Darn it, he wasn’t making this easy for her. “Come on, let’s go.”
RENATA LED GIORGIO UP the marble steps to the main entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He gazed up at the impressive multi-story facade along Fifth Avenue. “Stefania and I came here at least once a month while she was growing up. I haven’t been since the cleaning and restoration several years ago. It’s quite a dramatic change.”
“The gray stone actually turned out to be white after all.” The tall marble columns with elaborately carved tops and arched high windows looked like a Greek temple—a temple of art. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming along for the historical costume exhibit? Most men aren’t terribly interested in women’s clothing—just how to undo them.” She felt a flush rise in her cheeks.
He laughed at her bluntness and held out his elbow for her to take. She accepted and they started to climb the steep stairs. “But I am terribly interested in women’s clothing. Didn’t I prove that by flying all the way to New York to look at wedding dresses?”
“It was very sweet of you to come.” She impulsively squeezed his upper arm. No give at all. His expensive Italian suit was covering an equally nice body.
“I try to do what Stefania tells me.” Giorgio smiled at her. “The children’s book where the brother and sister run away to live in this museum was her favorite as a girl. I was quite terrified she might try the same thing, so I brought her here whenever she asked me. If I couldn’t, then my friends Jack and Frank did.”
He held the door for Renata and they went to the ticket counter. “Two tickets for the museum and the costume exhibit,” she told the museum employee, reaching into her purse for the money.
Giorgio put his hand over hers. “My treat, I insist.” He reached for his slim wallet tucked into his jacket pocket.
“No, no, you’re my guest.” She went for her purse again.
“No.” He gave a credit card to the employee who hastily swiped it through the reader before they could cause any more delay in her line.
Renata clamped her lips together and accepted her ticket. They went into the museum foyer and she pulled him aside. “Look, just because you are a prince and all doesn’t mean I can’t afford to pay for museum tickets.”
He gave her a considering look. “You think I paid because I have much more money than you?”
“Yes.”
“No.” He took her hand. “I would pay for your ticket with the last money I owned because I’m a man and you’re a beautiful woman who makes me laugh and enjoy myself. Unfortunately, that is a rare occurence for me.”
“Oh, please.” She made a dismissive gesture with her free hand.
“No, thank you.” He caught her other hand. “I know I’ve had many advantages in my life, but free time isn’t one of them.”
“Same here.” She squeezed his hands. He had said she was beautiful, so she’d cut him some slack. Well, a lot of slack.
“Let’s not waste any of our precious time. Shall we go to the costume exhibit?”
“Absolutely. Then we can see whatever you’d like,” she offered.
He offered her his arm again, and they followed the signs to the gallery. “I’ve already seen most of the regular collection, so your special exhibit sounds just fine.”
“How about the arms and armor collection? Men always like that.”
He sniffed disdainfully. “We have a much better collection at home.”
“What? Better than the museum?”
“I’m just kidding.” He nudged her playfully and she snorted.
“But you do have some arms and armor at your house.”
“At the local museum,” he clarified. “But the armor used to be at my house.”
“You got tired of peasants wandering through looking at it?”
“If all peasants were as lovely as you, I would have no problem with that.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m only joking, Renata. I’m priviledged to serve my people, not the other way around.”
“All right, then.” She let him off the hook. For a prince, he wasn’t very arrogant. Not that she knew very many. Or any.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the gallery entrance. “Here we are.”
Renata gave a gasp as she and Giorgio entered the darkened, dramatically lit hall. “Now this is what I call a real art exhibit.” Strategically placed spotlights illuminated mannequins in elegant 1890’s ballgowns.
“Very elegant,” Giorgio agreed. “And little danger of tetanus.”
Renata went as close to the mannequins as she could without getting tossed out of the museum and peered at the fine details of the gowns. They were satin, velvet and silk. The silhouette was a tight bodice flowing out to a small bustle and then fabric draping down to the floor in a small train. The embroidery was elaborately done with crystals, pearls and jet accents. Butterflies and flowers, swirls and loops. “Maybe I haven’t been taking enough advantage of Aunt Barbara’s skills. She could do this in her sleep.”
“The lady who is going to embroider Stefania and Dieter’s initials on her, um, underskirt?”
Renata laughed. Typical brother. “That’s her. She’ll be disappointed she missed you.” The overwhelming under-statement of the century. A real live prince and princess came to out-of-the-way Peacock Designs and Aunt Barbara was sitting in the gastroenterologist’s waiting room. She’d at least get to meet Stefania when she came for her fittings.
The next rooms had sports clothing, a revolutionary idea in the late nineteenth century. Although playing tennis in a floor-length dress or riding a bicycle in a wool skirt and suitjacket didn’t appeal to Renata, she saw the historical importance of the broadening of women’s activities.
Ah, more ball gowns, but this time they were a flowing, turn-of-the-century style with Asian-influenced fasteners and draping tunic silhouettes. Another set of new ideas for her.
“Art Nouveau, one of my favourite eras.” Giorgio gazed at the Tiffany stained-glass windows and classic Italian opera posters.
“Oh, my God, me, too! I just love Gustav Klimt’s painting with the man and woman embracing surrounded by all that gold and jewel tones.”
“The Kiss.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
She licked her mouth, suddenly dry. “Yes, it’s called The Kiss.”
“Have you been to Vienna to see it?” he asked.
She laughed and the spell was broken—at least temporarily. “No, I haven’t made it to Vienna yet.” Or anywhere east of the Atlantic Ocean.
“You should go.”
With what money? She caught his hand and pulled him along. He was a sweet guy, but there was a world of difference—and money—between them. “Maybe someday. Oh, look at the suffragettes’ uniforms. Very masculine.”
Giorgio stood patiently next to her, not fidgeting a bit or checking his phone as she examined the clothing in the remaining rooms. She wished she could take photos, but the light was too low to get any of the details. They exited into a gift shop with several reproduction jewelry items and books on art and fashion of the time period covered.
Giorgio picked up the hardcover, full-color photo book that accompanied the exhibit. “Would you allow me to buy you a small gift, a souvenir of our afternoon together?”
“That book’s not exactly small.” But she was dying to get her hands on it, especially to look at the beading and embroidery in close detail.
“I’ll