Now that he had a good look at this space, however, meditative wasn’t the appropriate word to describe the task before him. He could fit his parents’ entire city apartment inside the great room alone. While he’d committed the dimensions to memory and studied the placement of its heavy furniture, windows, and doors so thoroughly he could navigate in the dark, Royce hadn’t given thought to how many square meters of wallpaper removal that meant, especially given the room’s high ceilings. Then there was the thick wood trim, which would need stripping and a light sanding before he applied a fresh coat of stain. He’d also need to move the furniture on his own. Well, with the exception of the mirror. For that, he’d need assistance, which meant a call to Miroslav.
His muscles wouldn’t make it through this job without a fresh bottle of ibuprofen.
King Eduardo’s second son, Prince Federico, was Royce’s point person for the job. All four diTalora siblings lived in the palace, but because Federico had young children, he traveled outside the country less often than other members of the family and could ensure his availability over the coming weeks. His profile was also lower than that of the king or crown prince, which made it possible for Federico to slip out for a face-to-face with Royce in advance of the job.
Once Prince Federico provided a general sense of the task and they’d come to terms over the phone, they’d met at Royce’s office, where Federico provided information on the apartment layout and all that was known about the thefts that had been committed within.
Royce braced his hands on his hips as he mentally ran through that conversation. In the days following Queen Aletta’s death, several of her personal effects went missing. A handbag she’d purchased in a community marketplace during a tour of India. Two or three pieces of her everyday jewelry. Smaller items like belts and scarves. A few of the items were expensive when purchased, most not. As only the family and a limited number of staff had access to Queen Aletta’s private rooms, the king was certain it was an inside job. Whomever had taken the items had been careful not to take the most prominent. Items that belonged to the crown—jewelry, in particular—were usually kept elsewhere, but the few state pieces that Aletta stored in her closet prior to her death had not been touched. Federico told Royce that, if not for Princess Isabella seeking out the handbag from the Indian tour to carry at their mother’s funeral service, the thefts might have gone undiscovered for months.
Eduardo had been infuriated, though not so much by the loss of the items as by the breach of trust. He’d closed the queen’s rooms and allowed the staff to believe it was from a sense of grief. Now, however, he wished to have the bulk of her remaining effects auctioned for charity. That necessitated reopening the rooms for a minimum of two weeks—likely longer—and, as the offender hadn’t been caught, risking further thefts.
Royce’s job was to ensure that didn’t happen and, if the opportunity presented itself, to discover the identity of the thief. Federico asked if Royce could tackle the job alone, as he believed having fewer people in the apartment might draw out the thief if he or she were still on the premises. Royce had glanced at the floor plan and photographs and assured the prince that he could. It was better, in fact. A team of painters would make it difficult to stretch the cover job for more than two weeks.
“A specialist from outside the country has been engaged to organize and catalogue my mother’s belongings,” Federico had explained, placing a dossier on top of the folder that contained the floor plan and the information on the missing items. “My father is close to the Barrali family and explained the situation to King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia. They recommended this woman without reservation. I’m certain she will follow the proper procedure to keep the area secure as she works, but if you notice aspects of our security protocols that could be improved, let me know and I will ensure that changes are made and the information is relayed to her. She will deal directly with my father for the duration of her task.”
Royce had taken notes as the prince spoke. At this point, he raised his head. “Is she aware of the thefts?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know I’ll be working there? As security, that is.”
“Not yet. I wished to finalize details with you before my father informed her.”
Royce had mulled over that, then said, “Unless the king feels he must tell her, don’t. If she knows why I’m there, her behavior could change. If she believes I’m a painter, it reinforces my cover story to the staff.”
Federico had considered the point, then nodded his agreement.
Finally, Royce had asked, “I assume her security screen went through without a problem?”
“It did.” The prince had gestured to the dossier. “She works closely with Queen Fabrizia and is often around the Barrali family during their private hours. There’s never been a breach of confidence. The queen trusts her implicitly and is essentially lending her to my father for this task.”
It was no secret that the two royal families were acquainted. The Barralis had attended Prince Federico’s wedding and Queen Aletta’s funeral. Photographs of King Carlo and King Eduardo dining together in San Rimini following a Formula One event the previous year had been published around the world. Even so, Royce doubted anyone knew the families were so tightly connected that Eduardo would feel at liberty to discuss personal issues with the Sarcaccian king and queen.
“Speaking of credentials, are you certain yours will get past the palace security screen without raising any flags?” Federico had asked. “Once I notify the security chief that I’ve hired a painter to work in my father’s private residence, they’ll run both you and the business through a full background check.”
It was a question Royce had anticipated. “I established the painting business immediately after I was discharged from the army. It’s legitimate. However, for the last six months I’ve only taken jobs when necessary for cover on security assignments. Your staff will see my military service record and the establishment of the painting business.” He’d paused, then added, “A business with few clients, but a flawless reputation, and no link to the security business.”
Federico had accepted the explanation. Royce had used a few corporate tricks to conceal the ownership of his security firm behind another name. Anyone who looked into government records would find it, of course, but they’d need to know to look for it.
Royce had ensured no one knew to look for it.
As Royce had neared the end of his military commitment, his father started pushing for Royce to join his business. Pieter Dekker managed his own security firm, which did contract work for a number of embassies and international organizations located in San Rimini. Royce’s military experience had prepared him well, as had growing up in a household with his father. Royce hadn’t thought it unusual to visit a museum, view the exhibits, and then discuss the facility’s security with his father on the way home. Pieter made his son aware of their surroundings in a way Royce imagined was common to the children of police officers, federal agents, and other safety experts. But when the time came to give his father a yes or no answer about joining the firm, Royce had gone with a third option: start his own one-man operation. He’d hoped to begin with smaller jobs and learn the ropes on his own.
“You’ve built a solid business,” he’d told his father. “I liked the security work I did in the army, but I don’t know if I want to do it my whole life. If I come to work for you now, it will create false expectations, both in you and in your clients, and I won’t make a commitment I can’t keep. Going out on my own for a while will give me the chance to build my own reputation and be certain about my future.”
Pieter Dekker had argued, but not as strenuously as Royce had expected. He’d then offered to throw a few jobs Royce’s way if the fit was right. Royce found several clients using his own military connections, then took on a few undercover jobs that came through referrals. Three weeks ago, Royce even nailed a man attempting to bug the Canadian embassy the day before a high-profile North Kor
ean defector was scheduled to arrive en route to Canada and, presumably, the United States.
Then his father had received the call from Prince Federico, asking for recommendations for a security task inside the palace. The prince had been cagey about the nature of the job, but offered enough information for the senior Dekker to offer Royce’s name and credentials.
And now Royce stood in coveralls in the most private section of San Rimini’s royal palace, holding a toolbox, staring at dark wood trim and baseboards covered in decades, if not centuries, of heavy stain and wax, and wallpaper so outdated he’d bet his boots it’d been hung before his grandparents were born.
Prince Federico’s information had been spot-on in regard to the floor plan and the members of the palace security team, including both Miroslav and Miroslav’s boss, Chiara Ascardi, the palace’s chief of security. He’d recognized her instantly when she’d passed him in the hallway outside Miroslav’s office. Royce had to assume Federico’s information was also correct in regard to the woman hired to catalogue the queen’s belongings.
That woman would arrive soon.
He expelled the air from his lungs, then bent and tightened his boot laces. Going through the contractor routine with Miroslav had kept Royce’s brain occupied so far. Now that he was alone, he needed to keep his mind firmly on the job, rather than what he’d read in the woman’s dossier.
For the next thirty minutes, Royce made several runs to his van, transporting drop cloths, buckets, spray bottles, and a ladder to the king’s apartment. He’d barely arrived with the final load when the guard’s familiar voice came from the other side of the apartment entry doors, issuing the same warnings about wearing the building pass that Royce had endured.
Royce’s heart rate increased at the feminine response. He slapped a painter’s cap on his head, then turned his back to the door, moving deliberately as he bent to spread the tarp along the wall nearest the living room’s grand fireplace. It was a natural starting point, but it also allowed him to hear what was said as the guard escorted Daniela to the queen’s private rooms.
Daniela D’Ambrosio.
A name he’d never forget.
He kept his body relaxed as the entry door opened and footfalls echoed from the vestibule.
“There will be a contractor working in the living area while you are in the queen’s rooms,” Miroslav said. “The king is having the wallpaper stripped, then the woodwork refinished and the walls painted.”
She must have indicated that she was aware of the work being done, because Miroslav’s tone changed. “I see. Well, should the odor become problematic, let me know and I’ll see what can be done to improve the ventilation.”
Old wooden floorboards carried the impact of their movement, though the vibration deadened when they reached the area rug at the far side of the seating area. Royce schooled his features to a neutral expression and rose from his crouch.
“Ms. D’Ambrosio, may I introduce—”
Royce spun to preempt the guard’s introduction. He brushed his palms over his coveralls as if clearing dust, and said, “I’m Roy. Nice to meet you.” He shook Daniela’s hand and met her eyes for the briefest of moments before letting go and shifting his gaze to Miroslav.
Miroslav’s brow puckered, but he said nothing. Royce wasn’t certain Daniela D’Ambrosio would remember him, given that they’d met over five years ago, but his name was an uncommon one. He couldn’t risk having her say something that would blow his cover, not when the entire palace staff fell under a cloud of suspicion.
“Nice to meet you, as well.” Her tone was professional, yet warm. “Please, call me Daniela.”
“She will be working on a project in the adjacent rooms,” Miroslav’s firm tone implied that it wasn’t Roy’s place to ask questions and that any further information would be conveyed on the guard’s timetable. “Her tasks are separate from yours. She has her own code to the door and won’t be in your way.”
Royce nodded, keeping his chin tucked to hide the top part of his face under the brim of the painter’s cap. “For the next few days I’m removing wallpaper, so there won’t be any fumes. When it comes time to strip the wood, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” She scanned the great room. “You have quite a job ahead of you.”
“There are worse places to work.”
With his brim low, he felt her smile more than saw it. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
“It shouldn’t be an issue,” Miroslav told Daniela, his tone brusque. “He’ll only be in this room. It’s my understanding that King Eduardo has given you free rein in Queen Aletta’s rooms, including permission to use her sitting room as your work area?”
Daniela’s attention went from Royce to the guard. “Yes. I’ll need the space to spread out as I empty the closet and photograph its contents. He also mentioned that there’s a desk available?”
“It’s in the sitting room, under the center window. This way.” The guard turned toward the double doors. “You must go first and use the keypad to enter your access code. I do not have one, nor does anyone else on the staff. Only the immediate family. The king has instructed that no one else is to enter the space unless you ask for assistance, and then we are to remain the minimum amount of time necessary to complete your request.”
“He was kind enough to explain everything during our meeting. Thank you, Miroslav.”
Royce hid his surprise at Daniela’s gentle voice and use of the guard’s first name. When the man had introduced himself to Royce, he made it clear he wasn’t interested in conversation. Definitely not a first-name-basis conversation.
Once Daniela and the guard moved into the queen’s private rooms, Royce could hear snippets of their discussion, but nothing in detail. Only enough to know Miroslav had eased off his overbearing palace guard routine.
Well. Daniela was a woman of many talents.
Royce bent to finish positioning the tarp. He’d found Daniela attractive the night they’d walked the length of Boulevard Kukulkan. She’d captured his attention the moment he’d spied her dancing with her friends, then again outside. Independent, he’d thought at the time. As they’d walked, he’d admired her intellect and her curious nature. The way she exuded both humor and innocence. The ease he felt in her presence.
And, he had to admit, that glowing, sun-kissed skin. That laugh. And that kiss.
All these years, he’d assumed his memory had embellished her appearance, as fond memories have a habit of doing. Despite keeping his gaze averted as much as possible during their brief interaction, he knew that, without a doubt, Daniela D’Ambrosio was more beautiful than he remembered.
Once the tarp was in place, he gathered the materials he’d need to strip the wallpaper, keeping one ear tuned to the queen’s rooms. While it should be a relief that Daniela hadn’t remembered him, Royce was self-aware enough to recognize disappointment when it coursed through his veins.
The kiss they’d shared may have been five years ago, but it was a damned good kiss.
And it was a damned shame there wouldn’t be another.
Chapter 8
At long last, to Daniela’s relief, Miroslav turned and left. If he’d uttered one more reminder about proper procedures, she might’ve snapped. He was only doing his job, but she’d passed the mandatory background check, read and signed a slew of documents confirming her understanding of palace rules, and he knew she was Queen Fabrizia’s personal assistant. The king had met with her personally, which wasn’t the usual course of business for a palace hire.
She shuddered to think how many times Miroslav must’ve reminded the painting contractor about badge displays and keypad procedures, given how adamant he’d been with her. The man was as intense as Queen Fabrizia’s head of security, Umberto Niro, and then some.
On the other hand, the instant Miroslav crossed the threshold into the queen’s sitting room, he’d mellowed considerably. Earlier that morning, during Daniela’s b
reakfast meeting with King Eduardo, the monarch said that only he, Princess Isabella, and Prince Federico had been in the rooms since Aletta’s death. “You’ll find dust,” he’d warned her. “Not so much on the furniture, but on the curtains. The three of us served as the cleaning crew day before yesterday. We had a limited amount of time, as we didn’t want anyone to know we’d opened the queen’s rooms, and that meant getting a vacuum cleaner into the residence without the cleaning crew or security staff seeing us. I’m afraid all we managed was a quick vacuum and dusting.”
“Your security team is aware I’ll be there,” she’d been compelled to point out, shoving aside the mental image of the dignified king pushing a vacuum cleaner. “They didn’t expect you’d have the rooms cleaned first?”
The king’s mischievous grin had surprised her. “I expect the security team was so shocked when I informed them I’m opening the rooms that cleaning didn’t occur to them. I put off the regular cleaning staff by instructing them to stay clear of the residence while the contractor is there.”
Fit for a Queen Page 7
