Part 20 (1/2)
Rocco paused, studying the Impressionist rendering of a gra.s.sy field at sunrise. A horse stood near a fence to one side of the painting, its head raised in antic.i.p.ation as if a beloved owner stood just out of the picture. ”It looks like a Degas, but it's lighter and cheerier than what he usually paints.”
”You have a good eye. Degas is known for his depictions of ballerinas and dance schools, but he also painted several scenes in Paris cafes and of racehorses. This one was done for my great-grandfather after he visited France and saw one of the Impressionist exhibitions. He was taken with Degas's style and asked Degas if he'd consider memorializing a favorite horse.”
”That's...stunning.” Rocco couldn't imagine what an original Degas would fetch, especially one as beautiful and unique as this. There was a quality to the way the painting captured the light, making the field appear to sparkle with morning dew. It was the type of painting that invited one to linger and appreciate its nuances.
”What's stunning is that Degas said no, then presented my great-grandfather with this painting as a gift six months later. It was a complete surprise. Years later, when Degas started to lose his eyesight, my great-grandfather offered the services of his personal physician. Degas refused. Said the king had become too reform-minded and that it wouldn't be appropriate to accept help from such a person.”
Rocco looked at the painting in awe. It amazed him that Carlo's great-grandfather-actually, his own great-great-grandfather-had known Edgar Degas and tried to help him in his later years.
Carlo ran his hand down the edge of the gilt frame. ”Of course, it wasn't a political or moral issue at all. Degas intentionally isolated himself from his friends as he grew older, using whatever excuse he could. Now it would likely be diagnosed as depression, but in those days it was chalked up to the vagaries of an aging artistic temperament.”
The king stepped back from the painting and smiled. ”It was because of this painting I pa.s.sed my art history course in college. My great-grandfather's stories about Degas turning into a stubborn grouch who refused to accept kindnesses helped me remember which paintings he completed near the end of his life.” Carlo c.o.c.ked his head. ”I was a terrible art history student, but my parents insisted I take the cla.s.s, given the nature of our family's collection.”
”You seem to appreciate it now.”
”I appreciate the stories more than the art. My wife appreciates the works themselves.” He gestured for Rocco to continue walking with him. ”I didn't ask you to stay to discuss art, though even for me, art is an easier topic than anything of a personal nature.”
”The press conference.”
”The press conference.” The king nodded to a guard, who bowed before she pushed open a heavy wooden door for the king and Rocco to pa.s.s through. They emerged onto a set of stone steps. At the bottom, a gravel path wended its way through the palace gardens.
”How are Lina and Enzo?”
”They left their homes yesterday to avoid the coverage. I did the same, then told them I was considering coming here.”
The king folded his hands behind his back as he walked. ”What did they think?”
”They didn't say and I didn't ask.” He wasn't going to tell Carlo that mending fences with the twins would be an uphill battle. Not that Rocco had completely mended fences with the king himself. However, the fact that the king could've used the press conference to cast Teresa as a villain and protect his own reputation, yet chose not to do so, was a point in the monarch's favor.
”The coverage will be brutal. I doubt they'll escape it.”
”They can handle it.”
”Commentators will soon note that I've committed a crime.” When Rocco opened his mouth to argue that the crime was his mother's, the king held up a hand to stay him. ”I failed to report a felony and took steps to cover its existence for decades. Despite being the so-called victim, I'm also a head of state and held to a that standard. There will be calls by the usual malcontents to censure me for hiding what happened. I have no doubt of it.”
He slowed as they approached a bed of hot pink roses, most of which were still in bud. ”The press may ask you, Lina, and Enzo whether you believe I should be prosecuted. Or they may interrogate you about your mother and what you knew about her relations.h.i.+p with me. I'll do whatever I can to draw the attention from the three of you, but I can't stop it entirely. For that, I apologize. None of you should be put in a position where you must defend your mother. Or me.”
Rocco glanced down at the label identifying the roses as a variety called the Princess Sophia. ”You've thought about this a great deal.”
”I've had many years to do so. Years with a loving wife by my side with whom I could discuss the issue.”
”You say that in a rather parental tone. I a.s.sume it's because you're making a point?”
Carlo bent to smell one of the newly-opened blooms, then turned his head to smile at Rocco. ”You think I didn't notice the look on your face when Ma.s.simo mentioned Justine? It spoke volumes.”
”I wasn't aware of any look.”
”Nor was Ma.s.simo, but your response to him confirmed my suspicion. You didn't say, 'I'll be sure to tell her' or give any other indication that you plan to see Justine in the near future.”
Rocco's spine stiffened at the king's insight, but he managed to sound casual. ”Was I supposed to?”
”If a prince told me my wife was amazing, yes, I'd say thank you and tell him that I'd pa.s.s the message along. So would you if you and Justine were together.” He released the rose and continued on the path. Rocco joined him. ”I take it you're not?”
He saw no point in denial. ”It's for the best.”
”Is that what she told you?”
Irritation flared at the king's directness. ”I realize that you're a monarch and used to having your queries answered by those in your orbit, but I'm not-”
”That's all right. You need only listen.” The king waved a hand, cutting off Rocco's argument. To Rocco's surprise, Carlo didn't seem the least bit bothered. ”Being in love necessarily means letting go of one's pride. No one wishes to admit that when it comes to certain people, they'll always allow their heart to rule their head. But that's what love is, and I believe you and Justine love each other.”
The king angled a look at Rocco. ”How much of your separation is because you wish to protect her-because I suspect that's what your head tells you is right-and how much is a matter of pride?”
Pride? ”I don't follow.”
”What do you love about Justine? If it is her strength, you must let go of your own pride and trust that strength rather than your own.” They rounded a corner, taking them on a path parallel to an iron fence. A dense evergreen hedge rose ten feet high on the opposite side. ”I'm keenly aware of my faults and the harm they've caused to those I love, especially Fabrizia. She loves me despite my faults, and I love her despite her personality quirks.”
He smiled at Rocco. ”With her, they are never faults.”
”Of course not.”
Carlo paused beside a narrow break in the hedge. A gate, one so well-designed it was nearly impossible to differentiate from the rest of the fence, opened to Carlo's touch. The king stepped off the gravel path and onto the gra.s.s, leading Rocco through the tight opening before closing the gate behind them.
The scene spread out before Rocco's eyes drew a low whistle. ”This is impressive.”
”Our own secret garden.”
”It's nothing like the rest.”
The garden wasn't large, maybe eighty feet by twenty feet. The evergreen hedge surrounding the s.p.a.ce was trimmed low enough to allow the sun to reach the center, yet s.h.i.+elded all within from view. The innermost section of the garden sported a riot of colorful blooms in the style of a wild English garden, while the outer edges, where the hedge cast its shadow, was filled with a variety of shade-loving plants in tones of green, pink, and burgundy. No formal paths appeared to exist. Instead, narrow belts of gra.s.s and moss gave visitors just enough room to meander.
”The rest of the palace gardens were professionally designed centuries ago to be used for state events. They're meant as a showplace, especially during the day. Perfect for postcards. This is only for the family. Few on the staff even know it exists.”
He led Rocco toward the heart of the garden along a well-trod strip of gra.s.s. ”I brought Fabrizia here a few weeks before we wed. I told her about Teresa and about you. I gave her the chance to back out of the wedding gracefully...offered to take the blame myself with the media and with our parents. She asked if I still wished to go through with the wedding. I told her that I did. However, I was still in love with Teresa, or at least thought I was. It wasn't long after my wedding to Fabrizia that I realized how wrong I was. True love was never possible between me and your mother. She had a hold over me, but it wasn't love.”
The king approached a pair of stone benches nestled in the very center, where a small fountain shaped like a vase bubbled away. He waited until Rocco was seated opposite him before he spoke again. ”I brought the queen here again when I found out Teresa was pregnant with Enzo and Lina. It was-bar none-the worst moment of my life. I knew how deeply it would hurt Fabrizia. I told her I wanted to end the marriage. She refused. She looked me in the eye, just as I am looking at you now, and asked if I loved Teresa. I told her I didn't, but that I had felt a sense of obligation to her after you were born. I was wracked with guilt over leaving Teresa in a small one-bedroom apartment to raise a child alone while I had such a luxurious life here in the palace. Then the queen asked if I loved her. I couldn't lie. I was deeply in love with her, but I knew that to continue the marriage would only bring her harm.”
The king closed his eyes for a moment. Rocco was sure Carlo could picture the conversation as if it had happened yesterday. ”I told Fabrizia that if the news of my infidelity ever broke, let alone the fact that I'd been involved with Teresa while Teresa was my tutor, it would be terrible for all of us, but that she would be the one harmed the most, despite the fact that Teresa and I were the ones to blame. I told her that it would be easier if the marriage ended before it all came to light. That she'd be better able to protect herself and the twins she carried.”
When Carlo opened his eyes once more, his gaze turned steely. ”She leaned toward me, held my jaw in her hand so I couldn't look away, and uttered three words that forever changed my life. She said, 'respect my strength.'”
Chapter Twenty-Five.
Rocco regarded the king. He appeared so powerful, so in control. It was difficult to imagine the man who wore the crown and led a population of hundreds of thousands being so vulnerable.
”That's why you said I need to trust in Justine's strength.”