Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (27 page)

At her whispered use of his real name, his golden eyes flicked toward Rita and Ignacio, then back to Emily. Deep lines creased his brow. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“They didn’t hear. I want to be sure I have your attention. Tell me what’s going on. You seem preoccupied.”

“I’d like to make an apartment decision before I fly home and this is a strong contender. There’s a lot to consider. That’s all.”

She understood him well enough now to know there was more to it, but it wouldn’t help to pester him if he wasn’t in the mood to share. She summoned a smile and let go of his arm. “All right. You want a drink before we start again?”

“I’ll grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.” His gaze traveled past her once more. “How much longer do you think this will take?”

“Figure another half-hour here, then as long as you want across the hall. Another five to ten minutes downstairs to show you the fitness facilities.”

He acknowledged her with the barest of nods, then strode past her to the kitchen. As she watched him go, she caught sight of dried dirt on the apartment’s wide windowsill, likely from an overzealous watering of the plants. She followed Vittorio to the kitchen long enough to grab a paper towel and dampen it, then returned to the living room, where Ignacio and Rita were finishing their discussion, and bent to wipe the low windowsill. Perhaps she shouldn’t read too much into Vittorio’s mood. Given the long day—and night—they’d had yesterday, exhaustion had likely set in.

“What’s with Bob?”

Emily twisted to look over her shoulder at Rita, who stood with her hands planted on her hips. Ignacio was nowhere to be seen, meaning he’d likely taken a restroom break or decided to grab another croissant. “You noticed, too? I was afraid it was just me.”

“It’s not obvious, but he seems distracted.” Very quietly, she asked, “Should I be worried?”

Emily blotted the last of the dirt and rose. “What do you mean?”

Rita reached out to take the wadded paper towel from Emily. “When we were at our wits’ end for the episode and you went across the street to introduce yourself to Mr. Gorgeous, I was all for it. And I was thrilled when you told me later that he’d agreed to do the show. But…I don’t know. Today’s making me uneasy.”

“He’s been perfect,” Emily argued, surprised at the depth of Rita’s concern. “We’ve seen a good variety of properties, he was perfect for soccer and tango—we certainly ended up with a better story to tell than we would’ve had with the Winstons—and he’s been nothing but gracious. Maybe he’s preoccupied today, but all of us have our off days.”

“I know, but…I can’t put my finger on it. We’ve never done so little research on a guest. In fact, we’ve done none. We don’t even know his full name. There’s no going back now, but what if he turns out to be a criminal hiding from the law? What if—”

Given that Vittorio hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary—other than look distracted—Emily suddenly realized what really concerned Rita. “Are you asking for the show? Or for me?”

A guilty grimace crumpled her features. “I should be asking for the show. But in reality? I’m far more worried about you.” Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen, then back to Emily. “I know I’ve been encouraging you to show a little passion, to have fun with him. But then I saw how he looked at you yesterday when you were at the
practica
, like he wanted to consume you. More importantly, I saw how
you
looked at
him
when you thought none of us were paying attention. I’ve never seen you look at a man like that. Not even Paul.”

Consume her? “Rita, no—”

“Then you two stayed after everyone else, and he’s acting odd now” —she raised her hand, palm out, to stop Emily from saying anything— “I just want to be sure everything’s all right. That something didn’t go wrong after I left. Especially if my perpetual matchmaking caused it.”

“Of course not.” Emily concentrated on keeping her voice well-modulated so she wouldn’t sound like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “The man’s been apartment hunting all week. He got his skull cracked at a rowdy stadium a few days ago, then yesterday he danced for hours. Maybe it’s catching up to him. It doesn’t mean that anything happened between the two of us or that he’s a criminal hiding from the law. I mean…could you imagine? The guy’s as far from a hoodlum as anyone I’ve met.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, given that it’s the last day and my stress level is through the roof. You know how I get when we’re so close to wrapping up an episode, let alone a season.” She blew out a breath and forked a hand through her dark hair. “I admit, I expected this apartment to rock his world. He seemed fine over croissants and was looking around the kitchen like he was impressed with the layout and decor, but once Monica arrived and we started filming, he…I don’t know. He’s saying all the right things, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure we will be, too.” Part of her knew it’d be best to drop the issue, but another part wondered if they’d hit on a topic that agitated him. “So what were you talking about over breakfast?”
 

“After that first kiss poll?” Rita shrugged. “The concert I attended last night. Our previous jobs. Oh, and I saw that Valerie left
Today’s Royals
, so Maryam and I chatted about her a little—just for sport—then I told him that after you left the magazine, you came to me with your idea for the show and I knew we’d be able to sell it. He asked a few polite questions, and that was about it until Monica arrived.”

“Did he ask why I left the magazine?” Though she’d told Vittorio about the circumstances last night, perhaps he had more questions…not that Rita would share that information. She knew what had happened with Paul was personal.

“Nope. Never came up.” A wry smile rose to her lips. “Unless our man Bob is related to Valerie somehow, I doubt anything we said is what’s bothering him now.”

“Then let’s chalk it up to apartment-hunting burnout.” Or morning after regrets, in which case she’d face the issue later.

Ignacio returned then, indicating that everyone was ready. The second take went much as the first, though Emily did notice Vittorio making more of an effort. However, it was the effort itself that bothered her. With the previous apartments they’d viewed, he’d been a natural, speaking as if he’d been born to the camera, able to comment at precisely the right moment and move to the spots that afforded the best camera angles without having to be pointed there. Today, he acted as if he were going through the motions, like a broadcaster who’d awakened with a migraine and had no choice but to barrel through the morning news with a smile.

She swore to herself as she followed Rita to the kitchen.
That’s it
.
 

Vittorio had given her enough clues, hadn’t he? He worked long hours and had a lot of responsibility. He knew how to move in front of a camera, even in a situation as challenging as yesterday’s tango lesson. He was reluctant to share his name. He looked hauntingly familiar, yet she couldn’t place him. He seemed acquainted with the stresses of her position and his demeanor had changed after Rita and Maryam discussed
Today’s Royals
.

He had to have worked in the business. Perhaps still did. And despite the fact Rita had been joking about his knowing Valerie Dempsey, he just might.

As they continued their walk-through, Emily mentally catalogued the reporters she’d met during her time at
Today’s Royals
. Though she’d covered royalty solely for print, many of those who’d staked out royal weddings, births, and other events were on-air personalities. Given his name, Vittorio may have had ties to an Italian-language network. For all she knew, they’d shared donuts or coffee outside a hospital once upon a time while waiting for the announcement of a royal birth.
 

They moved into the master bathroom, with Emily asking the same questions as before and Vittorio again making his where’s-the-toilet comment. As he studied the soaking tub and the sinks for the camera, Emily studied him. If Vittorio worked in the business, she should be able to determine where.

“And cut,” Rita called. “Monica, that was fabulous.”

“Thank you,” Monica gushed as Rita led them back to the kitchen, where Monica had stashed her handbag and a folder full of information for Vittorio. “I love showing apartments in Barrio Norte, especially units like these that have been refurbished on the inside while preserving the Belle Epoque architecture on the outside.”

“I can understand why.” Rita replied. “We really appreciate that you were able to get here, given the emergency in the office. You’ve made it possible for us to wrap on time.”

“And for me to see an apartment I might’ve overlooked,” Vittorio added. “I doubt I’d have found this place on my own before heading home.”

“Where’s home?” Monica asked as she handed him a folder with information on the apartments. “I keep meaning to ask.”

“Southern Europe.” He gestured toward the door, making it apparent that, once again, he wasn’t going to be more specific. “I’m looking forward to seeing the other apartment. Does it get the afternoon sun?”

“And a spectacular view of the sunset,” she assured him. “Makes it very relaxing when you get home from a long day.”

“Why don’t you go ahead?” Emily said. “We’ll have Ignacio do a quick panoramic shot of the unit, but otherwise we’re not planning to film over there, so look at your leisure. I’ll be over in a few minutes. I need to check on something first.”

Rita indicated that she’d accompany them and urged Maryam to come along, while Ignacio said he wanted to take a few final shots inside the furnished apartment now that the light shifted further west. As soon as everyone scattered, Emily grabbed her phone and started flicking through the web pages of foreign news and gossip programs, particularly those that specialized in covering royalty. A few faces on the staff profiles pages looked familiar, though none resembled Vittorio. When Ignacio reentered the kitchen and indicated that he was heading across the hall, she gave him a wave and promised to join everyone shortly.

More and more, she was convinced she’d seen Vittorio before, and somehow it related to her job at
Today’s Royals
. Given that they were about to have a second one-night stand, she burned to know everything she could about him.

She paused on a page that caught her eye. Her Italian was mostly limited to words that pertained to food, but the photo beneath the headline was enough to still her breath. With trembling fingers, she expanded the photo so she could see more detail.

It can’t be.
 

Dazed, she dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and stared at the screen. The man in the photo had short hair and was clean-shaven, but the eyes…there was no mistaking Vittorio’s eyes. A few clicks gave her a roughly translated version of the article. The man in the photo was identified as Sarcaccia’s Prince Alessandro. Not Bob, or Victor, or even Vittorio. And Alessandro had been away—or missing, depending on whether one quoted the royal family or royal watchers—for almost five months. He hadn’t attended a public event since the funeral of his twin brother’s former girlfriend, Spanish actress Carmella Rivas, in October. The article stated that Alessandro’s parents, King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia, said that the prince was merely traveling in an area with limited communication, as he often did, and that they expected him to return to the country soon.

He’s a prince
. A real, living, breathing European prince. No wonder he’d looked familiar. She couldn’t fathom what he was doing in Argentina, let alone on her show. Or with
her
.

She tapped the screen to search for more information even as she wracked her brain for what she knew of the Sarcaccian royals. She hadn’t been assigned to cover them while at
Today’s Royals
—they’d been part of Valerie’s beat—but they were familiar to everyone on the staff. The family name was Barrali—not so different from Barr, the name Vittorio had scribbled on the paperwork—and there were six children. Identical twins were the oldest. She clicked on another article and studied the image of Prince Alessandro that popped up on her screen. Taken as he and his twin exited a limousine at Carmella Rivas’s funeral, he looked every inch a royal with his dark suit and tie topped by a long woolen coat. Even with the difference in facial hair and dress, the resemblance to the man across the hall was uncanny. And while it disturbed her that the man she’d come to know had used his brother’s name, she supposed if one wanted to travel and keep their identity hidden, why not use a twin’s?

But to do it when they made love, and when he’d told her in a choked voice of the tragedy that caused him to flee—

She closed her eyes as the entirety of the truth of slammed through her. Last night he’d said it was his brother who told him to leave home, to travel and get some perspective. And if the story he’d told her about his former girlfriend was really his brother’s story, well, he was better at acting than Carmella Rivas.

He
is
Vittorio.
 

He wasn’t the one using his twin’s name; his twin was using his, posing as the crown prince back in Sarcaccia, leading the world to believe that Alessandro was simply off on another long-term adventure.
 

She expanded the photograph of the twins, moving back and forth between the two faces, attempting to distinguish them. She couldn’t.

Emily put her hand to her mouth and leaned back in her chair. She’d just stumbled onto what was possibly one of the world’s biggest scandals, but the shock of it paled in comparison to the feeling she’d been personally deceived. He wasn’t a run-of-the-mill European businessman looking for a vacation home as she’d first suspected, and he certainly wasn’t a reporter. He was the crown prince of one of the world’s last true monarchies. A billionaire with financial interests around the world.