by Lara Hunter
“Do you ever worry about losing your livelihood?” Luca asked, like he had no idea what that would feel like.
Gaby realized he was trying to see how the other half lived, and she wasn’t so sure she liked the feeling. “Do you?” she countered, and Luca sat back in his seat.
“Do I what?” he asked.
“Worry about losing it all. About not being able to pay the bills on time, or pay for college for your kids someday, or whether or not you’ll be able to put food on the table?”
Gaby knew the answers, of course. Luca had the air of a man who had never struggled once in his life. While he was handsome, she wasn’t convinced of his good character yet, no matter how gallant he was trying to be. There was a wildness about him that she wasn’t sure she liked.
The Prince sighed, then. “You know I have not. I live in a very different world than you, Gabriella. Can I call you Gabriella?” he asked, and Gaby nodded. “I have offended you with my questions. I didn’t mean to; it’s only because I’m interested in you and where you come from.”
“And why is that, exactly?” Gaby asked. She’d been waiting to ask that question since the moment she got the phone call.
Luca glanced away from her—a telltale sign of the falsehood she had smelled about this whole thing from the beginning. “You will have to forgive me, Gabriella, for what I have done. You see, there is no exchange program to improve relations between our two countries.”
“You don’t say,” Gaby said, her tone dry. Her stomach tightened; what was going on?
“The truth is, I set up this entire exchange to meet you, the youngest daughter of the House of Galtieri.”
Gaby laughed. “The House of Galtieri? You make me sound like we’re in a Game of Thrones episode.”
Luca ignored that comment, and Gaby realized with a blush that he might have missed the reference entirely.
“Surely you must know some of your family history?”
Gaby hesitated. What was she going to do, tell this prince that her grandmother believed they came from ancient royalty? Well, she thought, why not?
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Rumor has it that I am the youngest descendant of an ancient royal line,” she said, her voice full of intrigue as she played it up.
Luca, however, wasn’t smiling. “You don’t believe that to be true,” he said.
Gaby’s playfulness died down as she sat back against her chair, which was oddly comfortable, considering it was made from hard wood and carved in an elaborate loopy design.
“Of course I don’t. If we were royalty, we wouldn’t be slumming it in New York scraping to get by hawking pasta and tiramisu. We’d be here, living like you.”
Luca leaned back in again. His eyes reflected the colors of the landscape around them, glittering emerald and deep gold. Gaby did her best not to fall into their depths.
“Just because you don’t have claim to your wealth now doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I created this ruse to get you here because I too believe that you might be the descendant of royalty, Gabriella.”
“That’s insane. You’re insane. There’s no way that could be true,” Gaby said, not wanting to hope. She had been let down a lot in her life, and now here was some spoiled prince who had duped her into flying to Florence just so he could see if she might be royal, too? What, was he short on friends or something?
Gaby moved to stand, but Luca placed his hand on hers, his eyes beseeching.
“Gabriella, please,” he said.
Gaby froze as she stared down at him. She, Gabriella Galtieri, was glaring down at a prince. What was her life right now?
“I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew that this was my plan, so I had Giorgio convince you it was for something else. Would you have come otherwise?”
“Of course not,” Gaby said. “I don’t buy into delusions of grandeur. I’m a realist.”
Just then the server returned with two plates of steaming hot food. The warm, aromatic smell was enough to sink Gaby back into her seat as a plate of breaded chicken with capers over a bed of linguini was placed before her. She tried not to drool at the smell of it. She tried not to evaluate the pasta to see how they had made it. Making pasta from scratch was one of Gaby’s specialties, and one she was testing with various new flavors back at Il Lupo.
“Thank you, Adriana,” Luca said, and the server nodded as she left. Luca turned back toward Gaby then, gesturing to their table. “Will you not at least enjoy one meal with me before you rush off?” he asked
Gaby hesitated for only a moment before she nodded, grabbing her napkin back up from the table.
Taking a sip of wine, she smiled. “This is delicious!” she said, swirling the liquid around in her glass and taking another sip.
Luca nodded, taking a sip from his own glass. “You like it? It is from our family’s vineyards, just there,” he said, pointing out towards an expansive plot teeming with grape plants.
Gaby picked up her fork and cut a piece of chicken, eating it with the fresh pasta. The fresh flavors exploded on her tongue, dancing over her palate. It was the best thing she had ever tasted—and that was saying something. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of eating on a balcony in Florence… with a prince.
That reminder had her opening her eyes to find him staring at her. Quickly he looked away.
“My grandmother is convinced that what you say is true,” Gaby said, taking a sip of water.
“She has good reason to be. Gabriella, it is entirely possible that you could be of noble birth, and have never known it all your life. We might have more in common than we realize.”
Gaby frowned, setting her fork down. “What are you trying to say? That where you are now is better than where I am? That you’re better than me just because of the family you were born into?” Her tone was harsh, offended.
Luca put up his hands. “No, not at all…”
“But the thought of associating with someone who has worked hard to put food on the table and pay for an education rather than having it handed to them is just too much for a royal like you, is that it?”
Luca’s expression was a twisted combination of guilt and pensiveness as he clearly tried to find a way to lie himself out of that truth.
That was enough for Gaby. She pulled her cloth napkin from her lap and set it on the table.
“Thank you for the opportunity to see Italy, Mr. Campania—is that what they call you? Anyway, you have a nice life. I’m going home now.”
As Gaby stood to leave, another man walked in wearing a neat suit. He approached Luca after nodding politely to Gaby.
“Sir,” he said in perfect English. “I’m afraid there has been some trouble with the jet. A major engine component has failed and will not be replaced for two days at least.”
Hearing this, Gaby’s heart sank. Here she was, trapped with a spoiled snob of a prince, when her family needed her to help with the approaching Christmas season. She frowned as Luca rose and stood in front of her.
“Gaby, I am sorry, but I’m afraid there is no way we can get you back to America at this point.”
Gaby squared her shoulders. She might not have been worldly, but she was resourceful. “That’s just fine. If you would provide transport to the nearest airport, I will fly commercial.”
“Commercial? Are you serious?”
Luca’s aghast expression was almost enough to make Gaby laugh, if it wasn’t so maddening. So he was too good to sit on a plane with other people? Was he really so high and mighty? How out of touch could a person get? Seeing her expression, Luca changed tact.
“I’m sorry, that was the wrong thing to say, but Gabriella, you are in Florence—the homeland of your family! Please, you don’t have to listen to anything I have to say about your lineage, but will you consider staying with us for a few days and exploring this wonderful country? It’s the least I can do after this mess I’ve made.”
The Prince’s expression was full of remorse. Gaby stared up into his eyes, s
earching for the lie. There was one in there—she could see it, but it was small. He truly wanted her to stay.
Gaby considered. Her nonna would be devastated if she found out her youngest grandchild had had a chance to explore her homeland and turned it down, all because of the company offering it.
She sighed. “Two days, and then the plane will be ready?”
“That’s what they’re saying,” Luca replied with a small grin.
It was obvious that Luca was used to getting his way. Gaby almost turned her back on him just to prove that he couldn’t always win, but her own motivations stopped her.
She would experience the best Italy had to offer, and that was that. The fact that she had to spend that time with Luca was an unfortunate circumstance, but she would simply have to make the best of it.
She gazed out at the rolling hills and fields again, and took a breath. “Very well. I suppose I’ll have to stay, won’t I?”
EIGHT
Luca gestured to their table and unfinished meal, and Gaby sat back down, replacing her napkin on her lap and taking another succulent bite of chicken and pasta. The sauce was divinity itself, and she tried not to look too obvious as she scooped up as much of it as she could with her last forkful of chicken.
She looked at Luca, who was taking a sip of wine as he gazed out at the hills surrounding them.
“So, how long have you lived here?” she asked, not sure what else one said to a prince. How could they make small talk? They were from two very different worlds.
Or are we? she thought, then. Could what Luca said be true? Could she really be a princess, raised as a pauper?
No. Gaby gave herself a mental shake. She was too old to believe in fairy tales.
Luca sat back as their server returned and took their plates before heading back inside the villa. “My family has owned this land for at least seven generations, likely more, but that’s the first documentation we have.”
Gaby grinned. “So you don’t get out much?”
Luca laughed. “On the contrary, actually. I get out far too much. My parents are quite unhappy about the amount of time I spend away from home, so I’m working on becoming more of a homebody these days.”
“Where would you go?” Gaby asked.
Luca waved his hand dismissively. “Oh here and there. Mostly around the continent, but I spent a lot of time in England recently as well, enjoying the entertainments of London.”
“And how come I’ve never heard of you?” Gaby asked.
The server returned with two small bowls of a steaming bread pudding, drenched in chocolate, and two small espresso cups. Gaby reached for a spoon and dug in, the pastry and chocolate melting in her mouth.
“How many royals have you heard about lately? It’s not like we’re in the news for invading countries and forming alliances anymore. Now it’s all who wore what to which gala and who’s dating who. Much like celebrities in America, from what I understand.”
“So you’re just like a rich kid celebrity?”
“I suppose, but when you put it that way it sounds so meaningless.”
“Do you think your life has meaning?”
Luca stared at her, blinking. Clearly, she had stunned him with such a question, and Gaby fought hard not to laugh. It was fun, surprising the Prince of Campania, and his face was stunning even when he was taken off guard.
“I would like to think my life has meaning,” he said finally, toying with his dessert without taking a bite.
Gaby, meanwhile, had finished hers and was pouring another glass of wine. When in Rome, right? Or Florence. Whatever.
“But you don’t,” she observed, watching him carefully.
For all his confidence and arrogance, Gaby could see in that moment that so much of the Prince’s bravado was a display—a show for the world to save face for a man who had likely been judged and photographed and criticized his entire life.
Luca sighed, and for the first time looked weary. “I haven’t been the best version of myself in these past few years, no.”
“Why is that?” Gaby asked.
Luca shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I suppose it’s because I long for a freedom I am often denied. Yes, wealth does bring about a lot of freedom. Like you so astutely pointed out, I do not have to worry about food or shelter or electricity like many people do—but my cage is gilded. I have a persona that I must put on, duties and expectations of a prince of Italy. I was born as a figurehead, forced to behave one way and one way only, lest I become an international embarrassment to my country and my family. This burden has led me to sort of…lash out against it all.”
“Like what? You just go out and party? I had a friend with really strict parents who did that, once. She ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.”
“Yes, well. It didn’t get quite as bad as all that,” Luca said, clearing his throat and taking a small bite of his dessert before putting his spoon down, signaling an end to that particular conversation. “Well, now that you’re here for a couple of days, I would be a terrible host if I didn’t show you around. Would you like a tour of the grounds, Gabriella?”
Gaby smiled, excited to stretch her legs a bit. She’d been sitting down for a very long time.
“I’d love to,” she said, rising and joining Luca as the server arrived to clean up the table.
They reentered the mansion and Luca showed Gaby several large rooms, all painted in pastels with white trim along the edges. One room had a grand piano and a stone fireplace with several sofas and a small wet bar in a corner.
“This is where my parents used to have their parties in the seventies and eighties,” Luca said as they passed by.
Gaby’s eyes were wide as she took it all in. She tried to imagine what it would be like living there as Luca led her down a narrow staircase to a huge home theater. Rows of reclining seats faced a large screen, and the walls were draped in red curtains, like an old timey theater. Gaby was sorely tempted to plop down on one of the seats and ask to veg out to old movies for the rest of the afternoon. She was exhausted after the overnight flight; only her burning sense of intrigue carried her forward.
Luca showed her an indoor swimming pool, a glittering ballroom and an imposing dining room before they finally headed for the kitchens, at Gaby’s request.
“You really want to see the kitchens? Why?” Luca asked, bewildered.
Gaby shrugged. “I’m a cook. Plus, I can only imagine the vast size of the place, and I want to be amazed.”
Luca smiled. “Are you not already amazed?”
“A house can be defined by the state of its kitchen,” Gaby said, and Luca chuckled.
“Very well,” he agreed as he led her down a corridor that was far plainer than the rest of the estate.
When they entered the kitchen, Gaby found it to be a warm and comfortable place, with long wooden cutting block tables and several ovens and fridges.
“Generally I think they only use a few of the refrigerators and ovens when it’s just me in residence. Everything else gets fired up only if there’s a charity event or gala being held here. It happens from time to time, but mostly I like to keep the public outside of my home.”
“I could understand that,” Gaby said softly.
Luca ran a hand along one of the countertops. “I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you about the kitchen. I spent a lot of time here as a child begging for cookies, but other than that I tend to eat elsewhere.”
Gaby spotted an elderly cook and a few kitchen assistants working on some pastries in the far corner of the kitchen. She strolled over to them, ignoring Luca’s stunned expression.
“Buongiorno,” Gaby said with a smile.
The older woman looked up from kneading her dough. Her eyes were yellowed with age, but there was a keen intelligence in them.
Gaby struggled to communicate with her, wanting to thank her for the beautiful lunch. “Grazie para…” she moved her hands under her arm pits and made chicken sounds.
<
br /> Behind her, Gaby heard Luca burst out laughing. The cook gazed over at him with a puzzled expression until he spoke to her in Italian, and she smiled at Gaby.
“You’re…welcome,” she said in broken English.
The two grinned at one another, one chef to another, before Gaby waved goodbye and Luca led the way back out of the kitchen.
“That was very kind of you,” he said, his voice filled with awe.
“What was?” Gaby asked.
“Taking the time to thank the chef like that. She’s a good woman, and I know she appreciates the praise.”