Due to reasons concerning the security of both the crown prince and the princess elect, the interview was held in one of the sitting rooms of the Castillo de Firenze. The makeshift studio was located in Tower Three, which, because of her ankle, required the interviewee and her entourage to board a transport from one tower to the other.

If anybody had anything to say about his royal highness and his fiancée’s tardiness, nobody was brave enough to as much as raise a polite point. The director, staff, crew, and interviewer were all smiles and eager greetings when the couple finally arrived more than an hour late. It was Ms. Viscomi who did all the apologizing. 

The room was mercifully not large enough to force the couple apart. It was a room commonly used as a venue for private meetings between Queen Camilla and important visitors. To say that it was opulent was an understatement. Like the other chambers in the castle, it boasted a view of the city, but what set it apart was the old-world charm reminiscent of late Renaissance interior design. Where Luke’s suite was made of glass walls, the makeshift studio was concrete walls and tall windows framed by delicately draped cream-colored curtains adorned with gold tassel details. The polished scarlet flooring was mostly covered by a rectangular carpet, while the ceiling was a painting depicting the perpetual blue skies. It was meant to be relaxing, but all the tiny details on the wall trimmings, the half dozen portraits of important persons in history, was exhausting to look at for the prince. He would rather look at clean lines and plain, smooth walls. However, if a person was well-educated in classical architecture, the slender gold-fluted columns with intricately decorative capital protruding from the walls would be easily appreciated as a column of Corinthian order. 

Rhiane occupied a red couch in the middle of the room, while her interviewer fired the questions from an armchair of the same color. Above them was a grand chandelier made up of seemingly thousands of crystals that glimmered at the slightest touch of light. The heir, on the other hand, assumed a position behind the director, away from the limelight. He watched the interview unfold from the monitors that captured every angle possible. All of which showed his commoner princess. Dressed and dolled-up, though not as polished as she had been the night before, the farmer could pass as a lord’s daughter. She was beautiful even with her hair dripping with salt water and her face bare, but it was her courage that made her stand out from the women he had an affair with. Not the courage to jump into the depths of the ocean even though she couldn’t swim, but the determination to rescue her family out of poverty even if it meant her life was forfeit. Add to that the audacity to go against protocol and command the live broadcast with her own words. He wondered how the queen would react to such a flagrant disregard of authority, but Luke would be sure to stand by the farmer if only to spite his mother. Besides, he did encourage Rhiane to not be a puppet of the crown. 

His thoughts were running on such scenarios when he felt a light touch land on his back. “She is more beautiful in person than on the monitors, don’t you think so?” Luke didn’t need to turn his head, it was a voice he would recognize anywhere. Her favorite perfume even lingered on the air, the prince was just too absorbed in his thoughts to notice.

“Sofia, don’t take too long or we will miss our reservation.”

Luke recognized that voice as well for entirely different reasons. Philip, his younger brother, looked like a perfect gentleman in his tailored coat and pompadour hairstyle. The younger prince was barely seventeen years old, and yet he acted as if he knew how the game was played. The fact that Sofia had talked him into seeing Luke was enough proof that Philip had no clue. Poor young soul whose heart was bound to be shattered into pieces by the goddess he allowed himself to be tempted by.

With a sweet longing smile, Sofia assured the younger gentleman that she would be with him shortly. Philip nodded, eyeing his older brother with intensity as if daring the heir to even lay a hand on the girl. Luke wondered what kind of tale did his Sophie spin that time to make the younger prince believe that she was even slightly infatuated with him. They both watched Philip retreat. 

“Isn’t he too young for your taste?” Smiling, Luke leaned slightly to her. Sofia was the same height as Rhiane, though much slighter in build like most models and those whose body image was perceived as ideal. Although they were out of earshot, he whispered, careful not to be overheard. 

The actress shrugged, watching the camera feed on the monitors. “You did not return any of my calls all day, your royal highness. What am I to do?”

“I was preoccupied,” he admitted. They were not looking at each other but were both watching the monitors absently. Given the chance, he would walk out the room with the actress, her hand on his arm like the night before. He would cancel the reservation his brother made and bring her someplace worthy of her beauty and grace. “I sent you messages though.”

Words failed to leave her tightly pursed cherry lips. The silence stretched on and Luke let it be. He was getting used to the silent treatment. Rhiane laughed at a comment of the interviewer, which momentarily caught his attention. It was a controlled and poised sound lacking the mirth he remembered from their afternoon escapade. The director instructed a camera to zoom to the princess elect’s profile. Sofia was right, the cameras couldn’t do his fiancée’s beauty any justice.

“Preoccupied,” the actress repeated after the sound of laughter had faded.

Luke tore his eyes from the monitors and stared at the woman’s profile as she in turn stared at the screen. In her defiance, she refused to look at his face. “Yes, but it is all work. This is all work.”

She shook her head slowly. “Well, it does not look like it, your highness. The Luke I know will not share his private space with just somebody from work.”

“That’s not. Where did --”

“And he will not lie to me.”

Sofia, with all her connections, was bound to learn about the sleeping arrangement of the newly engaged couple, but Luke didn’t expect the news to reach her that soon. He was supposed to tell her, without giving away too much information, about his and Rhiane’s circumstances. It was his plan to invite her to lunch the following day. If not for the princess elect’s impromptu announcement about whose bed she would retire to at the end of the day, the issue would have remained under his control.

In one of the rare instances, Luke was saved from responding with the timely arrival of his brother who reminded Sofia of their date. The latter made no protests. If she had anything more to say to the crown prince, she was able to restrain herself from talking as she understood that it was not the right venue. Instead, Sofia allowed herself to be led away by Philip as his older brother followed them with his cold gaze and a promise to call.

His view was obstructed by a staff carrying a bouquet of more than a dozen red roses. “Umm… Excuse me, your highness,” the young woman shyly asked. “Here are roses you asked for? For Ms. Black after the interview?” He didn’t request for any bouquet of flowers, especially not for the farmer girl. It was another scheme concocted by the PR staff, he thought, but they could have timed the delivery better. Because as the young staff talked about the flowers, Sofia paused and looked over her shoulder before walking a little bit faster towards the exit.