Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (19 page)

“Well, the tango
is
a traditional dance, with very specific gender roles. In that instance, I can understand it.” They rounded the corner and caught sight of Victor and Mike, who were nearly to the park. “But as to eagerness in general…I think Eva is wrong. A little eagerness is a good thing. That’s what passion is all about, right?”

There was a deliberateness in Rita’s words that made Emily cock her head. “Are you talking about the episode? Or is your one-track mind still in its usual groove?”

Rita hitched a shoulder, then made a point of looking ahead at Victor. “Does it matter?”

“It most certainly does matter.” Emily needed to nip Rita’s matchmaking in the bud. Otherwise, who knew what Rita might say to Victor, and likely at an inopportune moment. “If you’re talking about anything other than our episode, passion is overrated. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot of fun in the moment, but it can drive some stupid decisions.”

It wasn’t a statement she’d planned to have come out of her mouth, but she meant it. She’d rather have secure friendships, adventures in new places meeting new people, intellectual stimulation, and a solid job than risk giving up all of that for a man anytime soon.

Perhaps she’d needed to say it aloud to keep it in mind.

“Maybe. I know I’ve made a few stupid decisions as a result.” Rita slowed her steps as they neared Mike and Victor, who were leaning against a wrought iron fence bordering the park. “But aren’t the greatest rewards enjoyed when we take risks? And that’s all risks are…decisions that go against common sense. It’s no different with a man than with a television show. We took a risk pitching to the network. A show like ours hadn’t been done before. It requires a big budget and an agreeable host nation. It means a lot of last minute scheduling and finding guests who might fit our profile, then helping them get comfortable with the camera. But we left it all out on the table when we walked into James Owens’ office to sell our show. We didn’t play it cool. We let ourselves appear eager. And look at the payoff.”

“Rita, it’s not the same.” And they needed to drop the subject before Mike and Victor wondered about the nature of their conversation.

“Of course it is. We all need that deep, internal drive—that
passion
—to succeed. Allowing others to see our passion gives them the confidence to trust us.” When Emily remained quiet, Rita’s tone changed. “Bob isn’t his name, is it?”

Emily shook her head, then quickly explained the situation. Rita listened, squinting as she looked toward the men. “I’m not surprised that he isn’t a Bob. Or that you agreed to his terms.”

“It wasn’t for the reasons you imagine.”

“I know that. In any case, Bob—Victor—wasn’t the only one who’s danced before. You picked up those steps very quickly. And when you danced, the expression on your face was one of a woman rediscovering an old love. Maybe it’s time to pull out that flag and let it fly. Quit keeping it hidden away.”

“Good thing your husband is flying in after we wrap. You’ve let the romantic atmosphere get to you.”

Rita grinned as she looked toward the far side of the park, where dozens of dancers moved in time to a sultry rhythm while tourists and locals watched. “For once, so should you.”

* * *

Vittorio had long ago lost track of the number of times he’d danced in public, let alone the number of women with whom he’d danced, given that he lived in a palace boasting the largest ballroom in Sarcaccia and that ballroom was well-used. At least once a week, one member of the royal family or another hosted a charity event, a state dinner, or a celebratory gala, nearly all of which involved dancing in front of an army of photographers. But never had Vittorio danced in public quite this way, nor had he ever enjoyed his time with a partner more, despite the rigidity with which Emily held herself. What was it, he wondered, that made her so tense? So afraid to feel the romance of the dance?

“Relax,” he murmured near her ear as he guided her in slow, counter-clockwise circles through the mass of dancing couples. “Mike isn’t zooming in. He’s going for atmosphere. We’re nothing more than another set of faces in the crowd.”

“I’m relaxed,” she argued, though even as the words left her mouth, her hand twitched against the space between his shoulder blades. “Besides, we’re not supposed to talk during the dance. Only in between, remember?”

“It’s a
practica
. I’m practicing. Mistakes are expected.”

Her foot connected with his ankle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Taking a chance, he glanced at her. One side of her mouth curled into a smile despite the fact she bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. Satisfied her tension level had dropped down a notch, he swirled her toward the center of the crowd, where the pace was slower and the beginners tended to dance. She didn’t object, but the way her feet caressed the stones with each turn made him all the more certain this wasn’t her first time in a tango embrace.

It was one more mystery in the web of mysteries surrounding Emily Sinclair.
 

When he’d asked her to join him in his lesson, he’d assumed she protested because she wasn’t an experienced dancer, but from the moment they’d walked side by side in Hector and Eva’s studio, he discovered that wasn’t the case. She glided over the floor with a lightness that only came from experience. And not simply experience dancing, but dancing the tango. When Eva demonstrated embellishments to the basic walk, Emily imitated the moves precisely. Then, when he’d held her in that first embrace, she’d moved fluidly, following his lead with ease.

So it wasn’t embarrassment due to a lack of skill that made her hesitate when he’d issued his invitation in the café. Nor did he buy her excuse that she shouldn’t be, as she’d put it, “part of the story.” As he’d predicted, the minute Rita heard he’d opted for the lesson and the
practica
, she had urged Emily to join him and Maryam quickly located the necessary clothing and shoes. Emily hadn’t argued when both Rita and Maryam pointed out the opportunity it presented to have the host dancing on camera.

He could only conclude that Emily had declined for personal reasons. His ego wanted to believe it was the temptation of physical contact, given the intense kiss they’d shared two nights before, and perhaps that was part of it. But as he’d taken her into his arms at the studio and they’d moved through the steps of their first dance, he could’ve sworn her mind was elsewhere, just as he sensed it was elsewhere now, despite the fact she’d teased him with a kick to the ankle.

The last chords of the tango floated across the park, signaling the transition that would allow dancers to take a break and find new partners. As etiquette dictated, Vittorio escorted Emily to the edge of the dance area. Rather than the rough-hewn tables common at a
milonga
, however, the park afforded only a few benches and a low stone wall upon which dancers could stash their belongings or sit for a quick sip of water.

“I have everything I need,” Mike said as Emily gratefully accepted one of the bottles of water Rita had been thoughtful enough to purchase from a nearby cart. “Mind if I call it a night? I’ll go over the footage with Ignacio in the morning. If we still need to, we can always duck into a
milonga
tomorrow to grab some filler footage.”

“Go ahead.” Rita waved him off. “A cousin I haven’t seen in years offered to take me out to dinner and an outdoor orchestra performance. Now that I know we have a good handle on the episode, I’ll let him know I’m available.”
 

Emily nodded as she set her bottle on the top of the wall. Behind her, the streetlights flickered to life. “We can’t thank you enough, Bob. You’ve gone above and beyond to help us make our finale great.”

“We never could have gotten this much material with the couple we originally planned to feature. You’ve truly been a blessing to us.” Rita put a hand on his arm and smiled. “So tell me…have we been any help to
you
at all? Are you any closer to a decision on an apartment?”

“I have a better sense of what’s available in different neighborhoods. I’m looking forward to seeing the building in Barrio Norte tomorrow.”

“Wonderful. We’ll meet there at noon if that still works for you.” At his nod, she gave him a quick pat on the knee, then asked Mike if he wanted to share a taxi back to Recoleta. Turning to Emily, she asked, “What about you?”

“Hector said I could use the changing room at the studio after the
practica
if I wanted, so I’ll head there first. You go ahead.”

“Bob?” Rita asked as she slung her handbag over her shoulder.

“Same as Emily. I’ll change, then I’m going to find dinner.” It had been fine walking from the studio to the
practica
in the slacks and tango shoes, but he didn’t want to wear them in the taxi or to dinner if he could help it.
 

Once Rita and Mike left, Emily stood, shouldered the bag Rita had been holding for her, then tossed her empty water bottle into a nearby recycling can before turning in the direction of Hector and Eva’s studio.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to wait.

“What’s up?” Caution clouded Emily’s gaze, and he didn’t blame her.
 

His feet throbbed and his stomach rumbled in response to the smell of beef grilling somewhere nearby. Despite that, every fiber of his being wanted to stay. He needed to dance—truly dance—with Emily. Just once. No cameras, no instructors. He needed to see her reaction to him and to the music, to understand why she’d been distracted during filming. Why she held herself at a distance, even when her kiss proved she found him attractive. There was more to her actions than a desire to appear professional, he was certain.

“Have a seat.” He lifted the bag from her shoulder and set it on the wall, then indicated the spot she’d just occupied. The moment she sat, he turned on his heel and walked away.

“Where are you—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Chapter Thirteen

After circling his way around the dance area, he took up a position on the opposite side, near a group of local men who’d found a bench where they could sit back with their cigarettes and chat while they watched the dancers. Slowly, Vittorio turned and let his gaze scan the crowd, taking in what he hadn’t been able to see before, when he’d been focused on dancing with Emily.
 

Women in summery dresses and skirts sat on benches, along the top of the wall, and in the grass off to the side of the dance area. Some chatted with friends while others discreetly watched the crowd. Men ambled along the periphery, studying the dancers, listening to the music, and subtly checking out the women. The notes wafting through the air indicated the start of a new
tanda
, and throughout the park men caught the eyes of the women with whom they wished to partner.

Vittorio looked straight at Emily. She frowned, then her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing. Raising a brow, he sent her the silent message to play along. Her lips parted as if she were about to protest, then she snapped them shut and let her gaze drift away. Her posture changed to mimic the pose Eva struck at the studio that afternoon. The sight stilled his breath; he knew he’d remember her like this until the day he died. A Degas ballerina couldn’t hold a candle to Emily as she perched on the stone wall in the twilight, her skirt swirled around her legs, the straps of her dance shoes highlighting her slim ankles.

Sit with energy.
 

That was the phrase Eva had used, and it fit. Though Emily’s gaze traveled lightly over the crowd, the edges of her mouth lifting a fraction as she spied a pair of teenagers taking the first tentative steps of the dance, she radiated elegance and a vibrancy that made it difficult for Vittorio to drag his attention from her as Hector had instructed. Dear God, she was beautiful.

Her eyes snagged his through the masses of dancers moving to the center of the dance space. Yearning flashed in their depths, then was quickly hidden before she slowly turned her head to watch a talented couple move to the strains of the classic song, their bodies in perfect unison, their feet sliding across the stone as one.

Still, he couldn’t turn away.

Look at me
.
 

As if she’d heard his thought, her expressive eyes locked with his. This time, he took a step forward and angled his head in
el cabeceo
. Only the twist of her fingers in the soft fabric of her skirt betrayed any emotion as she casually moved her attention beyond him, then across the park to where the orchestra played.

Look at me
.

She shifted, angling her body away from him. The moment hung, her head remained still…but a heartbeat later, her eyes—and only her eyes—turned toward him. This time, their gazes held. She didn’t smile, didn’t move a muscle, yet she captured him as surely as if she’d physically pulled him to her side. He forced himself to count to five before he slowly rounded the dance space and approached her, his attention never leaving her exquisite face. Never in his life had naked desire scorched his veins as it did in the seconds he stood an arm’s length in front of her and waited for her to take his hand.
 

He wanted her. More than that, though, he wanted her to live. To come to the same realization he had during the last few months: her obligations weren’t what defined her. It was her joys, her curiosity, and her zest for life. The very things she claimed drew her to film
At Home Abroad
in the first place. It was in the contained vibrancy he witnessed as she sat on the wall at this very moment, waiting to dance, when she wasn’t burdened by thoughts of budgets or schedules or ratings.