“We’re about to meet an icon.”
Claire Peyton’s gaze slipped past her personal assistant, Karen Hutchinson, to survey the scene outside the car window. “Either that, Karen, or the husband of one. More likely the latter.”
Their plane had touched down two days earlier, but Claire hadn’t quite adjusted to the fact that she now lived in the tiny, wealthy southern European country of San Rimini rather than the eclectic Kololo neighborhood of Kampala.
Claire turned her focus to the road, making note of the route the driver followed from the embassy to the palace, but not before gesturing toward banners on the front of a museum proclaiming the return of Aletta: The Exhibition, after several years on tour. The blues and purples of the setting sun reflected in the building’s glass windows, lending it an ethereal quality.
It seemed appropriate, given the subject of the exhibition: a collection of gowns, jewelry, and other items owned by San Rimini’s late queen.
“I’m not so sure,” Karen replied. “How many of these tourists will send home souvenirs with images of Queen Aletta, do you think, versus images of the king or his children? King Eduardo has a certain magnetism that’s hard to ignore.”
“I’d choose anything showing the scenery, myself. It’s phenomenal.”
Karen made a noise of agreement, then they fell silent, taking in the view.
The glittering strip of casinos and restaurants lining the Strada il Teatro, the long thoroughfare that paralleled San Rimini Bay and the Adriatic Sea beyond, seemed as if it couldn’t possibly exist on the same planet as the streets of central Kampala. In Kampala, boda-bodas zipped in and out of rush hour traffic, the riders seemingly oblivious to the risks of their patched-together motorbikes and the chaos that surrounded them. Students, office workers, and sidewalk vendors crammed the sidewalks and occasionally zigzagged through traffic. The sound of car horns was constant.
Here, however, expensive cars crept along the boulevard or idled curbside, discharging passengers in front of the casinos. Couples in evening wear strolled from their hotels toward the Royal Theater, where the marquee announced the evening performance of La Traviata. Not far from the theater, the high dome of San Rimini’s national cathedral, the Duomo, rose to dominate the hillside.
Old World charm and romance permeated the district, like a fairy tale come to life.
Claire flashed on a memory from when she was fourteen or fifteen years old. She and her friends had gathered around the television in her parents’ living room as the future king of San Rimini married Lady Aletta Masciaretti. They’d practically left drool spots on the carpet when Eduardo winked at his bride while slipping the ring on her finger, and Aletta had tried to hide a grin. Claire found it surreal that she’d be face-to-face with King Eduardo diTalora in less than an hour, at the formal ceremony to present her diplomatic credentials.
She tried to tell herself that as popular as His Highness might be, his late wife was the one with true icon status. Libraries, schools, and a wing of the Royal Memorial Hospital were named after Queen Aletta.
Claire was simply in the country for as long as the President desired, to represent the United States and its interests to the best of her ability. To do that, she had to remain focused on the king’s position as a politician and as the face of his wealthy country, not on his celebrity status or the way she and her friends had mooned over him as they watched his wedding all those years ago.
The car eased past a knot of well-dressed tourists who stood at the curb waiting for the light. Several carried purchases from trendy boutiques, while others held bags bearing the logo of the country’s seaside aquarium. Finally, the driver reached their turn, then threaded his way along the narrow cobblestoned side streets, following the arrows pointing to La Rocca.
“La Rocca di Zaffiro,” Karen said, glancing at the sign. “The Sapphire Rock.”
“I spent a good chunk of last night reading about its history,” Claire said. “The oldest remaining section, the keep, was built at the beginning of the First Crusade to keep watch over the bay. The stone was chosen to blend into the landscape and make it difficult to spot from the water. But when the keep was expanded, a trick of the light at certain times of the day caused the new stone to appear bright blue from the water below.”
“I wondered how it got its name. I’d never thought of it as being blue.” She craned her neck, but there was no way to see the palace from their position.
“Most of the current palace was built in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries with a gray stone that looks nothing like the original. But apparently, if you look down on the keep from up in the mountains, you can still see hints of the blue.”
“Two minutes to the gate,” the driver said, twisting so he could be heard in the back seat.
Claire thanked him. Showtime.
Without being asked, Karen held out a compact so Claire could do a quick check of her makeup. Spotting a smudge at the edge of one dark brown eye, she used her pinky to swipe at her eyeliner, then, satisfied, she returned the compact. She adjusted the fabric of her red silk skirt to keep it from wrinkling before their arrival, then checked to ensure the looped buttons down the front of her white silk top remained firmly closed.
No, this was nothing like living in Uganda. She ran a hand over her hair one final time, making sure no strands protruded from the sides of her short cut, then took a deep breath.
As if reading her mind, Karen said, “Your job here will be different than it has been the last five years. You’ll actually need to use hairspray and wear formal gowns more than once or twice a year. You’ll be working with both the royal family and with parliament.”
Claire couldn’t quite hide her smile. She always tried to look professional, but she couldn’t remember being as concerned with her appearance during her time in Africa. Of course, the cameras hadn’t been on her as frequently then, whereas paparazzi were part of the San Riminian landscape. “I had a few gowns shipped from my storage locker in the States. They should arrive in a few days. I just hope I can be as effective here as I was in Uganda. The work we needed to do there was more apparent.”
“You can. You have an impeccable reputation and the weight of the U.S. government behind you. And you’re you. No one stands in the way of Ambassador Claire Peyton.”
Claire smiled. Karen always knew the right thing to say. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
Karen raised her hand, palm out. “Voice of truth.”
The car rolled to a stop outside a massive pair of wrought iron gates. After a uniformed guard walked around the vehicle to inspect it, then spoke with the driver, he nodded to another guard. The gates opened, allowing them to enter the palace grounds. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they skirted the edge of a large garden, then circled to the palace’s rear entrance.
As the driver opened the door for them, a lean woman with light brown, shoulder-length hair approached from the wide stone staircase. Her chic beige dress and the confidence with which she walked would have identified her as being a member of the royal family, even if her familiar face didn’t.
"Madam Ambassador," the young woman greeted Claire in clear, American English that hearkened to her upbringing outside Washington, D.C. She smiled first at Claire, then at Karen. “I’m Amanda diTalora. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to San Rimini. My husband, Prince Marco, looks forward to meeting you when you present your credentials to King Eduardo tonight."
“I look forward to meeting Prince Marco, as well.” She gestured to her right. “This is Karen Hutchinson, my personal assistant.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hutchinson. If you’ll accompany me, I’d consider it an honor to give you a quick tour of the palace’s public areas before dinner begins.”
Claire thanked Amanda, and as she lifted the hem of her long silk skirt to clear the stone steps, she added, “I hope I’m not keeping you from getting ready for dinner. I was told the attire is formal.”
“It is, but I
can change quite quickly.” She gestured toward a group of palace employees gathered nearby and said, “The palace has a large staff who basically run my life so I don’t have to. My gown and shoes are being laid out for me as we speak. All I have to do is put my arms and legs in the proper spots.”
Amanda dropped her voice so only Claire and Karen could hear. “It takes some getting used to. I worked with children of dignitaries before I married Prince Marco, so even though I spent a great deal of time around wealth, I lived in a tiny studio apartment near Dupont Circle and barely had two dimes to rub together. I considered ramen noodles and tomato soup to be major food groups.”
Claire shot Amanda an understanding smile. “You can’t imagine how familiar that sounds. When I was in college in New Mexico, word spread like lightning whenever the local grocery had a sale on ramen. I lived on the stuff—well, that and cans of tuna. I hate to think how much sodium I consumed. By the time I moved to Georgetown for graduate school, I was so sick of ramen that I agreed to move into a three-bedroom apartment with five other people. I chose food over privacy.”
“Ouch. Georgetown is wonderful, but it’s a challenge living there on a student budget.”
Amanda took her time guiding Claire and Karen through La Rocca’s first floor, stopping to point out each of the historically important rooms and showing the best way to the king’s official office, since Claire would likely visit during her tenure. Her manner made Claire instantly comfortable. She suspected that Amanda’s easy ability to connect with others explained why she’d become popular with the people of San Rimini, despite being an American.
As they circled back toward the Imperial Ballroom, where the dinner and reception would soon begin, a man wearing a tailored black suit and understated gray tie approached and asked for a moment with Claire to discuss business.
Amanda nodded, then checked her watch and acknowledged that it was time for her to prepare for dinner. To Claire, she explained, “Sergio Ribisi is King Eduardo’s top political advisor. I’ll allow him to introduce himself, then he’ll cover the program for the evening and escort you to the ballroom. I will see you there shortly.”
Claire thanked Amanda for taking the time to show her around the palace. Sergio Ribisi shook both Claire and Karen’s hands as they made their introductions. To Claire, he said, “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to San Rimini, Madam Ambassador. I expect we will continue the strong relationship Ambassador Cartwright worked to build between our two countries. He was quite popular both here and in parliament. He spoke highly of you.”
She thanked him for the compliment while Karen took the opportunity to walk to a window a discreet distance down the hall, taking in the view of the garden so Claire could speak to the king’s advisor in private.
“How may I help you, Signore Ribisi?”
“Please, call me Sergio.”
“Sergio, then. You said you wished to discuss business?”
“Yes, though I’d like to run through the evening's schedule with you first.” The rail-thin man proceeded to tick off the order of events for the evening. Everything coincided with the briefing Karen had given her earlier.
As Sergio spoke, Claire studied his face. There were a few lines at the corners of his mouth, as if he held his stress in his jaw. But his eyes were bright, his teeth white and straight, and he had a full head of thick, jet black hair. He was around thirty-five, if she had to guess. She wondered how long he’d been working for the king. He was young to be in the innermost of King Eduardo’s circles.
“That sounds straightforward,” she said as he wrapped up. “Was there something else?”
“Yes, Madam Ambassador.” He hesitated a beat, then said, “Before you arrived, your office sent a letter to mine outlining the issues that you hope to address during your first days here. While most of the items involve furthering diplomatic initiatives discussed by your predecessor and King Eduardo, there was one new item you mentioned that I’d like to discuss.”
Claire knew what was coming. She kept a polite smile on her face despite the wave of disappointment that rose in her.
“While you were in Uganda, you worked with the government to institute a regional education program directed at disadvantaged children. It’s my understanding that you brought in teachers from the United States, and then from several other nations to work with children.”
“That’s the core of the program, yes. It started in Uganda but has since expanded to neighborhoods in need in Tanzania, Rwanda, and Burundi. My successor plans to continue the program. It’s my belief—and the President’s—that when children from rural or poor areas have access to the same educational resources as children in larger urban areas, they’re better able to contribute to their economies once they leave school. They aspire to careers once considered beyond their reach. Perhaps in finance, the law, or medicine. We’d even like to see some of those children come back and teach in the program themselves.”
“I read the summary report, which was impressive. You’ve built solid partnerships. You noted in your letter that you planned to continue your support of the program to the extent feasible in your new role here, and that you hoped to discuss the matter with King Eduardo.”
Claire chose her words carefully. “San Rimini has an excellent education system and a tradition of providing assistance to its neighbors. I believe involvement in this program could be of great benefit. Even if I had remained in my post in Uganda, I would eventually have contacted your government regarding a potential partnership. Austria and Italy are already contributing funding and sending teachers.”
“Yes, your letter mentioned that.” The young man straightened slightly, as if needing to shore up his courage before speaking further. “The king has looked into it, and while he does see the long-term benefits of the program, he doesn’t feel it’s feasible for San Rimini to offer their financial support or to supply teachers at this time. I wanted to let you know before the ceremony tonight—”
“So I won’t lobby the king over dinner?” Claire said, raising an eyebrow. “Without his support, it’s unlikely to get far with parliament.”
“Yes.”
“In other words, he doesn’t want to say no in a public place, while the cameras are watching.”
Claire assessed the man’s silent reaction to her words. She wanted to argue, to explain that she had no intention of approaching the king tonight about any of her proposals, let alone about the education program, but sensed this wasn’t the proper moment, nor the proper person.
She smiled, but it was a cold smile. “Thank you, Sergio. I’ll take that under advisement.”
Chapter 2
Sergio Ribisi blinked, apparently debating whether that meant Claire would keep the topic closed. Before he could argue further, she added, “I’m sure that in the years to come, we will discuss a number of programs beneficial to both our countries. My assistant, Karen, has my trust and a solid understanding of the issues. You can contact her for any reason and know it will get to me or to the appropriate person on my staff.”
Karen appeared at Claire’s side at the same time that voices rose down the hall, in the direction Amanda had been leading them. Sergio took the hint and extended his arm in the direction of the Imperial Ballroom. “I believe it’s time to join the party. Shall we?”
As they strode toward the rotunda that fronted the ballroom, Claire tried to stifle her irritation that King Eduardo had dismissed her idea without bothering to discuss it with her himself. The rural education program was the greatest humanitarian achievement of her time in Uganda. She was certain its success was the primary reason the President appointed her to the coveted post in San Rimini. He’d run on a platform of improving the world economy through education and diplomacy whenever possible, rather than through strong-arm trade tactics. The program meant too much to Claire—and to the new President—for her to allow a potential new partner to walk away without giving the plan their full consideration.
The tinkle of
glassware reached Claire’s ears. They turned a corner and saw guests being shepherded from the rotunda into the ballroom. Opposite the ballroom doors, a grand staircase descended into the rotunda. A guard stood discreetly near the base, while two others occupied positions at the top. She wondered if the stairs led to the family’s private apartments.
Sergio paused. “His Highness will join us here momentarily.”
She nodded. The plan was for Claire to enter the ballroom alongside the king, then walk to the low dais at the front of the room, where they would be seated for dinner. King Eduardo would be at the center of the table, with Claire to one side. Prince Antony, the eldest of the king’s four children, would be on Claire’s other side. The current head of parliament and San Rimini’s foreign minister would also be seated at the front of the room.
“Thank you, Sergio,” Claire said. “I expect it will be a memorable evening.”
“I expect so, Madam Ambassador.” As he uttered the words, Sergio’s gaze slid toward a side door. A large man entered the hallway. He was obviously security, though his suit was as well-tailored as any guest’s. The king followed behind him. When he caught sight of Claire, his smile was practiced, but warm.
Sergio bowed his head slightly as the king approached. “Your Highness, may I present the Honorable Claire Peyton, the Ambassador of the United States. Madam Ambassador, may I introduce His Highness, King Eduardo of San Rimini.”
Claire shook the king’s hand as his political advisor moved to the side. She introduced Karen, who greeted the king before accompanying Sergio into the ballroom. Once Claire and the king were alone with his guard, she said, “La Rocca is beautiful, Your Highness. It’s an honor to present my credentials at such an event.”
In Uganda, she’d met the President in his office, presented her credentials to the President and Uganda’s foreign minister, then posed for a few pictures. She’d worn a professional suit and heels, given a couple quotes to Kampala’s news outlets, and had been back at the embassy to begin her role that same day.
To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6) Page 2