Scandal With a Prince (30 page)

A paragraph-long blurb followed, speculating that the man in the photo was Prince Stefano Barrali, whose whereabouts during the weekend in question could not be verified.
 
It went on to question the identity of the woman in the photo and her possible relationship to the prince.

She sat on the edge of Santi’s desk to reread the paragraph.
 
Though the caption could be read to indicate that Stefano fathered the mystery child, nothing in the paragraph itself indicated that, nor did Santi seem to have considered that possibility.
 

“I had no idea,” she said.
 
“This was several weeks ago.
 
I didn’t think anyone photographed us.”
 
She hadn’t seen any cameras aimed their way.
 
Nor was the shot taken from the direction where Ilsa and her companions were seated, snapping fountain photos with their phones.

But the published photo might explain the man on the beach.
 
Given that this was yesterday’s paper, someone could have figured out her identity and followed her today, hoping she’d lead to the prince.
 
Or they might’ve followed Stefano from his hotel, hoping to discover his mystery woman.
 
If so, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.
 

Besides, it wouldn’t matter at all once she told Stefano yes.
 
After that, it’d only be a matter of time before their relationship became public.

A busboy carried a tray of dishes past Santi’s office.
 
The chef cut behind Megan to close the door against the clattering of plates being loaded into the dishwasher.
 
“My cousin works in advertising at the paper.
 
When I saw this last night, I asked him off the record if he could find out how it was acquired.
 
He said that a Belgian tourist was looking at her family photos after she returned home from vacation and noticed a man who appeared to be Prince Stefano in the background.
 
She sold the photo to the paper, who cropped it to focus on you.”

“This is all speculative,” she said quietly as she continued to stare at the photo.
 
“The photo was a fluke.
 
The paper can’t even say for sure that it’s Stefano.”
 

“The prince is difficult to identify,” he admitted.
 
“And Anna’s face is also hard to see.
 
But your face is very clear.
 
This is a popular tabloid, Megan.
 
Many of the employees read it while they’re commuting to work on the bus or the metro.
 
It will not be long before someone here identifies you, if they haven’t already.
 
I did.”
 

“You are also the only person on the planet who knows he’s visited me in my suite.”

He ignored her comment, mumbling to himself as she continued to study the photo.
 
“I hear things, you know.
 
Things that make me think you are in trouble.”

Her head whipped up.
 
“What things?”

 
“I hear that you are out nearly every weekend.
 
No one sees you come or go or knows where you are.
 
I hear that Anna has not seen as much of her friends as usual.”
 
He waited a beat for drama before adding,
 
“And I hear that Jack Gladwell is in the building today.
 
It cannot be coincidence.
 
The head of housekeeping insisted she saw him in Ramon’s office—”
 

Megan shook her head at her friend.
 
“Dear, dear Santi.
 
I love you to death, but you are a worrywart.
 
Mr. Gladwell is here, but I doubt a grainy black and white photo on the twentieth page of a gossip rag registers on his radar.
 
He certainly didn’t mention it.”

Santi’s eyes widened at her slip.
 
“You have seen Jack Gladwell?
 
In person?
 
You spoke with him?”

“Yes.
 
I met with him and Ramon.”
 
She held out the page.
 
“But that’s all I’m going to say, so please keep it to yourself.
 
Here.
 
I have to go.”

He waved it off.
 
“No, no.
 
It is yours.
 
I only wanted to warn you.”

She let the page dangle between them a moment longer, then gave up and stuck it in the folder Jack Gladwell had handed her.
 

“Consider me duly warned.”
 
She couldn’t help but give him a quick hug.
 
The man was as close to a father as she had on this continent.
 
“And thank you for your concern.
 
You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.”

“You are welcome, always.
 
I am sorry to have kept you.”
 
Santi stepped back, then closed his eyes and groaned.
 
“The prince is in your suite now, isn’t he?”
 
He immediately waved his hands in front of his face as if dispelling a foul odor.
 
“No, no.
 
Say nothing.
 
I do not wish to know.”

“Someday we’ll laugh about this over a bottle of wine,” she assured him.
 
“Then I’ll tell you everything.”

“Please, my child, some things…well, I can imagine.”
 
He shooed her out the door with a, “Go.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Thirty-five minutes, not bad,” Stefano said as Megan re-entered the suite and made her way through the entry hall toward the kitchen.

“I tried my best.”
 
She paused when she spotted him in the kitchen and arched one narrow eyebrow in curiosity.
 
“You’re cooking.”

“Not cooking,” he corrected, holding up the chef’s knife and spinning it for her.
 
“Slicing and dicing.”

“My cantaloupe?”

“Okay, so I’m cubing it, rather than dicing it.
 
But yes, your cantaloupe.”

He wasn’t used to being kept waiting, so he hadn’t quite known what to do with himself.
 
For the first few minutes after Megan left, he’d paced the room, wondering why Jack Gladwell was at the Grandspire.
 
As one of the ten or twenty wealthiest individuals in the world and the owner of a conglomerate of companies in which he took an active interest, the man undoubtedly had a full schedule.
 
If he wanted to see Megan, it was for a specific purpose.
 
Was she receiving a promotion?
 
A transfer?
 
Any such offer coming from Gladwell himself meant a jump in both prestige and pay.
 

It also meant a tough decision for Megan, as if she wasn’t facing a tough decision already.
 
If
that’s what Gladwell wanted.

Finally, Stefano stopped pacing to make himself useful.
 
He picked up a few of Anna’s scattered belongings from the living area—a set of bright purple headphones, a book, her hair brush— and returned them to her bedroom, setting them neatly on her desk.
 
He washed a glass and fork that had been left in the sink, then decided to prep the cantaloupe Megan purchased at the market that morning.
 
The small kitchen and well-organized cabinets made finding a cutting board, knife, and bowl simple.

He thought activity would keep him from speculating on the topic of Megan’s meeting.
 
Unfortunately, since he was perfectly capable of slicing a cantaloupe and using his brain at the same time, he continued to turn it over in his mind.
 
Soon, his thoughts turned to where things were headed with Megan they’d been interrupted.
 
He’d bet his entire yearly budget that she’d changed her mind about marriage.
 
He could tell from the spread of her fingers across his chest as they talked.
 
From the way she’d ignored her phone, despite the fact Anna might be on the line, so she could stay in his embrace.
 
From the mix of desire, tenderness, and anticipation filling her soft blue eyes.

Yes, she had her doubts.
 
What woman wouldn’t when faced with marrying into his family?
 
But she wanted to say yes.
 
He felt it clear to his bones.
 
He’d wanted her to deal with Anna first, knowing she wouldn’t focus until she did.
 
Instead, when he’d told her to answer her phone, she’d gotten Gladwell.

Now that she’d returned to the suite, as much as he itched to get right back to where they left off, he sensed that he needed to tread carefully and slowly.
 
She was worth waiting for, if she had something else to work through first.
 
He had to be certain that when she said yes, the commitment was rock solid, that she’d evaluated all the pros and cons and could agree with her eyes—and her heart—wide open.
 
Anything less and she wouldn’t be being true to herself.

“The meeting must have been important,” he said casually as he tossed a section of the rind into the trash.
 
“Did it go well?”

“I suspect everything Jack Gladwell wants is important, at least to him.”
 
She paused to remove her shoes and place them to the side of the countertop barstools, as if using the moment to gather her thoughts.
 
“He congratulated me on the success of the grand reopening and the event bookings I’ve made.
 
Apparently Ramon said nice things about me in his reports.”

And she wondered how her name came up in Sarcaccia as a possible hire?
 

Stefano kept the thought to himself as he waited to see what else she’d say, but she walked past him to open the fridge and get herself a can of soda.
 

Certainly there was more to report.
 
A multi-billionaire with investments all over the world wouldn’t wait in the manager’s office for Megan simply to tell her she did a good job.
 
He tried again as he slid several chunks of cantaloupe from the cutting board into the bowl.
 
“You’ve impressed Jack Gladwell.
 
From what I know of him, he’s not an easily impressed man.”
 

A tinge of color spread over her cheeks.
 
“You know him?”

“Not personally, but my parents have met him several times.
 
He’s heavily invested in Sarcaccia’s wine industry.”
 

“Oh.”
 
She held up a can of his favorite soda, but he shook his head.
 
That’s when he noticed that when she’d opened the refrigerator, she’d discreetly placed a thick folder on the opposite kitchen counter, tucking it beside the canisters of flour and sugar.
 
She hadn’t had the folder with her when she’d left.
 
Whatever had been discussed during the meeting with Jack Gladwell, she wasn’t ready to share it with him.
 

It shouldn’t bother him—he certainly didn’t share all the boring details of his work with her—but deep down, the sight of the folder unsettled him.
 
Mostly because he suspected it contained more than boring details.

She took a seat at one of the barstools and sipped her drink as he finished cleaning up the cantaloupe.
 
“I’m glad you waited for me.
 
I promise, no more interruptions.”

“Even if Anna calls?”

A wry smile lit her face.
 
“I’ll trust Marta to keep her occupied until you need to catch your flight.
 
I want us to finish what we started.
 
That is, if you’re not too busy with your melon.”
 

The spark in her eye reminded him of the first time they’d shared the sofa, the day he’d met Anna.
 
The day they’d made love.
 
The day she’d said no.
 
Well, this time he meant to seal the deal.
 
If she didn’t want to discuss Gladwell, perhaps it was because she prioritized a marriage discussion.

Good.

“Before you say anything more, I have something to show you.
 
I’ve been holding it all weekend.”
 
He covered the cantaloupe and placed it in the refrigerator, rinsed his hands at the sink, then walked to the sofa to retrieve the envelope from his bag.
 

Her expression made it clear she’d noticed the envelope when he’d pulled it out the first time.
 
“I’m intrigued.
 
What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

A quizzical look flitted over her face as she accepted it, slid her finger under the flap, then withdrew the sheaf of papers inside.
 
He leaned against the counter and waited.
 
After a moment, her eyes widened.
 
“Stefano?
 
What is this?”

“It’s the information the committee is planning to give the candidates for the conference center position when they approach them.
 
A complete job description, information on the center itself, and the proposed compensation package.
 
I received a copy and thought it best to share it with you early.”