Royally Romanced (13 page)

“A bomb threat? Where your grandmother lives?”

Giorgio nodded. “Of course the anti-terrorism squad was deployed immediately with the bomb-sniffing dogs. They did not find anything. But when one member of the royal family is threatened, it is standard protocol to deploy extra protection to the other members in case of muliple points of attack.”

“So Stefania has her own team swarming her in New York.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Yes, this doesn’t happen often, but this is not the first time. My grandmother is probably more annoyed than frightened. She has seen Vinciguerra through worse.”

“Worse than bomb threats?”

“She was a girl there during World War II, and during my grandfather’s reign many different factions wanted control of the country. We have a natural deep-water port and the original palazzo is a heavily fortified citadel. Violence was not rare.”

“Oh.” Renata had imagined his country as sort of an Italianate theme park, untouched by darkness or pain. However, one glance at the serious men around her told her that violence was not part of the past. “Who called in the bomb threat?”

Giorgio snapped his fingers and Paolo immediately came to his side. Renata blinked. She didn’t think she’d like Giorgio snapping his fingers at her, but the bodyguard wasn’t offended by the princely gesture. “Paolo, who did this?”

Paolo replied at length. Giorgio signed at the end of his explanation and turned to Renata. “He says the Vinciguerran police have arrested a local group with anarchist affiliations. Their landlady overheard part of their phone call and put two and two together. They had been acting strangely—even more strangely than usual—the past couple days.”

“Anarchists?”

He smiled, which startled her. “One advantage of dealing with anarchists is that they’re pretty disorganized. No one is in charge, after all.”

“Giorgio!” His gallows humor was disconcerting.

“Sorry, sorry.” He put his arm around her. “I know you aren’t used to this. We try our best to stay safe, but we have to live our lives without fear.”

“You’re not scared?” Renata was terrified, disorganized would-be terrorists or not.

He shrugged. “Not for myself, but for Stefania, my grandmother. And you.”

“Me?”

“Of course.” He kissed her forehead. “I am responsible for your safety. Anyone who tries to harm you will have to come through me.”

“And Paolo and the rest of his guys.”

“That goes without saying.” His eyes filled with pride as he surveyed his team. “They’d do anything to protect us, and I hope to God they never need to.”

Renata shivered. Assassination attempts and squads of bodyguards were something from the nightly newscast, not something she’d ever expected to experience. “What do we do now, Giorgio?” she whispered. She meant it as a rhetorical question, but he took her literally.

“Pour us each a glass of wine. Your nerves don’t need any caffeine.” His phone rang and he snatched it up.
“Pronto. Si.”
He listened and gave her a wry smile. “Stefania is safe. Apparently the security team, uh…startled her and Dieter.”

Poor Giorgio. Renata was sure he would have rather pretended Stefania and her fiancé spent their time pining for each other, but such was obviously not the case.

Renata hid a grin, but sobered quickly. Not much to smile about. She found a nice red wine in the rack and popped it open. That puppy wasn’t getting the chance to breathe—one glass was going straight down the hatch.

“W
HERE ARE WE GOING TODAY
?”
Renata was intrigued. Giorgio had told her to pack an overnight bag with swim gear. “To the beach?” She had worn a white peasant blouse over a snug denim skirt and high-heeled slingback sandals with a cork wedge and red snakeskin embossed leather upper.

“In a way.” Giorgio, carrying both of their bags, led her down to the pier a block away from the hotel.

“Ooh, a boat ride.” A good-size yacht was docked at the end of the long pier. She was glad she’d popped on a wide-brimmed white straw beach hat and oversize Jackie O sunglasses. Sun rays bounced off the water like crazy. And she could always pretend to be Jackie O reading a very serious book on Onassis’s yacht. Except she didn’t have any serious books and Giorgio was infinitely more interesting than one anyway.

“A yacht. You once suggested I should try it for relaxation. And I wanted to make it up to you for the commotion last night.”

She waved a hand at him. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“If I were a regular man, it would have never happened.”

He handed the luggage to a sailor wearing a bright blue polo shirt and helped her up the gangplank.

She recognized that shade of blue. “I think this is the same boat we came on from Genoa.”

“Yes, you’re right. We’re going on a private overnight cruise.”

Her eyes widened. “We have the whole yacht to ourselves?”

“Us, plus the captain and a couple crew members, including a chef.”

She climbed a set of stairs to the upper deck. He made an appreciative noise and gave her a quick pinch on the butt as he followed her. High heels plus a tight skirt were a killer combo since she’d thrown a bit of extra wiggle into her step.

They emerged on deck where they got a kick-ass view of the harbor with the ocean behind it. “Well, you just dodged a bullet by not having me cook.”

“An Italian girl who doesn’t know how to cook?” He shook his head in mock dismay and slipped his arm around her waist as they leaned on the rail. “What would your mamma say?”

“She’d say I’d never get a man without knowing how to keep him happy in the kitchen, but…”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“My grandmother would say it’s more important to keep him happy in the bedroom.” Unless she was baking lemon cookies.

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Not to disparage your mamma, Renata
mia,
but I think your
nonna
is correct in this instance.” The yacht began to move away from the dock and the salty breeze picked up.

“I agree. It’s socially acceptable to order out for meals, but not the other.”

“That depends on who you hang out with,” he told her.

She screwed up her face. “Yuck!”

“No, not me,” he assured her. “Perhaps it comes from having a little sister, but that kind of girl never appealed to me. They are always somebody’s daughter—or sister.”

“Good for you.” She reached up to kiss him. Of course Giorgio wouldn’t need to pay for sex, but he probably knew men who did. From what she’d seen on tabloid TV, some girls flocked around rich guys like skimpily dressed moths to a flame.

She had an unwelcome thought. What was the difference between them and her? She was here on Giorgio’s dime and had only paid a fraction of what had to be extensive expenses. On the other hand, she had gone out with him in New York because he was gorgeous and fascinating and had never asked him, never even considered hinting that he should take her to Europe. That was
his
idea. She had never been a gold digger and she wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he knew she wanted him for sex, not money, and had said so when he called to ask her on the trip.

Maybe that would salve her conscience. She was here because she couldn’t get enough of him the man, not him the prince with a royal treasury bankrolling their activities. She would have gladly spent a week in New York doing the same thing they were doing, minus the sightseeing. Logistics and nosy people had made that location impossible.

Renata sighed and looked over the beautiful blue water, the seabirds wheeling above the waves. It was too fine a day to worry. Giorgio knew she wasn’t like that, and so did she.

A steward in a white dinner jacket handed them each a glass flute and disappeared. “Ooh, champagne.”

“Prosecco,” he corrected her. “They grow Prosecco grapes north of Venice in the foothills of the Alps, not too far from Vinciguerra.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

He surprised her by reaching under her hat and gently taking off her sunglasses. “I want to see your lovely blue eyes.”

Renata blinked her lovely blue eyes in the dazzling light. Giorgio lifted his flute and she did the same.

“To us.”

“To us?” Was there an “us”? At least for the next week or so.

“And our cruise on the lovely Italian Riviera.”

Ah, a little bon voyage toast. “To our cruise.” She lifted her glass to clink his and then drank. The sparkling wine was fruity and dry with a hint of peach.

Giorgio certainly was showing her the lifestyles of the rich and famous on their trip. She’d been slightly concerned she wouldn’t see anything of Italy but the bedroom, but Giorgio, probably realizing she wouldn’t be jet-setting back to Europe anytime soon, was being so considerate in arranging typically tourist opportunities.

The yacht slowly began to move away from the dock with a low humming of the engines. “This is really lovely, Giorgio.” Her arms settled around his waist as if they belonged there and she clung to him.

He smiled down at her. “Nicest bon voyage I’ve ever had.”

“Me, too.” She’d have to get an extra-long bon voyage kiss before she hopped a plane for New York. “What’s wrong?”

Her expression must have reflected her dismay at leaving him in only a handful of days. “Oh, um, the sunlight bouncing off the waves got me for a second.”

“Then you need these back. I’d hate for you to get a headache from the sun. It often bothers visitors who aren’t used to it.” He slipped her sunglasses back onto her nose, and she was glad for the concealment. He put his own pair on. They stared out over the water, each safe from revealing too much thanks to their shatter-resistant dark lenses.

“Where is the trip taking us?”

“Another surprise, but it will involve lots of sun, fun and food.”

“Three out of four of my favorite things.”

He pursed his lips into an air kiss. “I’m sure we can make time for your other favorite thing.”

“What, swimming?”

He laughed. He slid his hand down her waist so it rested on the curve of her hip. “The captain will be down in a minute to give us a tour of the towns as we pass them, but I think after that I will give you a tour of our stateroom. You will have had a bit too much late-morning sun and retire there for a nap—with me, of course.”

“Wow, how decadent. A nap already?” She rolled her hip slightly so he caressed her bottom.

“Everyone knows redheads are susceptible to heat,” he told her with a serious expression.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Only to your heat,” she whispered as the captain arrived, maritime-spiffy in his white shirt with black-and-gold epaulets. He had sunburned crow’s-feet at the corners of his snapping black eyes.

“Ah, Capitano Galletti,” Giorgio greeted him warmly.

“
Signor, signorina,
welcome to my ship,
La Bella Maria,
named after my lovely wife, Maria.
Benvenuto!
” He bobbed his head in a respectful nod. “A pleasure to have you join us as we cruise the Cinque Terre. If there is anything we can do to make your trip the most enjoyable possible, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“
Grazie, Capitano.
Signorina Renata’s great-grandparents came from Corniglia and she would like to learn more about that village.”

“Ah, from Corniglia!” His face crinkled into a mass of wrinkles, his smile the widest one. “I should have known from your beauty.
Signore,
the most beautiful women in Italy are from Corniglia. But do not tell my wife I said so—she is from Manarola.” They laughed. That was the village next to Corniglia. He gestured extravagantly at the panorama behind him. “They are so beautiful because of the sun, the sea, the fresh air and the
fish,
” he said in a significant tone of voice.

“The fish?” Renata asked, wondering how a love of seafood contributed to beauty.

“We always knew fish made you healthy and strong. And now the rest of the world knows—but they take fish in pills.” Capitano Galletti shook his head at that foolishness. “Pills, pah.”

“Indeed,” Giorgio said with grave respect. “We are looking forward to some fresh fish. You have an excellent reputation for your seafood dishes.”

“But, of course! The cook will prepare grilled swordfish for you tonight—fresh caught just this morning while we were still in bed.”

Renata suppressed a grin. They had indeed been in bed, but probably not asleep. For spending so much time in bed, she was awfully tired. A nap like Giorgio had suggested sounded great.

The captain had other ideas, though. “Come, more Prosecco.” He topped off their glasses. “I show you the most beautiful coast in the world.”

He was as good as his word. After they left the inlet at Vernazza, he showed them a picturesque view of the hills and cliffs studded with coral, white and yellow houses leading down to the pebbly beach.

“And now, Corniglia!” the captain announced like a proud father. “The first Roman farmer here named it after his mother, Cornelia. What a good son, eh?”

Renata stared at the tiny hilltop town, amazed that her great-grandparents had summoned the nerve to leave it for the wilds of New York City. They must have had the mother of all culture shock when they arrived in America early in the twentieth century. She had friends who lived in apartment buildings with more people than the entire village.

Giorgio leaned in close. “It is only a few kilometers’ hike from our flat. We will visit before you go.”

She nodded, noting how he’d said “our flat” and then followed that up by reminding her she was leaving. Mixed messages? “I’m not looking forward to leaving.”

“Me, neither,” he admitted. “This has been a little slice of heaven.”

“Heaven indeed! Beautiful wine country,” crowed Capitano Galletti. “Jugs at Pompeii had ads for white wine from Corniglia. I have a friend there who makes her own wine—
delizioso!
I can get you a nice, nice discount.” He winked at Giorgio, who smiled in return.

Renata wondered what Giorgio might have said if the captain hadn’t inserted the ad for his friend’s wine. She just had to get up her nerve and ask him again when they were alone.

Renata scanned the coastline and stood up straight. “Look, that guy is jumping off the cliff.”

“Crazy, eh? Cliff diving.” Something in Giorgio’s slightly nostalgic tone made her narrow her eyes.

“So crazy you’ve never tried it?”

“Well…” He shrugged, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I seem to recall trying it once or twice while vacationing with Jack and Frank in the Spanish Riviera when we were in college. I have to confess my wits and judgment were dulled by major quantities of sangria but we all managed to survive without significant injury. Think Frank sprained an ankle.”

“Giorgio! I can’t believe you did that.” Her jaw dropped. The captain suddenly realized he had to be somewhere else and hastily departed.

“I have to admit cliff-diving was my idea.”

“Yours? Were you crazy as well as drunk?”

“Frank was both. He was coming off a bad breakup and wanted to jump off a cliff, minus the ocean below. So I told him if he was going to jump off a cliff, he had to take us with him. Jack calculated the angle and velocity to avoid smashing onto the rocks. We all made it into the water, although Frank moved his foot at the last second and wound up spraining it. Water is very hard when you hit it incorrectly.”

“Anything for a friend, huh?” That poor guy Frank had been so down he didn’t care, his friend Jack had put some scientific method to the madness and Giorgio had coordinated the whole thing like the leader he was born to be.

Considering how Giorgio was the only male heir to the throne and taking care of Stefania, the risk he’d taken was shocking. “I never knew you had that reckless side.”

He raised one black eyebrow. “Didn’t you?” His tone was low and seductive.

Oh, yes, she did know about his reckless side. He buried it well under fancy Italian suits and perfect royal manners, but it did exist, simmering away like a pot of pasta water until someone turned it up to boil over. She had been the one to heat him up.

He placed a fingertip beneath her chin and leaned over to kiss her lightly with closed lips, thanks to the presence of the crew, who were probably peeping at them. Renata closed her eyes, the sweet, warm pressure promising sensual delights later.

He moved his finger up her jawline. “We men are all reckless, especially where beautiful women are concerned.”

“And why is that?”

“The same reason we dive off perfectly good cliffs. The danger. Do we dare to approach the edge? Once we decide to make a move, it is anticipation followed by pure exhilaration. And what will the finish be? Successful, or—”

“Or a sprained ankle or cracked-open head,” she finished dryly.

He grinned and raised his Prosecco again. “Ah, but that only gives us war wounds and battle scars that we can brag about. Almost like breaking a leg on the slopes in Gstaad and then sitting in the lodge while ski beauties bring you brandy.”

Renata rolled her eyes. And this was why they were destined to be a vacation fling—just another example of their different worlds. He was a Verdi grand opera singer and she was a Frank Sinatra impersonator. He was a fancy five-star restaurant and she like a mom-and-pop hole-in-the-wall hangout complete with red-checked tablecloth and wax-covered Chianti bottle candlestick.

L
UNCH WAS A BUFFET
of antipasti, sausages and salami, Italian cheese and fresh-baked focaccia dotted with garlic. One dish Renata had never seen before was the Cinque Terre version of potato salad with small red potatoes, green beans and pesto sauce, but it was delicious. Wouldn’t her mother be surprised when Renata brought back a new recipe?