To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6)

by Nicole Burnham

  “Only when I’m trying to assess her likes and dislikes,’” he admitted. “I’ve been trained from the day I was born to be polite, you know.”

  He took a sip of his wine, then set the glass near the tip of his knife. “For instance, Madam Ambassador, you're wearing a lovely outfit tonight.”

  A warm smile spread across her face, making it clear she enjoyed their banter. The lightness of her expression made his stomach clench, and he was old enough and wise enough to know exactly what that sensation meant.

  He was developing a full-fledged crush on an ambassador.

  Chapter 7

  Claire tried to ignore the bubble of attraction that fluttered through her.

  She had wondered if the king was flirting with her when they’d danced at her credentials ceremony. The wink he’d given her was devastating.

  But the look he gave her now was something else. She hadn’t been on a date in a long while, but this felt like one, despite the topics of conversation.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Are you hoping to distract me from discussing the education program, Your Highness? I’ll remind you that you specifically mentioned it in your invitation.”

  “I did, and I wish to give it my undivided attention. How about this: I’ll ring Samuel and ask for dessert, then we can discuss your ideas over sweets.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  He excused himself, picked up a phone located near his study, then spoke quietly for a few seconds before returning to the table. Within minutes, Samuel entered with Emilia. They asked about the meal, cleared the dishes, and offered coffee, tea, and a selection of cordials. Claire opted for decaffeinated coffee, saying that the Negroni and a glass of wine were as much alcohol as she ever consumed in one night. King Eduardo asked for tea.

  As Emilia prepared their drinks, Samuel placed desserts in front of each of them. “I hope you like chocolate, Madam Ambassador?”

  “I do,” she assured him as she admired her plate, which contained a dome-shaped dark chocolate cake surrounded by an arrangement of berries and a sprig of fresh peppermint.

  “I grow the peppermint myself and the berries are local, picked just yesterday,” he told her. To the king, he said, “When you’re ready, please call and Emilia will clear the dishes. I’ll leave more tea and coffee on the bar.”

  The king thanked both Samuel and Emilia, then waited for them to depart before dropping a sugar cube into his tea.

  “He gave me more berries and less cake than he gave you,” Eduardo grumbled.

  Claire looked across the table. It was true. Her cake wasn’t large, but it visibly larger than the king’s. “He wanted to ensure you get your antioxidants.”

  “That’s an optimistic way of looking at it, though I should point out that chocolate is also an antioxidant.”

  “Dark chocolate is. I don’t think the cake qualifies.” At his look of consternation, she added, “I’ll tell you what. Agree to support my education plan in parliament and I’ll give you my dessert. All of it.”

  “I don’t want the berries.”

  “Then the cake without the berries.”

  He laughed. It was a hearty, masculine laugh that made her toes curl inside her shoes. The kind of laugh that shouldn’t affect her—particularly when she’d spent the past few days honing her pitch for the education program—but it did.

  “Keep your cake,” he said. “I can raid the kitchen after Samuel goes home if I need a chocolate fix. But do tell me about your plan.”

  She lifted her fork but hesitated before slicing into the cake. “First, why don’t you tell me why Sergio Ribisi wanted to reject it before I could even present it.”

  “It wasn’t Sergio. Not unilaterally. That was my call.”

  She snagged his gaze, surprised at the admission. “I appreciate the honesty, Your Highness.”

  “Even so, it should have been handled better.”

  “Why did it need to be ‘handled’ at all?”

  Eduardo’s jaw tightened for a moment, then he shrugged. “As king, I need to pick and choose my battles. There are days I would like to be an absolute monarch and pass laws I know to be in the best interest of the country, but we aren’t living in the middle ages. I can introduce or recommend legislation, but that’s as far as it goes. Parliament holds the power in San Rimini. And unlike your president, I don’t have a veto.”

  “But you do have sway. A lot of it.”

  “Yes, but again, it’s because I’ve chosen my battles carefully, as have my predecessors. Traditionally, in San Rimini, the monarch focuses on non-controversial projects. Most revolve around charitable initiatives, or serving as a mediator for peace talks or as a host for international summits. I have a limited amount of political capital to spend outside those parameters, so I have to spend it wisely.”

  “I understand that, King Eduardo. But if you’ve read about the program I worked to establish in Uganda, then you know it’s for the public good. It’s easy for people to think of the world as hundreds of disparate economies, but more and more, we have a single world economy. When one country—or one region—falls behind, it affects the others. Education is the great equalizer, particularly early education. When wealthier countries with strong educational systems contribute teachers and educational funding to the countries that struggle, everyone benefits, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why the resistance? Italy and Austria already participate, and I know you value early intervention programs to ensure children aren’t deprived of educational opportunities. It’s why you support programs like Our Place. When you spoke at their anniversary celebration yesterday, it wasn’t out of obligation. It was plain to see that you’re passionate about their work.”

  He had a forkful of cake halfway to his mouth and paused. “You saw it?”

  “I did.”

  “You were doing research on me.”

  “I wouldn’t be a good ambassador if I didn’t.”

  She couldn’t help but smile as she said it. When she’d called Mark Rosenburg, the embassy’s education and cultural exchange specialist, to tell him about the dinner invitation from King Eduardo, he’d urged her to find a newsfeed showing the king’s appearance at the event. Mark said she could learn a lot about King Eduardo’s beliefs regarding education by listening to his speech and then use that information that to hone her pitch.

  Mark had been right. When Eduardo spoke about the importance of Our Place, its success in identifying children who were struggling with mental health issues, and the methods used so their challenges were addressed without stigmatizing them, she saw his belief in the program.

  Eduardo swallowed his bite of cake, then set down his fork. “The night you were here to present your credentials, there was a car accident on the Strada il Teatro. You likely saw it on the news.”

  “I did,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what it had to do with either Our Place or her education program.

  “The accident could have been much worse. The Strada is the heart of our historical area. Every tourist who comes to San Rimini visits that street. Locals go for the ability to people watch or when they wish to dine at any of the dozens of restaurants in the area. It also has nonstop traffic and there’s little to no parking. That’s a bad combination.”

  He paused, as if wanting to ensure he had her attention. On a deep breath, he said, “Every resident of San Rimini is aware of the problem and knows it needs to change or there will be a tragedy. However, the appearance of the Strada is part of our national identity, which makes change difficult. Then there are the usual challenges of construction in a downtown area. Businesses don’t want scaffolding blocking their entrances, hotels and restaurants are afraid they’ll lose bookings due to either noise or diverted traffic, and the Grand Prix organizers have concerns about construction interfering with the course and viewing areas. Those are significant hurdles. No parliamentarian wants to be the one who sticks out their neck to make those improve
ments. Upset any one of those groups, and they’re likely to be out of a job the next time voters go to the polls.”

  Claire studied the king. This wasn’t simply an important issue to Eduardo; it was one he felt rested on his shoulders and his alone. “You’re taking it on.”

  “Yes. No one can vote me out of office. On the other hand, this isn’t an area in which monarchs traditionally get involved. I need every bit of the good will I’ve built during my years on the throne to get these groups unified behind a plan that will work. My popularity has never been as high as it is right now. Personally, I don’t care about being liked. I’m old enough and have lived in the public eye long enough that I don’t derive my self worth from what others think of me. But if my current popularity can be used to save lives—and I’m convinced that fixing the Strada il Teatro will save lives—then I need to pursue that opportunity. I can’t spend my political capital to push parliament into sending funds or supporting teachers for an educational program in another country, particularly when San Rimini’s citizens won’t see the positive effects for years or decades.”

  Claire felt her body tensing as he spoke and forced herself to relax. There was conviction in his words, but she’d discovered over the years that convictions weren’t always set in stone. Not when the person holding the conviction was reasonable, and was presented with good evidence that changing their stance could bring benefits.

  She took a long sip of her coffee, considering her next words. Finally she asked, “You don’t think it’s possible to support both? They’re completely separate issues. Given the success of Our Place, it would be easy for you to talk to your allies in parliament about the fact that instituting educational programs in poor, rural areas sets children on the right track.”

  He raised a hand. “I believe in what you’ve done in Uganda. You don’t need to argue the point.”

  “You said it yourself the other night. You only gave it a quick read.”

  He surprised her by reaching across the table and covering her hand with his. “Not because it’s not worthy of attention. Because it was obvious from the start that it’s a worthy program and it has helped a lot of children. It will continue to help a lot of children and raise their standard of living. I didn’t need to read every last detail to be convinced of that.”

  They both froze, as if simultaneously realizing the impropriety of the touch. At the same time, neither one of them wanted to acknowledge that impropriety by pulling away. After a long moment, Eduardo’s grip tightened around her fingers, then he released her hand.

  When he spoke again, there was gravel in his voice. “The program already has support from a number of governments. And with all due respect, you are no longer the ambassador to Uganda. The program is no longer yours.”

  “That’s true,” she said, relieved at the steadiness in her voice when she didn’t feel steady at all. “However, the program was the signature piece of my tenure there and the current ambassador wants to expand the program. That means increasing the number of supporters. San Rimini has the ability to offer that support and it’s natural that I’m the one to ask for it, both on behalf of the United States and my country’s new ambassador in Uganda. Frankly, knowing I could do this when I came here made it easier for me to leave Uganda. A finishing touch, if you will. But if you don’t support it to parliament, it will be difficult to pass.”

  He said nothing, but she could feel his resistance. She took a chance and fired her final shot. “If the program does not have the support of the government of the country to which I am now assigned, it doesn’t look good for the program, Your Highness, and frankly, it does not look good for me. The President ran on a platform that focuses on education. It was the centerpiece of his inauguration speech. He spoke not only about the need for quality education for all Americans, but said that when children worldwide have access to education, their standard of living increases. They have better jobs. Trade improves. Economies improve. There are fewer wars, and fewer refugees. Everyone wins.”

  “I believe that, as well.” He straightened in his seat. “It’s not that I can’t offer any support. I can’t offer any right now. Parliament meets in just under three months to consider the budget for improvements to the Central Business District. From now until then, the Strada must be my priority. Once it gets through, perhaps we can speak again.”

  Frustration welled up within her. She knew what ‘perhaps’ meant. It meant no. In a best-case scenario, King Eduardo would present his project to parliament with the agreement of all parties involved…and that would be tough to accomplish. It would be weeks, maybe months before parliament passed it—if they passed it—and months after that before construction began and who knew how long before it was complete.

  He wouldn’t want to use that time to advocate for another plan. Not while the country held its breath, waiting to see if the changes to the Strada would be positive. The king would be doing all he could to continue to support the Strada project until the last orange cone was removed from the construction area and the country deemed it worthwhile.

  “The Strada project will take a great deal of time, should it pass.”

  “Yes. But the results will be long lasting. Well beyond my lifetime.”

  She nodded. “It’s necessary. I haven’t been in San Rimini long, but it only took one drive along the Strada to see the need. However, as you said, everyone in the country knows it needs to be done. Your citizens—and your parliament—will appreciate that you are the one putting your neck on the line, as you phrased it, in order to see it through.”

  “One can hope.” There was caution in his voice. He’d been at the game long enough to know she was about to make another proposal.

  “You know the members of parliament as well as anyone. If the Strada project were not at issue, which parliamentarians do you think would stand in the way?”

  “Your staff has likely already told you.”

  They had. Mark Rosenburg, in particular, knew who had—and who hadn’t—been a supporter of similar initiatives. But to Eduardo, she said, “I’d like to get your perspective.”

  “Monica Barrata. Franco Galli. Luciano Festa. All three hold a great deal of sway. They usually raise objections over spending on foreign aid. They’d certainly raise objections over financing your program. Now, they’d say wonderful things about what has been accomplished in Uganda, but at the end of the day, they believe we need to focus on San Rimini first. They’ll say that money should first go to our university programs, research programs, or infrastructure.”

  “All right.”

  He held up a hand. “They wouldn’t be the toughest, however. That would be Sonia Selvaggi. She will have a number of objections. While she represents a single vote, she is a convincing speaker and will draw others to her side when it comes time to say yay or nay.”

  Mark had mentioned Selvaggi. Festa also sounded familiar.

  Claire used her fork to swipe a berry along her plate so that it gathered the last of the cake crumbs on its surface, then popped it into her mouth. It was delicious and she envied Eduardo his chef. When she finished, she laid her fork across her plate. “What if I could convince those four?”

  “I’d be impressed. It would be very difficult.”

  “Then I’d like to propose a deal. I get those four and you introduce my program to parliament.”

  “Introduce the program? That’s quite a step up from simply speaking in support of it.”

  “You said those four would likely stand in the way and that they each hold a great deal of influence.”

  “Yes, but introducing the program would require more political capital than simply speaking in favor of it.”

  She smiled and spread her hands. “If I convince those four that the program is solid and worth being supported by parliament, the risks to you are much lower. You could afford to introduce it.”

  The king’s blue eyes pierced her as he considered. As the seconds ticked by and he remained silent, Cla
ire’s heart thudded so hard she feared he could see her pulse at her throat. Only the thought that he hadn’t rejected the idea outright kept her from saying, “never mind” or “all right, if I get those four, would you speak to others?”

  With every hour she’d spent in San Rimini, she’d had more ideas of areas where the embassy could create positive changes. If she could get this program through, it would lend credence to every other initiative she and her staff pursued. The movers and shakers of San Rimini would see that she could not only fill Rich Cartwright’s role, she could improve upon it.

  “All right,” Eduardo said. “You have a deal.”

  She could hardly believe it. She even heard the doubt in her tone as she repeated, “I get the support of those four parliamentarians and you’ll introduce legislation to parliament to fund the education program and support sending teachers from San Rimini. That’s the agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood and reached across the table. Claire couldn’t get out of her seat fast enough. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  His grin made her heart soar. Then there was his touch, the handshake held longer than necessary. Anyone watching them would have done so with wide eyes and a sharp intake of breath.

  When he finally let go, Claire’s insides did a hard flip.

  She might have won the evening, but she was in deep, deep trouble.

  Chapter 8

  A battered cribbage board rested between King Eduardo diTalora and Count Giovanni Sozzani. They sat at the same table where Eduardo had enjoyed dinner with Claire only twenty-four hours earlier. As Giovanni opened a deck of cards, Eduardo poured whiskey into a pair of crystal tumblers.

  The cribbage board had once belonged to Giovanni’s grandfather. When Eduardo and Giovanni were seventeen, Giovanni’s grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The boys had gone to visit him at the hospital a few days before he entered hospice. Giovanni had indulged his grandfather’s request to play a game of cribbage, though he had no idea what to do.