To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6)

by Nicole Burnham

  Claire thanked the security chief, then followed Luisa through the curtain and into the box.

  Four plush chairs filled the small balcony. Beneath the rail, the velvet-covered wall boasted built-in drink holders and a sleek display shelf showcasing copies of the evening’s program. It was as luxurious a spot as one could hope to occupy for the performance. However, as she approached the balcony rail, it was the sight of the theater’s interior took Claire’s breath away.

  The layout was traditional, with a fanned area of seats, all of which appeared to have good views of the stage. The ceiling was painted to resemble the heavens, complete with dancing cherubs and fluffy clouds that glowed from the light of the sun. A single, massive chandelier dominated the center of the space. Intricate carvings fronted each of the balconies. She leaned forward for a better look and realized that they depicted scenes from classical plays. Directly across from her, Roman senators stabbed Julius Caesar. On the balcony beside that, Hamlet contemplated a skull. There were a few balconies with scenes she didn’t recognize, then she spotted Lysistrata urging a group of women to withhold sex from their husbands in an attempt to stop the Peloponnesian War.

  Luisa smiled as Claire’s gaze moved from balcony to balcony. “The designs are original to the theater. They were all carved by hand.”

  “They’re exquisite.”

  Luisa made a sound of agreement. “I take it this is your first visit?”

  “It is.”

  “You’re seeing it the proper way, then. There are floor seats with better views of the stage, but the box is more comfortable. It also allows you to see the balcony detail.”

  As Luisa spoke, the lights flashed and guests began making their way from the lobby to their seats.

  “It’s a marvelous spot for people watching,” Claire said.

  “Yes, and tonight’s performance will be quite the fashion parade.” Luisa’s eyes tracked a chic woman with dark skin and a vibrant yellow gown as she made her way into the center of the third row. “The Royal Foundation fundraiser always draws a wealthy crowd who want an excuse to look their best. Thankfully, they also come with their pocketbooks open. After the final curtain, the cast will host a short auction to raise additional funds. The crowd gets into it and cheers on the bidders. There are autographed programs, photographs with the performers, and sometimes they’ll offer props. Last year’s Royal Foundation performance was The Barber of Seville, and the wedding contract between the Count and Rosina sold for quite a sum.”

  “Sounds like you’ve attended this event several times.”

  “Oh, yes, as long as I’ve worked for King Eduardo, but most years I don’t watch the performance. I stay long enough to ensure His Highness doesn’t need me, then I head home.” No one was within hearing range, but Luisa dropped her voice. “I love this building and volunteer to do the pre-arrival inspection with the security staff any chance I get, but I’m not a fan of opera. That’s why Chiara Ascardi gave me that look when you mentioned that we were both working on a weekend. Chiara knows I’d rather this fundraiser involved a big screen and a film packed with mindless humor. I only stayed for The Barber of Seville last year because it’s a comedy.”

  Claire looked at Luisa. “You’re staying tonight, though?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I have an appointment with a fluffy blanket and a fantastic romance novel.”

  Claire waved a hand to encompass Luisa’s gown. “That’s better than I’ve ever dressed for a blanket and a good book. Your gown is breathtaking. It’s also perfectly suited to you.”

  “Thank you, Madam Ambassador. It’s my favorite. Thankfully, given the king’s public schedule, I have plenty of opportunities to wear it.” Luisa’s chin lifted suddenly. “Speaking of whom, I believe His Highness has arrived.”

  Sure enough, Claire heard King Eduardo’s familiar voice coming from the corridor outside the box, most likely as he spoke with Chiara Ascardi. And damn if the sound didn’t jack Claire’s heart rate sky high.

  For more than a week now, Claire had heard that same voice in her head, whispering the words he’d spoken just before he’d kissed her.

  I’m human, you know. Same as you. You won’t catch fire if you touch me.

  Oh, how little he knew. Everything about Eduardo diTalora set her on fire. His voice. His gaze. And definitely his touch.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take a diplomat’s perception to realize that she had the same effect on him.

  What they would do about it, though, that she didn’t know.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur. The theater lights flashed once more, the remainder of the guests hurried from the lobby to take their seats, then King Eduardo entered the box as the lights dimmed. He said something to Luisa as she passed him on her way out, then took a step toward Claire and leaned in so she could hear him over the swell of murmurs from the crowd below.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Even in the faint light, his eyes twinkled. “I need to go on stage for a moment. Have a seat and I’ll be right back. If you’d like a drink, there’s a refrigerator hidden behind the seats.”

  He disappeared through the curtain. She glanced behind her and noted a low cabinet with a built-in refrigerator unit. Through its glass door, she saw several bottles of water and soda along with what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Four highball glasses and four wine glasses were arranged beside an ice bucket on top of the cabinet.

  Luisa was right about this being the proper way to see the opera.

  Claire slipped into a seat, then a spotlight tracked across the stage and the crowd silenced. The king stepped into the spotlight and a wave of applause rose from the seats. Claire realized that he must have taken a staircase that connected their hallway to an area backstage.

  The king welcomed the audience to the performance and noted that the proceeds of the evening’s ticket sales went to the Royal Foundation of San Rimini. He thanked the cast, crew, and theater staff for donating their time and talents, then said, “The Foundation supports a wide array of charities and philanthropic causes, from preserving our country’s architectural wonders—such as this very building—to protecting our historic waterfront from the effects of pollution and climate change. The goal of the Foundation is to ensure that future generations have the opportunity to enjoy San Rimini’s splendor. It is my honor to be here tonight and to share this evening with you. I hope you will stay after the curtain call for a special event that will be presented by the cast. And now, La Traviata.”

  The spotlight faded and the king moved offstage. The curtain rose on the scene of a lavish Parisian salon decked out for a party. As the opera began, King Eduardo eased into the seat beside Claire’s.

  Softly, he asked, “How did I do?”

  “You’re a natural performer.”

  He smiled, then looked toward the stage. The main character, a stunning courtesan named Violetta, had entered the salon to applause from the audience.

  Claire shifted so the king could hear her. “This will test my Italian.”

  “Focus on the music. It’s transporting in any language.”

  At first, Claire sat as she usually did when in public: back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap. Though the production was mesmerizing, she was keenly aware of the audience sneaking peeks at the royal box. But Eduardo was right. The music was truly transporting, filling the theater and wrapping the audience in a magical bubble of sound and emotion. Knowing the story ahead of time was helpful, but Claire believed she’d have been able to follow the action regardless. When the performers began what was obviously a drinking song, she found herself relaxing in the seat.

  Eduardo leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “You’re smiling.”

  “So are you.”

  Before Claire knew it, Violetta captivated the house with a song about needing her freedom, the stage lights dimmed, and the curtain fell to end the first act. The audience cheered.

  She and Eduardo both stood and cla
pped, joining the rest of the crowd.

  “Come with me,” Eduardo said, then cradled her elbow and led her from the box as the theater lights rose. Chiara stood near the curtain, preventing anyone who might be exiting the other boxes from approaching. Eduardo led Claire past the restroom, then through a second door to a narrow staircase.

  “I assume this leads to the stage?”

  “It does. But there’s something else I’d like to show you.” They went down a short flight of stairs, but instead of turning at the landing and continuing their descent, Eduardo pulled aside a wall covering to reveal a hidden door. He turned the knob, then reached for her hand. “Are you bothered by heights?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because you’ll love this.”

  Chapter 12

  Eduardo closed the door behind her. As Claire’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw why he made it sound as if they were embarking on an adventure. “Is this the catwalk?”

  He flashed a grin more suited to a mischievous child than a monarch. “Want to take back what you said about heights?”

  “Never.”

  “Watch your heels. They could get caught.”

  His fingers tightened around hers as he eased her onto a metal-grated walkway with railings on either side that allowed them to see all the way to the floor. He stopped over the wings in a spot that offered a view of the entire stage. Below them, the crew moved with the precision of a military unit as they whisked away chairs and giant candelabra and replaced them with set pieces for the next scene. The hum of voices from the audience carried through the curtain, which remained closed for intermission, but in the lofty space where Claire and Eduardo stood, all was silent.

  He turned so they stood side by side and encouraged her to lean over the railing, but his hand remained wrapped around hers. He kept his voice low so they wouldn’t be heard by the crew. “I thought you might want to see what goes on behind the scenes.”

  “I love this. Thank you.”

  She meant it. There was something both fascinating and romantic about seeing the stage from above. Then there was the man beside her. Eduardo diTalora possessed a gravitas that came from within, rather than from his title. She could have met him in a grocery store or while walking through a city park, have known nothing about his background, and been drawn to him after exchanging only a few words.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the performance, even if Italian isn’t your first language.”

  “You say that as if it’s my second. It’s not. I’m frantically teaching myself in the evenings when I get home from the office.”

  “How is it going?”

  “Slowly. I took Spanish through high school and college, which helps. There are enough similarities between the words and sentence construction that I can figure out most of what I read and some of what I hear. Speaking is another matter. That will take time.”

  “How is your adjustment to San Rimini going otherwise?”

  “It’s been smooth. The residence is stunning and I’m mostly unpacked. I’ve also discovered that I was gifted with an amazing staff. They’re intelligent, interesting people, and we’ve been able to continue projects started during Ambassador Cartwright’s tenure without missing a beat.” She briefly told him about an American telecom company she’d assisted with a regulatory concern and a family the embassy had reunited after a passport issue.

  “How about you?” she asked. “How has your project for the Strada il Teatro been going?”

  He gave her an update on meetings that had taken place between his staff and the business district’s various interest groups. “It’s difficult to find common ground given their wide range of concerns, but Sergio assures me that we’re making progress.”

  “Let me guess: every group wants another group to compromise?”

  “Exactly.”

  She smiled. Below them, the crew wrapped up preparations for the second act. Eduardo glanced at his watch and noted that they had a few more minutes before they needed to return to their seats. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

  She shook her head. His fingers tightened around hers. Their hands were on the railing now. Being alone with him in such a setting was thrilling, yet oddly comfortable at the same time.

  “What did Sergio think of tonight?” she asked.

  “Do you mean the fact that we’re on a date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing, because I didn’t tell him.”

  Claire didn’t bother hiding her surprise, which drew another mischievous look from the king.

  “I have a senior staff meeting every Monday morning. When it came time to review my schedule this week, I merely confirmed my attendance tonight. Luisa and my security team know that you’re here, obviously, but I did not inform them that this is a date.” He cast a glance at the closed curtain. “However, Margaret Halaby, my Director of Charities and Patronages, is seated in the second row. I saw her look at the box more than once during the performance. She’ll have questions at this Monday’s meeting. She’ll pose them more delicately than Sergio or my press secretary will, though.”

  “I’ve seen your press secretary. I don’t think delicate is in Zeno Amendola’s nature.”

  “No. I don’t think anyone with shoulders as mountainous as his is capable of delicate.”

  There was affection in his voice as he mentioned his staff. She gave him a questioning look. “Do they ask because they’re curious or because they worry it will affect your public role?”

  “Probably a little of both. It’s human nature. However, it’s also their job and they’re exceptional at what they do.” His thumb moved over the back of her hand. His eyes followed the movement for a moment, then he tilted his head to study her. “What about you? Did you tell your staff?”

  Claire shrugged. “On Thursday I told my assistant that I was invited to the royal box for the opera and asked her to make arrangements for a driver. When she questioned why she hadn’t heard about it, I told her the invitation came to the residence.”

  “You dodged.”

  “Poorly, I’m afraid. Karen knows it’s a date, but is pretending like she doesn’t.”

  That drew a laugh from the king. “You wanted to see how tonight went before saying anything. You were a chicken.”

  “I could accuse you of the same thing.”

  “And it would be true.” He angled his body so they were facing one another, but didn’t release her hand. “I don’t tell my senior staff everything. For instance, they didn’t know that I’m going to be a grandfather again until about an hour before Marco and Amanda made their announcement on Wednesday.”

  “I saw that. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. I’m excited for them.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. “I’m excited for myself. I love Arturo, Paolo, and Gianluca. Being a grandparent makes me happier than I ever would have believed. The point is, my life is public. I fully understand why the people of San Rimini feel they have a right to know what I do. I even understood the demand for details when I had heart surgery. But the few parts of my life that are justifiably private I work hard to keep that way. I couldn’t maintain my sanity otherwise. I need time to be myself. To laugh with my children and grandchildren and not have the world bear witness to it.”

  “When you invited me on this date, I seem to recall your insistence that you’re human.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I’m getting there,” she teased. “You do have that whole larger-than-life quality.”

  “Says the ambassador.”

  “Not the same as a king.”

  They were quiet for a long moment. “I’m old enough to know my heart and my mind. And I’m old enough not to play games. So I’ll be direct. I want to see more of you, Claire. I want to spend time—real time—talking to you. Like this, where we can be candid. Where you can call me Eduardo instead of Your Highness. I’d like to take you to other events. To share dinners that aren’t about political or economic
matters if we don’t want them to be. Where we can talk about our families and movies and books or discuss the qualities of whiskey from New Mexico versus Tennessee versus Scotland.”

  “You don’t have friends for that?”

  “I do. I imagine you do, too. But it’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not,” she admitted. The lights flashed and a rush of sound came from the other side of the curtain. The stage below them stood empty. In less than a minute, the performers would take their places for the beginning of the second act. From somewhere backstage came the sound of a soprano warming up. It made both of them smile.

  Eduardo pulled her close and they listened. Claire closed her eyes, breathing in all that surrounded her: the warm, spicy scent of Eduardo’s skin. Dust from the heavy stage curtains. Wax from the floorboards far below. She allowed her head to drop against his shoulder and her hands to skim the back of his jacket.

  She’d thought the performance had encased them in a magical bubble. This surpassed it.

  “Seeing me on a personal level could be a risk for your career,” he said quietly. “But I believe that the more we get to know one another, the more we’ll find we have in common. In the meantime, we can work together to mitigate pressure from the media, should that become an issue.”

  “I would like that. Well, not the career risk. But the rest.” She eased back enough to make out his features. “You should know, though, that there’s no discussion on the whiskey front. I’m going to stand up for my home state.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The kiss they shared warmed Claire all the way to her bones. A creak from the far side of the stage was quickly followed by a vibration underfoot as someone moved onto the opposite end of the catwalk.

  “That’s our cue,” Eduardo said. “Time for the second act.”

  As the curtain rose onstage, Eduardo and Claire slipped into the box. Before long, the music enveloped them.

  Then Eduardo reached for her, holding her hand below the line of the balcony.

  Eduardo paused just inside the curtain at the rear of the royal box.