“A regular Sandro.” He scraped the spinach into the eggs and whipped the mixture with a fork. His rolled-up sleeve gave her a tantalizing view of his muscled forearm. “At your service.”
“You’re too much. You still need to find somewhere else to stay, though. I’m here to write.”
“What do you write?”
She hesitated. “Nonfiction.”
“What kind?”
Gulp. “Self-help books. Giving people life strategies, that kind of thing.”
“Like how to spend Christmas alone in the middle of nowhere?” The way he glanced at her, laughter dancing in his dark eyes, made her chuckle in spite of herself.
“Exactly. I can show people how to have a wonderful holiday by themselves.”
He poured the egg mixture into a baking dish. “Where is your boyfriend or husband?”
She gave him credit for not staring awkwardly at her while he asked such a personal question.
She gave herself credit for not flinching before answering. “I had a recent breakup. To be honest I couldn’t face going home to my family alone. My sisters and my brother are all married and happy. I’m the odd one out.”
“You do seem pretty odd.” He closed the oven door, opened the fridge, poured two glasses of her orange juice, and sauntered over to where she stood by the island. “But I like that in a woman.”
She took the glass from him. “Are all royals as confident and obnoxious as you?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Sandro shrugged. “Probably.”
“It figures.” She sipped the juice, fighting the urge to smile. He stood far too close, and she could smell the last traces of some kind of yummy expensive cologne clinging to him. When she told people this story none of them were going to believe her.
“Why didn’t you buy a goose?” he asked.
“Why would I?”
“It’s the traditional Christmas bird. You didn’t buy a turkey, either.”
“I bought a rolled turkey breast with stuffing in it.”
He grimaced. “I saw that in there. Sorry, but no.”
She stared. “What? It’s not any of your business what I eat.”
“Indeed it is.” He polished off the last of his glass and put it in the dishwasher. “I have fallen into your life, and I intend to save you from yourself.”
“I don’t need saving, thanks.”
“Because you already figured everything out and wrote a book about it?”
“Pretty much.” Strange feelings built in her chest. A mix of hurt and anger and humor at her own ridiculous predicament. “And since that’s how I pay my bills, I need to write another one. And I can eat a rolled turkey breast while I’m writing it if I want to.”
He chuckled and turned on the oven light. She could see the top of the frittata already beginning to bubble.
She frowned. “You preheated the oven?”
“Of course.”
“So you were going to make a frittata whether I wanted one or not?”
“If you wanted something else I’d have made that. Just getting prepared. Speaking of which, we need to hit the local stores before the storm rolls in. I started writing a list.”
“There’s only one store, and I don’t think they’re going to have goose. I went there in daylight, remember. I wanted to buy feta cheese, but they didn’t have anything that exotic. They have a lot of different cuts of pig.” She shuddered at the memory.
“Excellent. My chef friend I told you about is from the Deep South. New Orleans, to be precise. His name is Louis DuLac.”
“I’m not eating pigs’ feet. Or intestines. I’m not wild about the rest of the pig, either.”
“Shame. We’ll make do with turkey. If you rub butter and herbs underneath the skin it stays juicy.”
“You really do love to cook, don’t you?”
He’d turned away to remove the dish from the oven using one hand and the dish towel. “It’s a useful hobby.”
“I agree. I wish more men could cook.” She wasn’t much of a cook herself. She liked reading cookbooks and watching cooking shows, but even when she used all the right ingredients and followed the directions to the letter, nothing ever came out quite right.
Kind of like her life lately.
Her stomach growled. “That smells wonderful.”
Enjoy life’s unexpected blessings. Hadn’t she used that as a chapter heading once? “Let me get the plates. If I can find them.”
It didn’t take long to get two places set at the large stone island. She even found some ironed linen napkins.
“Coffee?” He put freshly cut slices of frittata in both places.
“I thought I smelled coffee.”
“I’m glad you thought to shop ahead.”
“I try to think of everything.”
“Is that something you recommend in your books?”
“Absolutely. The power of making lists.” She smiled. He was so easy to talk to that she couldn’t be mad at him right now. Even if they were blowing through all the ingredients she’d bought for her holiday for one. “But seriously, where will you stay? Is there a hotel? Or another rental?”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Just milk.” Was he ignoring her questions? Just because he was royal didn’t mean he could do whatever he wanted.
“Say when.” He poured in a trickle of her one percent milk.
“When.”
“I hardly poured any.”
“I like it dark. So when are you leaving?”
He put the milk back in the fridge. “About that.” He turned and put his hands on his hips. “Wouldn’t you enjoy a multi-course, expertly prepared Christmas dinner with all the trimmings? And I brought some Christmas music. You’ll like Zach and Ajay. They’re super nice guys even though they’re geeky shut-ins a lot of the time.”
The frittata looked so delicious that she didn’t feel like arguing right now. Maybe the eggs would give her the strength she needed to put her foot down. She decided to ignore his question.
His phone rang, and she heard someone talking on the other end.
“Just a few gusts of wind, nothing serious.” He sat down on the stool near hers. “We’re not going to get snowed in. We’re at the beach! Who ever heard of getting snowed in at the beach. Don’t worry. You’ll be back in time for your meeting.”
He hung up and shook his head. “It’s hard to get these workaholic types to take a break. He’s trying to use the storm as an excuse to cancel.”
“You were trying to convince me only a few minutes ago that I might need help shoveling out. I take it you’re the kind of person who says whatever they think will win.”
“Do you warn about people like me in your books?”
“Not yet, but I’m considering this breakfast as research.” She shot him an arch look.
He had the audacity to look pleased. “I hope they don’t cancel. Then I’ll be all alone for Christmas.” He looked up at her with sad eyes.
You’re the kind of person who says whatever they think will win.
“You could fly back to…Altaleone.”
“It’s too late already. By the time I fly from here to a hub, then from there to Austria, or Switzerland, and drive through the mountains—which are heavy with snow at this time of year…”
“That would be sad, wouldn’t it?” She tried to sound sarcastic. “You could use the time to write a book. What do you do, anyway? Or is being a prince a full-time job?”
“I’m a mechanical engineer by training. I invent things by inclination.” He sipped his coffee.
“Like what?”
“Right now my main focus is on portable solar panels for smaller applications like a single laptop.”
“So spoiled executives wouldn’t have to worry about running out of power on the train.”
“You’d be surprised by how much of the world is still off the grid. Picture someone in rural Africa being able to connect to the Internet via satellite and share or retrieve inf
ormation a hundred miles from the nearest lightbulb.”
“Okay, that does sound pretty cool.” Great, he had to be smart as well as handsome. And his bringing power to African laptops made her posts on how to organize your closet seem a bit lame. “Did you bring a panel or two with you in case we lose power during the storm?”
He laughed. “Nope. I’m like the shoemaker’s children who have bare feet. But knowing Zadir, this place probably has a full backup generator. How do you like breakfast?”
“It’s very good,” she admitted reluctantly.
He looked pleased again. “When you’re done we should hit the store. No sense waiting until the weather gets really bad.”
She heard a text come in on his phone. He muttered a veiled curse and dialed someone. “Zach, it’s just a storm. The airports are not going to be shut down for days.” He rose and paced while listening impatiently. “And being Jewish is no excuse to be alone on one of the most festive days of the year. Jesus was Jewish, remember? And it’s his birthday. If the local airport gets snowed in I will personally drive you to Atlanta. Or Charlotte. Or somewhere bigger, anyway.” He paced some more. “They always overestimate these things. The house is gorgeous—right on the beach! And the weather here is perfect right now.”
Serena glanced at the kitchen window, where rain spattered gently against the glass. It was kind of adorable that Sandro wanted to give his non-Christian friends a festive Christmas so they wouldn’t be alone. Then again, it was pretty obnoxious, too.
He put his phone down, looking annoyed. “Some people are so pessimistic.”
“He’s not coming.”
“Nope. Ajay should be getting on his plane any minute, though. He’s only in Philly so he’ll be here in a few hours.”
His phone pinged with an incoming text. He picked it up and peered at it. “Quitter.” Then he turned to her. “I guess it’s just you and me, after all.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sandro insisted that Serena drive with him to the grocery store—firstly, because he had no idea where it was; secondly, because he was afraid she would somehow change the locks while he was gone.
Still, he could tell she was beginning to like him. He steered the rented car, laden with the local store’s very meager provisions, along the narrow beach road. And threw her another winning smile, just to help his cause.
Serena was beautiful, with a body to die for. Hopefully, their growing mutual intimacy would allow him to enjoy the pleasures of those full lips and full hips. He grew hard thinking about the possibilities.
Stay in the moment, Sandro. “At least they had a fresh chicken, and my stuffing will be way better than the boxed stuff you bought. Trust me.”
“It’s hard to trust you now that I know you’ll say whatever you think will win me over. But since you’re so terrified of spending Christmas alone, I will let you spend it with me.”
He wanted to laugh. She seemed almost more arrogant than him, which was saying something. And she still acted like she couldn’t care less about him. Which, of course, only made the challenge of seducing her more exciting.
“We should go to the beach.” He could see glimpses of the ocean through the trees on his side of the car.
“That chicken needs to go in the fridge.” She kept her chin at a jaunty angle, as if ready to deflect all blows.
“True, but once it’s safely tucked away, let’s go for a walk.”
“I actually have a lot of work to do.” He could tell she still wanted to wall herself off in her room and mope.
He couldn’t stand that kind of waste.
“We can talk about your work.” He shot her a winning smile. “Maybe find you some inspiration.”
The rain had cleared up and the sun peeked through the clouds, dusting the beach in pale light. Serena kicked off her sandals at the edge of the dunes. It couldn’t hurt to go for a walk with him, right? She might as well make the most of this beautiful location.
The invading winds so far were tropical, so it was warm enough to wear only a sweater over her T-shirt and khakis, and the ocean breeze was refreshing rather than chilling. Sandro wore faded jeans with a hole in one knee—rather an affectation for a wealthy prince—and a dark blue sweater. With his tousled hair and dark, flashing eyes, he looked like an Italian fisherman, and the effect was unfortunately enchanting.
Maybe she’d get a blog post out of this one day when she had more distance.
He rolled up the bottom of his jeans. “How did you get started writing books?”
The sand felt cool between her toes as they walked toward the shoreline. “The two I’ve written so far have been compilations of my blog posts. I started a blog in my senior year of college, and it caught on. I expanded into writing magazine articles, making YouTube videos, and one day I decided to put a bunch of my blog posts together into a book and publish it myself.”
“You found readers?”
“Yes. I’m sure some of them were people who read my blog, but I was able to use my magazine connections to get publicity and it ended up hitting a best seller list for several weeks.”
“What was your book about?”
“I called it Living Your Best Life. It’s a bunch of articles based on experiences I had as I looked for a job, rented my first apartment, figured out how to deal with a demanding boss—just living as a single girl in the city.”
“Did you talk about dating?”
The ocean lapped in and touched her toes. “Ouch! That’s colder than I expected.” The water was a dark gray-blue. She didn’t want to talk about dating. “Sometimes.”
“You must have men flocking around you wherever you go.” His eyes rested on her a little too long as he said it.
“Hardly.” She tried to sound breezy. “Not any I was interested in, anyway. I ended up having so many articles about my dating misadventures that I compiled them into another book called Waiting for Mr. Right. A publisher gave me a big advance for that one. It comes out next month.”
“Waiting for Mr. Right. Did you find him?”
She reached up to tug at her sweater, and for a second she could swear she felt his eyes on her ringless ring finger. The book wasn’t even out yet, and already Mr. Right had cut and run.
“I thought I had. We dated for two years. We were engaged, even.” She shuddered. Suddenly the weather seemed less tropical. “It’s cold. Do we really want to do this?”
“We’ll warm up if we keep walking.” He switched places with her so that he was on the ocean side, water lapping around his ankles and wetting the rolled bottom of his jeans. “What happened?”
Shame gripped her—for the umpteenth time. How did you explain it? She didn’t even know how to explain it to herself. The whole thing hadn’t sunk in yet. “He decided to go…in a different direction.”
“He turned out to be gay?” He looked curious.
She laughed in spite of herself. “No. He just said he didn’t want to get married. He’s still single as far as I know.”
“How odd.” Sandro frowned. “He probably is gay and hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.”
“I think I was too demanding.” She sighed. “Howard said it wasn’t easy living in a blog post. Too much pressure to do everything by the book.” She laughed again. “It is ridiculous, isn’t it? Even as we set out on this walk I wondered if it would become a post.”
One side of Sandro’s broad mouth hitched in a smile. “I’d love to be one of your posts.”
She blew out. “You wouldn’t really. He said it was like swimming around in a fish bowl.”
“Sounds a bit like being royal.” He grinned.
A smile snuck across her mouth. “I suppose it does. People watching everything you do, expecting it to be fabulous.”
“So I do my best to make sure it is.”
“Fabulous?”
“Of course.”
His dark eyes drifted lower, and she felt the heat of his gaze roam over her breasts, her belly, her khaki-clad thighs. She had
not packed for elegance on this trip, and right now she wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or pleased by his bold appraisal.
She decided to turn the tables on him. “Maybe you could give me some tips on living a fabulous life. I could share them with my readers.”
“You are always writing a blog post, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
“I only have one tip—surround yourself with good people.”
“I guess I broke that rule by coming here alone.”
“Luckily I turned up.” He smiled. “And I’m so glad you were here. I’d have spent my holidays in an airport, trying to fly back to some friends somewhere.”
“You don’t like to be alone?”
“Not all that much. I’m from a big family. I have nine brothers and sisters.”
“Wow! That’s unusual these days.”
“My mom loves children. She’s waiting with bated breath for one of us to give her a grandchild.”
“Luckily, my siblings have jumped in early to save me from that pressure. It’s bad enough with them wanting me to get married.”
“Did they like your ex?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure they did.”
“Were they glad when you broke up with him?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sandro stared. “That’s why you couldn’t go home for Christmas.”
She nodded, recrimination clawing at her heart. “Breaking up with your fiancé is bad enough, but when you’re always telling people how to live their life, including how to handle relationships, it’s hard to admit you failed.”
“Who says you failed? If it didn’t work out, he was wrong for you.”
She swallowed. “I’ve tried to convince myself of that, but it’s not working too well. According to all my social media, he was perfect and we were supposed to live happily ever after.”
Sandro had the gall to laugh. “I guess you’ll have to post some updates. Did you love him?”
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