he said, lifting his mug in a toast. ‘To Nathan.’
She lifted her own mug. ‘To Nathan.’
‘You must miss him terribly. As do I.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, Miss Phillips. Life is a little bit complicated at the moment.’
‘Complicated?’
He shrugged. ‘My father died not long after Nathan was killed. Obviously my older brother will be the one to succeed him, but there’s a lot of political stuff to sort out.’
She’d had no idea that he’d lost his father, too. ‘My condolences on the loss of your father, Your Royal Highness,’ she said formally.
‘Thank you. I know you’ve been in that situation.’
‘Except I was ten when Dad died,’ she said. ‘He was killed in action, too.’
‘That’s tough for you,’ he said. ‘Losing your father and your brother the same way.’
‘It’s one of the reasons why I worked here tonight,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do my bit to help the charity.’ To support children who’d been bereaved the way she had, because she knew what it felt like.
‘You were a volunteer tonight?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Yes. Though, actually, my day job’s in a café.’ A proper Italian café, run by a middle-aged couple from Naples who’d taken her to their hearts and who always sent her home after her shift with treats for her mum.
‘It’s good of you to help. Thank you.’ He paused. ‘How is your mother?’
‘Fine.’ It wasn’t strictly true, although thankfully this week Grace was having a good patch where she was fully mobile and not quite as exhausted. Chronic fatigue syndrome was the kind of illness that had peaks and troughs, and Tia knew that a good week like this would be balanced out by one where her mother could barely get out of bed and would need a lot more help with day-to-day things.
‘I’m sorry. I should’ve kept in touch.’
‘Or come to his funeral.’ The rebuke tumbled out before she could stop it.
He inclined his head. ‘My apologies. I intended to be there. But I was called away on a mission, and it wasn’t one that I could delegate to someone else.’
That hadn’t occurred to her. It was a valid excuse, she supposed, though she still thought he could’ve sent her mother a personal note.
As if he’d guessed at what she was thinking, he said, ‘I did write a letter to apologise for my absence.’
‘Mum didn’t get any letter from you.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t arrive. I promise you, I did write.’
‘It must’ve got lost in the post. That’s not your fault.’ Though he hadn’t followed up on his note after his mission. Surely he could’ve found the time to at least call her mother?
He took a deep breath. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing,’ she said immediately. They didn’t need to lean on anyone. She and Grace were doing just fine on their own. They had their routines and they had good friends to support them. They didn’t need a prince throwing money at them to salve his conscience.
‘Nathan said you were proud and independent,’ Antonio said gently. ‘Which is a good thing. But your brother was part of my team. My friend. And, despite what you must think, my team are like family to me. If I can help to make life easier, Miss Phillips, please let me know. Nathan wouldn’t have wanted you to struggle.’
He was offering her a financial handout? She kept her temper with difficulty and said politely, ‘Thank you, Your Royal Highness, but we’re managing just fine as we are.’
‘I didn’t intend to offend you,’ he said. ‘Just…’ For a moment, he looked racked with guilt. ‘I couldn’t do anything to save your brother.’
‘It wasn’t your fault that he was killed. And Nathan knew the risks of the job before he signed up for it.’ She knew her brother had wanted to follow in their father’s footsteps.
‘I know. But it doesn’t stop me missing him.’
Then he looked shocked, as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
And again that bleakness was back in his eyes for a moment before he managed to hide it again.
Prince Antonio, despite his privileged upbringing, seemed lonely, deep inside. Right now she’d been given a glimpse of the man behind the cool, collected mask. And she could almost hear her brother’s voice echoing in her head: He could do with a hug.
Which would be way outside official protocol. Then again, some things were more important than protocol. So Tia put her mug on the coffee table, walked over to Prince Antonio, put his mug on the coffee table next to hers, and wrapped her arms around him.
For a long, long time, he just stood there, unmoving; but then, just as she was about to apologise and take a step backwards, he wrapped his arms around her and held her back, warm and comforting.
She really, really had intended it as comfort. Just comfort. Sharing their grief.
But one of them—she wasn’t sure which of them—moved, and his cheek was pressed against hers. Her skin tingled where it touched his. Another tiny movement—hers? His?—and the corners of their mouths were touching.
The tingle spread.
Another infinitesimally small shift, and then his mouth was brushing against hers.
She shouldn’t be doing this.
He was a prince and she was a waitress. Their lives were so far apart, it was untrue. Neither of them was in a position to start any kind of relationship. He had official duties and she was busy working and looking after her mother. Nothing could possibly come of this.
But the temptation to take comfort from him and to comfort him in turn was so strong.
Maybe this was something they both needed. Just for one night. No strings.
Because, just as Antonio had shown no emotion when he’d come to tell them the news about Nathan, Tia had locked her own tears away because she’d needed to be strong for her mother.
When he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, she could see the tears glittering there, the emotion he was trying so hard to repress.
Maybe tonight they could cry together. Find a release together. Comfort each other. Heal each other.
Just for tonight.
‘Stay with me, Tia?’ he whispered.
Common sense said that she should leave. She was due at work tomorrow morning. And there was her mother to think about.
But Becky was only next door if she was needed. Tia could drink coffee tomorrow rather than tea to get her through her shift. Right now, Antonio needed her—and she needed him.
She laid her palm against his cheek. ‘Yes.’
He kissed her again, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed.
November
THERE WAS NO other way round it, Tia thought, curving a protective hand around her bump.
Miles Montague, the palace secretary, had been perfectly polite to her just now. But, just as he’d done with every single one of her previous calls, he’d rebuffed her, refusing to put her through to Antonio. She’d begged him to pass on a message, asking Antonio to call her. She’d