The Princess and the Rebel Billionaire
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Sophie Pembroke
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CHAPTER ONE
PRINCESS ISABELLA OF AUGUSTA turned her back on the huge, glass-fronted villa, eschewed the view from the decked terrace out over the beautiful Lake Geneva towards the Alps, and glared at her assistant, Gianna, instead.
‘This is a bad idea.’ Unthinkably bad. This was breaking rules that had been drummed into Isabella before she could even walk.
Gianna tossed her highlighted caramel hair over her shoulder. ‘I don’t have bad ideas.’
That was a blatant lie, as Isabella had met some of Gianna’s ex-boyfriends when she’d brought them to the palace.
‘You told me you were taking me to see Sofia.’ Isabella’s cousin, Sofia, would never dream of doing something so risky and ridiculous as this. Sofia followed The Rules.
Of course, The Rules had led to Sofia marrying the love of her life and living in the lap of luxury in Lake Geneva with her husband and three adorable children, while also running her charity foundation for injured donkeys. The Rules hadn’t been quite so kind to Isabella, but they had at least kept her safe and out of trouble.
This plan, she sensed, was a lot of trouble. Especially if her parents found out.
‘This is better than another visit to Sofia,’ Gianna said persuasively. ‘This is a whole week of freedom, Your Highness. One week where you can be Bella for a change.’
‘I’m always Bella with Sofia,’ Isabella pointed out mulishly. She pushed away any thoughts of the one other person outside the royal family who’d been close enough to call her Bella, for a time. It would only make her miserable.
‘Sofia thought it was a brilliant idea,’ Gianna countered.
Isabella paused, blinked, and regrouped. ‘Sofia knows about this plan?’
‘Of course! Who do you think is covering for you if the King and Queen start asking any questions?’
It wouldn’t be her parents, Their Royal Majesties King Leonardo and Queen Gabriela of Augusta, who’d be asking the questions, though, Isabella knew. It would be their private secretaries, or another member of household staff. Someone like Ferdinand, her father’s right-hand man, whose job depended on all the royal children and cousins following The Rules.
His previous right-hand man had been fired after the last time Isabella thought there was a chance to break them. She’d been wrong, of course.
Just as Gianna was wrong now.
Isabella shook her head. ‘Someone will find out.’
‘They won’t.’ Pulling a folder from her laptop bag, Gianna spread out the papers on the high-gloss table in the middle of the terrace. She motioned for the Princess to take a seat and, dubiously, she did.
‘Look.’ Gianna pushed the top page towards her, and Isabella took in the stylised M of the logo, and the words ‘discretion guaranteed’ underneath. ‘This isn’t your usual dating agency, Your Highness. M only works with the rich and famous, and it offers them something they can’t find anywhere else.’
‘A villa on Lake Geneva?’ Isabella said, knowing she was being facetious.
Gianna rolled her eyes, probably hoping her employer wasn’t looking. ‘Privacy. They offer you one week with your perfect match in an ultra-exclusive, completely private and secluded location—they even arrange security, at a discreet distance.’
They were, Isabella had to admit, very much secluded. While the shores of Lake Geneva boasted many small towns and villages—as well as the city of Geneva itself—on both the Swiss and French sides of the border, it was large enough that villas, like the one Gianna had driven her to from the small private airfield where they’d landed, were miles away from any other signs of human habitation. Their nearest neighbour, as far as Isabella could see, was across the lake—far enough away that she could only make out the winking of sunlight on the windows of the building.
As for the rest of it...
‘How could this agency possibly know my perfect match? Some sort of algorithm, I suppose, based on my star sign or my photograph?’
‘No, not at all,’ Gianna said patiently. ‘You fill in an incredibly detailed personality test—’
‘Which I didn’t do,’ Isabella pointed out.
‘I did it for you.’
‘Doesn’t that rather defeat the point?’
Gianna gave her a long, steady look. ‘Your Highness, I’ve been part of the palace since I was a child. I was your friend long before I was on your staff. I’ve seen you grow up, stifled by the court and their rules. I’ve seen you, all these years. Seen you cry. Seen you laugh. Seen you—’
She broke off there, but Isabella knew, instinctively, what her friend would have said. Love.
Gianna had been there the last time Isabella broke The Rules. She knew exactly what that had done to her.
If she wanted her to risk it again...there had to be a good reason.
‘The point is, I know you,’ Gianna went on. ‘I know your hopes and your dreams, your loves and your hates. And I was willing to be honest about them on the form, which I know you wouldn’t have been. You’d have been thinking about what the palace expected from you, what your parents wanted, what The Rules said. Anything except how you actually felt or what you wanted.’
‘You’re right,’ Isabella admitted softly. ‘I would have done that.’ She pulled the brochure from M closer. ‘It says here there’s a video interview required, too? I didn’t do one of those.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Gianna smiled wickedly. ‘Remember that Internet chat you did with that website? The one for young women, seeking their place in the world?’
Isabella frowned. She didn’t do many interviews or royal events these days, if she could possibly avoid it. But Gianna had been insistent about doing that particular one...
‘The one with that woman? The pretty one, from America? Morgan? No, Madison. Madison Morgan, right?’ She’d liked that interview. Madison Morgan had asked her all sorts of interesting questions—much better than the usual stuff she got asked in interviews like that. As the third child of the King and Queen of Augusta she was a princess, but she’d never rule the country—that was down to her brother, Leo, named for their father. She’d never had any real role beyond doing what she was told. So all anyone really asked her was who had designed her dress, and which parties she’d be attending. The answer to the first was usually, ‘Ask Gianna,’ and the second, ‘None if I can possibly avoid it.’
Morgan had asked her things about herself. Who she was, who she wanted to be. What mattered to her most. What her ideal date looked like... How did I not see it?
In fact, there had been a couple of moments that had struck her as odd during the interview—questions that didn’t quite make sense, comments she didn’t understand. At the time, Isabella had put it down to cultural differences, or her being out of practice at interviews, or even the language barrier. Her English was fluent, and she was usually good at picking up idioms, but still, it wasn’t her native tongue and that could cause problems sometimes. And there hadn’t been anything to set alarm bells ringing—besides, Gianna had been there the whole time.
Of course, she had. Because she’d set this whole thing up.
‘Why, Gianna?’ Isabella asked now. ‘Why did you do this?’
‘Why did I risk my career and my future to find you a week of freedom and bliss with a man who might be your perfect match?’ Gianna smiled, softly. ‘Because you deserve it, Bella.’
How long since her best friend had last called her by that nickname? Too long. They’d become employer and employee, not friends, the moment Isabella reached adulthood.
Gianna took her hand. ‘I’ve seen you, fake smiling through every date your family has arranged with a “suitable suitor”. Every boring Augustian duke or lord, even the ones twenty years older than you. I’ve seen you miserable and lonely, because not everyone gets as lucky as Sofia did, and finds their perfect match in the palace. I’ve seen you trying to find a moment to just be you, away from the bodyguards or the cameras or the men who want to marry into the royal family. I’ve seen you withering away in that palace ever since Nathanial—’
‘Don’t.’ Isabella shook her head violently. ‘Not...just, don’t.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ Gianna ran her fingers soothingly over the Princess’s arm. ‘But you were miserable, Your Highness. And I saw something I could do about that...so I did it.’
‘Do you really think this will change anything?’ Isabella met her friend’s gaze with her own, and found nothing but compassion there. ‘One week with some guy? It’s not like he’s going to magically turn out to be a mysterious aristocrat or something. He won’t be someone my parents would let me marry—I’ve already met every single guy they consider suitable. So it can’t ever be more than this—just one week with someone I might be...compatible with.’
She felt a slight heat rise in her cheeks as she said the words. She hadn’t been compatible with anyone for a very long time. Just once, in fact. With Na—No. She wasn’t even going to think his name.
Did Gianna really think that a week with a man some agency thought was her perfect match would fix everything that was wrong with Isabella?
‘Maybe it won’t change everything,’ Gianna admitted. ‘But it might help. At worst, it’s a week of fun and freedom—no bodyguards, except Tessa from your staff, and the small security team the agency sent to guard the perimeter, and they’ll all be at the cabin on the edge of the estate. No royal obligations, no expectations. Just a guy that you might like...and the chance to have some fun, if you want it.’
‘I’m not looking for that, either,’ Isabella said flatly. How could she? That was definitely against The Rules.
Gianna sighed. ‘Bella, this isn’t some sort of hook-up agency I went to here. It’s M. The premier, most expensive and exclusive dating agency in the business. Whoever they’ve sent to meet you, he’s not here for sex. He’s here to get to know you.’
The knot in Isabella’s stomach started to loosen, just a little. ‘You’re sure?’ Maybe she could come out of this having made a friend. A friend would be nice. A lover would be...trouble. Lots of trouble.
‘Sure.’ Gianna glanced over Isabella’s shoulder, then gave her a mischievous grin. ‘But looking at your Perfect Match, you might want to consider just a little romance this week.’
Isabella’s heart thudded in her chest as she realised she wanted that. She wanted to find someone to talk with, relax with, laugh with, even love with, in a way she’d hadn’t in so long. In a way she’d stopped hoping for.
But what was the point, if it was only for one week?
She shook her head. ‘No, Gianna. A friend is one thing. Anything else is—’
‘Against The Rules,’ her friend finished for her, rolling her eyes.
‘Yes.’ But it wasn’t just The Rules, Isabella realised. It was the risk. To her reputation, her family...her heart. She’d risked it all for love once before. It wasn’t a mistake she intended to make again.
Gianna was still staring blatantly at the glass-fronted villa where Isabella’s perfect match was waiting. If she wanted this week away from reality, Isabella knew she had to turn now. Had to see what sort of person M had decided was right for her. Had to open up her mind and her heart to the possibility of a friendship beyond The Rules.
Sucking in a deep breath, Isabella turned slowly to face the villa on the lake, and stared up through the glass to the man standing, one hand on his hip, the other holding a phone to his ear, looking down at them from what had to be the bedroom.
Was he really so tall, or was it just because she was looking up at him? Either way, the glass and the distance between them couldn’t hide his admirable figure—the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles showing through the tight T-shirt he wore, or the long legs with their thick thighs... His black hair was cropped short, his skin as tanned and warm as her own Mediterranean complexion.
He was, she had to admit, the best-looking man she’d ever been set up on a date with. But then, the bar for that had never been particularly high.
Most of all, though, he looked like trouble.
He looked down, and her breath caught in her chest as his gaze met hers.
Maybe Madison knows what she’s doing, she thought as the funny feeling in her chest moved lower, turning warmer. Maybe this guy wasn’t her perfect match, but she couldn’t deny the heat she felt at the idea of a week alone with him.
She pushed it aside. A new friend, that was what she was looking for here.
Even if that new friend looked like sin and risk and everything she’d spent every moment since Nathanial avoiding. She couldn’t imagine what M thought they’d have in common, but she supposed there must be something. As Gianna said, they’d been matched on their personalities, first and foremost.
‘So, you’re going in?’ Gianna asked, a giggle in her voice.
Isabella swallowed. ‘Well, I’ve come this far.’ She’d already left all but one of her security staff at the airport, lied to her parents about where she was, and apparently dragged Sofia in on the deception. ‘What’s one week?’
One small risk—a week away, getting to know a new friend. After that, she’d go back to The Rules. She’d be Princess Isabella again, and everything that entailed.
But first, she’d have this one week of freedom.
With him.
Matteo Rossi stared out over Lake Geneva through the huge panes of glass that spanned the whole front of the villa. It was quite the view, he had to admit that. The lake glistening in the late-afternoon sun, the snow-peaked mountains in the distance, even in June. And it was definitely in the middle of nowhere—which he was pretty sure his management team had insisted on. Nowhere for him to get into trouble, and wasn’t that the whole point of this week?
‘So, it’s nice?’ his manager, Gabe, asked on the other end of the phone line, probably happily ensconced in his office in Rome, preparing for the next race. A race where Matteo pointedly wasn’t driving, even though his broken leg had healed perfectly well already. ‘Madison promised it would be nice.’
Ah, yes, the famous Madison Morgan. Former child actress and now the owner of the M dating agency, the latest strategy Gabe and the others had hit on to slow him down, and the reason he was now stuck in Switzerland and not on the racetrack where he belonged.
‘It’s fine,’ Matteo said dismissively. He’d stayed in some of the finest hotels in the world, from Abu Dhabi to Las Vegas and home to Rome. This villa was just a building, impressive though it was.
‘And is she there yet?’ There was a knowing lilt in Gabe’s voice, a teasing note. Because Gabe wasn’t talking about Madison, of course.
He was talking about Matteo’s Perfect Match.
Matteo rolled his eyes just thinking the words.
‘No, she’s not here yet.’ But then he looked down at the terrace outside the villa and saw two women talking. One—with caramel hair and a skirt suit—was obviously talking a mile a minute, if the way her hands were waving around was anything to go by. She was pretty, Matteo conceded. But his attention was already held by the other woman, the one with her back to him.
Dark curls tumbled down her back, loose and wild, falling almost to where her waist nipped in before curving out over generous hips. From what he could tell from behind, she had her arms folded in front of her, one hip tilted out as she stood, as if she was listening to what her companion had to say but didn’t really believe it.
Her. He felt the word run through his body more than he consciously thought it, but he knew in an instant it was true. If she wasn’t the woman Madison had picked for his perfect match, then the woman was doing her job wrong.
Suddenly, the idea of this week in exile wasn’t looking quite so bad.
Except, no. Because whichever woman was here to meet him, she’d be expecting something he couldn’t give. The M agency didn’t do booty calls; his perfect match was expecting true love. Commitment. Forever.
Matteo had far too many adventures in his future to even think about settling down with someone. Which meant he couldn’t give the woman the wrong idea.
Still, they’d been matched on personality, so hopefully hanging out with her for a week wouldn’t be too bad. They could blow this place and go explore the region. There had to be some interesting things to do around here, and, if she was his perfect match, she’d be up for an adventure.
Just as long as he made it clear she couldn’t expect anything more.
‘Are you looking forward to meeting her?’ Gabe asked. Was it just guilt keeping his manager on the line so long? He’d sent Matteo here, away from his team, away from racing. They’d told him it was for his own good—a treat, even. But Matteo knew the truth.
This was a last-ditch attempt to repair his reputation—and his sponsorship deals. Apparently some of his most recent adventures had cut a bit too close to the line. Were they hoping that the lure of true love would tame him? Stop him chasing after the next adventure, taking bigger risk after bigger risk?
If they were, they were going to be disappointed.
‘I guess,’ he replied. After all, he wanted to save those sponsorship deals, too. Not to mention his career. He’d already made more money than he could spend in a lifetime, on and off the track. But if he didn’t have racing, his dream career, what would he do?
Whose dream career? The whispered question in the back of his mind surprised him.
See, this was what happened when he slowed down. He started thinking. And unless he was thinking about speed and angles and winning, what was the point? As a rule, Matteo getting all introspective wasn’t good for anybody. He acted, that was who he was. Who he’d always been.
Only since Giovanni died.
That voice. Matteo shook it away and turned his attention back to the women by the lake instead. Women, he understood. The thoughts that came to him late at night, or when he wasn’t distracted by something fun...those he didn’t want to understand.
But as he looked down, he realised the woman with the dark hair, his possible perfect match, had turned around to face him. Even through the glass, and over the distance between them, he felt it the moment her gaze met his. A feeling that hit his chest and spread through his body. And he wasn’t entirely sure he understood that, either.
It was just her curves, he told himself. The way her folded arms highlighted her perfect breasts, the narrowness of her waist and the arch of her hips. Or her mouth, full and luscious. A purely physical reaction to a beautiful woman, nothing more. Of course, it was.
‘It’s just one week, Matteo,’ Gabe was saying, when he finally tuned back into the phone conversation. ‘Just...stay out of trouble this week. Finish healing.’
‘My leg—’
‘I know, I know. The doctors said it was fine, but they also said not to push it too far, too soon. And that’s basically your motto in life, so...just take the week. When you get back, we’ll come up with the next stage of the plan to get you back out on the racetrack. But, Matteo?’
There was something in his manager’s voice that made him nervous. ‘Yeah?’
‘If you did happen to come out of this week happy, in love and ready to settle down with the love of your life... I don’t think any of your sponsors would be disappointed.’
Because as much as they wanted the maverick, risky moves that won races, they needed him to appear a good role model for the younger fans, responsible enough that people trusted the things he was selling, however tangentially.
How do they expect me to be a champion and a boring, stay-at-home guy, all at the same time? The adrenaline was in his blood. The need to live life to the fullest, to chase every dream, tackle every challenge, beat every odd—on the track and off.
Except, the last time he’d gone adventuring, the odds had beaten him. Calling Gabe from the hospital to admit that he’d broken his leg while cliff diving, two weeks before the Dutch Grand Prix, had not been his finest moment.
Everyone wanted him to slow down—just not when he was behind the wheel.
Matteo sighed. ‘Message received.’ He hung up.
Down below, the terrace was empty—and he heard the electric buzz of the front door closing and locking behind whoever had just keyed in the confidential code. A code only he and the woman who was supposed to be his perfect match had.
No sign of the other woman outside, either, so he couldn’t know exactly who was waiting for him downstairs—he just hoped he was right in his guess.
He didn’t believe for a moment that some agency could find him his dream woman based on a questionnaire—one he’d been forced to fill in while still in the hospital—or a brief video interview, which he’d done with his leg in plaster, propped up on Gabe’s coffee table.
But if the right woman was waiting downstairs—if she really was a match for his restless, reckless spirit—they might at least have found a way to stop him thinking too much. And Matteo would take that as good enough for now.
