Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (33 page)

“I assume we’re not discussing the wedding?” Prince Stefano took a seat on the sofa beside his soon-to-be bride and draped an arm across her shoulders.

“Actually, we will,” Vittorio said. He glanced at Alessandro, who lounged in a chair at one end of the apartment’s main seating area, then back to Stefano and Megan. “But first, let me tell you why I wanted the family to meet.”

Fabrizia took a deep, cleansing breath, then moved from the windows to stand beside her husband, who’d taken up a spot behind the sofa where Stefano and Megan waited. Across from them, on another sofa, Massimo and Kelly sat with their bodies inches apart, their hands surreptitiously touching. The pair had arrived late—and flushed—and Fabrizia had a single guess as to the cause of their delay.
 

Good for them
.
 

Fabrizia had been impressed with Kelly from the moment Massimo mentioned her. A professional closet designer, Kelly was skilled at creating order from chaos, which made her a woman after Fabrizia’s own heart. That Kelly had found a priceless necklace hidden away in an antique piece of palace furniture and immediately notified Massimo spoke to her honesty, which scored the beautiful young Texan more points in Fabrizia’s book. Kelly was exactly what Massimo needed in his life.
 

God knew Vittorio hadn’t had the same experience with Carmella.

Behind Massimo and Kelly, Sophia stood at a buffet and poured herself a glass of Cabernet. Fabrizia was tempted to do the same, but suspected she’d need her wits about her tonight. She’d known from the moment her eldest son returned from Argentina that this night would arrive. What she hadn’t expected was that he’d call together the entire family—save Bruno, who was away at school—or that it would be so long in coming.
 

“I expect you have an public explanation for your time away?” King Carlo always cut to the meat of the matter. “Alessandro’s been fielding questions for weeks. Maria Cappalli told me this morning that one of the local news agencies is considering sending reporters to South America to investigate what you were doing there.”

“I do, and I believe it will satisfy the reporters’ curiosity.” Vittorio crossed the room to take the chair beside Alessandro. However, in contrast to Alessandro’s more casual posture, Vittorio sat ramrod straight. His gaze took in everyone, ensuring he had their full attention. “Before I share my idea, however, I have a confession to make.”

Fabrizia’s throat tightened, though she maintained her placid expression. He needn’t confess Carmella’s lies and theft to the family. It would only serve to make him feel worse. Though if he felt he had to, she couldn’t prevent it. Not when he had the family hanging on his every word.

“While I was in Argentina, I agreed to appear on a television show.”

Sophia’s wine sloshed as she nearly dropped her drink. “You what?”

Massimo grimaced. “Please say it wasn’t a dating show or some reality game.”

“We thought you were hoping for private time in the wake of Carmella’s death,” Kelly said, softening Massimo’s disapproving comment.

“Let him finish,” the king said in a low voice that silenced the room. Though he sounded calm, Fabrizia felt concern rolling off her husband in waves. As everyone turned back to Vittorio, she took Carlo’s hand below the back of the sofa, out of everyone’s sight. Whatever Vittorio had done, whatever the consequences, they’d weather it together, just as they’d weathered the other storms in their complex life.

“I was approached by the host of an American television show called
At Home Abroad
. This past season was filmed in Argentina. It follows expatriates as they learn about their new country and deal with buying real estate in a foreign country.”

Alessandro spoke for the first time since his arrival. “Are you saying that
I
appeared on this show? Or that you did?”

“I did. The host and a producer were sitting in a café across the street from where I was having my morning coffee and reading the real estate ads. The host came over and introduced herself, then said she was filming her show’s season finale. The couple she’d been planning to use had been called away on a medical emergency. She pointed out my newspaper and asked if I was looking for real estate. I told her I was, but that I wasn’t interested in being on the show.”

“You bought a house?” Disbelief filled Sophia’s voice. “No wonder you were there so long.”

“No, I didn’t. And given that I was attempting to stay below the radar, I sent the woman on her way.”

“Emily something, isn’t it? Gold-blond hair, large eyes, tall?” Kelly asked. “If it’s the show I’m thinking of, it’s very good.”

“Emily Sinclair.”

“I saw it a few times before I moved here,” Kelly explained. “They filmed a season in Japan. I learned more about the differences between Japanese and American culture than I ever learned in school. Watching foreigners as they went apartment hunting in Kyoto and Kobe was eye-opening.”

“If you turned down this Emily woman, then what happened?” Massimo asked.

“Long story short, I learned soon afterward that she was going to drain her own savings to finance the production costs incurred from the delay in finding another guest to feature. The network’s executives indicated that they were waiting to see the finale before making a decision about renewing the show, so there was no guarantee she’d even get her money back. I was impressed that she was willing to go to such lengths to try to keep the show on the air and keep the staff employed.”

And Vittorio fell for her. Fabrizia knew it clear to her bones, despite the businesslike tone her son maintained. Still, it was an extraordinary lapse in judgment for Vittorio, whom she’d believed to be the least likely of her children to take such a risk.
 

“The show is scheduled to air this Friday,” Vittorio continued. “As far as the show’s staff knows, my name is Bob. They know nothing else about me.”

“You can’t expect not to be recognized,” Alessandro said. “No matter that you looked different or that you used a different name. Someone will find you familiar and they’ll believe it’s me.”

“I was extremely careful, but I agree.” Vittorio shifted in his seat. “After filming wrapped, Ms. Sinclair figured out my identity. Mine. Not Alessandro’s. She apparently used to be a reporter for
Today’s Royals
.”

The king muttered a low curse in Italian. At the same time, Fabrizia heard Megan quietly ask Stefano, “Was that who hired the photographer who followed us on the beach in Barcelona?”

Stefano shook his head. “But
Today’s Royals
is of the same ilk.”

“It’s the magazine that claimed I was skipping school and going to all-night boozefests back in college,” Sophia said, irritation in her voice.

“You were skipping school,” Massimo countered. “And drinking.”

“Legally, responsibly, and not all night. And for your information, I had spectacular grades. Does it matter if I missed a class or two if I finished my work on time?”

“Enough.” Carlo fixed his dark gaze on Vittorio. His eyebrows knit together as he said, “You believe she’s going to reveal your identity on the show this Friday?”

“I have no idea. No word of it has leaked, so I’m optimistic she’s decided to keep it to herself.”

“The same woman who wanted to save her show so badly she was willing to bankrupt herself?” Sophia spoke as if Vittorio couldn’t be more obtuse. “I’d say that’s beyond optimistic and into delusional. You’re a public figure and you appeared on her show voluntarily. There’s no reason she shouldn’t broadcast every detail.”

 
“Perhaps. But I have a solution that will defuse the situation, explain where Alessandro went, and will help our country at the same time. If Alessandro is willing to travel to New York with me” —Vittorio glanced sideways at Alessandro, who shrugged his assent— “and if Stefano and Megan will allow me to impose on their wedding—”

“There will only be a few million people watching,” Stefano replied. “How could you possibly impose?”
 

“Hold your judgment until I give you the details.”

Megan gave her future brother-in-law a warm smile. “Anything you want to do is fine with me if it helps the family. All I care about is that Stefano and I are married when we walk out of that cathedral and that Anna has a good time at the ceremony and reception.”

Fabrizia smiled down at Megan. “I’ll watch over Anna.” The daughter Megan and Stefano shared was the light of Fabrizia’s life.
 

“I know you will. She adores you.”
 

The simple statement sent a swell of happiness through Fabrizia. She’d come to truly appreciate Megan over the last few months. It was hard to believe Megan wasn’t already a member of the family, though Fabrizia knew the long delay in the couple’s nuptials was her own fault. Until the day she died, Fabrizia wouldn’t forgive herself for having interfered in Stefano and Megan’s relationship, even if the harm done was unintentional. She’d been lucky things turned out as they had. She could only hope matters with this Emily woman would turn out as well for Vittorio, particularly given all he’d been through with Carmella.

“In that case, my plan is set.” Vittorio let out a long breath and pushed out of his chair. “If we can work out the logistics, I’m going to come clean. It’s time to let the world know I was in Argentina.”

A cacophony of, “What do you mean?” and “Are you serious?” and “Don’t you realize the hell that will break loose?” filled the room as everyone stared at Vittorio in varying degrees of alarm. Everyone but Fabrizia, who suspected there was a solid reason her son had decided to expose his secret to the world rather than confront this Emily Sinclair before the show aired in an attempt to minimize the damage.

The queen tightened her grip on her husband’s hand, then gave her eldest child a warm smile. “Tell us what needs to be done.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emily stepped onto the hastily-constructed stage that dominated one end of the network’s massive reception room. The
At Home Abroad
staff had gone above and beyond, decorating the space with white floral arrangements and balloon bouquets in Argentina’s national colors of white and sky blue. Lighting specialists had taken their time highlighting the room’s decorative ceilings and gold draperies, making the room appear grander and far more festive than it was in reality. Microphones had been tested, music systems checked, and the champagne glasses had been counted to ensure there was enough for the entire staff to toast the evening and the end of the season. Though the network had been enthusiastic about the idea of a live finale and had advertised it during prime time in the week leading up to the air date, Emily hadn’t yet been told there’d be another season.
 

She flexed her fingers and told herself to relax. Late last night, James Owens, the president of the network, had called her personally, wishing her good luck on the finale. He’d also asked if she could give him ten minutes of airtime near the end of the broadcast, though he wouldn’t tell her why. It had taken some last-minute shuffling of the schedule, but she and Rita had managed it.
 

“They called it a season finale, not a series finale,” Rita said, coming to her side. “If they were canceling it for sure, they’d have advertised it that way.”

“You’re a mind reader, you know that?” Emily turned to admire Rita’s elegant yellow cocktail dress, which perfectly suited her skin tone. She wore her dark hair piled on her head tonight and had taken extra care with her makeup. The entire staff had. Emily and Rita had informed them they’d all be on television tonight and to dress to the nines. Rita had even hired cameramen from another one of the network’s shows for the night so Mike and Ignacio could join the party rather than film it.
 

“Only because I’m thinking the same thing you are.” Rita scanned the crowd that had assembled in the room now that they were only five minutes to airtime. “Owens is coming for one of two reasons, either to announce a new season or to thank viewers for tuning in and give us a big public send-off. I’ve told myself he wouldn’t announce the end of the series without giving us notice, so I’m hoping for the best.”

“I’m doing the same thing.” Though deep inside, she knew a public send-off was exactly Owens’ style, and that he’d tell Emily later that an on-camera thank you should be seen as a compliment. Emily straightened and swept a hand down her side. “So how do I look? Ready to present?”

“Gorgeous.”
 

Emily had selected a rose pink dress that flared out from the waist in a look reminiscent of the 1950s. There was a subtle sparkle to the fabric that gave it a celebratory air, one she hoped would translate to her mood. She’d worn her hair down, selected a bright pink lipstick, and sported her fanciest heels, a gold pair she’d purchased as a treat to herself after they were renewed following their first season.

She could only hope they’d bring her luck and that the effort she and Rita had put into tonight’s episode would be worthwhile. While watching the original film of Vittorio striding through the Buenos Aires apartments with an air of authority, then dancing with the grace of an expert during the tango lesson, she’d nearly changed her mind about the edits. The episode as originally planned was riveting. But she and Rita agreed that they were doing the right thing.