He extended his elbow toward her. “Would you care to dance?”
So he had said it. Clearly, she had a lot to learn about how things worked in San Rimini.
“I’d be honored.”
His mouth rose into an odd half-smile as she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the center of the room, where most of the other guests now spun under the crystal chandeliers.
It made sense, she supposed. Usually the host at events like this would dance with the guest of honor or the guest's spouse. But somehow, it'd never crossed her mind that she was expected to dance with the king. Karen had never mentioned it. Nor had Sergio Ribisi when he ran over the schedule of events with her, and he’d been quite detailed.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if her family would read about this tomorrow. They'd always been proud of her and knew she worked hard at her job, but this was the first time she'd been around the glitterati of southern Europe, let alone royalty, and she knew her parents would find the press coverage exciting.
Claire smiled to herself, amused at the track her mind had taken out of self-defense. Focusing on her family kept her attention off what she was actually doing: dancing with a king. A very handsome, technically eligible king. One with bright blue eyes, a warmer personality than she'd expected, and a smile that could enthrall an entire room—and would do so whether or not he was king.
But he was a king, one she'd have to negotiate with on a regular basis over the coming months and years. One who could stand between her and her goals…or give those goals wings.
He turned her gently, then rested one hand on her lower back and guided her around the floor. His steps were smooth and sure, and she wondered how much time he'd spent as a child learning to handle formal events—how to dance, what to say, how to eat—in a manner appropriate for a king.
“I’m now convinced the Out of Africa choice was entirely coincidental,” Eduardo said, slipping a look in the direction of the musicians. “This song has no deep meaning whatsoever. It’s a number. Composition number five or nine or some such. I’m certain I had to identify it for a music teacher when I was younger, but I’ve conveniently allowed that knowledge to drift away.”
“I can’t identify it at all, so you’re ahead of me.”
She expected him to continue engaging in pleasantries. Instead, a quick grimace flashed across his face. “You weren't going to ask me to dance, were you, Madam Ambassador?"
“No, I wasn’t.” She surprised herself by her candid answer, at the same time she was embarrassed by the fact he'd made that assumption, then invited her onto the dance floor himself to save her from making a faux pas. “And…I suspect I just made this awkward.”
His laugh was quick and genuine. “In addressing it, you just removed the awkwardness. Well done.”
“I’m a diplomat. It’s what I do. At least if I do my job correctly.”
“I see.” They took a few more steps around the center of the floor before he asked, “Then what were you planning to ask that you felt would be a breach of etiquette?”
She took a moment to consider her words as they spun closer to Antony and Jennifer, then away again, nearer to one of the king's security guards, who moved along the periphery of the dancing area, discreetly watching the crowd. “I know we're not here to talk specifics on politics and policy—”
“True.”
"But I wanted to ask you about something your advisor, Sergio Ribisi, mentioned to me earlier this evening.”
The soft lines of his forehead deepened a notch. “Did he say something to offend you?”
“No, but he did catch me off guard.” She met the king's curious gaze. “I wasn't expecting to be told which matters I should or should not speak to you about this evening.”
He took a moment to process that. “You're referring to the education program you worked on in Uganda?”
“Yes.”
They quieted momentarily as a palace photographer came close for a picture. When she retreated, Claire said, “Your Highness, I didn't intend to discuss the plan—or anything policy-related—in detail tonight. Tonight is about the ceremony itself and the opportunity for me to meet you and some of the key personnel on your staff and in parliament. It’s also a chance for your government officials to evaluate what kind of ambassador I'll be and how we might best work together.”
“Then I fear it is I who have offended you, rather than Sergio.”
“Not at all, Your Highness. Slighted, perhaps, but I’m not one to take offense when none was intended.”
She angled her head for a better look at him. The king was taller than she’d expected, and she was in heels. “However, when we have our first official meetings, I would like to discuss the education program, along with other social and economic policy initiatives that are relevant to San Rimini. Our countries have a long history of cooperation, and I believe that working together on these projects will only deepen the relationship between us.”
The relationship between our countries, she clarified in her head. Next time, she'd be more careful in her phrasing.
“I’m sure we will find our points of agreement, Madam Ambassador.”
His hand shifted slightly against her lower back, but the spot where his hand had been remained warm from his touch. Claire had danced with foreign officials more than once, but for some reason, dancing with King Eduardo felt different. There was a gravitas to the moment she wasn’t certain how to interpret.
“Have you moved into the ambassador's residence?”
“Next week. Ambassador Cartwright’s belongings are scheduled to ship out the day after tomorrow.”
“And after that, I assume it will be cleaned and a fresh security sweep conducted?”
“That’s the routine. My belongings are still in transit from Uganda, so there’s no rush.”
“You'll find the diplomatic community here is very tight-knit. Most embassies are within a few blocks of each other, as are the ambassadors’ residences. Richard Cartwright loved the sense of camaraderie that created. He also mentioned on more than one occasion how much he'd miss the house itself. He’d put off retirement for several years longer than he originally planned in order to accept the position in San Rimini, despite the fact his children and grandchildren are in California.”
“I wasn’t in town in time for the farewell party at the residence, but I understand it was quite the event. He told me that leaving after such an incredible night was bittersweet.”
Eduardo smiled at that. “I didn’t attend, but my daughter, Isabella, was there. He told her the same thing.”
The music grew louder for a moment as the song reached its crescendo. The king waited for the volume to drop, then said, “Isabella hadn’t been inside the residence since before its renovation. She tells me it was beautifully done.”
“It was. Ambassador Cartwright gave me a tour and showed me several 'before' pictures. It’s stunning what was accomplished. The architect and construction crew took care to honor the home’s history. They brought the plumbing and electrical systems to modern standards, but used period fixtures. When you walk through, it feels as if you’re inside the original home.”
“It’s one of the oldest in the area, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “It was built by a shipping company owner in the early seventeenth century. His great-great-grandson had no children, so he willed it to a teacher, who opened a school for girls in the late 1700s. She lived on the top floor and the girls lived below. It operated out of the home for nearly a hundred years, when other facilities became available and the school was shuttered. A decade or so later, it was purchased by the U.S. government and refurbished. This was its first major renovation since then. I’m looking forward to exploring its nooks and crannies. Who knows what secrets it holds?”
The king laughed, which drew the attention of several people nearby. Claire was surprised that it sounded so...so human. It wasn't the laugh of a celebrity who knew his every w
ord and utterance was being scrutinized. Rather, it was the type of laugh one heard between friends. One of appreciation.
In the time since he’d greeted her in the rotunda, he’d lost the gloss of self-awareness. Given his position, it was likely temporary, but she liked seeing him this way.
“In that case, I have a feeling you'll enjoy the home for different reasons than Ambassador Cartwright did. I believe he valued its location more than anything else. It’s close to the Strada il Teatro and the nightlife.”
“I understand the allure of the theater, but I’m a terrible gambler. The ability to walk to a casino is wasted on me.”
“No one could be in your position without gambling skills. But I do agree with you about the home. I’ve always had a fondness for old books and the collection in the ambassador's residence is impressive.” A sparkle—either from amusement, or from the chandeliers overhead—lit the king's eyes. “I suspect you’re the type who enjoys a good book.”
“I am. I’m looking forward to seeing what's on the shelves.” His hand shifted on her back, sending another zing of heat along her spine and distracting her, though she recovered enough to say, “It sounds as if you’re familiar with the home's interior.”
“I attended a dinner party there shortly after Ambassador Cartwright came to San Rimini, and we met in the library on a few occasions. It was easier than meeting at the embassy or here in the palace if we had sensitive issues to discuss. I haven’t seen it since the renovation, though.”
She tried to focus on his words, rather than on the way his rich voice and San Riminian accent wrapped around her. Unfortunately, that didn’t help. She was left with a mental picture of King Eduardo sitting near the fireplace in what was now her library, his feet on the plush ottoman, chatting about the issues of the day. She wondered if he’d be more relaxed outside the palace, away from public scrutiny.
The song was nearing its end, so she took her shot. “In that case, you’ll have to come see it and let me know what you think of the changes. Perhaps when we meet to discuss our mutual goals.”
“I would like that.” She felt the seriousness descend over him before he continued speaking. “I did take a few minutes to look into your education program. I admire its success. However, I don't believe it's feasible for San Rimini to participate at this time.”
Another couple moved within hearing distance. She waited until she was certain they weren’t listening to speak. “I appreciate your candor. However, would you at least allow me the opportunity to present it to you myself? It deserves more than a few minutes' consideration. The President would appreciate it if you heard me out, whether or not you decide to support it.”
The music slowed, the song fading as another began. The king guided her off the dance floor and toward the tables. A man in his mid-thirties wearing a navy suit and sky blue tie approached, his manner one of someone with information to share. Before Eduardo took his leave, however, he turned to Claire. “I’ll consider it, Madam Ambassador. And thank you for not asking me to dance.”
He delivered the last bit with a quick wink that caught Claire by surprise. Before she could respond, the king was pulled aside, then steered toward a group standing near the door that included two high-ranking members of parliament. No doubt some pressing issue had arisen, though Claire suspected it was no emergency. The king didn’t appear as if he needed to leave.
“That was interesting.” Karen materialized at Claire's side. She carried a glass of sparkling water in each hand and offered one to Claire. “I was told the king rarely dances at these events. You must be working your magic."
A laugh escaped Claire as she accepted the glass. “More like courting disaster. He asked me to dance because he misunderstood something I said.”
Karen’s mouth twisted. “Is that good or bad?”
“I’m not certain yet.” She glanced toward the king and noticed that his discussion was already breaking up.
“The good-looking guy with the light blue tie and dark hair is the king’s liaison to the defense ministry,” Karen said, her gaze following Claire’s. “There was a traffic accident in front of one of the casinos on the Strada il Teatro. Parliament and the king are briefed whenever something like that occurs in a key location so they know that it was truly an accident, rather than a terrorist threat.”
“Must have been bad.”
“Apparently a driver braked hard for a pedestrian, which caused a series of rear-end crashes. No serious injuries that I’ve heard of, but it shut down the road and sidewalk for several blocks. We’ll have to take a different route back.”
Claire took a long sip of her drink, grateful for a break in the evening's events. As much as she enjoyed her job, she wasn't used to socializing on the level that would be required of her now that she was in San Rimini. Her head was starting to throb.
“I was approached by two of King Eduardo's economic advisers," Karen said. “They asked for a meeting with you, preferably in the next two to three weeks, so you can discuss the trade initiatives Rich Cartwright was working on. I told them that I’m happy to make arrangements, but didn’t commit to a date. Since you were dancing with His Highness at the time and it looked like the two of you were having quite the conversation, I’d hoped—”
If there hadn’t been people watching, Claire would have scowled. “You’d hoped what?”
“I’d like to leave some free time in your calendar, in case you do get a chance to present your education program.” A wicked glint entered her eye. “You lobbied him while you were dancing, didn't you?”
“I told him I’d appreciate the opportunity to present it before having it dismissed out of hand. Don't hold your breath, though. As much as I want his support, it isn’t our only matter of business. If other meetings can be arranged, go ahead.”
“Understood.”
Claire shot a look toward the king and realized he was looking at her, too. His brilliant blue eyes locked with hers, and she fought the urge to turn away and pretend she hadn't seen him watching her.
“On second thought, maybe I should leave a spot or two open,” Karen said, hiding her words behind the glass she held to her lips. “You keep working your magic.”
“It's business, Karen. Don't even think about hinting otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Madam Ambassador.”
“This from the same woman who used the phrase ‘good looking’ to describe a defense ministry liaison before using ‘light blue tie’ or ‘dark hair.’”
“Good looking is a defining characteristic,” she protested.
“A blue tie is the same to everyone. Good looking is in the eye of the beholder.”
“In this case, it was accurate.”
A member of San Rimini’s state department approached and they moved to professional topics, but as Karen looked at Claire over the rim of her glass, a devilish smile remained in her eyes.
Chapter 4
Eduardo couldn’t believe he’d winked at Claire Peyton at the end of their dance. Not only was it inappropriate, it was the first overtly flirtatious thing he’d done in years. It hadn’t been calculated; he’d just done it.
He’d winked at an ambassador.
Thankfully, he’d been standing an angle that ensured no one else witnessed his lapse in judgment or he’d be hearing about it from his chief political advisor at this very moment.
Sergio occupied one of the two striped silk sofas opposite Eduardo's desk in the palace office. Eduardo sat behind the desk, leaning over its large mahogany work surface as he made his final edits on a speech he was scheduled to give that night at the War Museum of San Rimini. When he caught himself scribbling through a line with red pencil and simultaneously deciding it was perfect the way it was, he took off his reading glasses and looked up. He was used to working on speeches with Sergio in the room, but for some reason, the advisor’s presence distracted him today.
No, it was the wink that distracted him. He’d rather blame Sergio. Or Zeno. The
press secretary had been in and out of the office three times in the last forty minutes, checking on progress. The man was as single-minded as a lion stalking prey when it came to knowing the content of Eduardo’s speeches. But again, that was part of his routine.
Eduardo swore inwardly. Winking at the new ambassador was only part of the problem. He’d also offended her by having Sergio run interference on her education plan, even if she claimed not to have taken offense. Claire Peyton had been right: he should have heard her out before dismissing her plan entirely.
But he would dismiss it. Entirely. Last night’s accident on the Strada il Teatro was another reminder of the project’s importance. Three people had required ambulance transport following the initial crash, and a five-hundred-year-old building sustained damage when a driver behind the accident veered to avoid the smashed cars in front of him. It was a miracle no one on the sidewalk had been hit. It was a second miracle that all those injured had been released from the hospital before the sun rose.
On the other hand, the accident itself surprised no one. Too many pedestrians and too many drivers in a confined area made safety a constant concern. It was made worse because their attention was drawn from the roadway by the casino lights, the spires of the Duomo, and the panoramic view of San Rimini Bay.
Eduardo needed to get both the country’s political forces and its historical guardians on his side to accomplish his goal. Now was the time.
“Is something wrong, Your Highness?”
Eduardo shook his head, then pushed the speech across his desk. “I’ll go with this version. The section about my sworn duty to preserve our country’s history is better than in the original draft.”
Sergio picked up the paper, scanned it, then made a low murmur of approval. “Good thought. I’ll have Luisa make a clean copy for you and another for Zeno so he’s ready for any media questions tomorrow.”
“When you talk to Luisa, would you have her come in here, please?”
Sergio nodded, leaving the office with the speech in hand. Eduardo made a quick check of his phone messages, then typed a quick note to his daughter about a photo he saw from the school visit she and Nick had done the previous day. A moment later, Luisa entered, schedule in hand.
To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6) Page 4