On the rare occasions it did come up, she’d been able to gloss over the subject. But anyone she saw romantically would eventually learn the truth. The entire truth. There’d be no hiding it if a relationship ever got serious enough to bring a partner to Lescailles.
Giancarlo’s son emerged from the kitchen with their salads and side dishes of pasta topped with fresh herbs, interrupting the conversation. The scent, the sound of a young couple discussing politics at a nearby table, and the splash of the fountain on the far side of the courtyard combined to turn the uneasy feeling in her stomach to a lead weight.
For the first time, Daniela understood what she’d sacrificed. Her mother had lived in denial, claiming that she’d changed jobs due to boredom rather than to avoid having people at the house, and now lived in fear of her own neighbors. But Daniela had lived in denial, too, avoiding romantic relationships. Telling herself she wasn’t missing out.
She took a bite of pasta as her mother twisted in her chair to exchange pleasantries with a group of older men who’d entered the courtyard, one of whom apparently used to work at her cousin’s grocery store in Lescailles.
In that moment, Daniela knew she wanted to spend her precious hours away from the palace—unfettered afternoons like this one—with someone special. A partner who’d binge watch her favorite shows or join her weekend quest for the perfect vegetables at a farmer’s market. Who’d discuss current events as they trekked along one of Sarcaccia’s mountain hiking trails or took long walks along Cateri’s Mediterranean waterfront, breathing in the sea air. Someone who’d enjoy a relaxing stroll through Cateri’s romantic old town with her late at night, in the hours after the tourists retired to their hotel rooms and rental flats, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist as they raised their eyes to the stars.
And sex. She wanted wild, happy, romantic sex.
It was time.
She smiled across the table as she formulated a plan. This afternoon, she’d ensure her mother saw what she’d been missing. Daniela would suggest they walk around Gavoli. Say hello to the people they hadn’t seen in a while, talk about the latest blooms in their gardens or the books they were reading, and allow that good feeling to sink into her mother’s bones. Socializing with friendly, familiar people who weren’t immediate neighbors or former students she’d feel compelled to invite to her house might do more to change her mother’s mindset—and, eventually, her behavior—than having Daniela clean the mess at home or nag her about the rats. She’d focus on the positive: her mother’s life could be whatever she chose. She simply needed to make a choice, then summon the will to follow through, knowing it would be worthwhile.
Then, when Daniela finished the San Rimini job and returned to Sarcaccia, she’d take concrete steps to improve her own social life. It meant taking a big risk in regard to her family life, but the adventure would be worth the risk.
Daniela’s pasta nearly stuck in her throat as a memory and a name hit her full force.
Royce Dekker. The man who’d walked her to her hotel on that warm spring night in Cancun. The man with the easy nature, who’d traveled widely yet was intrigued by her experiences. The man who’d given her a mind-blowing kiss before disappearing to his own hotel…the most romantic kiss of her life. The man who’d encouraged her to pursue the opportunity with the royal family, even if it meant taking a risk.
The man who’d said his parents lived in San Rimini.
The man who could shoot a wadded piece of paper into a can from a surprising distance as if it were no big deal.
Roy.
Royce pulled the white mask over his nose and mouth, adjusted his kneepads, then knelt to resume the mundane task of hand sanding the wall where he’d discovered the historical paper. Its painstaking removal had extended the time required to complete the room, allowing him the flexibility to stay until Daniela finished her task without Miroslav or anyone else raising questions. Even so, he was grateful the rough adhesive had been limited to a single wall. Sanding didn’t offer the same visual payoff as stripping paper or applying fresh paint. Sanding created a holy mess. Each pass fogged the room with dust, which eventually settled onto the tarps in fine, cough-inducing layers that would give the Roscha sisters heart palpitations.
Sanding by hand also constituted torture on the shoulders. Regular workouts made his strong, but this morning’s repetitive, focused work pushed Royce’s muscles to their limit. As he moved the sanding brick over each section, he tried to convince himself that today’s ache would make carrying his equipment or beating his personal pull-up record that much easier. It’d also pay off in the form of female attention from neighboring boats next time he lounged shirtless on his deck.
That mental image shifted his thoughts to Daniela.
He’d arrived early this morning to ensure that he entered the residence before Daniela opened the queen’s suite for the day. After confirming that he was alone, he’d inspected his tools and tarps. He’d been careful to leave tells—a piece of thread near the latch of his toolbox, tiny folds in the fabric of the tarps and furniture covers—so he’d know whether anyone rifled through them. Satisfied that everything had remained untouched over the weekend, he’d set a large can of chocolate-covered peanuts in a prominent spot near his equipment and took a moment to consider where he might place a camera.
When the sound of Daniela’s footsteps echoed in the vestibule twenty minutes earlier than usual, he’d been crouched beside one of the antique radiators, measuring the space between its coils. Moving quickly, he’d shifted sideways to kneel near his stacked tools and ladders, then feigned tying one of his boots.
She’d appeared surprised to see him, despite the fact he always arrived before she did. When he’d greeted her, she’d given her usual cheery response, but he’d sensed an off note.
“Get out and enjoy the good weather this weekend?” he’d asked. It’d been spectacular. Sunny, not too hot, and Saturday night’s sunset had been breathtaking. He’d set aside a case file and propped a beer bottle on his knee to watch its final moments from one of the deck chairs on his boat. He’d thought of Daniela, wondering if she was on a patio or bench somewhere, staring at the glorious shades of pink and purple as the sun disappeared behind the mountains that formed San Rimini’s western border.
He’d wondered where she was staying while she worked at the palace. He hoped the diTaloras had sprung for a hotel room with a balcony and a view.
“I went home.”
He’d looked at her in surprise. No wonder she’d hustled out the door on Friday. “You went to Sarcaccia? For the weekend?”
“My mother needed help with a few things.” Her smile had brightened, though her eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Then, as if aware of his scrutiny, she’d added, “The weather was nice, though. We ate lunch outside on Saturday. Drank a nice local wine and soaked in the sunshine at a little bistro. Then got in a nice walk yesterday morning after breakfast. You have a good weekend?”
After he’d given a generic response about enjoying the time off, she’d walked to the queen’s door and entered her code. He hadn’t imagined it; something in her demeanor was off, though she’d taken pains to hide it. It was the multiple uses of nice when describing her weekend. There was an effort to it.
He lowered his mask, removed one work glove with his teeth, then smoothed his palm over the area he’d sanded. The old adhesive had fallen away cleanly, with no damage to the surface beneath. If the rest of the wall went as well, he could tackle the dust cleanup before lunch, make a pass with the mop after he ate, then move on to the task of stripping the baseboards.
If he reached the three-quarters point on the adhesive with no surprises, he’d let Daniela know his plans. Though he’d do his best to keep the chemical odor at bay with fans, the dearth of windows in the great room meant his options for ventilation were limited. If he were in Daniela’s shoes, he’d close the door and open the suite’s windows to ensure the air in the queen’s rooms remained fresh.
> He leaned back, rear end on his heels, and considered his timing. If he talked to Daniela before lunch, she might want to eat together again. If so, maybe he’d learn why she went home. Perhaps she’d committed to helping her mother with whatever-it-was before she’d known about the job in San Rimini. On the other hand, perhaps it was more serious, like a health issue. Though her hair and lipstick appeared as usual, he’d noticed hollows under her eyes. If she’d flown back this morning, rather than last night, and come straight to work from the airport, it would explain both her demeanor and her early arrival.
He cursed himself, both for speculating and for noticing her makeup. Noticing things was his job, but curiosity wasn’t his friend where Daniela was concerned. On an inward grumble, he adjusted the sandpaper on the block and was about to replace his glove and mask when Daniela’s voice came from behind him.
“Royce?”
He spun, realizing his error at the same time he made it. How well he kept the discomfort and shock from his face, he didn’t know, because the moment his eyes met Daniela’s, hers narrowed. “I thought so. It’s Royce, not Roy, isn’t it? Royce Dekker.”
“It is.” His answer sounded relaxed, as if he were responding to a hotel desk clerk who’d asked for confirmation of his name at check in, but in his gut he knew it was too late. Nothing he did or said would get him out of this. Daniela had an eye for detail and a sharp memory, and she knew. Not only did she know, her suspicions were aroused.
She moved a step closer, then crossed her arms. She wore a black blouse and a pair of gray, close-fitting pants with black flats. Tiny diamond studs sparkled in her ears and her hair was styled in a twist at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t a look that would intimidate anyone, yet her body language radiated the kind of authority one expected from a battle-hardened drill sergeant inspecting a new batch of recruits and assessing how best to torture them.
“We met before. In Cancun, Mexico. When I figured out who you are, I assumed that you didn’t remember me. But then I realized that Miroslav gave you both my first and last name. He also told you that I worked for Queen Fabrizia. The night we met in Cancun, I told you that I was offered a job interview at the palace in Sarcaccia. We discussed it at length. I can’t imagine you didn’t make the connection by now.”
“I did.”
Her eyes flickered at his unexpected admission. “Really? When?”
A choice four-letter word rattled through his brain. Put on the spot, he couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t make him look like a complete ass.
Daniela filled the void left by his hesitation, but her tone was matter-of-fact rather than angry. “Was it when Miroslav first introduced me? You interrupted his introduction and referred to yourself as Roy before he could say your name. And I never did get your surname.” She sliced a hand in front of her eyes. “You had your hat on and the brim pulled down that day. You still wear it like that most of the time, which makes me think you didn’t want me to recognize you. Is that the real reason you keep your badge in your pocket?”
White dust from the adhesive started to settle on the front of her blouse, but he wasn’t about to point it out. Instead, he set down his sanding block and rose to his feet.
“Guilty on all counts. However, I had good reason.”
“Is this where you say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’”
“It’s not like that.”
“Do you even go by Roy?”
“It’s complicated.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her lips twitched as if the words, it’s not complicated, it’s one syllable to say either yes or no rested on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she lifted a hand to signal she’d had enough. “Your business. I apologize if I crossed a line into your personal life.”
She spun away, but he said, “Wait. Daniela. Please.”
She paused, then turned. Her body language remained controlled, but he recognized the emotion in her gaze before she could conceal it.
Damn. He’d made her feel foolish. Worse, he’d done it in a work setting, a place where she was valued for her clarity of thought and ability to perform under stressful circumstances. A place of pride.
On a long exhale, he said, “I’m the one who should apologize, not you.”
He reached for the mask that dangled in front of his throat and yanked it over his head, removing it along with his hat and tossing them both onto an overturned bucket he was using as a makeshift table. He raised his chin to give her a full view of his face.
Surprise widened her eyes, then her expression morphed to one of recognition as she catalogued the differences between the man she’d met in Cancun and his appearance now. His breath caught as she assessed him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to look at her—truly look at her square on—since that night under the hotel lights in Cancun. The dark, arched brows and the mix of green and amber hues in her intelligent eyes almost made him forget what he needed to say.
He steadied himself, then spread his palms in a peace offering. Miroslav was due to make his rounds soon. Even if Royce didn’t care about Daniela’s feelings—which he did—he needed to get the situation under control before the guard walked in on them. “What I said is true. I’ve had good reason to pretend I didn’t know you, but it’s not because of anything you’ve done. Our walk in Cancun is one of my fondest memories. I had some rough days not long after we met. Thinking about that night with you—about walking near the beach, about kissing you outside your hotel—carried me when I needed a reason to hope.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What happened?”
She’d encouraged him to dream, he thought, but that’s not what she was asking. He started to tell her where he’d gone in the months that followed Guatemala, but stopped cold at the sound of the door opening and the echo of multiple footsteps in the vestibule.
Daniela looked at him in silent inquiry. At the slight shake of his head, she folded her hands in front of her and adopted a businesslike demeanor, as if she’d stepped into the great room from the queen’s suite to discuss a work matter.
“We’ll talk later,” he whispered, then replaced his hat as Chiara Ascardi entered alongside a slight, balding man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He had the lean build of a competitive cyclist and carried a covered, gleaming silver tray. Even without the tray, Royce would have recognized him from the photos Federico had provided.
“Good morning,” Chiara said. “Roy, Daniela, this is Samuel Barden, the king’s private chef.”
After exchanging niceties, Samuel told Roy he was looking forward to seeing the great room “lighter and brighter,” then said to both of them, “If you watched this morning’s news, you know that today is the late queen’s birthday.”
Daniela’s tone was gracious. “I understand that King Eduardo and his sister-in-law plan to visit a park that is being renamed in her honor.”
“They are there now. Miroslav is with them, which is why I’m accompanying Samuel,” Chiara replied.
“I have clearance,” Samuel told them, angling his head in the direction of the door and its keypad. “But with the work being done, I thought I should check with security before entering the residence. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Royce thought it obvious that work was being disturbed, but said, “Not at all. How can we help you?
The chef’s eyes darted toward the open doors to the queen’s suite, then he looked at Chiara, as if to say, do you see that? Chiara merely gestured to Royce, urging Samuel to answer the question. Samuel hesitated, then raised the tray. “Each year on Queen Aletta’s birthday, I made her favorite apple tarts to celebrate. Just a small batch for her and the king to enjoy during a break in their schedule. When she passed away, the king asked that I continue. I left a tray in the rooms where he’s staying this week, but thought I should double the batch and leave a tray here, as well. Just in case.”
“He hasn’t been in since work began and I don’t expect him today,” Daniela said before looking in Royce’s directi
on. “Roy?”
A shard of guilt pierced him at her use of “Roy,” but he shook his head.
Samuel glanced at Chiara, then shrugged. “Then these are yours. However, it’s quite dusty here. I’ll leave them in the queen’s parlor.”
Before anyone could object, he strode to Aletta’s suite. Daniela followed, as did Royce and Chiara, though Royce and Chiara stopped at the doorway as the chef deposited the tray on the leather ottoman. He turned around with a smile. “If you leave them covered, they’ll stay fresh all day.”
“That’s very kind,” Daniela said, though Samuel didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he let out a low hiss of breath as he turned, taking in the room.
“I haven’t been here since I met with the queen to plan Prince Federico’s wedding dinner. It looks exactly the same.”
His eyes went glassy and he blinked to clear them. To Daniela, he said, “Are you working in here? I thought the renovation work was only—”
“She is,” Chiara interrupted.
Royce got the message: Daniela’s work wasn’t up for discussion, and they needed to leave the suite. Samuel must have gotten it, too, because he opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then told Daniela, “Well, then I shall leave you to it. Enjoy the tarts.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Chiara Ascardi edged from the doorway, subtly ushering Samuel Barden toward the exit. As they moved through the great room, she asked the chef if he ever used blueberries in his tarts, as blueberries were her father’s favorite.
“Not in anything I prepare for the palace.” He gestured toward his mouth. “They stain the teeth, which is undesirable at formal events.”
“Ah, I hadn’t considered that.”
“That doesn’t mean blueberries won’t work. It would only require an adjustment to the cooking time. If you’d like the recipe, I’d be happy to share. The preparation is time consuming, but quite simple.”
Fit for a Queen (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 1) Page 16