Scandal With a Prince (12 page)

Much as he’d like to attribute the botched messages to something sinister, an outside force that would excuse him from playing a part in what happened, he couldn’t.
 
It happened because of who he was.
 
If he hadn’t been born a Barrali, he’d have gotten the messages.
 
Hell, he’d have gotten the call directly.
 
He couldn’t blame Megan for keeping Anna a secret, either.
 
Again, if he hadn’t been born a Barrali, there wouldn’t have been a need.

He took a sip of the coffee, then set the cup on a nearby table.
 
Megan and Anna had wrapped themselves in oversized white towels and were seated side by side on a lounge chair near the pool, chatting.
 
They seemed happy, just as Megan claimed.
 
He had to admit that the hotel wasn’t such a bad place for them to live.
 
Megan had no commute, meaning she could spend more time with her daughter.
 
They had the world outside their door and the hotel pool offered them a safe, convenient place to relax and enjoy themselves.
 

He leaned against the glass to get a better look.
 
Seeing Megan interact with Anna convinced him she’d done a good job raising her daughter.
 
He didn’t know the girl’s personality—for all he knew, Anna could be rude and spoiled—but they gave the appearance of having a tight, comfortable bond.
 

 
He hadn’t relaxed like that with his own parents since he was a child.
 
Other than during occasional trips to Sicily, where his father’s cousin owned a house that afforded them a measure of solitude for family vacations, they’d never been able to kick back and enjoy each other’s company.
 
Cameras were omnipresent, and any entertainment spots the Barralis frequented—whether an amusement park, a petting zoo, or a horse farm—used the royal family’s appearance to boost their bottom line.
 
Stefano didn’t mind helping those businesses make money, especially since it helped the country as a whole, but he did mind the lack of private family time.
 
His relationship with his parents simply wasn’t the same as what he witnessed out his window.

Hell, even his family’s Sunday dinners were public.

His phone buzzed.
 
A quick peek showed a text from one of his older brothers, Prince Alessandro, asking if Stefano would make it to Sunday night dinner.
 
Fabulous.

He should convince his siblings to take another family trip to Sicily.
 
The house was still available to them should they want it and there was plenty of space.
 
The property boasted a pool for afternoon swims, a fully outfitted kitchen for meals, and acres of land to keep any media at a distance.
 
It might be just the thing his parents needed to know that their children still cared for them and wanted to spend time with them, despite the pressures and distractions that came with adulthood.
 
How hard could it be to arrange a weekend’s respite?

He smiled as Megan pulled Anna into her lap over the girl’s protests.
 
Anyone observing the pair would see that Anna was at the age where she enjoyed being close to her mother when they were alone, but demanded her independence if she thought anyone might be watching.
 

He wondered how Anna would handle their meeting tomorrow, assuming Megan didn’t balk between now and then.
 
Would Anna be frightened?
 
Indifferent?
 
Curious?
 
So much depended on Megan and how she presented the idea to Anna.
 

For all he knew, they could be discussing it this very minute.
 
If so, he hoped it was an easier discussion than those he’d shared with his own parents.

Chapter Nine

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Megan studied Anna’s face, trying to ensure her daughter was as nonplussed by meeting Stefano Barrali as she professed.
 
True, Megan deliberately put Anna in a receptive mood with pool time, a fantastic lunch—allowing Anna the leftover cake from Santi despite the fact she wasn’t quite done with her school project—and the promise she could go on a beach outing with her best friend late tomorrow afternoon.
 
Still, shouldn’t being told she’d be meeting her biological father, a man who happened to be a well-known prince, give Anna pause?

The whole idea certainly gave Megan pause.
 

“Mom.”
 
Anna allowed the fluffy pool towel to drop from her shoulders as she reached out to put her hands on Megan’s pool-dampened cheeks.
 
With exaggerated bossiness, she said, “He’s a prince.
 
Not a superhero or a god.
 
Get it straight.”

Megan leveled her with a look.
 
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
 

“I get it from you.”
 

“Don’t try to kiss up,” Megan said, rolling her eyes at the sarcasm in Anna’s voice.
 
“And please, let’s keep the funny business tamped down during lunch.”
 

“I know how to behave, Mom.
 
Geez.”
 
Anna wrapped her towel around her shoulders once more.

“Good.
 
Then I’ll give him a call and tell him we’re set.”

Anna gazed across the pool deck while Megan retrieved her cell phone from under the magazine she’d brought outside.
 
“Think he swims?”

“Definitely.”
 
The man looked sexier cutting through the waves in Venezuela as a rough-around-the-edges college kid than any of the men she’d seen gracing Barcelona’s beaches over the last few years.
 
Even now she could imagine the water beading on his chest and across the corded muscle of his arms as he waded out of the water, slicking his hair out of his eyes as he smiled at her.
 

Anna was wrong.
 
The man was a god, just not the type Anna imagined.
 

“But we’re not bringing him to the pool,” Megan clarified.
 
“Too many windows overlooking the deck.
 
I think it’s best you meet him for the first time in a quieter spot.”

“Gotcha.”

The reception desk put Megan’s call through to the prince’s suite.
 
As she waited for it to ring, she wondered if he could see them now, assuming he was upstairs.
 
She hadn’t thought of it until this moment, but if he’d wanted to, he could’ve watched her and Anna the entire time they’d been swimming.

She pulled her towel tighter as his voice came over the line.
 

“It’s me,” she said simply.
 
“I’ve made arrangements for lunch.”

Without hesitation, he asked, “Where and when?”

“My suite at one, if that time works for you.
 
I think that’s where Anna would be most comfortable.”
 
Anna mouthed,
What are we gonna eat?
Can I make something?
 
Pleeease?
as Megan spoke, but Megan waved her away.
 
Anna pulled a face, then dropped her towel to the deck and half-walked, half-skipped toward the diving board.
 
“If you’re seen knocking on my door, no one on the staff will question it.
 
They’ll assume it’s business.
 
And eating in my suite means we can speak freely.”

When Stefano agreed, Megan gave him her suite number.
 

“Anything I should know beforehand?”
 
Megan thought she detected trepidation in his tone as he added,
 
“I’d like this to go as smoothly as possible.”
 

“It’s just lunch. Casual, like you suggested. Take your cues from Anna and you’ll be fine.”
 
She hesitated, then asked, “Why? Is there anything you think
I
should know? You’re not going to drop a bomb on us, like news you have seventeen other kids in various countries or that you’ve secretly enrolled Anna in clown college?
 

Megan rubbed her temple. Why had she said that?
 
As Anna had so bluntly stated, Megan wasn’t funny.
 

Nerves. Chalk the idiotic attempt at comedy up to nerves.
 

“No, no bombs.
 
Had enough of those this weekend.”
 
His laugh sounded genuine.
 
“But you should know…you look smashing in red.
 
Especially that red.”
 

Before she could absorb his words, he said, “Tomorrow.
 
One p.m.”
 
And hung up.

* * *

She answered the door wearing black.
 

The simply cut, sheer lace top contrasted with Megan’s light skin and flaxen hair, while at the same time making her eyes appear more brilliant than ever.
 
White slacks hugged her in all the right places.
 

Secretly, however, Stefano had hoped she’d wear red.

 
He rarely had trouble speaking to people—he’d been trained from birth to say the most diplomatic thing possible in any situation—but watching Megan sitting poolside in her bikini, seeing her bright smile from above as she’d first spoken to him about lunch, then observing the way she rubbed her forehead when she’d made the awful crack about clown college…well, he’d been momentarily smitten.
 
He wanted her to know he was watching her, admiring her.

When he’d ended the call, he could swear her face turned as red as that delicious swimsuit.
 

Nevertheless, he should’ve kept the thought to himself.
 

“Prince Stefano, it’s good to see you again.
 
Please, come in.”
 
Megan stepped back from the door, holding it open and waving him inside.
 
As she’d said, it would appear to anyone watching from the hallway—not that anyone wandered the twentieth floor hallway at noon on a Sunday—as if they were meeting to discuss business.
 

He entered, pausing once inside the narrow entry hall to allow her to lead the way into the rest of the suite.
 
That’s when he noticed she was barefoot.
 
Bright red toenails peeked out where the hem of her slacks brushed the tops of her feet.
 
When she closed the door, a woven red silk bracelet punctuated by tiny gold beads peeked out from under the cuff of her shirt.
 
He couldn’t help but smile.
 
The toenails she could’ve painted days ago, but the bracelet was a deliberate choice, especially given its contrast with her basic black top.
 
Had she worn it because of his comment?
 

“Why are you grinning?”
 
Her voice was quiet, but filled with suspicion.
 
“You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

He shrugged.
 
“Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.”

She eyed him for a moment, as if weighing his response, then said,
 
“Anna asked if she could make pizza. She’s become obsessed with cooking lately.
 
Mostly it’s desserts, since that’s what she wants to eat, but my mother taught her to make pizza dough.
 
She does a competent job of it, too.”

“In that case, I look forward to it.”

He followed Megan to the kitchen, checking out the decor along the way.
 
There was no mistaking the place for anything other than the hotel suite it was, but there were personal touches, too.
 
Photos of Megan hugging Anna, a niche containing pottery he recognized as being made by a co-op near where they’d worked in Venezuela, and a small painted plaque declaring
You Have a Home in Minnesota
made the space unique.

When they reached the kitchen, all thoughts of the suite faded away.
 
The girl he’d seen at the pool yesterday had her back to him and her hands fisted at her hips as she bent to peer in the window of an oven.
 
Though dressed more casually than Megan, she’d clearly taken time with her appearance.
 
Her denim shorts were topped by a white camisole, over which she wore a transparent sky blue top.
 
Her thick, dark hair shone as if she’d spent a good deal of time going over it with a hairbrush.
 
It hung off to one side, over her shoulder, as if she’d carefully arranged it there after looping it through a silver ponytail holder.
 
Not a single strand was loose.
 
When she bent further and splayed her hands across the top edge of the oven, he caught himself smiling at the sight of sparkly hot pink and robin’s egg blue polish on alternating fingertips.

“Anna?”

At Megan’s voice, the girl straightened and turned.
 
A hard lump formed in Stefano’s throat.
 
Megan was right.
 
This child had his green eyes, his darkly slashed eyebrows, even his forehead.
 
God help him, but there was no mistaking that this child was his.
 
She might be wearing feminine clothing and nail polish, but Stefano could tell she had his attitude without her having spoken a word.