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

by Nicole Burnham

  When Giovanni’s grandfather passed away two weeks later, the cribbage board was on his bedside table along with a note: Giovanni, this is yours. Play with your future king. Teach him something. Learn something from him.

  And so they did.

  The boys found a book on cribbage, spent time learning the basics, and played a few games before abandoning it for more interesting pursuits. But one night, during their final year at university, Giovanni had appeared at Eduardo’s door with the board tucked under one arm and a half-empty bottle of whiskey he’d nabbed from his parents’ liquor cabinet the previous weekend in his other hand.

  Giovanni’s girlfriend of three years had left him for a Spaniard she’d met at a party the night before. Giovanni needed a mindless pursuit.

  “Cribbage is not mindless,” Eduardo had informed his friend.

  Giovanni had raised the bottle. “It can be.”

  He’d stared at Giovanni. “She met him at a party?”

  “After five minutes of conversation, she realized that he is the man for her and I am not. I suspect—though I did not confirm—that she took him back to her flat to validate this newfound knowledge.”

  Eduardo had grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “I’ll make yours a double. We’ll need a deck of cards.”

  “Have one in my back pocket.”

  The pair soon became addicted to what their friends considered a quaint hobby. At least once a month, usually on a Sunday, Eduardo and Giovanni met and played cribbage. All these years later, they used the same board, though a few of its pegs were discolored and the wood around nearly every hole showed scrapes. Before each game, they toasted Giovanni’s grandfather.

  Eduardo handed Giovanni a tumbler. They raised their glasses, then sipped. The liquid worked its magic on Eduardo in an instant. He relaxed into his chair, closed his eyes for a moment, and savored.

  Sunday nights were his favorite. It was as if the entire country stilled for a weekly moment of reflection. Museums, shops, the aquarium, and most restaurants closed early. Tourists often used Sundays as a travel day, so the sidewalks stayed relatively uncrowded. Casino spotlights were prohibited from splitting the night sky and the predominant sounds were that of the sea breeze, the birds, and the occasional tolling of church bells.

  The palace was also quiet, with all but essential staff at home. His children—and their children—usually spent the evening ensconced in their own palace apartments.

  “What is this?” Giovanni asked as he tilted his glass to inspect his whiskey. “It’s different than your usual.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Neither. It’s different. Like eating rotini with pesto one day and puttanesca the next. This whiskey has more smoke to it. Where did you get it?”

  “It was a gift.”

  They drew to determine who would deal first. Eduardo had the low card, a four of hearts to Giovanni’s king of diamonds. He picked up the deck to shuffle as Giovanni reached for the whiskey bottle. “New Mexico? I’ve never heard of whiskey from New Mexico. That’s the United States, not Mexico itself, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Hmm.” Giovanni spun the bottle in his hand, finished reading, then returned it to its previous spot. Though the sun had gone down, Eduardo had opened the curtain and cracked the window to let in the night air, so as he took another sip of his drink, Giovanni turned his face to the breeze and inhaled deeply.

  “Whatever it is you are thinking, Giovanni, you’re wrong.”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “You aren’t married.”

  Thirty years earlier, Giovanni had been married. But less than six months after the ceremony, his wife suddenly served him with divorce papers. As with Giovanni’s university girlfriend, his wife had fallen for another man. Giovanni had an adult son from the relationship and loved being a parent, but he’d never remarried, despite the fact a number of women had pursued him over the years. Instead, he cracked jokes now and then about the wife he didn’t have.

  Giovanni sighed, then turned from the window to look at Eduardo. “So what is it you think I’m thinking?”

  “You tell me.”

  Giovanni eyed him. “You receive a lot of gifts. It’s impossible to keep or use them all.”

  Eduardo said nothing. He dealt the cards.

  “I believe you asked Luisa to send flowers to the new United States ambassador when I stopped by your office earlier this week. Would that ambassador happen to be from New Mexico?”

  “She would.”

  “And would this be the same ambassador with whom you shared a dance?”

  “She was at the palace for the presentation of credentials. The ceremony was followed by a dinner with dancing. All of which I assume you know, if you’re asking about the dance.”

  “What I know is that you rarely dance. Or send flowers to officials.”

  “I send flowers more often than you might believe. And whether I wish to or not, I’m occasionally compelled to dance at these events.”

  “Compelling is a good word for it.”

  Eduardo ignored the remark. After that, they concentrated on the game. Cards were laid on the table, points counted, and pegs moved along the board. Between hands, Giovanni shared news about his parents, whom he’d finally convinced to book a cruise along the coasts of Norway and Sweden. “They’ve been retired for nearly fifteen years now. They planned to spend their retirement traveling, yet they hardly leave their villa, let alone the country. It’s one excuse after another. They need to take care of their dog. They need to be home for the electrician. They don’t want to miss a local event, and there’s always some local event. They finally realized that they aren’t getting any younger and that they should go while they’re still mobile enough to enjoy themselves.”

  Eduardo smiled. Giovanni loved to travel, while his parents had always been nervous about being away from the familiar. Still, he knew the cruise Giovanni had found for them would suit. They would appreciate the security of staying in the same cabin each night while having the opportunity to explore new places.

  “I have news of my own,” Eduardo told Giovanni. “I’m going to be a grandfather again. Marco and Amanda invited me to breakfast this morning and told me that Amanda is sixteen weeks pregnant. I suspected as much a few weeks ago, but wasn’t going to ask. They wanted to wait as long as possible to announce the pregnancy.”

  “Sixteen weeks? That’s quite far along. Surely some of the staff are already aware?”

  “Apparently not. Marco said that Amanda has been engaged in ‘creative dressing’ for the past few weeks to hide it, but between staff interactions and Amanda’s public schedule, it’s becoming difficult. They had a doctor’s appointment last week and said it was a challenge to get into the clinic unseen. They think they can pull off another week or two, but that’s it. They plan to make a public announcement a week from this Wednesday.” He smiled at his friend. “I’m going to have a granddaughter.”

  Giovanni raised his glass, and they toasted again.

  Several hands later, when Giovanni collected the cards and started to shuffle, Eduardo took the opportunity to stand and stretch his legs. He reached for the whiskey and offered to refill his friend’s drink.

  “Only if you refill yours.”

  Eduardo sighed. “It’ll have to be with water. Then I can answer honestly when Greta grills me about it tomorrow morning. She knows I have whiskey on cribbage nights.”

  Giovanni waved a hand. “Get your water. I’ll pour my own whiskey.”

  When Eduardo returned from the bar, water in hand, Giovanni said, “If you’re in the mood to answer honestly…?”

  Eduardo raised a brow.

  “You’re distracted tonight. I’m the better player, obviously, but I’m not that much better.”

  “You’re not the better player.”

  “Then explain your performance. This isn’t about becoming a grandfather again.”

  Giovanni knew him too well. Someti
mes it was maddening, but tonight, Eduardo needed a friend. “I am considering asking a woman for a date.”

  Giovanni’s boisterous laugh filled the room. “Is that all?”

  Eduardo flashed a look of disgust. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple, even for a king. And it’s about time.” Giovanni held up a hand before Eduardo could react. “You know I loved Aletta, but you deserve to have a woman in your life. The public will understand. Eventually.”

  “This isn’t about that. Well, it’s sort of about that. I have other concerns.”

  “Aside from the public reaction? I doubt your children would object, not that their objections should stop you.” Giovanni frowned. “Are you considering the idea of dating in general or is there a particular woman who interests you?”

  “There is a particular woman.”

  Giovanni said nothing. Instead, he collected the cards, then passed the deck to Eduardo so he could deal.

  Eduardo felt a prickle of irritation as he shuffled. “That’s all. I want to ask a particular woman for a date, but doing so is complicated.”

  “How so? Do you need me to ask one of this woman’s friends if she likes you first? Or slip her a note that says, ‘Please check the box yes or no. Do you like Eduardo diTalora?’ I realize that’s how it was the last time you were interested in any female besides Aletta, but that’s not how it’s done these days. It’s not complicated. You simply ask a woman if she’d like a date. Then she says yes or she says no.”

  “I shouldn’t have suggested a second glass of whiskey.”

  “Of course you should have. I give my best advice after the second glass.”

  Eduardo shook his head, then tried to focus on the count. It didn’t matter. Giovanni hit the target score almost immediately, ending play.

  “I was thinking of asking her to the symphony,” he said. “The season begins next week and I usually attend one of the early performances.”

  “You can’t take a date there. Think, Eduardo.”

  He met Giovanni’s gaze, then realization dawned. “It’s the Queen Aletta Concert Hall.”

  “Given the range of salacious headlines the media could run, they’d be ecstatic. You and your date, not so much. This woman must be something else, because that is not a misstep the Eduardo I know is prone to make.” Giovanni moved a peg to score his last play, then looked up sharply. “Wait. You’re talking about the new ambassador?”

  “Yes. Claire Peyton.”

  “I was teasing you about the flowers earlier. I had no idea.” Giovanni made a low noise of dissatisfaction. “I’m apparently the one who’s distracted tonight, as I completely misread your reaction. She’s quite attractive.”

  “Yes.”

  “She bewitched you with smoky whiskey.”

  Eduardo let the comment go. He wasn’t about to tell Giovanni that the gift also included prickly pear jelly.

  “Now I see why you say it’s complicated, though the words I’d use are conflict of interest.”

  “If I were in parliament or if I were the head of any of a number of government departments, the conflict would be far worse.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a conflict.”

  “It’s one that can be avoided, with care.” Eduardo studied his friend. “I like her, Giovanni.”

  “That much is apparent.” Giovanni ran a finger along the base of his whiskey glass. “If she’s smart, she’ll say no.”

  “She is smart. She likes history and movies and she cares about the greater good. She’s also not intimidated by me, by which I mean all of this.” He swirled his hand to encompass the palace. “She isn’t afraid to let me see her wit. That’s why I like her.”

  “She’s also hot.”

  “Fine. She’s hot,” he admitted. “If the symphony is out, what about the Royal Theater? The final performance of La Traviata is the annual fundraiser for the Royal Foundation of San Rimini. Isabella usually attends with me, but now that she’s married, it wouldn’t be surprising for me to take someone else. It’s long been established that this is not a romantic night. Claire and I could make it a date without revealing that fact to the public.”

  “I doubt that telling your date that ‘this is a date, but it’s not a romantic night’ is how a woman wants to be wooed.”

  “Because you know all about wooing women?”

  Giovanni gave Eduardo a self-satisfied shrug.

  “You’re rich and handsome, Giovanni. That’s not the same.”

  “If being rich were all it took to woo a woman, you’d be the king of us all.”

  “I am the king. And you forgot handsome.”

  “Oh, I didn’t forget. Perhaps that’s your problem. You aren’t handsome enough. You’ll have to rely on the wooing, which means doing it properly.” His expression turned devilish. “By the way, how’s it been going with Greta? How many pull-ups have you tallied in a row?”

  “Go running with me sometime and I’ll demonstrate when you finally make it to the finish line.”

  “Go biking with me sometime and you can demonstrate once you finish pushing your bike uphill.”

  “I have no desire to race a bicycle through city traffic. That’s suicidal.”

  “We’ll go early. About the same time you usually run.”

  Eduardo shook his head. Giovanni was a die-hard cyclist, always trying to recruit Eduardo to his sport of choice. “When my body won’t tolerate running any more, I’ll consider joining the dark side. It won’t be anytime soon. Until then, you’re welcome to join me on my run.”

  “If you need an exercise partner, I’d much rather join you for one of your sessions with Greta.”

  “She’s married.”

  “Perhaps not, then.”

  The cards were dealt and more hands played. They counted aloud and moved pegs along the board. When Giovanni hit the target again and play ended, he turned serious. “Hypothetically, if you were to take Claire Peyton to the fundraiser at the Royal Theater, what would you hope to gain?”

  Eduardo paused as he cleared the cards. “What do you mean, gain?”

  “What is your end game? If you wish to date an ambassador—an ambassador from a powerful country that does a great deal of business in San Rimini—that must be considered. If you were to take Claire Peyton to the opera, it would be commented upon, both in the press and behind closed doors. By those in parliament. By your own staff. By every citizen sitting down to their evening meal. Even if it’s presented to the world as a diplomatic outing, rather than a date, people will make assumptions. Some comments may not be kind. If you’re going to take that risk, you need to know what it is you hope for. What’s your end game?”

  Eduardo shuffled slowly, then looked at Giovanni. “I felt a connection with her. I’m pretty sure she felt it, too. I want to spend time with her and get to know her. And I don’t want to make up excuses to have her to the palace as a guest to do it. I want to take her out.”

  “Then you need to be prepared for the consequences, whether a relationship works out or not.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’m trying to anticipate what those consequences would be. I’m out of practice on this front.”

  “Successful relationship or not, your popularity will suffer a blow.”

  He’d expected that. “How big a blow?”

  “You could risk the Strada project.”

  That took him aback. Giovanni knew from earlier cribbage night talks how important the project was, both to him and to the nation. He wouldn’t throw out the comment lightly. “The latest polls had me somewhere between seventy-seven and seventy-nine percent favorable. That would take an awfully big blow.”

  “It could be a big blow, given that you’re facing both the Aletta factor and the conflict of interest factor.” Giovanni’s mouth twisted. “Do you want my advice as your friend? Or as a disinterested party?”

  “Are you disinterested?”

  “I can fake it.”

  “You’
re my best friend and godfather to the crown prince. If you’re able to successfully fake disinterest in my life, I’m in trouble.”

  “You’re in trouble anyway.” Giovanni raised a shoulder, then let it drop. “I think you should ask her. Let the ambassador make the decision.”

  “That sounds like advice from a friend.”

  “It’s been a long time, Eduardo. You could have had any number of women warming your bed during those years. Or, as you say, visiting the palace under another pretense. You haven’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You haven’t. You aren’t wired that way. If you were, you wouldn’t be the man who married Aletta Masciaretti. And you wouldn’t be thinking about a woman like Claire Peyton now. So ask her.”

  Eduardo’s mouth went dry. All of a sudden, the reality of asking Claire Peyton for a date made him nervous.

  He wasn’t a man prone to nerves.

  Giovanni’s mouth spread into a smile and he raised his empty tumbler. “In fact, we should toast to it. We have a fine New Mexico whiskey.”

  “Greta will crush me tomorrow.”

  “Greta will crush you tomorrow whether you drink or not.”

  “True.” He looked at his tumbler. He hadn’t the foggiest idea how he’d ask Claire for a date. Did he call the embassy? No, that wouldn’t work. He’d have to get her number, which would be difficult without alerting the staff.

  Even if he could figure out how to call her discreetly, would she agree? Where would they go?

  He waved at the bottle. “Go ahead. Pour one for each of us.”

  Chapter 9

  Claire knew from the moment she chose a career in diplomacy that most Americans gave little thought to their state department, let alone their ambassadors. Their president, their senators and congressional representatives, sure. But not their ambassadors.

  When they did think about ambassadors, or about the jobs ambassadors do, it was in terms of an individual ambassador’s accomplishments. Were new business alliances established? Cultural ties strengthened? Did travel or trade become easier, or were health and educational initiatives created? A citizen might turn on the evening news, see the president deplaning in a foreign country, and being greeted by the ambassador at the airport. The president would then attend a press conference with that country’s leaders and say, “Thanks to the hard work of Ambassador So and So, our two countries have forged a deeper relationship….”