Scandal With a Prince (11 page)

Now he wondered if he’d make the Monday meeting.
 
No doubt if he called and asked for a delay, his father would hear about it.
 
Once again, his parents would say nothing, but their disapproval would be apparent.
 
None of King Carlo’s children seemed able to satisfy their father’s ambitions for them.
 
The king worried they didn’t care enough for their small country to ensure its future.
 
Not because they didn’t work hard, but because they hadn’t worked hard
and
provided him with heirs.
 
He’d view Stefano’s extended stay in Barcelona as further evidence of his son’s disregard for the country’s future.

Stefano laughed aloud at the irony of it.

All he’d ever wanted was for his life to have meaning, a meaning derived from true accomplishment rather than his dumb luck at being born into the Barrali family.
 
It was why he’d so loved the days he’d spent in Venezuela and why he’d grown to appreciate them more and more with each year that passed.
 
Yes, he’d met Megan there.
 
She’d shown him what was possible in a relationship; he’d learned that a woman could be attracted to him without caring a whit for his title or fortune.
 
But Venezuela also gave him the chance to do soul-satisfying work out of the spotlight, where the months he spent digging a trench for a water line, moving pipe, and teaching villagers how to maintain their new water pumping and filtration systems weren’t caught on camera.
 
He was able to help people for the sake of helping, and he could do it on his own daily timetable rather than as part of some scheduled royal duty.
 
If he wanted to spend an extra hour perfecting the water flow on a particular valve, he could do it.
 
No keepers lingered at his side urging him on to the next event on his calendar.
 
Seeing a young girl’s face alight and knowing it was because he’d given that girl’s family access to clean water, rather than because the girl had a prince visiting her village, made Stefano happier than he’d ever been.
 

To this day, it gave him a deep sense of fulfillment knowing that girl and her family would never again fight illnesses caused by contaminated water.
 

After Venezuela, he’d hoped military service would give him the same sense of accomplishment.
 
He’d participated in a few sea rescues while part of a helicopter crew, but the satisfaction of a job well done was short lived, about as long as it took for the chopper to land.
 
The subsequent news coverage felt awkward as he became the story, rather than his team or the people they’d rescued.
 
He’d decided when he finished his service that he’d find a way to make a lasting contribution, something that would help hundreds, if not thousands, of people in a practical way, and in a manner that wouldn’t necessarily become fodder for the evening news.

It was what drove him to focus on Sarcaccia’s transportation system over the last few years.
 
In it, he’d discovered a way to bolster his country’s tourism industry and overall economy, but to do so out of the spotlight.
 
While chopper rescues made for exciting television reports, transportation meetings did not.
 
The pursuit brought him enormous satisfaction.

Yet those very efforts were often overlooked as his parents pushed him to find a woman they deemed suitable, one like Ariana, and to start a family.
 
Only three or four months ago, his mother introduced him to yet another wealthy, single woman at a charity function.
 
His mother mentioned at the time that while it was lovely Stefano wanted to improve the country’s infrastructure there were hundreds of people qualified to undertake such a task, yet only he and his siblings could continue the royal line and ensure Sarcaccia’s throne stayed in the Barrali family.
 
He’d given his mother a pat response, as always, then flirted with the woman enough to satisfy his parents, but not so much as to lead the woman to believe in the possibility of a relationship.

Some days, he wasn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad thing that his work wasn’t recognized.

Stefano shoved off the hotel sofa, nabbing his phone from the corner table and punching in the number that would connect him directly to his father.
 
Once his father’s booming voice came on the line, Stefano let him know he was extending his stay in Barcelona another day to wrap up work and visit with friends, then quickly cut to news of Mahmoud.
 
“He wishes you well,” Stefano said.
 
“His initial reports about the facilities at the Grandspire were accurate.
 
I spent the morning with the director of business development getting the particulars, but I feel it would work well for any events you wish to host outside Sarcaccia.”

His father followed up with questions about the hotel’s exact location and airport accessibility while Stefano strolled through his suite, stopping near the windows.
 
Now that Stefano had a chance to study the view in daylight, he was amazed by the early-season crowds on the beach enjoying the sunshine.
 
It was a beautiful weekend day with high, fluffy clouds and a clear sky.
 
He moved a step closer to watch a young family making their way along the planked walk that connected the hotel and the beach, but found himself distracted by the brilliant blue of the hotel pool, which occupied a rooftop deck that extended out from the side of the building several floors below his suite.

A woman in a bright red bikini swam the length of the pool underwater, popping up at the end nearest the diving board.
 
After a few breaths, she stretched her arms overhead to grab the side of the board and hang from it, then walked her hands along the diving board’s edge until she dangled from the very end.
 
Her hair swept across her back like a wet curtain and one strap of her bikini appeared askew, but she didn’t seem to care. The sight amused him.
 
How many adults would do such a thing?
 
Perhaps because the woman had the entire pool deck to herself, she felt free to horse around.
 
Whoever she was, she was athletic enough to lift herself out of the water.
 
From this vantage point he could see the outline of lean muscle in her back and arms.
 
She looked as if she could hang from the board all afternoon.
 

As his father asked after Ilsa and Stefano told him a little about Ilsa’s duties at the contemporary art museum, Stefano realized that the woman in the red bikini wasn’t alone after all.
 
A dark-haired young girl was also at the pool.
 
She must’ve been standing close enough to the building that Stefano hadn’t noticed her from his angle.
 
She ran along the tiled edge, then abruptly slowed to a walk when she neared the diving board as if she’d been warned about running poolside.
 
Moving with exaggerated slowness, the girl stepped onto the board and walked to the end, then leaned down cautiously, hands on her knees, to speak with the woman hanging from the end.
 

Using her body weight, the woman gave the board a bounce, making the girl laugh and feign falling into the water.
 
A moment later, the girl executed a perfect dive over the bikini-clad woman and swam toward the opposite end of the pool.
 
The woman turned, letting go of the board and following the girl with long, determined strokes, but not before Stefano caught sight of her face.

Megan
.
 
Meaning the girl in the striped yellow swimsuit now kicking water at Megan must be Anna.
 
His mouth went bone dry.
 

“Will you attend dinner with us tomorrow night?” King Carlo asked, referring to the country’s custom of inviting foreign dignitaries to the palace for Sunday dinner.
 
“Your mother hopes the whole family will be there.
 
The premier of Queensland is expected.”

“I’m not sure if I can make it this week,” Stefano replied, watching the pair pull themselves out of the pool.
 
Though they seemed to have the same smile, Anna’s skin and hair were darker than Megan’s.
 
He wished he could see the girl’s face more clearly.
 
“I have a lunch meeting tomorrow, so it depends on how that goes. I’ll do my best.”

“Your secretary didn’t have anything on your calendar for tomorrow, so I couldn’t tell when you’d planned to arrive,” the king said.
 
“Nothing until an appointment with the barber at the palace on Monday morning, then your transportation meeting.”

“That’s correct.”
 
He’d defer the haircut and possibly the transportation meeting, but the mention of his secretary reminded him of a more pressing issue.
 
“By the way, I meant to ask you something.
 
I know it was many years ago, but during the media circus surrounding my engagement, was Dagmar instructed to filter my personal calls more than usual?”

“What do you mean?”

The nonchalance in his father’s voice seemed forced, but maybe that was Stefano’s imagination.
 
“She always kept me informed when I received calls from people who weren’t my personal friends.
 
You know, people I might meet in passing then who’d want a favor or who hoped to be invited to events at the palace.
 
She would hand me a list of names and have me indicate which she should put through in the future and which she should gently attempt to dissuade.
 
When everything happened with Ariana and there was so much attention on the family, was Dagmar told to be more aggressive about policing my calls than usual?
 
Or not to bother me with the usual list?”

Now that Stefano thought about it, there should have been more calls than ever during that period, yet in hindsight, the volume of calls and mail hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary.
 
The only increase was for matters directly related to the wedding—tailors, caterers, security specialists—rather than from friends, acquaintances, or even the press.
 

“I certainly gave her no such instruction,” King Carlo replied, though his decisive response made Stefano wonder if his father
knew
of such an order, whether or not he gave it.
 
“Dagmar was quite capable.
 
She knew how to separate the wheat from the chaff in order to protect you, especially during those times our family was under particularly intense scrutiny.
 
When that happens, there can be thousands of phone calls a day to the palace lines.”
 

He’d have guessed dozens, maybe hundreds, but thousands?
 

“That’s the point of employing a good staff, Stefano.
 
It keeps you from having to deal with non-vital tasks.
 
If you recall, when you became engaged, you were starting your military training.
 
That’s where your focus needed to be.”
 
The king sighed.
 
“I like your new secretary, but must say that I do miss Dagmar.
 
She was a joy.
 
Have you spoken with her recently?
 
How is her health?
 
Are her grandchildren doing well?”

Stefano allowed the change in subject, giving his father an innocuous answer about seeing Dagmar at a recent garden party where she’d been in high spirits, then finished the call with a promise to let his mother know about Sunday dinner once his travel plans became firm.

 
After setting the phone on the coffee table, he walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.
 
Though his body screamed for a nap after being awake most of the previous night, he wanted to be back on schedule so he’d be alert tomorrow.
 
He punched the buttons on the coffeemaker, considering the phone call.
 
His father’s answer about Dagmar had been quick.
 
Too quick.
 
The king made it a habit to speak in measured words.
 
Responding to questions about long-ago events warranted careful consideration.
 
He’d also expected his father to ask what prompted Stefano’s question since it wasn’t typical to ask about decade-old phone calls, but he’d made no such inquiry.

The automatic brewer sizzled to life, sending an aromatic stream of French roast into a mug.
 
Perhaps there had been far more calls to the palace than Stefano ever imagined.
 
In keeping him from being distracted during those crazy, busy days—including being distracted by calls from Megan—his family and staff probably thought they were helping him.
 
Keeping him from non-vital tasks, as his father put it.
 

He wondered what his father would think if he knew the true havoc that “help” wrought upon Stefano’s life in this particular instance.

He sighed as he walked to the window cradling a cup of coffee he didn’t particularly want.
 
He hadn’t lied when he’d told Megan he’d have returned her call.
 
However, if he was honest with himself, he would’ve told Dagmar to winnow the calls had he known the volume was so overwhelming, and he likely wouldn’t have thought to give her specific instructions regarding Megan.