“You don’t even know if I’m crazy.”
“Are you crazy?” He didn’t look that worried.
“Aren’t we all deep down? I mean, why does a wealthy prince feel the need to make art? That seems rather eccentric.”
He laughed. “I suppose I prefer to think of myself as creative, but eccentric will do. Do you have any eccentricities?”
“I don’t have time for eccentricities. I work full-time teaching fourth graders, then I work at the gallery three evenings a week. If I can buy groceries, keep my apartment clean and catch a few moments to escape into a book, I count myself lucky.”
“In Altaleone you’d have time to pursue your interests.”
“I’m not even sure I have any interests.” She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of mysterious damsel with hidden depths.
“Maybe you’ve just never had the luxury of enough time and resources to find out.”
The waiter bought their food, a gleaming slice of meat among brightly colored vegetables, with a side of pasta in fragrant pesto. Her stomach growled. She’d only had time for a granola bar at lunch. “This looks wonderful. But what if I was vegetarian? You didn’t even ask.”
He frowned slightly. “If you were vegetarian, surely you’d have told me.”
“Are you kidding? I’d be too intimidated.”
“Nonsense. You radiate a quiet confidence that can be seen for miles. Doesn’t she, Sandro?”
Sandro looked up from his plate and nodded in agreement. “You already look like a queen, too. That goes a long way.”
Emma frowned. “What does a queen look like? I’m picturing an elderly lady with a bouffant hairdo and a Hermès scarf.”
“That does sound somewhat like my grandmother Queen Sofia.” His dark eyes filled with sadness. “Who died a few days ago. But my brother means that you are naturally regal in the way you carry yourself. You are tall, with strong but elegant bone structure and the kind of beauty that has inspired artists throughout the ages.”
He spoke softly, and his words had the effect of making heat rise to her cheeks. Which was just annoying! People had been telling her for years that she was pretty, but that didn’t butter any biscuits where she came from. All it did was invite unwelcome attention from unsuitable men. She downplayed it by never wearing makeup and keeping her hair in a ponytail most of the time. “I guess I should thank you for the compliment. But how come you’re the heir? You’ve mentioned your mother. Why doesn’t she inherit?”
“My father would have been the one to inherit. He was next in the royal line, and in the event of his death the crown passes to the next blood relative in the Leone line—me. My father was found dead on the same night as my grandmother. Don’t you watch the news?”
“No. I don’t have time. I figure if a war breaks out someone will tell me. What happened?”
“No one knows exactly.” His face darkened. “My grandmother was suffocated. My father was stabbed through the heart with an ancient dagger.”
Her eyes widened. “They were murdered.”
“It appears so, though some are saying it was part of a ritual. The circumstances are…mysterious. The police are still analyzing the evidence.”
“That’s horrible. And sounds dangerous. Are you worried they’ll try to kill you, too?”
“I find worry to be a waste of time. Perhaps for the same reasons you don’t bother to watch the news. Why give energy to something that isn’t important to you? I do, however, intend to find out exactly what happened and who is responsible. Every moment I spend in New York is time where the trail grows cold.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have a commitment to Keane Moss. He’s represented my paintings for five years, and I owe him a lot. I’m here to open this show, which has been in the works for over a year, and then I’ll be leaving.” He paused and his gaze trapped hers. Then he reached across the table. Her skin stung with awareness as he wrapped his fingers around her hand, which had been resting by her water glass. “And I sincerely hope that you’ll come with me.”
Her phone pinged. “Excuse me.” She was glad of an excuse to snatch her hand back. Already her heart beat faster and her breathing grew shallow. She pulled her phone from her purse and her heart flew to her mouth when she saw Jonas’s name next to an all-caps message.
NEED MORE $. FORGOT ABOUT INTEREST. HAVE UNTIL TOMORROW. CALL ME ASAP. LOVE YOU.
Her heart sank. There seemed to be no end to the trouble her brother could get into. And she’d already have to wait for her next paycheck just to make her rent. People said she should serve him some tough love, but how did she do that when he was all she had? “One hundred thousand, up front, you said.”
“Yes.” His eyes brightened. “And another at the close of the year.”
“How can you be sure The Fountains will take my brother?”
“Let me call Licia.” He whipped out his phone, explained the situation, and booked Jonas in—starting tomorrow at nine A.M., without even consulting her. Then he hung up and pocketed his phone. “It’s all arranged.” The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at his arrogant mouth.
Her brother at The Fountains tomorrow morning. This could be the big break that turned everything around for him. She’d have enough to pay off whatever stupid debts he’d racked up and money to save. She could put her stuff into storage for a year and give up her apartment, which was drafty and noisy, anyway.… “I’d need to see the contract. The one between us.”
He pulled his phone out again and pushed a button. “Greg, can we meet tonight?” He explained the situation to his lawyer and made plans for them to head straight to his office, despite the late hour.
She wanted to protest that she should go back to the gallery first, but Keane probably needed her to keep Darias away until the show was rehung, which might take another hour or two.
She swallowed hard. One year. And it wasn’t like she’d be in prison. She’d get to see another part of the world. “I’ve never even left the U.S.” It felt important to make it clear to him that she was not as sophisticated as she apparently appeared.
“Then it’s about time you did.” He paid the bill with an air of satisfaction. “The gallery opening is tomorrow night, and we can leave for Altaleone first thing in the morning.”
The King’s Bought Bride is available now.
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Author Biography
Jennifer Lewis loves heat in all its forms including spicy food, steamy temperatures and smoking hot heroes. She is a USA TODAY bestselling author and her books have been translated into more than twenty languages. She lives in sunny South Florida and when she’s not sitting at her laptop she can often be found at the beach. Read more about her books or join her new release mailing list at www.jenlewis.com
Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Lewis
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Published 2016 by Mangrove
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Lewis, Jennifer, A Prince for Christmas (Royal House of Leone Book 2)
A Prince for Christmas (Royal House of Leone Book 2) Page 7
