Scandal With a Prince (24 page)

“Wasn’t born yesterday.”
 
He handed her a few Euros so she could return to the counter for a bottle of water.
 
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t eat it.
 
I love spicy pepperoni.”

They spent another half-hour strolling through the market, with Anna pointing out interesting items while bantering with Stefano as if he were a lifelong friend.
 
Megan kept her input to a minimum, not trusting herself to join their chatter.
 
Every time Stefano turned his dimpled smile in her direction or spoke in hushed tones, her insides tightened with a mixture of desire and frustration.
 
When at long last they wended their way out of the marketplace to join the midday hustle and bustle of La Rambla, Stefano fell a half step behind Anna to join Megan.
 

“You’re quiet.”

“Letting you and Anna get to know each other.”
 
She forced lightness into her voice.
 
“Seems to be going well.”

“We have a lot of catching up to do.”
 
His hand grazed Megan’s lower back as they turned onto a narrow, winding side street.
 
“All of us do.”

Anna spun around, walking backward on the cobblestones.
 
“We can do it at the chocolate museum.
 
You guys are slow!”

“We are not slow,” Megan said at the same time Stefano dropped his hand from her back.
 
“We’re enjoying the scenery.”

Stefano cast a glance upward.
 
The stone buildings on either side of the alley soared high enough to partially block the sun, casting the storefronts and apartment doorways in alternating strips of shadow and light.
 
Flowers tumbled from iron balconies on the upper floors, while further down the street a laundry line crossed over the gap between buildings.
 
“The architecture here is spectacular.
 
Most of these buildings are the same age as those on Sarcaccia.”

Anna moved to walk between Megan and Stefano, unlooping a bright purple elastic from her wrist and pulling her hair into a ponytail as she studied the arches over each door.
 
“Do the buildings there look the same?”

“For the most part.
 
There are subtle differences, though.
 
The balcony railings have different designs, and anything built in Sarcaccia from about 1200 to 1700 has elaborate carvings on the cornerstones.”
 
At Anna’s baffled look, he moved to the street’s edge and ran his hands over a large block anchoring the side of a pharmacy.
 
“Like these.
 
See how this stone on the building’s corner has beveled edges, but a flat surface?”

“Sometimes they put the year or the store name on them, right?”
 
Anna pointed to a bakery on the opposite corner with a brass plate adorning its edge.
 
“Like that one.”

Stefano nodded as they continued down the narrow cobblestoned street.
 
“On Sarcaccia, it became a tradition for craftsmen to bid on the right to design cornerstones when a new building was erected.
 
Stonemasons liked having a public place to showcase their best work, knowing it might get them future employment, and residents liked having unique designs on each building.
 
Some are carved, some have metal plating.
 
A few even have plaster decoration, but most of the plaster has worn away over time.
 
Those that are left are protected under Plexiglass.”

“I bet it’s pretty,” Anna said.

“It is.
 
In the capital city, Cateri, there are even cornerstone tours where you walk building to building through the oldest part of town to learn about the different designs.”

“That sounds cool!”

“I take it you’ve never been to Sarcaccia?”
 
He glanced over Anna’s head to Megan for confirmation.
 
“Your mom says you’ve traveled quite a bit since you’ve lived here.”

“No, but I’ve been to Italy.
 
Oh, and to Corsica!
 
Sarcaccia is near Corsica, right?
 
I
loved
Corsica.
 
Well, except the fact they speak French, which is totally confusing for me.
 
We drove up into the mountains and then spent a couple days on the beach.
 
The water was so blue, I could hardly believe it.”
 
Her eyes brightened as they exited onto a square dominated by a cathedral.
 
Tourists filled the open space, some crouching to take photos of companions or the cathedral’s towering spires while others consulted travel guides or maps.
 

“Sarcaccia is only ninety miles from Corsica.
 
Same mountains, same beautiful blue water.
 
But we speak Italian, which I consider the superior language.”
 
Stefano tilted his head to indicate the cathedral.
 
“Shall we make a pit stop here on the way to the chocolate museum?”

“I’m hungry, but sure, if you want.”
 
Anna’s tone indicated she was only saying yes to be polite.

“What, you think you’re going to eat at the chocolate museum?” he teased.

“The museum tickets are chocolate bars.
 
You’ll see.”
 
Anna glanced at Megan as they made their way up the cathedral steps.
 
“Can we go to Sarcaccia someday, Mom?”

Megan bit her lip and sent Anna a sideways look, hoping Anna would take the hint and keep her voice down.
 
Now that they were surrounded by people again, she didn’t want anyone glancing at Stefano, hearing
Sarcaccia
, and putting two and two together.
 
“I’m sure we will at some point, sweetie.
 
For today, let’s enjoy Barcelona.”

For the next few hours, they made their way through the Gothic Quarter, avoiding talk of Sarcaccia to focus on easy topics such as the gaggle of geese living in the cathedral’s inner courtyard, Anna’s classes and schoolmates, and the thick stone archways that covered the cobblestoned streets.
 
At the chocolate museum, they lingered over the artisans’ hand-crafted sculptures, oohing and aahing over the complexity of the displays before wending through Barcelona’s narrow medieval streets to return to La Rambla.
 
Street musicians and artists gave them an excuse to pause on a bench now and then.
 
Stefano used those moments to ask Anna questions while Megan window-shopped under the pretense of giving father and daughter a chance to learn more about each other.
 

In reality, she needed to keep Stefano at arm’s length.
 
His easy manner and quick wit, no doubt honed by years of life in the public eye, worked wonders with Anna.
 
By the time dusk fell, Stefano and Anna seemed as if they’d known each other for a lifetime rather than a week.

 
Megan had to give the man credit.
 
Not only had he enchanted Anna, he’d enchanted her with his ability to move through the day as if he were any other man, one who didn’t own an airplane or have a full staff at his beck and call.
 
He’d even stopped at a kiosk to chat with the owner about the jewelry on display and purchase a simple leather bracelet for Anna.
 
And he’d done it all without a soul recognizing him.

 
“Shall we call it a day?” Megan asked as she approached the bench where Stefano and Anna sat fascinated by a group of teens doing tricks on their skateboards.
 
“Mr. Jones is probably pretty tired, Anna.”

Anna twisted her new bracelet and glanced sideways at Stefano.
 
A wicked glint lit her eyes.
 
“Well….”

“We thought we could grab a light dinner from one of the kiosks and catch the Magic Fountain at nine,” Stefano said.
 
“Anna tells me it’s fantastic.
 
Magical
, even.
 
A must-see.”

Megan frowned at Anna, then at Stefano.
 
No, she shouldn’t look at Stefano.
 
He was temptation incarnate with his sexy jeans-and-T look and dusting of whiskers.
 
Addressing Anna, she said, “You two have been conspiring against me.”

“I wouldn’t say conspiring,” Stefano replied.
 
He leaned back against the bench, stretching his muscular arms along the back and kicking his legs in front of him.
 
It reminded her of the confident manner in which he’d leaned back on her sofa while urging her to marry him, all long, fluid limbs and enticing smile, while she’d tried to explain why it couldn’t work.
 

“Then how would you describe it?”

“Conspiring has a negative connotation, which is why the common phrase is
conspiring against
.
 
What we’re doing is convincing you, since this is an activity you’d enjoy.”

“You do love the fountain, Mom,” Anna argued.
 
“Please?
 
It’s almost eight already.
 
If we want to go, we should get there before it’s too crowded so we can stake out a spot on the grass, up close.”

“I’ve never seen it.” Stefano’s voice dripped with mock pleading.
 
“If I don’t see it now, I might never have the opportunity—”
 

“You will so!
 
You’re coming back to visit me again!”
 
Anna spun in the seat and landed a fake punch to Stefano’s ribs, which sent him careening off the bench with a laugh.
 

“Fine, fine, I’ll visit! But we’re supposed to be convincing your mother to go tonight, not pointing out that we can go another time.”

“Oh.
 
Right.”

Megan raised her hands in surrender.
 
“We’ll go.
 
Before you two injure yourselves trying to
convince
me.”

Anna leapt off the bench and high-fived Stefano.
 
“Nice work, Mr. Jones.
 
You’re very convincing.”

Megan rolled her eyes as father and daughter led the way, arm in arm.
 
So much for semantics.
 
Attending the fountain’s water show might not be a negative, as Stefano put it when explaining
conspiring
versus
convincing
, but it was definitely dangerous.

Chapter Eighteen

Stefano stole a look at Megan before drinking in the sight of his sleeping daughter.
 
Half of Anna’s hair remained captured atop her head in a bright purple ponytail holder while the rest hung in messy chunks over her face, which was planted just above Megan’s left knee.
 
Anna’s expression as Megan rubbed her back was one of quiet bliss.

Damn if he wasn’t jealous of a kid.

From the moment he’d spotted Megan in the crowd outside La Boqueria, a lopsided, half-awake smile on her face and her hair gleaming in the early morning light, he’d itched to touch her.
 
He’d fought the urge to put his hand at the small of her back to guide her along the aisles as they’d wandered the market after breakfast, even going so far as walking with his hands in his pockets and keeping Anna between them to act as a buffer.

But then she’d paused to purchase a bar of soap and the fresh green scent, one forever intermingled in his mind with the heat of their shared shower, overrode his common sense.
 
He’d leaned in close.
 
He’d flirted.
 
And when she’d spun face him, he’d seen desire in her gaze.
 

If Anna hadn’t returned to ask about the silly pink candle, he’d have kissed Megan then and there.

He’d managed the cathedral and the chocolate museum without giving in to her pull.
 
It was easier outside the confines of the market, with its rich smells and romantic atmosphere.
 
But there’d been a moment late in the afternoon when he’d caught a view of Megan from the side that made him ache.
 
They’d offered to wait under a Gothic arch while Anna scampered across the street to drop a Euro in a musician’s open violin case.
 
The sun streamed between the buildings and through the stone arch at such an angle that it shone through Megan’s soft blue irises, making them sparkle like crystal as she’d watched her daughter look both ways, then cross the narrow street.
 

Their
daughter.
 

It was all he could do not to draw Megan close and kiss her on the forehead, just under the stray strands of hair twisting along her temple, and tell her how fortunate he felt.
 
How amazing and miraculous it was that they shared this vivacious girl.
 
How much he wanted to be with them—with
her
—and spend all his weekends this way.
 
Instead, he’d turned away, allowing the moment to pass.

When they’d returned to La Rambla at dusk, tiny lights looped through the trees that grew down the center of the boulevard sparkled to life.
 
The scent of roasting chestnuts floated through the air.
 
Young adults gathered around tables in cafes on either side of the cobblestone street while lovers strolled past, arms around each other’s waists.
 
He saw Megan’s gaze follow one young couple and thought of gently taking her hand in his—an easy, natural gesture given their surroundings—but she’d drifted away to admire a piece of art in a store window.