NEXT MORNING, Giorgio slipped from their bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. Renata murmured in her sleep and rolled over, a lock of red hair falling over her round white breast to curl around her coral-pink nipple. He nearly changed his mind and slipped back into bed, but realized they had only fallen asleep a few hours earlier and he hated to wake her.
He contented himself with staring at her for a minute, something he couldn’t do while she was awake. She reminded him of an Andrew Wyeth painting he had seen at a museum in New York during college—a beautiful redhead sleeping, the sheets falling to her waist to bare her breasts.
Something about the painting had intrigued him, and it wasn’t just the sight of a naked woman. The sheer peacefulness of the painting, pale linens, pale skin and a dark window behind, the only color from her hair and the crests of her nipples.
Giorgio realized why he’d been so struck by both the painted woman and Renata, the real woman—it was the sheer trust exhibited to be vulnerable to a man in sleep.
He gazed at her for a minute longer and gave a deep sigh of contentment before walking into the living room. After a quick call, the café across the street was happy to send over a carafe of coffee and platter of pastries. He thought for a second and added an assortment of fruit for him. His doctor had made him promise to eat better. He had wanted Giorgio to stay for more tests and not leave Vinciguerra at all, but once he learned Giorgio was taking a vacation, he stopped protesting.
He tipped the delivery boy and checked on 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