Fit for a Queen (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 1)

by Nicole Burnham

  Miroslav had lingered near the door while Daniela surveyed the queen’s sitting room. Three large windows ran the length of the space, with the desk King Eduardo had mentioned under the center sill. The curtains were a heavy velvet, but their periwinkle blue color gave the room life she hadn’t expected based on the dour appearance of the great room. The rest of the space was simple. Hardwood floors were topped with a gray area rug on which a surprisingly modern blue sofa and two cream leather chairs faced each other, with a low leather ottoman anchoring the space. The sofa cushions sagged slightly near each end, exactly in the spot a person would sit if they wished to use the wide arm to balance a teacup or rest a book, or to reach for the switch on the tall, polished nickel reading lamp that stood nearby. As Daniela moved closer to look at the framed wedding photo of Eduardo and Aletta set atop the glass table between the two chairs, she noticed that the ottoman’s leather was softened from use, and depressions appeared along its edge.

  Apparently, the queen had liked to put her feet up after a long day.

  She’d felt Miroslav watching her as she got her bearings. She turned to him and gestured toward a large doorway at the rear of the room. “King Eduardo told me that the closet is through there. Did you need to inspect it before I start?”

  The guard blinked as if dazed. “Ah, no, Ms. D’Ambrosio, not unless you require it.”

  “I think I’m all set. Thank you, Miroslav. And please, I wish you’d call me Daniela.”

  He’d nodded, once again told her he’d be available should she need assistance, then backed out of the room.

  Glad as she was to be alone, Daniela had experienced a twinge of sadness as she watched him go.

  At breakfast, King Eduardo had explained that Miroslav was the second highest ranking member of his security team. “He looks and sounds intimidating, but his heart is as big as he is. He has accompanied me when I travel for nearly a decade and I respect him. You will see him frequently during your time here. You’ll also see Chiara Ascardi, my chief of security. She’s not as intimidating physically, but she’s a former military police commander and one of the smartest hires I’ve ever made. Miroslav and Chiara are both loyal to my family and trusted. However, I never informed them about the articles missing from the closet. I considered it, but as no thefts have occurred in the palace since my wife’s rooms were closed, I didn’t see the benefit.”

  “I won’t mention it,” she’d promised.

  The king had thanked her, then Miroslav had appeared to escort her from the breakfast room to the residence, and the meeting ended.

  Now, as she stood in the queen’s sitting room, it occurred to her that if Miroslav had traveled with the king for so many years, he would have known Aletta well. They’d have shared tight quarters, either in airplanes or vehicles. Entering the queen’s rooms for the first time since her death was likely an emotional experience for him. She’d be similarly affected, were she ever to lose Queen Fabrizia.

  Daniela slipped out of her suit jacket and settled it across the back of the desk chair, then removed her laptop from the bag and placed it on the desk. She ran a hand over the glossy wood, noting the ornate inlay of twisting vines. She’d visited a family-owned furniture factory near Sorrento, Italy, with Queen Fabrizia last year. The queen had observed craftsmen as they layered thin sheets of different exotic woods atop one another and fastened the corners. Once the sheets were secure, the craftsmen maneuvered a jigsaw to cut a pattern that had been sketched on paper and set atop the sandwiched wood. The result was a set of delicate, identically patterned veneers. The factory owner then directed the queen to another area to watch an artisan reassemble the layers, interchanging the cutouts so different colors were visible. A special gluing process sealed the multicolored design, after which it could be placed atop serving trays, tabletops, or other items. When the tour concluded, Queen Fabrizia had been presented with a tiered jewelry case. To Daniela’s surprise, she had also been presented with a gift, a set of walnut coasters inlaid with a beautiful floral pattern. She kept them on an end table in her flat, where they served as a daily reminder of the tour. She kept telling herself she should use them, but balked at the thought of condensation settling into the wood, despite the fact that the coasters were well sealed.

  Curious, Daniela opened the desk drawer, noting its dovetail joinery. It contained only a pen and neat stack of ivory paper with matching envelopes. Daniela paused when she noticed the lettering etched across the top of each page.

  This was Queen Aletta’s personal stationery. Her silver Montblanc pen. Her desk.

  Emotion tightened Daniela’s throat, which felt silly, given that she hadn’t known the late queen, but it touched her that King Eduardo had offered her use of the desk where his wife once sat to handle her private correspondence. Aletta had used this very pen and stationery to write to her dearest friends. She likely sat here a few weeks before her death, when she composed the letter that had accompanied the bumblebee brooch she’d sent to Queen Fabrizia…the brooch Fabrizia had worn at the reopening of San Rimini’s Duomo.

  Daniela closed the drawer and blew out a quick breath to draw herself to the present, then bent to plug in her laptop. As she did, she glanced at the underside of the desk. The imprint on the left side made her smile. The piece had come from the same Sorrento craftsmen she and Queen Fabrizia had visited, a company that had been in business for nearly four hundred years.

  Fabric swished behind her, startling her so that she nearly hit her head on the desk as she straightened. She’d told Miroslav to leave the door open, hoping it would freshen the air in Queen Aletta’s rooms, but it took her brain a moment to register the sound as that of a tarp being spread in the great room.

  She needed to stop mooning over the desk and start working.

  Taking her seat, she opened the computer and called up the database template she planned to use for the project.

  During her morning meeting with King Eduardo, he’d been direct regarding the cataloguing of his late wife’s belongings, stating that the sitting room, closet, and queen’s private bathroom had been closed since shortly after her death, and why that was the case. He provided Daniela with a list of missing items on the off-chance she discovered any of them during the course of her project.

  “I searched the closet thoroughly, as did my daughter, Princess Isabella,” he’d said. “I doubt you will find any of these, but if you do, let me know. Otherwise, everything in the room is as it was the day my wife died. Items she wanted her family and friends to have were already sorted and delivered. When she learned her illness was terminal, it gave her a measure of peace to handle that task herself.”

  The king had paused, refolded his napkin in his lap, then squinted at her. “Queen Fabrizia tells me that when you started in her employ, you established records for each piece in her wardrobe, and that you keep a diary of what she wears each day.”

  Daniela nodded. “The diary is useful when I plan the queen’s attire for public appearances. It saves her from wearing the same dress to the national library gala or the opening of the state opera in multiple years. And, of course, the inventory helps with insurance.”

  “It’s easier for men,” he’d said, one of his eyebrows quirking as he made the lighthearted turn in their discussion. “Aletta used to complain that I could wear the same suit three or four days a week and no one would notice, but if she repeated an outfit, it made headlines. She and her sister hoped to start a similar diary, but never did.”

  For the duration of the meeting, they discussed specifics of the queen’s belongings. The king remained matter of fact, without a hint of the emotion that crept into his voice the day he’d spoken with Queen Fabrizia in the Duomo. Daniela took careful notes, which she now pulled from her bag and set beside her computer.

  She noticed that power wasn’t flowing to her laptop and rose from the desk, then knelt to adjust the plug. As she raised her head to ensure the computer was getting power, a sound from the great room drew her
attention. She looked over her shoulder, but nothing stirred. Her spine prickled with the sense the contractor had been watching her, then moved out of her line of sight an instant before she’d turned.

  Was he curious? Or staring at her backside as she bent to look under the desk?

  She grimaced at her own thought. Roy would pass in front of the door dozens of times as he stripped the wallpaper. While he’d avoided her eyes when they’d been introduced, that didn’t mean there was anything amiss. More likely, his odd behavior was the result of Miroslav’s daunting presence.

  She needed to follow Roy’s cue and get to work.

  After logging into the palace’s Internet via the secure connection Miroslav provided, she grabbed her phone and made her way to the closet to see exactly what she’d be sorting over the coming days and weeks.

  A sense of déjà vu spread through her when she opened the sliding door and flipped the switch. The decor and lighting were different, but she’d had the same reaction the first time she’d entered Queen Fabrizia’s closet. She’d been in awe that day, and despite the years she’d had to grow accustomed to such sights, she was in awe again now.

  Aletta’s closet was roughly the same size as her sitting room. Instead of the antique hardwood found in the rest of the royal residence, here the floor was covered with modern, low pile carpet. Overhead, oblong chandeliers provided plenty of light. Clothing was organized in rows structured like open library shelving. Rather than books, a single hang rod was placed inside each cherry frame, allowing access from either side. Items were arranged by type—ballgowns, day dresses, suits and so on—and then by color from darkest to lightest. Hats and handbags occupied open shelves at the top of each frame.

  Extra space between the center rows allowed for a pair of plush chairs and a low, circular platform of the type found in bridal shops. A large three-way mirror ran halfway around the platform, cupping it like a hand along a teacup. She imagined the queen often stood there for a final self-inspection before leaving for public appearances.

  Daniela walked the length of the room, familiarizing herself with the contents. Only a queen would refer to this space as a closet. It looked more like a high-end fashion boutique. While it might not be catalogued, it was ordered in a way that made Daniela’s heart trip with happiness. Whomever designed the space had done so with a great deal of forethought. Recessed motion lights set into each frame illuminated as she passed. The rods were set low enough for Aletta to reach easily, but high enough to display shoes beneath the clothing. Pairs with crystal and metallic accents were stashed beneath the cocktail dresses, and everyday heels were stored underneath the day dresses, skirts, and slacks. Daniela bent to pick up an ecru pump and blew a fine layer of dust from its surface, noting the wear beneath the ball of the foot and tiny nicks in the leather at the heel. She was familiar with a few of the designs in Aletta’s collection, classics from the same brands Fabrizia favored, but didn’t recognize this pump. Odd, as it was a style that Fabrizia would opt to wear frequently, given its understated color, comfortable height, and rounded toe. It took Daniela a moment to realize why.

  Even the newest shoe in this closet would be more than five years old. They’d predate Daniela’s employment with Fabrizia, which was when Daniela started learning who was who amongst fashion designers, how to spot their work, and which styles functioned best for Fabrizia’s needs. Given the wear and tear on the ecru pump, it was likely closer to a decade old.

  Daniela returned the shoe to its spot. One thing was certain: this job would expand her fashion knowledge. The handbags alone would provide an education. Most were classic designs, though a few were showy, intended for evening use. One bag caught her attention, and she turned it, inspecting it. Though beautiful, something about it seemed off. The leather? The stitching? She couldn’t pinpoint why, but it struck her as counterfeit, which didn’t seem possible. Daniela made a mental note to check the bag later. Big picture first, details later.

  She used her phone to snap photos of each row, documenting them in their original state, then made her way to the wall opposite the door. Silk shades in the same teal color as the sitting room curtains were drawn over each of three windows that started at hip height and rose to the ceiling. Drawers in the same light cherry as the shelving were built into the space beneath the windows. The shades must have been kept open during the queen’s lifetime, as sun had darkened the cherry. Lighter, irregular shapes appeared at intervals atop the drawers, denoting the spots that vases, photos, and other knickknacks once occupied.

  Daniela started at the left, methodically working her way through the drawers, photographing each before touching anything. The first held socks and lingerie. Though each drawer had dividers, organization was minimal. The next set of drawers contained jewelry. There were dividers in these drawers, too. Again, the level of organization didn’t match that of the hang space. Most of the items were dropped in wherever they fit, with necklaces draped over rings and bracelets. Earrings had three drawers of their own. Lined in pillowy velvet that allowed for the earrings to be stored in rows, they were neater than the rest of the jewelry, though several earrings lacked partners.

  After teasing a necklace from one of the piles, she walked toward one of the hang rods, which tripped the motion light inside its frame, and took a better look. The pendant was a small ankh, stamped on the back. She’d need a magnifying glass to know for certain, but it appeared to be fourteen-or eighteen-carat gold, with a chain of the same material.

  She set the necklace on top of the drawers. Each of the pieces would need to be researched, both for its value and its historical significance. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that Aletta had either purchased or been given the necklace in Egypt. Daniela’s mother had a similar one, purchased in Cairo’s Khan al Khalili market when Daniela was a teen and they’d taken a two-week tour of the country. The necklace was one of her mother’s favorites. A nice piece of jewelry, but not on par with, say, the sapphire and diamond necklace Aletta wore in her wedding photos.

  Once she’d checked the remaining drawers, Daniela continued walking along the perimeter of the room. At one end, a sliding door revealed a small but luxurious bathroom in classic black and white. The king had told Daniela that she could use it while she worked. It was stocked with fresh towels and toilet paper. There was a slight ring in the bowl from disuse—she couldn’t imagine the king cleaning it when he and his children came through to dust—but otherwise, it was immaculate. A glass shower with nickel fixtures stood at one end, while the white marble vanity was clear of anything other than liquid soap and hand towels. Any personal belongings of the queen’s had been cleared away. Another door exited the bathroom opposite the one she’d entered. The king had indicated that it connected to his bathroom and master bedroom and was locked on both sides. A keypad on his side provided extra security.

  She made her way to the opposite end of the closet, where another sliding door revealed a built-in wardrobe, one barely bigger than that in Daniela’s own flat. It held only three pieces, each instantly recognizable. Aletta’s white silk wedding gown, the embroidered gown and cape she had worn to her husband’s coronation, and the sky blue dress she’d worn to her son Federico’s wedding the year prior to her death. Daniela couldn’t help but run her fingers over the fine fabric of the blue dress.

  The rapid turn of events from celebration to mourning had left the world in shock.

  At the sound of footsteps, Daniela snatched her hand away and instantly felt ridiculous. She was supposed to be touching the clothes.

  “Signorina D’Ambrosio?”

  The use of signorina jolted her, but not as much as the man she turned to face. Prince Federico Constantin diTalora was known for his even temper, fashion-model cheekbones, and Mediterranean good looks. He fit his media nickname of Prince Perfect. His tailored suit boasted a flawless cut, his black shoes shone as if polished that morning, and if she hadn’t been standing alone and completely still in the closet, she doubte
d she’d have heard him enter. He glided over the floor rather than walked. Before she could answer him, he closed the distance between them and extended a hand.

  “I am Prince Federico. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Shaking the man’s hand felt surreal. After her years with the Barrali family, she should be used to celebrity, but meeting someone in person she’d only seen on television or in magazines still felt like an out-of-body experience.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well, Your Highness. I know signorina is occasionally used here in San Rimini, but please, feel free to call me Daniela.”

  If his olive skin could show a blush, she suspected she’d be treated to one now. “I’m afraid I’m the traditionalist of the family. The term must sound odd to your ear, and its usage is a habit I have tried hard to break. I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

  Now it was her turn to blush, and she was certain hers was apparent. Fabrizia had warned her that Federico tended to be old school in his thinking. He was also the least comfortable English speaker in the diTalora family, despite having studied the language from the time he started school. “It’s not that his English is bad,” Fabrizia had said. “It’s quite good. But he holds himself to a high standard, and if he believes he has made an error, it will bother him.”

  Daniela offered the prince what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Not at all. I’m honored by your family’s trust in me.”

  “Queen Fabrizia speaks highly of you. I can think of no better recommendation.” His gaze went beyond Daniela, to the open door and his mother’s clothing. “She wore that dress to my wedding.”

  “I was just admiring it,” Daniela admitted. “It’s exquisite.”

  “One of her favorites. She told me she wished she could wear it more than once.”

  To Daniela’s surprise, the prince reached past her so his knuckles grazed the lace. “It originally had sleeves that matched the rest of the fabric. During the final fitting, a few days before the wedding, we were in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave. My Aunt Helena sat in one of the chairs watching” —he tilted his head in the direction of the three-way mirror at the closet’s center— “and my mother told her she hoped my wedding day would be cooler so she wouldn’t have to worry about sweat stains. The designer offered to change to lace so my mother could wear the traditional long sleeves but remain comfortable.”