Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (13 page)

“I’ll have to remember that,” Mike called from the front hall, where he was holding the door open for them to exit.
 

Emily rolled her eyes, then turned to Vittorio. “The bottom line is that we won’t need you until Thursday. But Thursday will likely be a long day, since the tango parlors don’t get into full swing until late at night, assuming we do that instead of an early show or a visit to a tango school.”

“I can handle a late night,” he assured them.

Rita swirled one hand in the air, then drew an imaginary rose through her teeth. “In that case, I expect you two to put on a fine performance. One with passion!”
 

* * *

“I should apologize for Rita, though if she ever discovers I did, she’d kill me.”

Emily said the words through clenched teeth as she waved from the cab window, watching as Rita keyed into the front door of a small apartment not far from the
At Home Abroad
offices. Though the rest of the staff members were staying in one of two bed and breakfasts, Rita had opted to say with an aunt who lived in the city.
 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Victor replied. “She’s a flirt, but she loves her husband dearly.”

Emily gave the driver the address for the bed and breakfast where she was staying, then turned to Victor with interest as the driver pulled away from the curb. “How do you know that?”

“Because her exact words to me were, ‘I love my husband dearly.’”

She wondered what compelled Rita to speak so bluntly. Had Victor flirted back while Emily was in a different room?

Victor leaned against the taxi’s cracked leather seat, stretching one powerful arm along the edge of the window. “She also told me she wishes you’d flirt more, then maybe you’d be lucky enough to find a husband as adoring and perfect as hers. Of course, she was also trying to convince me I should give tango lessons a try, rather than watching from the sidelines on Thursday at a show.”

Now it made sense. “Rita should’ve been a matchmaker instead of a television director and producer. Some days I think she gets a bigger kick out of trying to find partners for her friends than she does in her real job.”

“Is she as successful at matchmaking?”

That drew a low laugh from her. “She’s a great director, while Mike, Ignacio, Maryam, and I are all single, despite her best efforts. So I’d say no.”

“Then perhaps it’s best she sticks to her day job.”

“Better for me, for sure.” The last thing she needed was a boyfriend, one she’d eventually have to tell about her health history. When she was a few years older, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a relationship killer. But for now, Emily had the show. That was enough to keep her challenged and fulfilled.

She leaned forward to ask the driver to pull over, then turned to Victor. “My bed and breakfast is in that narrow white building on the other side of the park, so I’ll get out and walk from here. You know how to get to the apartment for filming on Thursday?”

“I do.” The space between his brows wrinkled as he looked across the park. “You shouldn’t walk alone at night. I’ll go with you. My hotel is only a few blocks beyond your bed and breakfast.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve made the same walk every night I’ve been in Buenos Aires. It’s perfectly safe. You go ahead and take the cab.” She patted his arm in thanks, then handed a bill to the cab driver and told him to keep the change. When she stepped out, Victor did the same.

“You don’t follow directions, do you?” she said over the top of the cab.

“Nope. I prefer to manage rather than be managed.” The devilish grin lighting his face made her weak in the knees.
 

“You know that’s how you ended up with that lump on your head, right? You don’t stay put when you should.”

“Ease your guilt by allowing me to walk you home.” Without waiting for an answer, Victor tapped on the roof of the cab and sent the driver on his way. Once they’d crossed the boulevard and entered the park, a wave of calm washed through Emily. Though they’d filmed all over the country, Buenos Aires was the show’s home base for the season and she’d come to relish breathing in the crisp, summery night air and the mossy scent of the park’s old trees after a long day of work.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” he asked. Victor walked on her left side, less than an arm’s length away. “When I arrived in town, I rented a bike and rode all over this neighborhood. I stopped at the lunch cart at the northern edge a few times. Great, quick food. I sat on a bench over there” —he pointed toward a fountain in the distance where a number of young couples sat eating late-night ice cream cones and chatting— “and people-watched while I ate.”

She sliced a glance sideways. “Yellow cart run by a guy named Franco?”

“One and the same. Great sausage sandwiches. You like them, too?”

“
Choripán
? No.” She shuddered. “Mike and Ignacio like to bring them to the office smothered in
chimichurri
sauce, then breathe their garlic and onion fire-breath on the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I suspect they eat them in the office rather than the park specifically for the entertainment value of torturing you.”

“I suspect you’re right.” After a moment, she said, “I’m surprised you like
choripán
. I’d have guessed you’d choose something else from his cart.”

“I get mine without onions or sauce. They’re not nearly as tortuous as what Mike and Ignacio eat.”

His lighthearted tone drew a smile from her as they strolled through the park center in silence. A stray dog lay sheltered in the raised, twisted roots of the massive ombu tree that dominated the square. The furry creature blinked at them as they passed, then turned its attention to a group of old men who sat on the low edge of a nearby brick wall, where they debated politics with an abundance of hand gestures.
 

“The park is completely different at night,” Victor observed as he glanced up at the tree’s sprawling, umbrella-like canopy. “Quieter, but still full of activity if you take the time to look.”

“I’ve never been here in the middle of the day. Always early morning or late at night, when it’s like this. It’s why I’d rather walk than take a taxi the whole way. I can forget work worries for awhile and let my mind drift.” She pointed out an elegant, amber-toned building on the far side of the park. “When I see the lights on in that window and the thick curtains to the side of that balcony, I can’t help but sing ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.’ In my head, of course.”
 

Even in the semi-darkness, she read the amusement in his expression. “That doesn’t strike me as very relaxing. I always found that song depressing.”

“Not me. I saw it on stage in New York, and I was blown away by the power of the song and the image of a woman standing on a balcony, singing her thanks to people who care for her. There was no resentment of her cancer or the fact she wouldn’t have a long life with her husband, let alone a family.” Emily’s gaze returned to the gracious old building. “When I see that building after a long day of work, it reminds me of the fact I’ve had the opportunity to travel the world, and it makes me grateful.”

They were nearly across the park now. Both their steps slowed, as if neither of them wanted the conversation to end.
 

“I saw
Evita
in London,” he said. “I’d spent the entire day at work functions and had little sleep the night before, so I was exhausted. It was all I could do to stay awake when I took my seat and the lights went down, even though I was surrounded by the…by colleagues…and I needed to stay sharp.” His voice deepened, as if he were concentrating on the memory. “But when Eva first arrived from her rural village and began singing, ‘Hello, Buenos Aires!’ I got my second wind. I don’t remember most of the lyrics, but there was a vibrancy and freedom to the music that appealed to me. A sense that everything could be new again. So it was that song I found most powerful. When I got back to my hotel it took me a long time to fall asleep.”

The canopy of trees gave way to a wide sidewalk fronting one of Recoleta’s main streets. The buildings on the opposite side housed hotels, bed and breakfasts, and private residences. Though the lights twinkling in the windows gave the entire street an elegant, romantic feel, it didn’t exude the same magic as the park.
 

Victor’s voice floated to Emily as he glanced over his shoulder, taking in the sight of the tree-covered path they’d just traversed. “When I arrived and took my first bike ride through this park, it was the chorus of ‘Buenos Aires’
that went through my head.” He cocked his head and smiled at her. “Funny how the park and surrounding buildings make us both think of
Evita
, but the songs we hear are so different.”

It was a surprising revelation from the man who, when she first approached him, unnerved her with his cool, distant demeanor. He’d done it again when he trapped her between his arms in the Palermo apartment, demanding to know who employed her and why she’d followed him, but then it was with the heat of his anger. Now he struck her as a man who’d come to Buenos Aires craving vibrancy and freedom, a man who needed his faith in the world renewed. The thought spoke to an inner anguish she’d never have predicted when they first met.
 

Keen to understand him, she stopped walking and faced him fully. “Victor, tell me something. How long have you been on your vacation?”

Chapter Nine

She’d asked the question softly, but wariness leapt in his eyes before he covered it with a shrug. “A while.”
 

She waited. A group of twenty-somethings cut through the park behind them, their voices giddy as they crossed the boulevard and made their way toward a nearby street known for its dance clubs.

“Mid-October,” he finally admitted. “Almost five months.”

“Five months is a long vacation.” Sensing that she treaded on dangerous ground, she shifted to a gentler approach. “You likely know more about Buenos Aires than I do. The irony of
At Home Abroad
is that I’m never in one city long enough to actually be at home in it.”

He remained still, but the air between them felt thicker, imbued with tension. She took a risk and asked, “Did you intend to stay so long?”

“Are you asking for the show?”

“I’m asking because I’m curious.”

The edge of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away from her. Rather, she felt he looked right through her, as if attempting to discern her motives and determine whether she could be trusted. “I’ve enjoyed my time here more than I expected I would. The cobblestone streets, the Italian eateries, the passion for
fútbol
…they all appeal to my European heritage. But it’s far enough away from my real life that I can escape the pressures of work.”

“Your job sounds stressful.”

“You could say that.”
 

“Have you considered changing?”

His mouth quirked as if her question were unintentionally funny. “Much as it can be exhausting, it’s also very rewarding. Like you, I have a lot of people who count on me and it’s gratifying to see their lives improve as a direct result of decisions I make.” He shrugged. “This vacation is a first for me. I suppose that’s why I’ve been away as long as I have, though I’m planning to return soon.”

“You’ve never taken a vacation before?” Victor had to be in his mid-thirties. Who went that long without a break? No wonder he vividly remembered the night he’d spent at
Evita.
It was—literally—a wake-up call.
 

“I’ve vacationed, but never without family and at least some time devoted to work. And never for more than a few days.”

She thought back to what he’d said about his family while he was touring the Puerto Madero apartment. “If you’re that close to them, they’re probably more worried that your job stress is getting to you than about how long it’s been since you’ve visited.”

His eyebrows rose slightly and she knew she’d hit the mark.
 

“Maybe you could give them a call tomorrow morning. It’ll be afternoon in Europe then.”

“I believe I will.” He put his hand to her lower back and began walking again, encouraging her to fall into step beside him before letting his arm drop to his side. “I’ll tell them I’m considering buying a vacation place here.”

“Describe the apartment we visited today and they’ll end up wanting to visit.”

“I suspect they’d rather have me home, but it’s a nice thought.”

They crossed the street and approached the narrow buildings that housed the
At Home Abroad
staff. The light in Maryam’s third floor room burned bright, but Emily could see from the darkened windows a few doors down the street that Ignacio and Mike weren’t back to their bed and breakfast yet. They’d likely gone out to have a beer and swap stories about what happened at the soccer match.
 

“You’re under a good deal of pressure yourself,” Victor observed. “Enough to tap your own financial resources to save everyone’s jobs if necessary.”

“Since my job is one of those in need of saving, there’s a certain amount of self-interest involved. It’s what anyone would do.”

“That doesn’t make it any less stressful. Yet here you are taking the time to ask about my family and you hardly know me.” He stopped and turned so abruptly she nearly crashed into his chest. He took her elbow and leaned against the wrought iron railing of her entry stairs. The warmth of his fingers radiated through the thin fabric of her blouse, sending heat to pool in regions where she had no right to feel it. Not for this man, a guest on her show. A man who, as he pointed out, she hardly knew.