“You run point for one of the most famous women in the world and you catch rats? Be still my heart.”
She made a face and threw her balled-up napkin at his nose, but he caught it.
He laughed, then dropped the napkin beside his bowl. “That’s a big burden for you to carry. What does your father think?”
She shrugged. “It makes him sad to talk about her, so we stick to happier topics when we get together. Our jobs. A museum exhibit I think he should see. Things I’ve done with my friends. On the rare occasions I mention that I’ve been to see my mother, he diplomatically expresses his concern that I’m enabling her.” One side of Daniela’s mouth lifted. “And that my efforts are, as you said, a big burden to carry. One I should probably let go.”
She downed the rest of her coffee, then set the empty mug beside her bowl. She cast a look out the window, then said, “He’s not wrong. I’ve told myself the same thing, and far less diplomatically than my father does. However, I think my mother turned a corner on this visit. She didn’t throw her usual fit when I purged her pantry and kitchen cabinets, and she didn’t chase me outside to see what I’d tossed into the garbage cans. We also went out to eat and walked around one of the local villages. She seemed happy to be out in the fresh air, with no burdens or expectations. Just enjoying a meal, talking to people she’s known for years. She knows that if she wants to live that way, to have the types of relationships where friends drop by her home, as opposed to transitory interaction with tourists, she needs to make changes. I’m hopeful that she’ll get to the point where she’ll ask for help. True help, not a patch job to keep her neighbors from reporting her.”
“It’ll be difficult for her.”
“It’s difficult to admit to anything that shows your life is less than perfect.” A playful glint lit her eyes. “Like telling someone that you’re struggling with your career choices. Or that you suffer from claustrophobia.”
Without planning to, he gave her a flirtatious wink. “I’m glad you didn’t have trouble last night.”
She made a show of looking him over. “Define trouble.”
“Hmmm.” He stood to clear their dishes, and she followed him to the sink. Once she’d deposited her bowl, her hand went to his back, then skimmed lower for a moment before she moved to rinse the dregs from the coffee pot.
“When you asked about claustrophobia the first time you brought me to the boat, I didn’t want to admit to it. I certainly didn’t want to admit why. It’s embarrassing.”
He filled the sink with hot water while Daniela moved to the side to wipe out the pot, giving him space to work.
“Do you know what sparked it?”
She shook her head. “There’s no incident I can point to, like being locked in a closet. My dad says I protested being held too tight when I was a baby, so it may be partially inborn. I’ve had years to develop the tools to handle it, and it wasn’t much of an issue while I was growing up. But visiting my mother’s house lately, where I feel like everything is about to fall on my head—and I mean that literally, not figuratively—exacerbates the problem. I’m sure the experience at Safina’s affected me the way it did because I’d just visited her house.”
On a deep breath, she added, “Acknowledging that feels like a betrayal of my family. Like taking out an ad that says I have a bad mother, when she’s been amazing.”
He set the clean bowls upside down to drain before turning to face her.
“You aren’t betraying anyone.”
“No, I’m not, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling that way.”
He admired that she was willing to admit to her personal challenges and face them in a matter of fact manner, rather than seek pity or make excuses.
That inner strength made him want her all over again.
The thought must’ve shown on his face, because she slipped her hands around his waist and smiled. “It’s no different than feeling you’d betray your parents by considering another career. A career in security is valid. You’re talented, you’ve proven yourself, and it’s given you moments of joy. But a career in physics is also valid, as is teaching. We each need to do what’s best for ourselves, not what best fits the expectations of others. Even if it’s difficult.”
He took her face in his palms, then traced her cheekbones with his thumbs.
“Can I always expect such forward-thinking wisdom with my coffee and oatmeal?”
“If you like,” she said, her eyes sparking at the potential of future mornings spent together. “But right now, I’m thinking about what’s best for me this morning.”
“Are you now?” he asked, then slowly lowered his head to her shoulder and kissed a trail toward her neck. Daniela’s hold tightened and her breath went shallow. When he reached the curve of her ear, he whispered, “As it turns out, I was half listening to your wisdom, half thinking about unzipping your dress.”
In response, she arched into him.
His fingers found the pull, and as he lowered it, Daniela shifted to kiss him.
Then he was lost.
Chapter 26
Daniela gazed out the window as Royce guided his car through the crowded center of San Rimini. They passed the aquarium, where tourists had queued to enter at their designated ticket time, then a series of boutiques, restaurants, and parks.
They’d spent the morning making love, then taken turns using the boat’s tiny shower. By the time they’d climbed into his car, the cathedral’s bells tolled noon. Now Royce’s hand rested on Daniela’s thigh. Her fingers topped his, though she kept the touch light in case he needed his hand to steer.
She both yearned for him and felt deeply content at the same time.
This could be something. And that scared her.
All those years ago, when she’d sent Royce toward the Westin with a teasing warning to watch for drunks coming off the beach, she’d been certain she’d done the right thing. The wise and proper thing. Her parents raised her with the notion that bars in unfamiliar towns weren’t safe places to meet men. Walking Boulevard Kukulkan with Royce that night felt daring; kissing him bordered on reckless.
However, as the months and years passed, there’d been times—usually late at night, when her mind refused to sleep and insisted on wandering—when Daniela fantasized about what might’ve happened if she’d delayed entering the hotel. If, instead, she’d invited sexy, mysterious Royce Dekker to stroll along the beach. If they’d stopped to share a second or third kiss on the sand, away from the lights of the hotels. If her younger, more naive self had dared place her hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart.
That younger, naive self had no idea that following Royce’s advice to pursue the opportunity with Queen Fabrizia would change her life.
Those deeply held what-ifs had led her to flirt with him on his boat after their dinner at Trattoria Safina’s, then lean in when he’d put his arm around her. They’d given her the confidence to make a teasing remark about removing his shirt before she’d turned toward the waiting car.
There’d been no hesitation in her mind when he’d asked her to dinner, then to stay aboard the Donati.
Taking advantage.
That was the phrase she and Royce had used on their drive from the restaurant to the marina last night. Well, they’d certainly done that. Problem was, she wanted more than what they’d shared last night, and that left her unsettled.
She could love Royce Dekker. Deeply. He had a mind and a spirit that intrigued her. He made her think. On top of that, Daniela had never had this kind of chemistry with a man. Not even close.
Royce moved both hands to the steering wheel as he merged into a traffic circle. When his hand returned to the spot above her knee, she noted the release of tension in his shoulders, as if the act of touching her unknotted his muscles.
Her hand drifted back to Royce’s. His fingers rose to interlace with hers, and he aimed a smile her direction without taking his eyes off the city traffic. She relaxed and allowed her eyes to drift s
hut, enjoying the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
While out to lunch with her mother, she’d resolved to improve her personal life. To pursue love, despite the risks to her heart or the challenges in revealing her family’s issues.
She hadn’t expected the opportunity to present itself so soon, let alone discover a man she trusted with the truth about her family. While she could take advantage of this moment, she couldn’t have what she truly desired. Not permanently.
Royce had a life in San Rimini. His career was here. Even if that career was in flux, his family was here. He could have established himself anywhere following his military service, but it had been important enough to be near his parents that he’d chosen San Rimini, despite its high cost of living. He respected them enough to strongly consider taking over his father’s business, and he cared enough about his own clients that, once Royce dropped her at her hotel, he planned to go to his office to do research for a client who had questions about some items on an employee’s resume.
In the meantime, her career and family were on the opposite side of Italy, in Sarcaccia.
A serious relationship wasn’t in the cards, even if they both wanted it. The hurdles were too great.
Royce slowed at an intersection. As a pack of tourists entered the crosswalk, he asked, “What’s on your agenda for today?”
Daniela craned her neck to see the roofline of her hotel, which was still several blocks away. “Yesterday afternoon, King Eduardo told me that he plans to write an introduction to the auction book. He wants to emphasize Queen Aletta’s dedication to her charities and her hope that they’d continue to thrive after her death.”
“I imagine that’ll be tough to write.”
“I don’t envy him the task, though if anyone can do it well, it’s King Eduardo. I took a lot of photos of the queen’s closet on my first day. They were for my own reference, so I had a record of its organization before I moved anything, but I told him I’d go through them this weekend to see if any are suitable for use alongside the introduction. It’d offer a visual to show that the queen’s belongings do more good out in the world than locked away in a closet. Plus, a behind-the-scenes look into the private section of the palace could drive sales of the book itself.”
A group of teens jogged into the crosswalk, racing the signal. Distracted, she watched them hurry each other along before continuing. “After I look through the photos for the king, I want to review the descriptions I’ve written for the book. I’m over halfway done with those, so I figure it’s a good time to stop and edit. Then I need to start winnowing down which photos will make it to the book.”
“You’re happy with what you have so far?”
Daniela nodded. The light changed, and Royce waited for the stragglers before starting forward.
“The photos alone could carry the book,” she told him. “In addition to the shots I’ve taken, I have several great ones from Helena, and a few from King Eduardo that have never been published. It’ll be tough to decide which to use.”
“Busy afternoon.”
“Busy afternoon,” she agreed. “Then tonight I have a call with Sarcaccia. Queen Fabrizia visits Spain at the end of next month, and my input is needed on the schedule.”
Royce rounded a corner, affording her a glance as he did so. “You’re nearly done with the job here, then?”
“I should finish this week. I planned to let Prince Federico and King Eduardo know on Monday.”
He was quiet a tick longer than she expected before saying, “That means I’ll finish at the end of this week, too. Now that the baseboards are done and the walls are prepped, the painting itself will go quickly. It should take less than a day to replace the furniture and clean.”
“It’s going to look fabulous.”
“I hope so. Though I’m sure I’ll hear criticism from the Roscha sisters no matter what.” His exhale sounded like a laugh. “I expect Queen Fabrizia will be happy to have you back. When do you leave?”
“I haven’t booked my flight yet.”
The air thickened between them. Her fingers twitched in his. He said nothing, but a split second later gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I want to be certain King Eduardo is satisfied, but it’s likely I’d go Saturday,” she finally told him.
He eased the car to the side of the road, near the spot where he’d met her for their date, and put the car in park. “Which means we have seven days.”
Her throat seized. Rather than answer aloud, she gave a tight nod.
Royce unlatched his belt and closed the space between them to caress her shoulder. His eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, Daniela saw a world of emotion there. “Maybe this is too much, too soon, but last night meant a lot to me. I know you have an obligation to Queen Fabrizia, and when you’re done here, you have to go back. But I want to make the most of the time we have before then.”
“I want that, too.”
His kiss left her wrecked. When she finally climbed out of the car, it was on a promise to meet for breakfast the next morning.
She walked the final two blocks to the hotel in a daze, and was within shouting distance of the entrance when a vehicle pulled alongside her. Royce had lowered the front windows and was gesturing for her to return to the car. Behind him, a motorcyclist stopped short. Daniela waved for the rider to go around, then leaned in Royce’s passenger window, wondering what spurred him to talk to her here, where anyone could see them. Hadn’t he emphasized the need to avoid being seen?
“What’s your room number?”
She hesitated at his staccato tone. “Six-oh-three.”
“Get started on your pictures for King Eduardo. I’ll ditch the car and be back in a half hour.”
By the time the soft knock came, Daniela had changed clothes and transferred the initial photos she’d taken of Queen Aletta’s closet from her phone to her computer. She silently waved Royce inside and closed the door, waiting for him to speak first.
“I don’t want to derail your work plans, but something occurred to me after you got out of the car.” He moved past her and gestured toward her laptop, which she’d left open on the desk. “These are the photos you took the first day?”
She gave a quick affirmative. “They aren’t the same quality as the photos I’ve taken of the individual items. Like I said, these were only for my reference. I’d have been more deliberate if I’d known the king would want one to use in his introduction. Why?”
He took a seat at the desk and, after glancing at her for permission, started scrolling through the shots, enlarging a few as he went. She took a seat in an armchair nearby, curious.
He angled the screen to compensate for glare from the room’s large window. “There’s a lot of detail when they’re blown up. You can see brand names and stitching in some of these.”
She leaned forward. He’d zeroed in on a jacket so the label appeared within the triangle of the hanger.
“That’s Christian Dior. What are you searching for?”
He squinted, moving the photo so the shelf above the jacket was visible. “You mentioned a handbag you saw on the first day that you thought was fake. But when you looked at it again later, you realized it was fine. Is it in any of these shots?”
She straightened in the chair, understanding his thought. “It may be. Move and I’ll look. It wasn’t on that shelf.”
She began flipping through the photos. Royce stood beside her, one hand braced on the back of her chair, one on the desk.
“You’re wondering if someone managed to replace a counterfeit item with a real one?”
“It’s unlikely, but I wanted to check.”
She stopped on a photo taken two rows over from the Dior jacket, then enlarged it to focus on the handbag she’d noticed the first day. “That’s it, but it’s partially blocked by the evening bag beside it.”
“You can’t tell anything from the edge?”
“Maybe. But I think I have
a picture from a better angle. Give me a sec.” She dragged the photo to the side of the screen and opened another. As she searched, she added, “Problem is, with a counterfeit bag, it’s usually the interior that gives it away.”
“Still—”
“Worth a check,” she finished.
A moment later, she located the photo she’d had in mind. Taken from the opposite end of the row, it showed the front of the bag and offered a good view of its silver clasp and handle. She zoomed in, getting as much detail as possible before the image blurred, then bit her lip.
“What?”
She opened the file containing the photos she’d taken of individual auction items using the display table in Queen Aletta’s suite, then scanned the shots until she found a set of five depicting the same handbag. She zoomed in on the pristine handle, then shifted the view to include the silver clasp in one of the shots.
She studied it for a moment, then dragged the closet picture beside it, stood, and swept a hand toward the chair. “You tell me.”
“I feel like you’ve tricked me into a game of Spot the Difference.” Royce sat, then looked back and forth between the two photos. It took him a minute, then he frowned.
“There’s a button in the center of the silver clasp on the first photo—that’s what you push to open the bag?” He waited for her nod, then said, “When you compare the size of the button to the overall size of the clasp, it’s smaller in the first photo than in the second.”
“What else?”
“I think—but I’m not sure—the handle isn’t quite the same. In the second photo it looks, I don’t know, richer. But that may be the lighting. Or it was polished.”
As he’d demonstrated time and again, the man had a good eye. “The handle was what made me think the original was counterfeit. But when I looked at it again—the day I took the second photo—I noted the quality of the leather, and I questioned what I’d thought I’d seen that first day. The dyes are virtually identical, but the quality of the leather gives it that depth. I didn’t clean or polish the bag before I took the photos in the sitting room. I didn’t need to.”
Fit for a Queen Page 27