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

by Nicole Burnham

  “Oh, Eduardo. I don’t want to live without you, either. It would break my heart.”

  He eased from the bench, then knelt before her, holding her hands between his as she looked at him in amazement. “Claire Peyton, would you do me the deep honor of being my wife?”

  They heard the crunch of gravel at the same time. They looked toward the palace, then back at each other. When their eyes caught, they smothered their laughter. “You have to be kidding me,” Claire whispered. “Quick, get up before they see you.”

  He angled his head, waiting.

  “Yes! The answer is yes! Now get up or it’ll be palace gossip within the hour. We need time for this to be between the two of us.”

  When Sergio came into view, Eduardo had resumed his seat beside Claire. Given the weightlessness he felt on the inside, he was proud of how sedate he looked on the outside.

  “You have news?”

  “The father’s head injury isn’t as bad as originally feared. He’s undergoing surgery to repair his pelvis now and the doctors are optimistic. Apparently, it’s as good a break as one can have in the situation. The daughter is out of surgery. No complications thus far. They’ll both need time to heal, but no one is critical.”

  “That’s very good to hear. As soon as they’re able to have visitors, I’ll have Luisa make arrangements. Quietly, though. Given the tenuousness of the Strada project, I don’t want it to come off as a public relations stunt.”

  “I think that would be welcome, Your Highness.” Sergio smiled at Claire, and said, “It’s good to see you, Madam Ambassador.”

  “And you as well, Sergio, though not under these circumstances. If I haven’t said it before, thank you for all you do for King Eduardo. I’m reassured knowing that you’re watching out for him.”

  Sergio blinked, then tipped his head as if to say, and the same to you.

  He stood still for a moment, then turned to Eduardo. “I’ll check in tomorrow with any updates. Otherwise, assuming you survive Greta, I’ll see you for our Monday morning meeting.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Eduardo promised.

  When Sergio was out of sight, Eduardo turned to Claire. “I think you just planted another olive tree. Now, where were we?”

  She lifted her hand to his face and traced a path along his cheekbone, first with her index finger, then with her thumb, before cradling his cheek. “I believe you were about to ask me to dance.”

  “Without music?”

  “We can imagine.”

  “Imagine it with this, then.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small velvet bag he’d tucked there that evening, and on several other evenings over the past two weeks. He knew he’d offer it to Claire, but he wasn’t sure when. He took her hand, then opened the bag and overturned it so the ring fell into her open palm.

  “It belonged to my great-grandmother,” he said. “When you’re ready for this to be public, I hope you’ll wear it.”

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes, then at the ring. She ran a finger over the emerald and the small diamonds that surrounded it. “Eduardo, this is exquisite.” She slid it onto her finger, and they were both surprised to see that it fit.

  “Do you mind if I wear it tonight?”

  “I would love that.”

  He stood, extended a hand, then whirled her into his arms. Their feet moved together, and as her fingertips brushed his nape, he knew they heard the same song in their minds.

  It was everything he could ever want. The stars sparkling overhead. The woman he loved in his arms. His children and grandchildren asleep in the palace that surrounded the garden.

  He tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to Claire’s temple.

  He was at peace.

  Epilogue

  Eduardo leaned forward and waved as he rode along the Strada il Teatro in an open-top carriage. Beside him, Claire perched on the red velvet seat, her eyes glowing with excitement. One hand rested atop the polished black door while the other held his. She wore an ivory silk gown, a tiara that had belonged to his mother, and a pair of turquoise and silver earrings that had been crafted by a childhood friend of her own mother’s. A matching turquoise and silver bracelet circled her wrist.

  Her emerald and diamond engagement ring sparkled on her left hand.

  All around them, crowds whistled and cheered under a bright, sunny sky.

  Every so often, Claire pressed a hand to her heart, then waved. Happiness rolled off her.

  A decade earlier, he’d walked this same route behind the 1750 State Coach, a gilt-laden vehicle so massive that it required a team of six horses to navigate San Rimini’s cobblestoned streets.

  It had been empty as it wound its way to the Duomo that day, a traditional final farewell to a member of the royal family. The three hours that followed that walk had been the longest of Eduardo’s life as he’d endured the memorial service at the Duomo and then a reception at the palace. He’d felt as if his soul had been ripped from his body, leaving a void that could never be filled.

  He would always mourn Aletta. But as with the Strada il Teatro, which would soon be torn apart and rebuilt for a new era, so too had his soul undergone a renewal.

  He had the woman beside him to thank for it. She had taught him to live in the present, and every moment of the past two months had driven that home. Next month, he planned to thank her by introducing legislation that would send funds and teachers to the education program she’d championed in Uganda.

  Two months ago, Claire had stepped down from her office. Though she’d been certain the President would want a political ally to fill the role, he’d followed her recommendation and promoted from within the embassy, elevating Mark Rosenburg to the position. Claire couldn’t have been more thrilled. Karen Hutchinson had offered to stay on and work with Mark’s assistant during the transition, but planned to leave afterward.

  Though Karen had kept it quiet at work, Claire had confided that Karen was involved with King Eduardo’s defense ministry liaison, a man she’d apparently described to Claire as “good looking” at the credentials ceremony. They’d bonded over their government jobs, thirst for travel, and love of baking. They both wanted children and Claire suspected a wedding would be in the works soon.

  Two weeks after Claire left office, Zeno Amendola had strolled into his usual Monday morning press briefing and given updates about the Strada il Teatro project before announcing plans for Prince Antony to visit Belgium as part of San Rimini’s delegation at an upcoming climate summit. When Zeno opened the floor for questions, he’d fully expected the barrage that hit him to address everything but those two items.

  Claire had appeared on a roundtable American political program the day before to discuss the worldwide refugee crisis. However, the moderator had quickly pivoted to personal matters when speaking to Claire.

  “You recently retired from your role as the United States Ambassador to San Rimini. There’s now talk that you and King Eduardo could marry. San Riminians have strong opinions about that.”

  “Do they?” Claire’s laugh was genuine, her eyes sparkling as she faced the moderator.

  “Particularly in regard to a title.”

  “Well, I’ve lived a good portion of my life with a title. It has been an honor to be called Madam Ambassador. I have no need or desire for another.”

  “Are you saying you’ve discussed this with the king? Do you have plans to marry?”

  “I’m saying exactly what I just stated. It was an honor to serve as the American ambassador to San Rimini. I was able to forge partnerships that benefit both our countries. I had the opportunity to meet and work with some incredible people, many of whom have become dear friends. And while I’ve retired from my role as ambassador, I have no intention to stop working. I plan to pursue a number of philanthropic projects that are near and dear to my heart. I haven’t seen a study on the subject, but I suspect many career diplomats do the same. A desire to make a difference is what brought many of us to the state department
in the first place.” She’d turned to another panelist and said, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ronald? What drew you to your career and to the issue of refugees in particular?”

  The interview clip had aired on nearly every network in Europe. Overnight, the public perception of Claire changed. Even the most barbed tabloid reporters commented on her political acumen and her history of helping those in need, rather than labeling her as a fortune hunter merely angling for the late queen’s title.

  As the questions hit from multiple reporters, Zeno held his hands palms out in a request for silence in the briefing room. When it quieted, he broke into a huge smile. “I have news to share that I believe will answer your questions. It is my pleasure to announce that King Eduardo and the Honorable Claire Peyton are engaged to be married. They plan to wed at a private ceremony here at the palace in approximately six weeks. Other details will be forthcoming, but in the meantime, let’s close this briefing by wishing them a long and happy life together.”

  The room had erupted.

  As Zeno had announced, their wedding had taken place in the palace chapel. Karen Hutchinson had served as maid of honor and Giovanni Sozzani had served as best man. The guests had included Claire’s family, who’d flown in from New Mexico, staff members from La Rocca and the embassy, and a number of friends. The entire diTalora clan was in attendance, though Eduardo heard so many people ask both Arturo and Paolo whether they had gum he feared they might mount an escape. King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia had come from Sarcaccia, as had Queen Fabrizia’s personal assistant, Daniela, and her husband, Royce, who’d both done work for Eduardo several years earlier. After he’d introduced Daniela and Royce to Claire, Eduardo had leaned close and whispered, “I have to tell you their story. Don’t let me forget.”

  It had been a personal, uplifting ceremony, and as he and Claire exited the chapel and walked toward the carriage that would take them through the streets of San Rimini for a celebratory ride, he’d felt as if he were walking on air.

  Yes, Eduardo thought, the choices they’d made leading up to the ceremony were perfect for the two of them.

  The previous morning, Miroslav had spirited them out of the palace so they could visit the Duomo together before it opened at sunrise. They’d left flowers for Aletta—a happy, colorful bouquet rather than the usual white roses—and hadn’t been surprised to see that a number of others had left flowers in recent days. As Eduardo had turned to go, Claire had asked to remain alone for a moment. He’d watched her speak softly in front of the crypt, her hands folded in front of her, while he’d waited in a nearby pew. Then he’d allowed his gaze to lift to the stained-glass windows. They remained dark in the predawn hours, but he knew the stories they told. They were tales of hope, of family, of kindness. Of love.

  It was as he’d promised Aletta when he’d visited on the last anniversary of her passing. This visit was more meaningful and there were no cameras. This was as it should be.

  Claire had approached soundlessly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Onward?”

  “Onward.”

  Last night they’d enjoyed dinner in the residence with Claire’s parents, his four children and their spouses, and King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia. Though Eduardo didn’t need Queen Fabrizia’s blessing before marrying Claire, it had meant the world to him when, at the end of the night, his wife’s dearest friend had confided, “Aletta would have loved her. I can see that your children do. I’m so happy for you, Eduardo. Carlo and I both are. She’s wonderful.”

  Afterward, when they were alone, he’d held Claire for a long time. They were both too keyed up to sleep, so they’d found a comedy show on television and curled up on the sofa. They’d talked about the wedding, about the guests, and about Claire’s new role. She had a purpose, but one that wouldn’t be dictated by a president or state department. She’d gotten to know Margaret Halaby, and together they’d discussed philanthropic pursuits that appealed to Claire. Her first project involved promoting a clinic in Ethiopia that offered treatment to women who’d suffered from fistulas during childbirth. Both Amanda and Jennifer, Prince Antony’s wife, hoped to become involved in the project, which had thrilled Claire. In the coming months, Claire hoped to visit the clinic in person, then travel on to Uganda to visit one of the schools she’d toured early in her time as ambassador to that country.

  The carriage turned onto another street, making a wide loop around the block containing the American embassy. As the building came into sight, Claire squeezed his hand.

  It was an acknowledgment that, though they’d each faced challenges and heartbreak to get to this point, their trust in each other and their love would carry them forward.

  When the carriage turned back onto the Strada il Teatro for another pass through the crowd and a return to La Rocca, Eduardo leaned over and kissed his bride. She smiled and kissed him right back.

  He’d come full circle.

  All in all, it was a beautiful life.

  Acknowledgments

  My sincere thanks to everyone who has embraced the Royal Scandals: San Rimini series and the diTalora royal family. My wonderful editors, Holly Ingraham and Gail Chasan, and my proofreader, Robin Phillips of Author Help UK, have provided valuable insights on the series and teach me something new with each title. I’m fortunate to have Hollis McCarthy, a talented performer and storyteller, bring the audio editions of my books to life. The cover art for the entire series was designed by the fantastic Patricia Schmitt, and I can’t say enough positive things about my website and newsletter team at Xuni.com – Madeira James, Riley Mack, and Ryan Chrys.

  I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to my readers. Thank you to all of you who’ve read the stories, shared with friends, posted reviews, and sent me email. Without you, none of the rest would be possible.

  Finally, thank you to my writer friends and to my family for all you do. Emily March, Linda Winstead Jones, and Christina Dodd have served as brainstorming partners and cheerleaders for many years. My husband and kids have run to answer numerous panicked cries of, “someone get the dog!” and “one of you answer the phone!” when I’m knee deep in a scene and need to concentrate in order to pull a story out of the mud. They’ve handled more make-your-own-dinner nights than I care to admit and, thankfully, they do their own laundry. It’s their support that allows me the freedom to build worlds and find adventure there.

  Thank you for reading To Kiss a King. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your favorite bookstore or book club website.

  Learn about Nicole’s upcoming releases and receive special insider bonuses by subscribing to her newsletter at nicoleburnham.com.

  Read on for an excerpt from the first title in her Royal Scandals series, Scandal With a Prince. Set in Barcelona and the fictional island nation of Sarcaccia, it’s the story of Prince Stefano Barrali and Megan Hallberg, the woman he once loved and lost.

  Scandal With a Prince

  Chapter One

  Certain men possess voices so richly captivating, so drenched in sexuality, that they can bring a woman to her knees with a few simple syllables.

  In a crowd of hundreds, it was the sound of one such voice that caught Megan’s attention first.

  Her stomach seized the instant her ears picked out the distinct timbre amongst the din of merry voices echoing through the packed rotunda of the newly-renovated Barcelona Grandspire Hotel. Around her, men and women went on sipping cava from crystal flutes as they discussed upcoming business deals or renovations to their vacation homes. Tuxedoed waiters continued their discreet circumnavigation of the room, gathering used hors d'oeuvre plates and refreshing drinks. On the surface, all appeared unchanged. It was a perfect late spring night in a perfect city, and thus far the hotel's grand reopening celebration was a resounding success.

  Then she heard it again. Only three or four indistinguishable words, but they hit her gut with the same force as a sucker-punch from a male twice her size. A well-built male like Prince Stefano Barrali, whose third-in
-line claim to the throne of Sarcaccia meant he enjoyed immeasurable wealth and connections without the pressures that usually accompanied them, while possessing the Mediterranean good looks and sultry charm that often did.

  A few feet away from Megan, a gray-haired gentleman and his much younger wife cast subtle glances toward the hotel's side entrance, the one used when high-profile guests needed to make an inconspicuous arrival or exit. Megan resisted the urge to follow suit, but a breath later the overall volume in the lobby rose even as men tall enough to see over the crowd leaned closer to their companions to whisper into diamond-studded ears.

  It's not possible. Not here, not on the biggest night of her career to date.

  Without allowing her smile to drop or the cadence of her speech to change, skills honed by years of professional banter at events such as this, Megan continued her conversation with Mahmoud Said, the CEO of a large Egyptian telecommunications company, giving him an overview of the beachfront hotel's state-of-the-art conference and special event facilities. At the same time, she strained to catch the familiar sound once more. Perhaps the voice existed only in her mind, a stress-induced result of the months of work that had gone into tonight's soiree or a trick caused by the rotunda's domed roof.

  No, even as Mahmoud asked a question about the hotel's business center, she accepted that she'd ceased imagining Stefano's flirtatious, luxuriant voice years ago. In all probability, the sound emanated from one of the televisions mounted over the bar in the cocktail lounge adjacent to the lobby. Though the bartender had been instructed to keep the sets muted in keeping with the formality of the night's celebration, with so many people crowding the lobby it wouldn't take much for a remote control to get bumped the wrong way or for a guest to assert herself and tune in to a report about a celebrity—or hot young royal—who caught her eye.