Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (7 page)

“It’s not a matter of negotiation. The network has a standard contract for anyone who appears on the show.”

“Then let’s find a café. My treat.”

She allowed Victor to lead the way back to Café Luchana, where a hostess guided them to the same table where she’d spied him having breakfast. Once they were seated with menus in hand, Emily waved to encompass the outdoor space. “Twice in one day?”

“I wasn’t expecting this particular table, but” —he shrugged— “when I find things I like, I tend to stick with them. My siblings tease me about being a creature of habit, but I prefer to think of it as being consistent and reliable.”

“Siblings, plural?” It was her first glimpse into the man’s life, and she was intrigued. “Do you come from a large family?”

“Very.” He shut his menu as if closing the door on further personal discussion. “Now, my conditions. You said this morning that I could use a different name for privacy’s sake?”

“I believe I said that we don’t use last names, but I’m sure using a different first name on air won’t be a problem as long as the network has your legal name for the release and to pay your stipend.”

“I don’t require a stipend.”

“It’s not much, but we’re happy to do it. And as I said over breakfast, it can be a lot of fun to be in front of the camera. An adventure you talk about with friends and family when it’s all over.”

A half-laugh escaped him, but before she could comment, the waitress approached to offer a large bottle of sparkling water and to take their sandwich orders.
 

“No stipend,” he said once the waitress left. “And no release.”

“It’s mandatory for the show’s insurance carrier. No release, no show.” And back she went to the Winstons.

He took a slow sip of his water, his eyes narrowing as he studied her over the rim of the glass. In those seconds, she felt each beat of her heart.
 

“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll sign a release, assuming it doesn’t contain any terms that are out of the ordinary. But I must insist upon remaining anonymous. And that includes to your crew. Can you do that?”

Relief coursed through her. “Done.”
 

A group of college-aged women with shopping bags walked by arm in arm, laughing as they made their way toward Avenue Quintana, one of Recoleta’s main thoroughfares. A brunette with her hair in a casual twist glanced back over her shoulder at Victor at the same moment he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and turned away as if he hadn’t noticed. But Emily knew he had.
 

The man grew more interesting by the moment. She leaned forward and asked, “So what changed your mind, oh creature of habit?”
 

“You told me I was a poor judge of character, that’s what.” Though she couldn’t see his eyes, his tone and the self-deprecating lift at the edges of his mouth made her realize he was serious. “No one’s ever told me that before. I appreciated the honesty when you had nothing to gain and everything to lose. That’s uncommon.”
 

“Thank you, I think.” When he’d walked away, she’d have sworn she’d seen anger in his expression. In her experience, men with stunning looks like Victor’s didn’t often hear anything from women but compliments. Apparently, her words had penetrated, though now she could feel him studying her from behind his dark lenses as if attempting to discern what else she thought of him.

He merely angled his head, as if waiting to hear what she’d say next. While she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, she desperately needed to find a restroom. After locating a copy of the release in her handbag so he could take a moment to peruse it, she excused herself, promising to return before the waitress appeared with their lunch.
 

Vittorio watched her go, then gave the release a quick read. Seeing nothing alarming on the single sheet of legalese, he dug in his pocket for his cell phone…the throwaway he hadn’t wanted Emily to know he had.

A moment later, a groggy voice nearly identical to his own answered in Sarcaccian-accented Italian. “What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the night.”

“What’s on your schedule this week?”

A muttered epithet, then the rustle of bedsheets came over the line.
His
sheets, given that Alessandro had moved into Vittorio’s palace apartment. “Does this mean you’re on your way home?”

“Not quite yet.”’

A pause. More shuffling, then feet hitting the floor. The flick of a light switch followed by more footsteps, as if Alessandro had walked from the bedroom to the living room for privacy.

Vittorio closed his eyes against his brother’s idiocy. “Are you
with
someone?” And if so, who was he claiming to be?

“No. God, no, or I’d be in a better mood. I’m trying to find my calendar.” After heaving out an exasperated breath, Alessandro said, “Nothing but social events. I’m visiting a hospital tomorrow, then a halfway house on Wednesday. Otherwise, there’s a movie premiere, a few dinners, and yet another art exhibition. You can imagine my delight. Oh, and Megan and Stefano want the family to get together to discuss wedding logistics. You do remember that they’re getting married this summer? Of course, since you missed Christmas, you might not—”

“No political engagements? Nothing where you’ll be acting on behalf of the government?”

“Not for almost two weeks. The Indian Prime Minister is stopping here on his way to speak at the United Nations. Why?”

Vittorio kept his gaze moving, ensuring no one was within earshot as he spoke. “When I left, you encouraged me to live like you do. I told you that wasn’t possible, that I needed solitude. Hell, even
you
shouldn’t live like you do. It’s a wonder you’ve survived.” Nightclubs. Parties. Adventure travel. All the wealth and access a man could desire, yet with none of the responsibilities of the heir.

“I didn’t think it was possible I could survive an art exhibition, yet here I am,” came the droll response. “You’d be surprised what humans are capable of enduring.”
 

“I also told you that if I lived the way you do, we’d be caught.” Vittorio ran a hand over the thick growth covering his jaw. “Let’s just say that if we’re ever discovered, it’ll be due to my activities this week. Given that risk, I’d prefer it if you have Father handle any political events. Then, at least, the scandal will be minimal. No harm done. We’ll look like brothers who decided to pull a prank by having you attend a dinner or two in my place.” He’d switch his accommodations again tonight, just to be safe. If anyone traced him to the date he agreed to appear on the show, it’d look like he’d just arrived in the country.

Silence reigned on the other end of the line.

“Alessandro? Did you hear me?”

“What. Have. You. Done?”

“Nothing salacious. I’m simply helping out someone who’s in a tough spot. However, it will put me at risk of being recognized.”

“Is this someone a woman?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” His denial came out more forcefully than he intended. Across the café, he noticed Emily speaking to the waitress just inside the door. “I have to go. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Understood. But Vittorio? I’m glad you’re interacting with someone. Anyone.”

“You may change your mind.”

“Come home soon. I prefer my own bed.”

He pocketed the phone before Emily noticed it. While his sense of self-preservation warned that it was ridiculous to have agreed to appear on television, simply watching Emily Sinclair as she resumed her seat made him believe he’d done the right thing. It wasn’t the hopefulness in her expression this morning or that she’d noted he was a bad judge of character, which no one had the guts to say to his face after his Carmella fiasco, though it’d put the entire family at risk. Rather, it was that Emily had stood up for herself. Risked his ire to make her point that she wasn’t a bad person and that the world wasn’t out to get him. That steel spine, more than her plea for help, convinced him she was worth helping.

He picked up the bottle of water and topped off both of their glasses. All his life, people had deferred to him, even when he knew he was in the wrong. He’d left Sarcaccia for much-needed clarity, and it didn’t come in any more pure form than a woman with the determination to protect those around her and the backbone to speak freely when it was important to do so. Spending a week outside his comfort zone with Emily might give him the sober perspective he craved.

Once she’d draped her suit jacket over the back of the chair and turned to face him, he pushed the signed release across the table. “There. We’re official.”

She glanced at it, then frowned.
 

“It’s Barr,” he said before she could ask him to decipher the scribble he’d used for his signature.
 

“It looks longer.”

“Let’s just say it’s Barr, all right?” Close enough to Barrali, but more common. And safer. “I imagine you won’t be the only one to see this paper, and as I said, I wish to remain anonymous. If there’s ever a legal issue, you’ll be covered by that. So tell me what this filming entails. And remember, I appreciate honesty.”

The comment drew a smile from her, despite the fact she couldn’t know the full extent of its irony. He sat back and allowed himself to study her from behind his sunglasses as she spoke. Though her doubts about the release were apparent, she went on to describe the schedule for a typical week of filming, assuring him that he wouldn’t be needed all day, every day, and that she’d try to keep everything as streamlined as possible. “We call ahead to the locations to ensure we can film and we keep to set times. It’s easier for the cameramen if we can shoot during the hours with the best lighting. Since we’re supposed to have good weather all week, that makes it easier.”

She then explained the tourism angle of the show, which would encourage viewers to visit the country being filmed even if they weren’t interested in moving there. “It’s a great dream, to live abroad. We want our viewers to experience the richness of the culture, explore the nooks and crannies of a new place, and come to appreciate what it would be like to live in a particular country, even if they’re only planning a quick trip. This whole season has been about Argentina. So when we filmed in Patagonia, we talked about the climate, the wildlife, and the locals’ favorite water sports and hiking trails. In Córdoba, it was all about the rise of a modern city that incorporates colonial history and Jesuit traditions. For Buenos Aires, our last episode gave an overview of the museums and cathedrals—the touristy spots—but in the season finale, we’d like to dive into one or two places tourists might not see, but that have deep meaning for those who live here.”

He couldn’t help but absorb the excitement she radiated. Much as he enjoyed the work he did for his country, it’d been ages since he’d felt the kind of enthusiasm Emily showed when describing her job.
 

“What are you planning?”

“Our camera crew is tentatively scheduled to shoot at a major
fútbol
game tomorrow. I want to capture the vibrant atmosphere of a stadium crowd, the way fans sing at the matches and consider their team’s performance a point of national pride. And” —she accepted her sandwich from the waitress, offering the woman a smile in thanks— “if you’re up for it, later this week we’re considering filming inside one of the city’s tango bars at night. Give our viewers a sense of the passion the dance entails and show how much Argentinians value it as part of their heritage.”

“You expect me to…to tango?” he asked once the waitress departed. He’d figured all he’d have to do was walk around a few apartments, ooh and aah over the crown moldings or kitchen appliances, and he’d be done. Not participate in what was arguably the most sexually suggestive dance performed outside a strip club.

“No, not unless you want to,” she assured him. “But if you’d be willing to go to a tango show, we could air portions of the professionals’ performance and mention how much you enjoyed learning about the culture. The same goes for the
fútbol
game. Part of what gets our viewers invested in the show is seeing
your
interest.”

“I see.” He lifted his sandwich to take a bite, but a whiff of onion led him to set it down and pick out the offending vegetable. “I suppose I could do that.”

“Great. So how about we discuss what you’re looking for in an apartment? That way we make sure to see properties you’d seriously consider.” She paused as she noticed the growing pile on the edge of his plate. “Not an onion fan?”
 

“Smell bad, taste worse. I should’ve read the menu more carefully.”

“I’ll warn you if our food delivery service brings any.” She grinned as she lifted her own sandwich for a bite.
 

“Add that to my conditions.” Given what happened the last time he’d consumed onion, they’d both be safer. It had been the worst night of his life.

* * *

His mother broke the news about Carmella’s suicide.
 

Vittorio had missed dinner, having just returned to his apartment from a meeting with the chancellor of the University of Cateri. Needing to stay awake another hour or two in order to review the proposed expansion project for the campus, he phoned the palace kitchen and asked to have a light dinner delivered. He’d loosened his tie, settled into the sofa, and read the first few paragraphs of the report when his mother knocked, then slipped into his apartment without waiting for his response.