"Mrs. Tiziana, I am no longer a *young gentleman*."
The Duke's voice carried a note of weary exasperation—the tone of someone who had corrected this particular error many times before.
Before the elderly woman could launch into what promised to be an elaborate rebuttal, Alexio continued smoothly: "I'm certain the princess is exhausted from her long journey. Please show her to her room so she can rest properly."
The strategy worked.
Mrs. Tiziana's attention pivoted instantly to Adelina, her eyes sparkling with renewed purpose.
"Good *heavens!*" She seized the princess's hands in both of her own, holding them with surprising warmth. "Our dearest princess has arrived, and here I am getting distracted with old memories! Please forgive me!"
Adelina found herself smiling despite her exhaustion.
"Was the voyage difficult?" Mrs. Tiziana shook her head sympathetically, as though they were still aboard a swaying deck. "I never leave this island precisely because I get so terribly seasick. Just thinking about boats makes my stomach turn!"
Behind them, Alexio had moved to confer quietly with one of his subordinates. Adelina couldn't make out the words, but she could guess the general nature of the conversation: instructions that Mrs. Tiziana would most certainly disapprove of, given the chance to object.
"Even a strong woman like myself finds sea travel unbearable," the elderly lady continued, patting Adelina's hands. "How difficult it must have been for our fragile princess!"
In truth, Adelina's condition was not so terrible.
"Thanks to the Duke's yacht, the journey was quite comfortable," she offered. "The vessel was remarkably steady."
It had been an absurdly luxurious mode of transportation. The enormous yacht carried only four passengers: Alexio, his assistant, Adelina, and Sophie. The gentle swells of the ocean had rocked them like a cradle rather than a storm, and the voyage had been so smooth that Sophie—exhausted from weeks of wedding preparations—had fallen asleep within the first hour, snoring softly in her cabin.
Mrs. Tiziana, however, seemed unconvinced.
"*Comfortable?*" She placed her hands on her hips, regarding Adelina with fond skepticism. "You sweet girl. You probably haven't eaten properly either, what with all the excitement." She nodded decisively, answering her own question. "I anticipated your arrival time and prepared some easily digestible dishes. The servants will handle the luggage—follow me quickly!"
She waved imperiously at the waiting staff, who sprang into action with practiced efficiency. Within moments, Adelina and Sophie's belongings were whisked away to destinations unknown.
"Mrs. Tiziana—" The Duke attempted to interject, placing particular emphasis on her name.
This time, the diversion failed entirely.
"The young master *also* needs a proper meal." Mrs. Tiziana had already begun walking, one hand firmly clasping Adelina's wrist, the other reaching back to snag Alexio's sleeve. "Both of you—to the dining room. Now."
Adelina shot a bewildered glance at her new husband.
He simply sighed.
The sound spoke of long experience and inevitable defeat.
"*Hurry up!*" Mrs. Tiziana called over her shoulder. "The food will get cold!"
Adelina turned her gaze forward, studying the elderly woman's confident stride.
*This...*
This was not quite how she had imagined her honeymoon beginning.
---
## — The Meal —
Adelina was only permitted to rise from the table after sampling every dish set before her.
There had been *many* dishes.
The meal, she learned, had been prepared according to family recipes passed down through the Duke's maternal line. Mrs. Tiziana remained at her side throughout, providing a running commentary on each course—the origins of this particular spice blend, the proper technique for that specific preparation, the stories attached to various ingredients.
"The young master's grandmother—my dear friend, rest her soul—she taught me this recipe when I was barely older than you are now, Princess. Said it was the only thing that could make her husband smile after a difficult day..."
Adelina listened with genuine interest, noting how Alexio—who she had assumed valued silence and efficiency above all else—tolerated Mrs. Tiziana's chatter without complaint.
More than tolerated it, actually.
There was something in the way he sat, the way his shoulders had relaxed the moment they'd entered the villa, that suggested... *comfort*. This place meant something to him. This woman meant something to him.
It was, Adelina thought, unexpectedly endearing.
---
## — The First Night —
"I was so nervous," Adelina murmured to herself, settling onto the edge of her bed, "just thinking about the wedding night."
But after Mrs. Tiziana's warm welcome—after the endless courses and constant conversation and the obvious affection everyone in this household held for the Duke—not a trace of her earlier anxiety remained.
Moreover, the room Mrs. Tiziana had shown her was intended for Adelina alone.
A separate bedchamber. Private. *Hers*.
The princess almost laughed aloud at her own earlier foolishness. She had spent the entire voyage steeling herself for... what, exactly? She had even permitted the nail technicians' comments about wedding nights to plant seeds of genuine worry in her mind.
*Everyone assumes this is a real marriage*, she reminded herself. *Their expectations are simply misunderstandings.*
Adelina rose and studied her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
Sophie had prepared garments for this evening—garments the princess would never have chosen for herself. The nightgown was delicate beyond measure: silk so fine it seemed woven from moonlight, trimmed with lace that fluttered like butterfly wings with every movement.
Sophie knew perfectly well that this marriage existed only on paper. And yet she had clearly hoped reality might prove different. The maid seemed quite taken with her mistress's new husband—impressed by his generosity, charmed by his gifts, optimistic about possibilities that Adelina herself had never considered.
"This is beautiful," Adelina admitted softly, adjusting the gown's drape.
The fabric was impossibly soft, impossibly light. It created the illusion that she was wearing nothing at all—a sensation both strange and liberating.
Under her father's care, she had never worn anything so lovely.
*"As a princess, you must lead by example,"* Arthur had lectured constantly. *"You must be thrifty and kind, Adelina."*
Meanwhile, the prince himself had dressed in silks and velvets, adorned himself with jewels, surrounded himself with every luxury imaginable.
The hypocrisy had never been lost on her.
Adelina's gaze fell upon the various accessories arranged on her dressing table—gifts from Duke Alexio, accumulated over the past weeks. Earrings and bracelets, hair ornaments and delicate chains.
And the necklace.
She rose, almost involuntarily, and picked up the piece that had started everything. The blue diamond caught the lamplight and scattered it into a thousand tiny stars across the ceiling.
*What color is this?*
The question had haunted her since the fitting.
"If I had to describe it, I would say it looks more like azure blue. Although technically, it is simply a blue diamond."
The voice came from within the room.
Adelina whirled, startled.
Where she had assumed there was only wall, a doorway now stood open. Shadows pooled beyond the threshold, suggesting another chamber—and silhouetted against those shadows was Alexio.
"Was there a door here?" She returned the necklace to the dressing table with careful deliberation, trying to mask her embarrassment. Her cheeks felt warm.
The Duke leaned against the doorframe, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"It connects our rooms." He stepped into her chamber with easy confidence. "A common design solution for married couples' bedrooms. The door was designed to blend with the surrounding architecture—purely for aesthetic purposes."
"Quite meticulously planned."
"True. He was extremely demanding, even down to the smallest details." Alexio's tone shifted—something softer entering his voice, something that spoke of genuine affection. "The man who designed and built this villa was my maternal grandfather."
"Your grandfather..."
Adelina had read about him, of course. Everyone had.
"Dion Crino." Alexio walked past her toward the terrace doors, his movements unhurried. "Everyone called him the 'King of Real Estate.' I hope the title 'king' didn't sound too frivolous in the presence of an actual princess?"
He offered a slight bow—formal, ironic.
"My apologies."
The words contained no genuine contrition whatsoever.
Adelina smiled despite herself.
"That isn't blasphemous at all. If such titles were truly forbidden, then calling a sweet child 'little prince' would be criminal." She followed him toward the terrace. "I'm aware that your maternal grandfather was a famous businessman."
The story of Dion Crino remained legendary throughout the kingdom: a young man born to impoverished farmers, who had begun investing with almost nothing and subsequently amassed one of the greatest fortunes in the realm. His success had been so complete that it was said every citizen had, at some point in their life, walked on land he owned or entered buildings he had constructed.
The nobility typically looked down on those who achieved greatness through effort rather than inheritance. Adelina had never shared that prejudice. She *admired* such stories—the triumph of determination over circumstance.
"But I didn't know he understood architecture as well as real estate."
"I wouldn't say he had much formal understanding." Alexio pushed open the terrace doors, letting in a rush of salt-scented air. "This villa was built based purely on his personal taste."
"No." Adelina stepped past him onto the terrace, her disagreement gentle but firm. "It's absolutely beautiful."
The sea stretched before her—endless and dark and glittering with reflected starlight. Everywhere she looked, water met sky met horizon. The villa had been designed to maximize this view, to make the ocean feel not like a distant backdrop but like an intimate companion.
"This is my first time here," she continued, touching the terrace railing, "but wherever my gaze falls, I see the sea. This building makes excellent use of its location." The wind caught her hair, sending it streaming behind her like a banner. "I can say with confidence that whoever designed this understood exactly what he was doing."
The air was so different from the capital's—fresh and clean, carrying the scent of salt and distant shores.
"My grandfather would be delighted to know his dearest princess has acknowledged his work." There was warmth in Alexio's voice now, unmistakable. "He would probably boast about it to all his friends."
He shook his head, as if imagining the scene.
Then his hand came to rest on her shoulder.
Adelina glanced up, startled by the sudden contact.
Alexio had moved closer than she'd realized. His fingers were warm through the thin silk of her nightgown, steady and firm against the curve of her shoulder.
"The wind is stronger than I thought." His voice was low, close enough that she could feel his breath stir her hair. "Be careful. You might lose your balance and fall."
She should step away.
She knew she should step away.
But the warmth of his hand was unexpectedly pleasant, and the night was beautiful, and for just a moment—one stolen moment in this villa built on dreams—Adelina allowed herself to lean into the support he offered.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The waves whispered against the shore far below.
Neither of them moved.
---