Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (29 page)

Her eyes narrowed as she dropped her hand from his face. “It was Rita, wasn’t it, telling you that we used to work together at
Today’s Royals
? That’s what threw you off yesterday. When you went across the hall, I started looking up competing publications, wondering if you were on staff at one of our competitors and I’d somehow forgotten meeting you. But you’ve never covered royalty, have you? Or worked as a journalist?”

There was nothing he could say, nothing that would save him, so he remained silent, waiting for her to drop the axe.

“I saw an article about Prince Alessandro. He hasn’t been seen in public for almost five months. He’s one of six children. He lives in a home with antiquated floors and windows, heavy crown molding, and electrical and plumbing systems older than your grandparents,” she said, repeating the very words he’d used when describing his upbringing to her. “And he looks exactly like you…but with shorter hair and far more formal clothing.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.” A family spilled out of the building beside the dry cleaner. Two school-aged children barreled past Vittorio and Emily while the parents wrestled with a stroller and called for the older kids to stop and wait. Vittorio angled his head to indicate Emily should walk with him. He kept a quick pace, not caring that she had to race to keep up. He wasn’t sure where he was headed; he only knew they couldn’t speak in the middle of a city sidewalk. When they passed a narrow backstreet, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward it.

“You’re going to accost me in a dark alley?” He tried for flirtation, but didn’t quite accomplish it. “And here I anticipated a warm bed.”

“Stop it. Just stop it.” A mix of fear and anger flared in her gaze as she paused just inside the alley, where they were away from curious eyes and ears.
 

“Emily—” He didn’t keep the note of warning from his voice.

“I don’t think you’re Prince Alessandro. I think you’re Prince Vittorio. Your brother hasn’t disappeared at all. You have.” She stepped closer, but didn’t touch him. A breeze caught the hem of her dress and blew tendrils of her hair across her face, but she ignored it, keeping her eyes locked with his. “The story you told me about your girlfriend, it was Carmella Rivas, wasn’t it? And the producer in Berlin…I saw that a man she’d done several projects with was there at the time. Vittorio, I’m so sorry. It all made sense once I figured it out.”

“What made sense?”

“When I showed up at the Palermo apartment that afternoon. You asked who hired me. If I was following you. You thought I was a reporter or a private investigator, didn’t you?”

She wasn’t going to let it go. Hot, uncontrolled anger surged within him. His words came out with a snarl as he retorted, “Turns out you were.”

“Past tense.” She brushed a hand against the front of his shirt, as if she could sense the fury rising within him and thought she could stem it. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”

He fought for restraint, but it was a losing battle. “Didn’t that feel dirty, delving into other people’s private lives for profit? Who did it benefit? Oh…I know…it benefitted a corporate ledger. A group of faceless, nameless shareholders. And it kept you employed in a job you
loved
.”
 

He knew he sounded like an ass, but he wanted nothing more than to lash out at her. He felt betrayed, dammit, by the woman who’d made him feel more alive, more at home in his own skin, than any he’d ever met. She’d done it in a matter of days. Now she wanted to run him through a shredder, bringing up what he’d made clear he didn’t wish to discuss.

“I reported on their public lives, not their private ones. I wasn’t digging through their trash barrels or interviewing their exes about their relationships.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible example—”

“But an accurate one. It’s what all those magazines and gossip shows do. They make money by showing my family at its worst. Or, in some cases, making up stories.”

“I’d never do that.” She sucked in her lower lip and swallowed hard, as if she were fighting to hold herself together. “Vittorio, you have to know your secret is safe with me. I don’t work there anymore.”

“What I know is that you have a show that’s in trouble. I know you’d do anything for your staff, because they’re like family to you. You feel responsible for them. And wouldn’t it be something if a missing prince showed up in your finale, rather than average, boring Bob? If you broke a royal scandal, complete with an actress and a secret pregnancy, cheating and suicide and twins switching places?”

She stumbled backward at the vitriol in his tone. Unshed tears glittered in her eyes as she whispered, “Why’d you do it?”

“Why I’d do
what
?” he demanded. As if he hadn’t told her everything while they were lying in bed together. He hadn’t learned a damned thing from Carmella.
 

“Why did you agree to do the show if you were in hiding?” Her eyes searched his face, as if she’d be able to see into his mind. “And why…why
me
? Why tonight?”
 

He propped himself against the alley’s cold brick wall and crossed his arms over his chest. She had no idea how she’d enticed him. How he’d appreciated her generosity of spirit. How beguiling he found her, from the way she laughed to the way she danced to the way she alternately teased him and screamed for him when they made love. How he’d been drawn to the nurturing manner in which she’d listened while he’d spilled his guts. How he’d fallen for her, hook, line, and sinker.
 

He let out a long, painful breath. “If you have to ask, you don’t know me at all.”

“Apparently, I don’t. And you don’t know me if you think I’m the type who’d sell out your family for a few bucks.” Her voice was raw as she took a few steps backward, toward the main street. “Go home, Vittorio. See your parents. Do your job and I’ll do mine.”

“Emily, wait—”

“No. I think it’s best if we skip the rest of our evening. I was never the one-night stand type, anyway. No point in a second.” A wistful smile graced her face for a brief moment before she said, “Thank you for doing the show. It was an honor to have you. Goodbye, Vittorio. Your Highness.”

With that, she turned and strode back toward her hotel. The stiff set of her shoulders and determination in her walk made it clear she didn’t want him to come after her.

He counted to ten, then followed, keeping his distance as she threaded her way through the families and handholding couples who strolled the sidewalks in search of the perfect Recoleta restaurants. He didn’t stop until she ascended the stairs to her bed and breakfast, then disappeared through the door. He waited near the sidewalk’s edge for a long moment, watched as a light flickered to life on the third floor, then turned and strode back to his own hotel room.

Part of him wanted Emily to know who he was, title and all, faults and all. But another part of him wanted to attack her for having worked at the very publication that would capitalize on those faults. For keeping that information from him, when it likely would’ve swayed his decision to appear on her show…though she couldn’t have possibly known that.

It wasn’t until he shut the door to his room and saw his packed bag and boarding pass waiting for him at the end of the bed—and the flowers he’d put on the nightstand for her in hopes she’d be there again tonight—that he realized he’d fallen in love with Emily Sinclair.
 

He hadn’t handled it well. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for her to walk away.

Chapter Twenty

Vittorio awoke with the knowledge another human being was in the room. The familiar smell of the palace’s crisp sheets mixed with another scent, one he’d known far longer than that of the latest laundry soap. He cracked an eye to a room cloaked in darkness save for the glow of the lamp he’d left on in the adjoining living rom. Gradually, he picked out the female silhouette in the chair near the windows.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” His mother’s voice was soft, suited to the early hour. “I’m not sure whether to welcome you home and tell you how grateful I am to see you, or to order you to shower and shave.”

Vittorio pushed to a seated position so he could better see Queen Fabrizia. Though the room’s heavy draperies were drawn, the first rays of dawn crept in around the edges, allowing him to see her hands folded in her lap.

“How did you get in here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied. “Only the rear guards saw you enter, and it was much later than I’d anticipated.”

“Flight delay.” He rubbed a hand over his head. Now that he was back in the palace, the long hair felt wildly out of place.
 

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

“I wouldn’t be sleeping in his apartment if he did. Figured I’d let him stay in mine until I have the chance to shave.” He’d need to see Alessandro in the flesh before they could switch back to their normal roles. Not only would Alessandro need to get Vittorio caught up on palace business, Vittorio needed to duplicate his brother’s haircut and ensure the tan he’d developed while bike riding through Buenos Aires wasn’t deep enough to differentiate them.

“Wise of you.” She rose from the chair and strode to the bed, clicking the lamp on the nightstand to its lowest setting, then surprising him by taking a seat on the edge of the mattress and rubbing his calf through the covers. “I missed you terribly, you know. I’ve never been so worried about one of my children. Not even Massimo, when he was fighting in Africa, though I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him that.”

“Mother, I’m fine.”

She nodded her acceptance. The queen was dressed for the day in a smart-looking sheath dress of chocolate wool accented by a thin gold necklace and diamond stud earrings. Her hair was down today, rather than in her usual bun. Given the precise ends of her long blonde bob, he suspected she’d had it cut recently. On first glance, she appeared as lean and fit as always, but a closer inspection revealed new hollows in her cheeks and darkened skin beneath her eyes.
 

“Other than the worry I’ve caused you, is everything all right with you?”

“Now that you’re home, yes, all is well. Stefano and Megan’s wedding plans are coming along nicely. And Kelly has moved into the palace with Massimo, though we’ve managed to keep that quiet.”

“And Alessandro?”

“He’s done a surprisingly good job in your absence. Your father has handled as many of the government functions as possible, leaving the social engagements to Alessandro.” Unspoken was the need for Vittorio to pick up his usual state functions, and as soon as possible.

The queen rose from the bed, smoothed the front of her dress, then smiled down on him. “Sleep for another hour or so. I’ll ensure Alessandro knows you’re here, then you two need to formulate a story about where ‘Alessandro’ has been the last few months. There will be questions.”

He bit back a groan. “Press conference?”

“No. We’ve said all along that you—your brother—merely left on another one of his expeditions. A press conference would grant that more importance than it warrants. We’ll simply allow word to trickle out from the staff that Alessandro has returned.” She gave him one last smile before she turned off the bedside lamp and strode to the door. “Keep me apprised of what you decide and I’ll tell your siblings and your father. We need our stories to be consistent.”

“Understood.”

Her heels clicked across the apartment’s hardwood floor, paused, then came back. He was watching for her as she leaned back into his room.

“Once you’re cleaned up, you need to see Dominic,” she instructed, referring to the palace’s longtime head chef. “He announced his retirement while you were gone. Today’s his last day. He’s moving to London to be closer to his children. They’re both working in the financial sector there.”

“You’re kidding.” Dominic had been a fixture in the palace since before Vittorio’s birth and ran the kitchens with the precision of a drill sergeant. “I can’t imagine him kicking back in a rocking chair or puttering in a garden.”

“He bought a old house just outside of London and has plans to restore it. He’s adding a new kitchen and plans to start a part-time catering business. I tracked down his contractor last week and gave the man a call. Your father and I are going to surprise Dominic by paying for the kitchen. We think it’s appropriate, don’t you?”

“It’s brilliant. He’ll protest, though.”

“He’s earned it.” She gestured toward the messy bed coverings. “You sleep. See Alessandro and Dominic later.”

He waited for the sound of the apartment door closing behind his mother before he eased back against the pillows, grimacing at the ache in his lower back, neck, and shoulders. In an effort to blend in with other travelers, he’d opted for cheap seats near the back of the plane, first from Buenos Aires to Paris, then from Paris to Rome, though that flight was delayed nearly three hours. Once he was certain he hadn’t been recognized or followed, he booked a puddle jumper from Rome to Cateri. He hadn’t slept a wink his entire time in transit. He could easily attribute it to the uncomfortable seats or the need to listen for flight changes at airports, but it was more than that. Emily dominated his thoughts.
 

Rolling to his side, he squinted against the encroaching dawn. The room had appeared just like this—a blend of shadows and early morning light—when he’d awakened with Emily in his hotel bed just a few days ago. He’d been on his side with her spooned in front of him, the back of her head resting against the front of his shoulder. Low, even breathing signaled she was deeply asleep, the kind of slumber reserved for those who were truly sated. He’d remained still, unwilling to wake her, and inhaled slowly. He’d wanted to remember her light, airy scent—so reminiscent of sunshine after a rain shower—and the way it blended with the more sensual fragrance that lingered in the room after a night of lovemaking. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he’d spread Emily’s hair between his fingers, noticing the myriad shades of blonde and copper strands that combined to create her lustrous honey hue. And he’d been entranced.