Several footmen stood on hand, and one turned to her. ‘May I be of assistance, Miss Lillegard?’
About to request a ride to Valenti’s Residence, she spotted Valenti’s sports car. ‘Can I have the keys to Prince Valenti’s car, please?’ she asked, breath held because it wasn’t above reason for Valenti to instruct them not to allow her anywhere near his car. Or any vehicle for that matter without an armed guard.
‘Of course, right away, miss.’ He sprinted away, then returned seconds later with the sleek little fob.
Lotte greedily grasped the little spark of rebellion as she pressed the fob, and the door slid up. It was short-lived however when she slid into the dark, luxurious interior and was immediately engulfed in Valenti’s hazelnut and spice scent.
She gave herself a vulnerable little moment to breathe him in, perhaps for the last time, to run her fingers over the steering wheel, imagining him doing the same.
Then gunning the throaty engine, she headed for the Residence.
Ten minutes was all it took to snatch her passport and pack the barest essentials. Whatever else she needed she would get once she reached wherever the first flight out of Cartana took her.
Changing into a pair of jeans and a top and slipping her feet into sneakers took another minute. She held her breath all theway back down the stairs, only to belly-flip when the butler appeared.
Lotte saw his eyes flick to the small case in her hand and over her outfit, but his years of experience prevented him from showing any emotion.
‘May I be of assistance with anything, Miss Lillegard?’ he asked evenly.
Summoning a bright smile, she shook her head. ‘No thank you, I’m fine. You can go back to…whatever you were doing.’
He didn’t. He followed her to the door and as his throat cleared diplomatically, probably to politely enquire what she was doing or where she was going when the wedding was still in full swing, she pre-empted it with another smile. ‘Thanks for everything, Soto. And there’s no need to disturb Prince Valenti.’
He nodded, but she felt his keen regard as she forced herself to walk calmly to the car. Heart in her throat, she drove at a sedate pace to thepalacio’s main gates.
The security guard was a little less circumspect. He peered into the car, then at her. ‘Miss Lillegard, you don’t have your security with you?’
‘I’m just going for a quick drive. No need to disturb the Prince.’
His respectful smile didn’t budge. ‘I’m afraid I must call his aide. I won’t be a moment.’
She prayed to all the gods in Valhalla for the aide’s phone to be busy, and when the guard strolled back two minutes later, uneasy frustration stamped over his face, she exhaled slowly.
Lotte waved at the line of cars queuing behind her. ‘I’m keeping everyone waiting. Let me through, please,’ she said firmly.
With clear reluctance, he opened the gates.
The taste of freedom wasn’t as sweet as she’d imagined, but she suppressed the wave of desolation that swept through her. Took her time to pull over, dig out a tissue to mop tearsthat wouldn’t stop falling, before programming the GPS in the direction of the airport.
Three streets away, she eased to a stop at another traffic light just as her phone started ringing. Her heart jumped into her throat, then plummeted. While she knew it could only be one person, Lotte was well aware Valenti’s only reason for contacting her would be to throw more of his authority about.
To keep her living under the weight of his guilt.
So she ignored it, then startled violently when horns blared around her.
Quickly dashing away fresh tears, she’d just stepped on the gas when a mighty jolt knocked her forward.
No.No, no, no!
Slamming on the brakes, it took her a minute to realise she hadn’t hit the vehicle in front. That the driver behind had rammed intoher.
Relief warred with alarm as she carefully stepped out, her heart dropping when she saw the damage. The back of Valenti’s supercar was mangled, the taillights shattered and the sleek bumper now crumpled. She didn’t need genius status to know the cost of repairs would be astronomical.
‘Oh God. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.’
Rearing back at the too-close voice, she looked up into dark brown eyes. The guy was tall and wiry, young, maybe a year or two older than her.
His clear distress cut through her own as he looked closer at the damage and grimaced. ‘Damn, I really did a number on that, didn’t I? It’s not going to be cheap.’
