up a couple of trays with the food and cutlery, as well as the carafe of wine and the glasses that had been laid out for them. Negotiating the stairs slowly, Matteo made a joke about not dropping anything on these stone floors and was gratified when Isabella laughed.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when she’d said the word ‘princess’, but this pasta-loving beauty wasn’t exactly it.

  He heard her falter behind him, though, as he reached the bedroom. Placing his tray down on the table on the balcony, he turned back to find her staring at the bed.

  ‘There’s another bedroom next door,’ he told her, quickly realising the cause of her alarm. ‘I thought I could use that one, if you wanted to be in here? I think the staff have already brought up our bags.’

  Her gaze flickered from the bed to the solitary suitcase beside it—her suitcase, he assumed, since he’d already put his next door. Who knew how the staff had managed that without them noticing.

  The view was just as good from both rooms, he’d decided, and the balcony here stretched between the two rooms anyway, accessible from either one of the glass doors that were in place in lieu of windows or walls, over the lake.

  ‘Oh, okay. Great.’ Her stretched smile didn’t look quite natural, though. Matteo tried to look reassuring as he reached over to take the wine and glasses from her.

  Of course, she still thought this week was about romance and love—and sex. Whereas he’d already known that true love wasn’t on the cards for him, even before the discovery that she was a princess. They were worlds apart in so many ways—but she’d come here under a false assumption. That he was looking for love.

  He needed to set that straight.

  Pouring a glass of wine for them both, Matteo waited for Isabella to take her seat at the small balcony table before sitting down himself. His mother had instilled some manners in him, at least.

  Then he waited until she’d taken a large mouthful of lasagne—so she’d have time to think about her answer—then asked his question.

  ‘So, what’s a princess doing using an elite dating site? Don’t you have to marry a prince or something?’

  The food—delicious as it was—turned to ashes in her mouth at Matteo’s question.

  Don’t you have to marry a prince?

  He’d put his finger straight on the biggest problem with this whole set-up. She wasn’t free to fall in love with whoever M decided her perfect match was. And she needed to tell him that.

  ‘Not necessarily a prince,’ she said, with a small, one-shoulder shrug. ‘But a lord or a duke, yeah. Preferably Augustian, to make my father really happy.’

  ‘Are there many Augustian lords and dukes your age?’

  ‘I think my cousin married the last of them.’ She didn’t begrudge Sofia her happiness—or her husband. But it did narrow the acceptable dating pool quite considerably.

  ‘Ah. So that’s why you’re here?’ Matteo grinned. ‘Because I think you already know I’m not a duke or a lord.’

  No. He was a racing-car driver, of all things. Isabella could just imagine her brother’s face if he knew where she was right now, who she was with. Leo sometimes seemed even more hidebound and determined to follow The Rules—or, at least, make Isabella follow them—than the King and Queen were.

  For a man who was supposed to be her perfect match, it was hard to think of anyone less suitable. From what she knew of his reputation—which was mostly stuff she’d heard whispered in the crowd in Barcelona last year—he was a risk-taker, a daredevil. A Lothario on the racing circuit.

  The absolute opposite to the stuffed-shirt lords her parents had been setting her up on dates with for the last five years.

  But if he realised she wasn’t really his perfect match, he didn’t seem too disappointed.

  Isabella reached for a piece of bread and dipped it in the waiting oil and vinegar. Her mother, if she were here, would have looked despairingly at Isabella’s hips. But she wasn’t here—nobody was, except Matteo—so it was safe to be a little bit rebellious, right? Ooh, look at you, eating bread. You rebel.

  And having dinner with a racing-car driver. That probably counted more.

  ‘I’m here because my assistant, Gianna, lied to me,’ she said casually, as if things like this happened to her all the time.

  Matteo sat back in his seat, eyebrows high, his arms folded across his chest. ‘She told you that you were meeting a prince?’

  ‘She told me I was going to visit my cousin for the week, like I often do at this time of year. That’s what she told the palace, and my parents, too. Nobody knows I’m here except for Gianna, my cousin Sofia, Tessa—the longest serving and most trusted member of my security team, Madison Morgan—and you.’ It felt dangerous, giving up that secret. Information that could hurt her, if Matteo chose to share it with the papers, or via the internet.

  But it felt good, too. Freeing.

  What was that quote? Publish and be damned. But she didn’t think that Matteo would suddenly jump on social media and reveal her whereabouts. After all, discretion was guaranteed by the M dating agency, and she couldn’t imagine Madison Morgan would be very happy with him—or give him another chance to find his one true love—if he broke that rule.

  Which brought her back to her original problem. Matteo was there to find his perfect match. That was who he was expecting to meet when he walked into the villa. And instead he got her—a princess who couldn’t fall in love with him even if she wanted to, and had now admitted she was only there because she was tricked into it.

  She must be quite a disappointment to him.

  It was probably a good job she was used to being a disappointment to people.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You came here to find your perfect match, and it’s only the first night and I’ve already ruined that for you.’ She got to her feet. ‘This wasn’t fair. Let me call Madison and explain, and I’m sure she’ll refund you, or find you an actual perfect match for your next date.’

  Matteo laughed, and Isabella paused half out of her chair, unsure what was funny about th
e situation.

  ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he said after a moment, obviously sensing her discomfort. She was a princess. She really wasn’t used to people laughing at her—well, apart from her older siblings, of course. Leo and Rosa could always find something hilarious about her words or actions—when they weren’t being horrified.

  He motioned for her to sit back down, and she did so cautiously. But there was still lasagne and bread left—she assumed the meal had been planned towards his cultural heritage, and wondered whether tomorrow might bring an Augustian speciality, or even a Swiss one—and she hated to leave good food uneaten.

  ‘So why are you laughing?’ she asked, reaching for another piece of the delicious, still-warm bread.

  ‘Because this whole situation is hilarious.’ Matteo leaned across the table, closer to her than anyone who wasn’t an employee or a blood relative had been in a very long time. Then, swiping the last piece of bread from the bowl, he said, ‘You see, I didn’t choose to come here either.’

  Isabella blinked. ‘You...didn’t?’ He was already sitting back in his chair, smirking at her as he chewed his prize, but she could still feel his breath against her cheek as he spoke.

  What was it about this man that affected her so? Was it just that it had been such a long time since she’d found a man attractive at all? Now, sitting across the table from Matteo Rossi, with all that lean, long muscle and that smirk... Isabella admitted to herself that it had definitely been too long.

  Not that she could really do anything about that, unless she wanted to marry one of the stuffed shirts Leo kept setting her up with.

  Back to the point. ‘So, why are you here?’

  This was supposed to be their perfect date, their chance to find true love—without the usual scrutiny of the press or the public. But if neither of them had chosen to be there at all, where did that leave them?

  ‘Same reason as you, more or less.’ With a shrug, Matteo reached over for the carafe of red wine and topped up her glass. ‘My management team thought it was a good idea.’

  ‘Why?’ Isabella thought she understood why Gianna believed it was a good idea for her to be there—a chance to kick back, relax, have the freedom to be herself, and maybe even have some fun. But surely Matteo had all those things available to him in the real world, in a way that the Princess of Augusta really didn’t.

  ‘To keep me out of trouble.’ One eyebrow arched up above Matteo’s bright green eyes. ‘Although we might be able to find just a little bit of trouble here this week, don’t you think?’

  And from the heat that pulsed through her body at his words, Isabella had to agree.

  This man could be an awful lot of trouble.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HER EYES DARKENED at his words; he could see it, clear as day in the fading evening light.

  But he couldn’t do anything about it.

  She’s a princess, Matteo. It was his mother’s voice in his head, even after all these years. Have some respect.

  Yeah, he was pretty sure Gabe and the sponsors wouldn’t have sent him here if they’d known who his perfect match was. They’d be too afraid of his causing an international incident or something.

  Matteo wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a possibility himself.

  He looked away, turning his attention back to the bread in his hand as if it were the most fascinating thing on the balcony, and added, ‘I mean, if you’re my perfect match, you must like a little adventure, right? There have to be places to explore around here...’

  He trailed off as he saw her eyes widen in horror. Yeah, his first instincts hadn’t been wrong. The Princess wasn’t a risk-taker.

  ‘Or we could hang out here at the villa, get to know one another,’ he finished with a sigh.

  Isabella visibly relaxed, her eyes lighting up. ‘That sounds nice. It’s not often I get the opportunity to make a new friend.’

  He couldn’t help but return her smile. It might not be the week he’d plan for himself, but he got the impression that the Princess needed to be gentled along in this. By the end of the week, he was sure he’d manage to talk her into some small adventure.

  ‘So if you were tricked into coming here, what made you stay?’ Matteo asked, curious.

  Isabella looked up and met his gaze with her own, direct, brown one. And just as it had when she’d looked up at him in the window of the villa earlier, his chest tightened.

  For a moment, he was almost certain she was going to say, You.

  She didn’t, and he tried not to feel disappointed at that.

  ‘At the palace my life is rather...let’s say tightly controlled.’

  ‘You mean boring?’ he guessed.

  That raised half a smile from her. ‘Amongst other things. And I decided that a week away from that—a week to relax and be myself, not just Princess Isabella—might be good for me. Plus,’ she added, with an impish grin that lit up her whole face, ‘I was pretty sure from the moment I saw you that the last thing you’d be was boring. And that was before I even realised you were a racing star!’

  No, Matteo had never been accused of being boring. At least, not since Giovanni died, and he started living his life for both of them.

  ‘So, you’re looking for someone to help you relax and have a bit of fun for a change, then, rather than your true love?’ That worked out nicely for him, even if her idea of adventure didn’t match his.

  ‘I guess I am.’ Isabella sounded almost surprised at her own words, as if she hadn’t really factored him into her plans, despite what she’d said about him not being boring. ‘What about you? What are you looking for out of this week, if it’s not your perfect match?’

  What was he looking for?

  ‘Well, like I said, my management team are just hoping to keep me out of trouble.’

  Isabella raised her eyebrows at that. ‘Seems kind of an extreme way of doing it—going through all the rigmarole of setting you up with the M agency. It’s not exactly cheap, either, from what I understand.’

  ‘One hundred grand deposit,’ Matteo agreed with a wince. Even now that amount was a tiny drop in his investment and savings accounts, he still couldn’t help but imagine his mother’s horror at the casual way he spent it. ‘But at least most of it goes to charity.’ He’d donated his chunk to the cancer charity he’d supported ever since they’d helped Giovanni through those last weeks and days. That way, something good was coming out of his side-lining, he’d reasoned.

  Isabella gave a low whistle, which seemed kind of out of keeping for a princess. But then, he was coming to suspect that she wasn’t just any princess. ‘You must have really got in a lot of trouble for them to go that far. What did you do?’

  ‘Broke my leg cliff diving,’ he admitted, and she winced.

  ‘Ouch. It’s better now?’

  ‘Yeah. Docs all say it should be as good as new.’ Even if it still ached a little, most days. He was doing his strengthening exercises, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let it affect his driving. That was what mattered. ‘But I was out of commission for a while. Couldn’t race, couldn’t work out, couldn’t do anything much.’

  He’d hated that—the inaction—more than anything. That was still one of the concerns he had about this week. If she expected him to sit around doing nothing...he’d end up abseiling down from the roof out of sheer boredom.

  ‘It wasn’t just the broken leg, though,’ he admitted. ‘I guess the team—and Gabe, my manager, in particular—were fed up with my antics in general.’ In fact, he knew they were, because those were the exact words Gabe had used at the team intervention. He’d been lying there in his hospital bed, lucky to be alive, and Gabe had been ranting about ‘your antics putting everything at risk’.

  He’d apologised later, although Matteo hadn’t needed him to. He knew what fear and love sounded like together, and Gabe had been like an older brot
her to him since he’d lost his own.

  ‘You’re a bit of a daredevil, huh?’ Isabella asked.

  Matteo shrugged. ‘You could say that. I like adventures.’ It sounded easy, when he said it like that. The truth was more complicated, of course, but wasn’t it always? And in his experience, girls didn’t want to hear the truth. They wanted the story, the fairy tale of the wild and reckless racing-car driver. Even if behaving that way on the track would only get people killed. Matteo was always responsible behind the wheel, even if no one watching would ever see that.

  And that was the problem. The public—and the sponsors—only saw him speeding around corners at work, then taking risks in his private life. His reputation was established—and it wasn’t the sort of reputation that got him respect.

  ‘And now you’re stuck here with me for a week, in a luxury villa with excellent food.’ Isabella polished off the last of the wine in her glass and glanced over at the desserts still sitting on the tray.

  ‘Pudding?’ Matteo suggested and she nodded enthusiastically. The Princess liked her food. Matteo made a mental note in case that came in useful some time.

  He got the feeling he was going to get to know a lot about the Princess this week. And he found himself strangely thrilled at the idea.

  Maybe she was his next adventure after all.

  Isabella had expected to struggle to sleep in a strange place, but the bed in the villa was so comfortable, and the food, wine and company over dinner had been so pleasant, that she found herself sleeping in the next morning.

  By the time she woke, the sun was already high above the lake, streaming through the gauzy curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows—and she could hear the sound of coffee cups on the balcony.

  Coffee. That sounded like something worth getting up for.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she wrapped her dressing gown around her, blushing as she realised what Gianna considered appropriate nightwear for a princess on holiday wasn’t exactly modest. Her pale pink silk pyjama shorts and matching camisole were barely covered by the thin, short white broderie wrap.