By Royal Decree: Royally Romanced. Margaret Way
Renata again. She’d rolled onto her back, a round arm slung above her head in sleeping abandon. He couldn’t get enough of her, but she’d had enough of him—at least until she woke again.
Some grapes, melon and a small pastry were enough to tide him over and he realized he hadn’t checked his phone. Although he almost never turned it off, his time with Renata was an exception. The palazzo had Paolo’s number and would notify him if there were a serious problem.
A text from Stefania, inviting him to Germany to have a meet-the-parents dinner with Dieter’s family. Lovely, beer and brats for everyone—oh, and maybe sauerkraut and some of those lead ingots that masqueraded as German dumplings. He’d have to check his schedule with Alessandro for the week after his vacation, since hell would freeze over before he cut short his time with Renata.
Mmm, a text from Frank, asking him how New York was and if the German footballer was a suitable match for Stefania. Too complicated to text back.
Frank answered on the second ring. “Hey, George! How’s New York?”
“I’m actually back in Italy.”
“So quickly? Did they drag you back for the grand opening of an orphanage? Senior citizen center? School for wayward girls?”
“Not exactly,” he said cagily.
“Ah,” Frank said understandingly. “The Royal Vinciguerran Society for Unwanted Puppies and Kitties?”
Giorgio laughed.
“Ah, you think I’m kidding, but put aside your dislike for animal fur on those expensive suits and think of the possibilities. Prince Giorgio surrounded by frolicking baby animals. Prince Giorgio petting a kitten. Prince Giorgio having his royal face licked by a white fluffy puppy. I tell you, George, the women would fall all over you in a heartbeat.”
“Frank, I don’t need women falling all over me.”
Something in his voice alerted Frank. “Because you already have one?”
Giorgio protested but Frank went charging ahead. “George! You never mentioned this to me when you called about Stevie’s engagement. Is it because you didn’t want to distract from her news?”
“No, Frank, it’s because I didn’t know her then.”
Well, that got Frank to put a sock in it. But not for long. “My, my, my! Aren’t you the fast worker. Someone we know?”
“You may meet her—she’s designing Stevie’s wedding dress.”
“So you just met her last Wednesday?”
“Yes,” Giorgio muttered.
“So why aren’t you back in New York with her? You may have a lot of advantages over us non-princes, but sometimes out of sight means out of mind.”
Giorgio rolled his eyes. Francisco Emiliano José Duarte das Aguas Santas was the duke of one of the largest estates in Portugal plus a whole island in the Portuguese Azores and wasn’t exactly hurting for female interest. He also happened to know that Frank hadn’t always been one to talk about “out of sight, out of mind” when it came to women, one in particular, but that was his business. And Giorgio’s business was apparently Frank’s business, as well.
“Go back to New York, George. You deserve to have a private life, too.”
“You know, I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I am on the Italian Riviera—and not all by myself.”
Another silence—that had to be a record. Then Frank started to laugh. “You must have swept her off her feet, George. Good job.”
“I think she likes me, yes.” Giorgio started to wonder how Renata did feel about him, thanks to Frank’s line of questioning.
“Obviously, if you convinced her to go to Europe with you after only a few days.”
Only a few hours, but that wasn’t Frank’s business.
“Any progress on planning Stevie’s wedding?” That would distract Frank for a second.
“Yes, but I asked my mother for some advice and she laughed, George. When I told her one day of a wedding was simple compared to a lifetime of running our estates, she laughed even more.”
Giorgio rolled his eyes as Frank continued, “And that was not a nice laugh, George. She told me not to be stupid, that men didn’t know anything about weddings except how to get stinking drunk at them.”
“We are bachelors, Frank.”
“Since she wasn’t in the mood to be helpful, I ordered a wedding planner notebook from the bookstore and Stevie and I have been emailing back and forth. Her wedding colors will be gold and ivory, and she and Dieter are looking at their calendar to set a date at the Cathedral of Vinciguerra. We’ll work on the guest list later.”
Wow, Frank needed a different hobby. Or more likely, a woman. Another thought struck him. “About my trip here on the Riviera, Frank…Stevie doesn’t know I’m here and doesn’t know I’m here with Renata, okay?”
“Renata Pavoni, the dress designer? Stevie emailed me a photo of her dress so I could see the style.”
“Right. But keep it quiet, Frank. As far as Stevie knows, I’m back in Vinciguerra.”
“Cutting ribbons for dog pounds, right?” Frank laughed again. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I told you last week you were burning the candle at both ends, eh? A nice vacation with a pretty girl is just what you need.”
“Thank you. Speaking of burning the candle at both ends, have you heard from Jack?” Dr. Jacques needed to write himself a prescription for some R & R.
“He sent me a quick email from his satellite laptop that said he was going upriver and would be incommunicado for a few days. The news service says the flood casualties are even worse than originally reported.”
Giorgio shook his head. “He won’t be happy until he’s come down with some previously unknown dread tropical disease that medical science can name after him.” Jacques stupidii.
“Or being chased by pirates,” Frank agreed. “Talk about a man who needs to relax, huh?”
“If he makes it that long. Especially since we have a wedding to pull off.” Not that Jack knew anything about that sort of task, either.
“Right, George. Don’t worry about a thing. Stevie and I have it all well in hand, so you enjoy your vacation, okay?”
“And not a word to her about where I am, right?”
“Right. We’re just emailing and texting, so she can’t tell if I am lying or not.” Frank was a terrible liar.
“Good. I’ll let you know when I am back in Vinciguerra.”
“Take your time—and give that pretty signorina a kiss from ol’ Frank, okay?”
“Not okay, Frank. Find your own. You should settle down and make little dukes for your mother to spoil.”
“Right.” His voice was cool for the first time. “What’s the American phrase? ‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.’ Well, I am happy to be the wedding planner and never the groom.”
Giorgio winced. “Frank—”
“Tchau, Giorgio.”
“Ciao, Franco,” he replied, but to an empty line. Ah, he’d touched a nerve there with his offhand comment. As if Giorgio ever talked seriously about settling down. He’d apologize later when Frank had regained his normally sunny mood.
He stared at his phone. Frank was more of a home-body than any of them, preferring to work in the fields or build some new and elaborate project for his estate. Giorgio was the dutiful one, working in the palazzo like some CEO, and Jack had been bitten by the travel bug, probably the least harmful than the