Scandal With a Prince (23 page)

Once again, Megan’s stomach signaled worry.
 
How would they stay anonymous if everyone working in the market made eye contact?
 
Who wouldn’t recognize Prince Stefano Barrali when they saw him face to face?
 

“Keep your eyes open, Anna.
 
We may have to—”

“I believe that woman was carrying our breakfast,” a deep, familiar voice said at the same time.
 

Megan spun around to see Stefano, but not like she’d ever seen him before.
 
He sported a fitted charcoal T-shirt, worn jeans with a battered black leather belt, and dark leather sandals.
 
A slight but sexy growth of beard dotted his chin.
 
Amber-tinted sunglasses with dark frames made it difficult to see his eyes, though when she leaned closer, she noted the amusement there.
 
Above the light shades, a frayed Red Sox cap covered his dark, wavy hair.
 

“Good morning, Mr. Jones!”
 
Anna emphasized the name as she looked him up and down, not bothering to hide her glee at his clothing choices.
 
“You look, um—”

“Handsome,” he finished.
 
“That’s the word you wanted, right?”

Anna pursed her mouth.
 
“Uh…sure.
 
We’ll go with that.”

Unless his own mother were to walk by, Megan couldn’t imagine Stefano being recognized.
 
The look was so…
not
royal.
 
Even when he’d dressed in work clothes in Venezuela he’d had a regal presence, perhaps because everyone there knew he was a prince, whether or not they cared.
 
Today he didn’t ooze charisma in quite the same way.
 
His entire bearing had changed, giving him the appearance of a streetwise athlete rather than that of a confident, stylish royal.
 
Despite the fact he towered over most of the men bustling around them with market wares—and was, she had to admit, drop dead handsome—he managed to blend in.
 

“And you?”
 
Stefano turned his dimpled grin on Megan.
 
“Were you about to say handsome, too?”

Megan tried not to let him see that she was thinking exactly that.
 
The stubble gave him a rough-around-the-edges aura that had her imagining what his cheek would feel like against her own.
 
“I was about to point out that we’re Twins fans, not Red Sox fans.
 
But I’ll forgive you this once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”
 
He glanced overhead to study the large, colorful sign adorning the entrance to Mercat St. Josep La Boqueria.
 
“If this is any indication of what’s under the roof, I suspect I’m in for a treat.”

“Have you been inside yet?”
 
Anna asked.

Stefano shook his head.
 
“I was waiting for my tour guide.
 
Should we explore first or go straight to breakfast?”

“Duh!
 
Breakfast!”
 
Anna grabbed Stefano by the crook of his arm and pulled him along.
 
“You’d better be hungry.”

“Of course.”
 
He gave Megan’s arm a quick tweak so she’d follow.
 
“Come on.
 
A dash of espresso and you’ll be fueled for the day.
 
We have a lot on the agenda.”

“If you say so.”
 
She kept her voice even, but inside, her heart raced against her will.
 
A full day with Stefano sounded delightful, even if it held risk.

Maybe—if she were honest with herself—
especially
because it held risk, though she suspected that made her a less-than-responsible parent.

They wove their way through the first row of the market, stepping around crates as the stalls opened for the day.
 
Attendants wiped down glass cases or arranged piles of fruit and vegetables into artful displays as they passed.
 
“See the fruit juices?”
 
Anna pointed out a stall where two women poured buckets of ice around rows of clear plastic cups filled with multicolored blended drinks.
 
“I told you they’re unbelievable.”

“We’ll come back and try some.”
 
He stopped walking and tipped his gaze toward a stall in front of them as the scent of warm buttered eggs and toast filled the air.
 
Only a few stools were occupied at the polished wooden bar.
 
“Please tell me that’s where we’re headed?”

“Yep, El Quim de la Boqueria,” Anna beamed.
 
“You’re gonna love it.”
   

Megan could only trail in their wake as they eagerly crossed the short distance to El Quim and slid into barstools, with Anna claiming the spot between the two adults.
 
They were approached at once by a cook in short sleeves with a buzz cut and a small silver hoop in each ear.
 
“Anna, Megan, so happy to see you!”
 
He opened his arms wide.
 
“And you brought me a guest this morning.
 
But not your parents this time?”

“They left last weekend.
 
This is Mr. Jones.”
 
Anna’s voice was firm and direct.
 
“And the two of us would like huevos con chipirones.”

“You would?”
 
The chef grinned at Anna before turning to Stefano for confirmation. “Mr. Jones?”

“That sounds delicious,” Stefano agreed.
 
“But I’ll take mine with an espresso.”

The chef nodded, not bothering to write down the order, then turned to Megan.
 
“Could I entice you with huevos con gamba this morning?”

“Oh, why not?”

“Wonderful!”
 
As he left to begin cooking, Stefano shot a look at Megan.
 
“No espresso?”

“He knows that part,” Anna said.
 
“She doesn’t have to tell him.”

“Ah.
 
I see.”
 
He made a show of studying Anna.
 
“So what, exactly, are huevos con chip…what did you order again?”

Anna giggled.
 
“Huevos con chipirones.
 
Eggs with squid.”

Chapter Seventeen

His mouth dropped open in mock horror.
 
“No wonder the cook wanted to double-check that order.
 
You sure it won’t make me sick?
 
Because it will be a challenge to explore the city if I’m trying to keep my breakfast from making a return appearance.”
 

Megan smiled at them both.
 
“Sounds terrible, tastes like heaven.
 
As long as you like squid.”

“I do,” he said over Anna’s head.
 
“Remember, I live on the waterfront.
 
But squid for breakfast will be new.”

The cook returned, handing espresso cups to Megan and Stefano and a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice to Anna before moving back to the grill to tend to the eggs, humming as he went.
 
At the same time, a group of twenty-something women approached the empty stools near Stefano.
 
One asked him in clipped Catalan if the seats were free and he gestured for them to go ahead and sit.
 
They dropped their bags and slid into the seats without a word or a second look.

Stefano took a sip of his espresso before turning to Megan with an I-told-you-so grin.
 

They spent the rest of their time at the counter enjoying their eggs, chatting off and on with the cook and planning the rest of their day.
 
The group of women beside them ate quickly and left, then another group took the vacated seats and placed orders.
 
As before, none of the patrons paid Stefano any attention.
 
When they finished eating, Stefano left payment and a generous tip, then let Anna guide them through the market.
 

As the sun rose in the sky, the aisles of the market became increasingly crowded.
 
Hunched women used wheeled carts both for balance and to carry their purchases, fishmongers handed locals paper-wrapped packages with the day’s catch, and teenage girls in trendy clothes dodged up and down the rows, sipping fruit juice while giggling over the young male sales clerks and the packs of boys who walked through the market eyeing the candy and fruit drinks.
 
Tourists soaked in the atmosphere while they oohed and aahed over the variety of cheeses, nuts, fruits, and vegetables on display.
 
In spots, the congestion was so great Megan, Stefano, and Anna were forced to stop walking to allow others to pass.
 
Mumbles of “excuse me” in a half-dozen languages could be heard through the crowd as shoppers jostled toward their targets.

Not a soul gave Stefano more than a passing look.
 

When they stopped at a narrow wooden stall so Megan could purchase her favorite milled soap, Stefano leaned in over her shoulder to take a sniff of the sage green bar cradled in her palm.
 

“Is this what’s in your shower?” The question was asked in a voice so low only she could hear, yet the brush of his breath over her skin caused her face to heat, making her fear the clerk might infer the sexual nature of the comment without having heard it.

 
When Megan nodded, he asked the aproned clerk for two more bars.
 

The woman added them to Megan’s bag while Anna walked to the side of the stall to look at a candle display.
 
Megan withdrew her wallet to pay for the soap, but Stefano had already handed a bill to the clerk.
 

“The trick to being anonymous in a crowd is to choose a time and location where no one expects to see a celebrity and to act like everyone else,” he murmured as the took the paper bag with the soap.
 
“Locals are here now to shop for their dinner ingredients.
 
The tourists are focused on the sights and smells of the market.
 
No one knows I’m in town.
 
No one has reason to look at me and wonder.”

 
“It seems to be working.”
 
She angled her head so she could see his eyes through the light sunglasses. “Thank you for the soap.
 
You didn’t have to do that.”

“What, buy some for my own shower?”
 
His lenses couldn’t hide the devilish sparkle in his eyes.
 
“I happen to like it.
 
Nice smell to the lather.
 
And a nice slip.”

She refused to think about him soaping up.
 
Or about words like
slip
.
 
“No, I meant pay for my bar.
 
And for our breakfast.
 
That was very nice of you.”

He started to respond—the dimple in his cheek hinting at naughty thoughts—when Anna popped back around the corner holding a candle.
 
“Can I get this one for my room, Mom?
 
I brought my own money.”

Megan reluctantly looked away from Stefano.
 
“What do you think happens in a hotel when you leave a candle burning in your room?”
 

Anna twisted her mouth before ducking around the corner to put the candle back where she found it. When she rejoined them, she said, “I know, I know.
 
It’s major trouble if I set off a sprinkler.
 
Oh, but look!
 
Can I have one of those pepperoni samples?”

“Go ahead,” Megan said, following Anna’s line of sight across the aisle to a broad-shouldered, heavily-tattooed man sporting a flowered yellow apron and proffering a tray of cubed meats on toothpicks.

Stefano asked Anna to bring him one as the girl weaved her way through the swarm of people.
 
He turned back to Megan, but the evocative moment they’d shared was gone.

For the best
.
 
Having Stefano lean over her shoulder with shower talk sent her pulse into the stratosphere, which inevitably sent her ability to maintain rational thought in the opposite direction.

“You know she’ll find the spiciest sample possible for you, act like it’s nothing, then watch for your reaction when you eat it?”
 
Megan said.

“Exactly what I would’ve done at her age.”
 
Stefano reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small map of central Barcelona.
 
“I didn’t have time to look this over before you arrived.
 
Do you know your way through the Gothic Quarter?”

“Enough to get to the chocolate museum,” she replied as Anna returned with two cubes of meat on toothpicks.
 
As predicted, without batting an eyelash she handed Stefano a dark-flecked piece Megan knew to be fiery hot.

He narrowed his eyes at her as he spun the toothpick containing the cube between them.
 
“Did you also bring me a bottle of water?”

She deflated.
 
“How’d you know?”