Nor would he have smiled so broadly as he ran through the garden.
Eduardo closed the window and returned to his study. Perhaps it was time he moved on as well. Stop mentally living in the past, stop acting like the stoic widower, and start allowing himself to consider the possibilities—what would life be like if he let himself think outside the fishbowl existence of the royal palace?
He took a seat, squared the notecard in front of him, and—after yet another call to Luisa to update the order—he began to write.
Chapter 5
Claire turned off the faucet, dried her hands, then eyeballed the floor along the stalls to ensure she was alone in the restroom. Confident she finally had a moment of solitude, she braced her hands on either side of the sink and allowed her shoulders to sag.
She was nearly done for the day. At least, nearly done with embassy work. She’d had a total of seven meetings since breakfast, if one counted coffee and a slice of toast grabbed on the way out of the hotel as breakfast. There’d been a briefing on a joint project involving the United States Drug Enforcement Administration and San Rimini’s drug enforcement agency, discussions regarding several exchange programs, progress reports on American businesses that had been coordinating with the embassy on trade opportunities, and even a meeting with the embassy’s protocol officer, who was in charge of ensuring Claire’s public events went off without a hitch.
All the while, Claire had been internally repeating the names of staff members to help commit them to memory.
Tonight, she planned to put on her softest pajamas, curl up on the loveseat in her hotel room, and treat herself to a bottle of premium San Riminian wine. Then, she would sleep like a rock. She needed to. Tomorrow she was scheduled for a long session with John Oglethorpe, the Public Affairs Officer, for an introduction to the press office. After that, she would take possession of the ambassador’s residence. Rich Cartwright’s belongings had been packed and inspected and the moving crew would arrive at the crack of dawn to transport everything to California.
“Half an hour,” she told herself. She should only need thirty minutes with Karen to ensure her notes from this morning’s meetings were handled and the resulting tasks were logged in her calendar, then she could enjoy the wine and close her eyes.
The first weeks on a new job were always the hardest, she reminded herself. In this case, it was particularly challenging because the embassy maintained a sizable staff, nearly all of whom had come on board during Richard Cartwright’s tenure. It was natural for them to be skeptical of change and watch her every move to see what tone she would set.
“It’ll get easier,” she murmured to the mirror. She ran a hand over her hair, double-checked her teeth and lipstick, then made her way to her office. As she reached the doorway, a young man stood outside talking to Karen, his face partially blocked by the large plant he carried. The florist’s pail in which it grew had been printed with the colors of the San Riminian flag and was tied in a large white bow.
Karen heard her coming and spun. “Madam Ambassador, you have a gift.”
“I see.” She thanked the man and urged him to carry the pail inside. She cleared a section of her desk and—since he could hardly see around the plant—guided him as he set it down.
Once he’d departed, Karen said, “Well, there must be a story to this.”
“I can’t imagine what.” Claire leaned forward and looked at the leaves. “It’s an olive.”
“An olive? As in a tree?”
Claire glanced toward the hallway. There were several staff members within earshot, so she spoke in a voice modulated for Karen’s ears alone. “You once told me I need a shovel to do my job. Well, this time I really need a shovel.” A little louder, for those in the hall, she said, “I need to find a spot to plant this.”
“You do have a small yard at the residence.”
“I suppose I do. It will make a nice addition.” She circled the desk until she found the card. As she pulled it from the side of the florist’s pail, she said, “Who sent it?”
“It came from the palace.”
Karen’s voice was all business, but her back was to the door and she gave Claire a wide-eyed look of fake innocence.
“What a kind welcome,” Claire said, matching Karen’s official tone. She opened the card, then started laughing. She couldn’t help it.
“Madam Ambassador?”
Claire could hardly speak. She raised a hand until she finished reading. Once she gathered herself, she said, “It’s from King Eduardo. He says this is a Banduzzi olive, which is native to San Rimini. While Banduzzi olives are prized for their oil, they’re also served as table olives once cured.”
“You’re amused by a horticultural lesson?”
“Wildly,” she said with a grin. “He also notes that an olive is a sign of peace and he would be honored if I would attend an informal dinner at the palace this Saturday. He promises to have Banduzzi olives available, should I wish to taste one. I am also invited to present my ideas on education or any other topics I might wish to discuss.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not. I assume I’m clear on Saturday for a meeting with King Eduardo?”
Karen blinked. “Yes, of course. I’m supposed to pick up the keys to my new flat and sign the paperwork at five. I’m sure I can move it—”
“That’s all right. This looks like an invitation for one. Go get the keys to your flat.”
Karen frowned. “Are you sure? I can call King Eduardo’s office to clarify.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Karen hesitated a beat, then said, “You haven’t had the opportunity to meet him yet, but Mark Rosenburg manages the embassy’s education and culture programs. He’s in Atlanta touring Emory University and the Centers for Disease Control with a group of San Rimini’s public health students and won’t return until Monday. If King Eduardo agrees to support your program, Mark will be involved. I can’t imagine the king didn’t mean to include him.”
“I’ll contact him tonight to let him know about the invitation. Regardless of whether he was meant to be included, given the attitude of the king’s chief political advisor, we should strike while the iron’s hot. I’ll personally give Mark a full briefing when he returns, then loop him in on future meetings.”
At Karen’s nod, Claire continued, “Speaking of meetings, I want to go through today’s notes and update the calendar.”
For the next twenty minutes, they ran through summaries of the meetings Claire had attended over the course of the day, then discussed her upcoming schedule. As they spoke, the employees in the hallway gradually withdrew. Lights over desks were extinguished and computers shut down for the evening. Finally, Claire set aside her notepad and took a long drink of water. Her brain was fried. “Tell me we’re finished.”
“We are.”
“Thank goodness. Get a good night’s sleep, Karen. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Yes, and it’ll be a long one.”
Claire smiled as they both stood. “So you found a flat?”
“I did. No balcony and only this much sea view.” Karen held her hands shoulder width apart, palms facing each other. “But it’s only a fifteen-minute walk from here and the kitchen is glorious. San Rimini’s produce markets are supposed to be amazing. I plan to do a lot of cooking.”
“Funny, I plan to do a lot of eating.”
Karen’s smile widened for a moment, then her gaze went to the olive and she grew serious. No one was in earshot, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Ma’am, that was a handwritten card. From the king himself. It’s my understanding that he doesn’t do that often. I mean, he does for personal notes, but not for something like this, not anything official.”
“What are you saying?”
Karen hesitated.
“You can be frank, Karen. We’re alone.”
They’d worked together for years and Claire considered Karen a friend. Still, it took Karen several seconds to answer. “He w
ouldn’t have sent that card to Rich Cartwright.”
“We don’t know that.” She didn’t even need to gauge Karen’s reaction before she relented. “All right, we know that.”
“That dance was also out of character. It may have meant more than you think. Or more than you are willing to admit.”
“Well, I did ask you to be frank.”
“I’m sorry, Madam Ambassador—”
“No, don’t be.” She sighed. “I asked for your opinion because I value it, but I don’t think the handwritten note is because of the dance. I suspect it’s a San Riminian thing. Women are treated as equals here in regard to pay and opportunity, but the country still holds to Old World tradition when it comes to social niceties. Gifts and small kindnesses are considered the norm. Men still feel they should open doors for women. They take the outside position when walking on a sidewalk with a woman and at meals they wait for a woman to drink first.”
Karen glanced at the olive tree. “Sounds like you paid close attention during the protocol meeting today.”
“That I did.” She began to gather her belongings. “Let’s take this at face value. Send a response to the palace letting the king know that I’d be pleased to attend dinner on Saturday. Between now and then, I’ll work on a pitch. We know from Sergio Ribisi that the king is reluctant to back the project. What we don’t know is why. Let’s brainstorm different approaches. Look into educational programs he’s backed in the past and see where we can find commonalities. I’ll ask Mark Rosenburg for his thoughts when I talk to him.”
“Perfect.”
“Oh, and we need to find out if there’s a particular brand or type of alcohol the king prefers.”
Karen paused. “Getting him drunk is not an approach I’d recommend.”
“As a gift. Not a strategy.”
“I’ll have a bottle of something for you to present as a gift. I’ll find something traditionally American to accompany it.”
“Great.” Claire stopped. “On second thought, find out what he likes, then let me know. I might have an idea.”
“Will do.”
She followed Karen out of her office, then headed for the embassy exit. Over her shoulder, she said, “I mean it, Karen. Get some sleep.”
After she had a glass of wine and a few hours of lazing about in her pajamas, Claire promised herself she’d sleep, too. She’d earned it.
There was something about hearing the sound of his own footsteps on centuries-old stone that brought Eduardo peace.
By the time he reached the family crypt, his annoyance at the spectacle outside the Duomo walls had abated. The massive cathedral was as always: glorious, cavernous, and cool. It was also quiet, save for the muted sound of tourists whispering on the opposite side of the nave, where they’d gathered to enter a small chapel that contained paintings by Tintoretto and Raphael. Though the Duomo staff offered to close the building for an hour each year so Eduardo could make his visit in peace, he refused. Only the area surrounding the diTalora crypt would be roped off, and then only for as long as was required to complete his visit.
His chief of security, Chiara Ascardi, had once again told him that it would be easier to close the entire building.
“Next year, for the tenth,” he’d promised her. “The media will make it impossible for the tourists and worshippers to visit then, no matter what we do. But for now, I’d prefer to keep it open. Who knows if this is a tourist’s only chance to see the cathedral? I don’t want anyone who has plans to see the building to miss it.”
Now Chiara stood about twenty paces away, her back to him and her eyes sweeping the area to ensure no one approached. Other members of his security team blended into the background, acting as tourists or Duomo staff.
Eduardo lifted his chin and took in the sight of the stunning stained glass window over the crypt. “You would have loved the restoration work,” he whispered to Aletta. “The craftsmen hired for the project did an amazing job.”
Raising money to clean and restore the Duomo's windows, which had deteriorated thanks to centuries of grime, had been one of Aletta’s pet projects. Roughly half the required funds had been raised at the time of her death. In her honor, King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia of Sarcaccia had donated the remainder of the amount from their private holdings.
It was a gift he thought of each time he entered the sacred space. Aletta had been loved by millions of people who didn’t know her personally. But she’d been deeply loved by those who did, including Carlo and Fabrizia. Fabrizia, in particular, had become a mentor of sorts to Aletta after he and Aletta had become engaged, offering guidance on the challenges of living life in the public eye.
Eduardo smiled at the memory of Fabrizia and Aletta sitting together at the San Rimini Grand Prix. While he and Carlo had watched the drivers pick up speed along the straightaway where the royal box was located, the two queens sat with their heads together, trying to hold a conversation in spite of the noise from the engines and the crowd. It was shortly after Aletta had given birth to Antony, their eldest child, and it was the first time she’d left him to attend a public event.
Fabrizia had been the perfect person to accompany his wife that day.
Eduardo tore his gaze from the windows, then knelt to lay the white roses he carried atop the stone that honored his wife.
Ten minutes later, he stood just inside the cathedral’s massive front doors, waiting for Chiara’s signal that his car was waiting outside and all was secure. At her nod, he exited to a cacophony of cameras and reporters. He maintained a sober expression, as was befitting the occasion, and mentally tamped down his irritation at having to speak.
Ignoring the shouted questions, he said, “Thank you for coming. Queen Aletta would have been deeply touched by the love that the citizens of San Rimini—the citizens of the whole world—still hold for her in their hearts.”
He paused, waiting for the media to quiet, then continued, “Queen Aletta is deeply missed by her friends and family because she made the world a better place. Today, rather than mourn her death, she would have preferred we honor her legacy by taking a moment to do as she would do. To that end, this morning I visited one of her favorite places, the Royal Memorial Hospital, and spent time speaking with both staff and patients. I also made donations on behalf of the royal family to several of her favorite charities so their positive work may continue. I urge those of you who wish to honor her to do the same. Donate your time, your money, or your voice to these great causes. Again, thank you. My family and I are appreciative.”
Eduardo’s feet moved the instant the final word left his lips. He was in the car and away from the Duomo less than a minute later.
Oh, Aletta, he thought. Next time I visit, I’ll do it without the cameras. And I promise that it’ll be more meaningful.
Chapter 6
It looked like a date.
Eduardo tried to ignore the subtle glances of Samuel Barden’s staff as they busied themselves readying his apartment for the ambassador’s arrival. Though Luisa had informed him that multiple palace venues were available tonight, he’d decided to stick to his original plan and host the dinner for Claire Peyton in his residence. Wind could be a factor if they dined on the rear patio, the family dining room was subject to interruptions on the weekend, and even Sergio agreed that the state dining room was too formal for a one-on-one dinner.
He’d hosted numerous small dinners here before. When guests were expected, certain staff members had permission to move in and out with little more than a cursory knock, which made the residence feel more public than private. This evening’s setup felt different, however, and even the staff seemed attuned to it. He couldn’t put a finger on the reason. Perhaps the selection of linens and floral arrangements brightened the room more than usual.
He took a seat and typed a few notes into his phone in order to tune out the goings on around him.
“Your Highness?”
Luisa’s approach startled him, even though she’d called less
than five minutes earlier to ask if she could stop by the residence. He gestured for her to take a seat in the chair adjacent to the sofa and accepted the sheaf of papers she offered him. “Coverage of last night’s speech for Our Place?”
“Yes, sir.” She waited as he flipped through the pages. When he neared the end, she said, “It seems to have gone well. There was a lot of positive press for the program’s five-year anniversary.”
“Well, it’s about time they got off the Queen Aletta anniversary.”
He heard how it sounded the instant the words left his mouth and was horrified. He blew out a hard breath. “I’m sorry, Luisa. I never should have said that. It doesn’t in any way reflect my feelings.”
“It does, but not your feelings about the queen,” she said softly, offering him an understanding smile. “The media has been relentless all week. You’ve been incredibly patient and circumspect.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He angled his head and studied her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you at the palace today? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your weekend?” He raised the papers she’d just handed him. “This could have waited until Monday.”
“I had correspondence to catch up on and nothing going on at home, so I decided to come in. Margaret Halaby also happened to be in the office and left the media summary on my desk. When I saw how much good press the event received, I knew you’d want to see it.”
“And you wanted to see the residence.”
She started to deny it, but her eyes drifted to the far side of the room, where the staff continued to fuss over the table arrangements.
To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6) Page 6