Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (20 page)

If dancing with her in an open park at dusk to the sounds of a dozen Argentinian musicians encouraged her to grab life by the horns, to let the energy within her free, then he wanted to dance with her more than he wanted anything else in the world.

Silently, she rose from the wall and accepted his invitation, touching her palm to his before gliding across the smooth gray stone in his embrace. His eyes drifted closed as her head came just below his and he caught a brief whiff of her hair. She didn’t miss a step, matching him move for move, pause for pause, their bodies guided by the music. Without thinking, he swished one of his feet in the way he’d been taught during his teenage lessons before easing her into a sultry dip. When he lifted her and they spun into the next steps, she whispered, “You’re very good.”

He couldn’t stop the burst of happiness that filled him at her words. How long had it been since he’d heard a compliment and known it to be sincere?

“I know,” she added, “I’m not supposed to talk.”

He brought her closer in their embrace with gentle pressure from his hand. “Do whatever feels right. No one is watching.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but sensed her smile. They danced with abandon for the rest of the
tanda
, enjoying each classic tango as it flowed into the next. All too soon, the tempo changed, signaling that the set had come to its end. Vittorio eased toward the wall, then released Emily and swept into a bow as she curtsied.

“Thank you, Victor. I wouldn’t have thought to stay, but that was fun.” Her cheeks were flushed from dancing. “Even if you bullied me into it.”

“Bullied?”
 

Amusement lit her hazel eyes. “I couldn’t exactly leave politely now, could I? Despite what Eva said about no embarrassment, that would’ve been horrific.”
 

“Would you have said no if I’d simply asked?”

“Guess you’ll never know.” She patted his forearm, then grabbed her bag from the wall as the strains of the next
tanda
began. “We should get changed. You have a dinner to go to, right?”

“I don’t have anything planned. It’s simply time for a meal.” Behind them, dozens of couples partnered off while others broke away, searching for taxis or walking in the direction of the nearest bus stop. “But it seems like this is likely the last dance of the evening. Maybe it’d be wiser to catch a cab now. By the time we change, the
practica
will be over and they’ll be hard to come by.”

“True.” She gave her skirt a twirl. “Guess the drivers are used to seeing outfits like this around here.”

“As much as they are shoes like mine.” He spied a taxi stopped at a light on the far side of the park. “I think I can catch that one. Follow me and I’ll escort you back to your place.”

He scooted past a knot of young men who’d stopped to watch the dancers, then around an older woman walking two Yorkshire Terriers to exit the park and flag down the taxi at a corner. Once the driver pulled to the curb, he opened the door and held it for Emily, then circled the cab to hop in behind the driver.

He instructed the driver to take them to the Recoleta park where they’d walked the night before last, then turned to Emily. “That was good timing. He may have been the last free cab for a while.”

An inquisitive look crept across her face. “You like to be in control, don’t you? You’re used to it.”

He shrugged. “You’re pretty comfortable with it, too. You wouldn’t be in charge of
At Home Abroad
if you weren’t.”
 

Emily’s eyebrows raised briefly in acknowledgement, but she said nothing, keeping her focus on the scenery. The last vestiges of sunlight skimmed the tops of the trees and peeked between the buildings. The main roads were thick with taxis and buses, and pedestrians clogged the sidewalks as the taxi made its way into Recoleta. Here and there, friends exchanged kisses before parting ways for the evening. A few
porteños
wandered into restaurants, though the tables wouldn’t fill until later in the evening. The city was large, bustling, and a hub for business, but in many ways retained its Old World charm, even outside the traditional districts like San Telmo.

Emily pulled a face when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“What?” he asked softly.

She started, realizing she’d been caught. “Oh. Nothing.”

He jerked his head back and wrinkled his brow in open skepticism.

A slow blush crept across her cheeks. “You’ll think I’m being silly…it’s just, well, I love the history of this city. All the architecture, the traditions. On the other hand, the over-the-top male dominance drives me nuts. Did you see that group of men catcalling back there on the corner? How obnoxious is that?”

He’d missed it, though he wasn’t surprised. Men in Buenos Aires tended to be bold. “I imagine the women here are used to it.”

“Perhaps.” She worried her lip before continuing, “Don’t get me wrong…there’s a graciousness that exists here, too. Men tend to open doors for women, allow them to go first into elevators, all the classic niceties. I just wish—” She waved her hand, then started digging in her handbag. “Whatever. I’m being silly.”

The taxi pulled to the curb not far from the spot where they’d entered the park to walk to their respective hotels two nights ago. He went to pay, but Emily beat him to the punch. “I told you, the show has you covered. And you’ve paid for nearly everything so far.”

He acquiesced, making sure he got around the vehicle to open her door for her. He didn’t miss the amused look on her face as he swept a bow, then thanked the driver.

They jogged across the street while the signal was in their favor. A few strands loosened from her bun, reminding him what a long day they’d had. Once they slowed to a walk and entered the park, he asked, “It wasn’t the catcalls, was it?”

“That cemented it, but no, not really. It was the dance lesson. When Eva smacked my knees as if I’d committed a crime simply by standing.”
 

As before, the park’s overhead lights were on, casting shadows along the sides of the walkway where young couples sat chatting, sharing containers of ice cream, or kissing. On a rectangular court behind one couple, four men who appeared to be in their fifties or sixties finished up a game of bocce.
 

“Traditions are held dear here,” Vittorio pointed out, angling his gaze toward the group of men.

“I know, but as much as I appreciate the graciousness of it, it bothers me that men get to decide everything. Tradition or not, a woman should be an equal partner. If she stands a moment too early, is that really so bad? Shouldn’t a woman be able to make the same choices without being judged for them?” Laughter bubbled from deep within her. “I know, I know. I’m fighting what
is
.”

“A woman can always say no to a man’s invitation.”

“Yes, I suppose she can.”

“And be as much a professional in the workplace.”

“True.” They were halfway through the park now, approaching the colossal ombu tree that served as its focal point. Emily stopped walking and faced him. “Wait a minute. Are you talking about my job now? Or is this a discussion about what happened the other night?”
 

“All of it.” It didn’t escape his notice that she stood under the brightest lights of the park to ask her question. “I gave you my word and I’ll keep it. But I have to say…this afternoon you moved like a woman who’s graced more than one dance floor. I suspect this wasn’t your first lesson. Maybe not even your first tango lesson.”

Her shrug was casual, but he didn’t miss the flicker of wariness in her eyes. “Back in college I took ballroom dance.”

“Aside from Eva’s reprimand, you were having a good time. You miss it, don’t you? Dancing like that?”

“I do.” She started walking again, and he fell into step beside her. “But that was a long, long time ago. Another lifetime.”
 

A note in her voice made him realize what she didn’t say: she no longer had the opportunity, given her schedule. And that it had been by choice. “So why’d you refuse when I asked?”

“I told you, I didn’t think it’d be appropriate for me to be part of the story. Rita disagreed, so I did it.”

“Bullshit.” It came out as clipped as Eva’s correction, but in this case, it was warranted. “I think you were afraid.”

A choking sound emerged from her mouth before raucous laughter bubbled from her, likely because it was the first time she’d heard him swear. “Um, you’re calling bullshit on me? You, Mister I-Want-To-Be-Anonymous-On-Camera? If anyone’s afraid of—”

“You misunderstand. I don’t think you were afraid of the camera capturing a mistake.” He stopped walking as they neared the park’s edge and lowered his voice. “I think you were afraid of me. Or you were afraid of the emotions dancing might bring up. Either way, you were concerned about what your coworkers would think of you. That they wouldn’t view you as a professional. That’s why the catcalling and Eva’s rap on the knees bothered you.”
 

It hadn’t clicked for him until this moment, but given the way she’d acted all day, it made sense. He frowned. “Do you feel like they don’t respect you as much because of your gender? Because from what I’ve seen over the last few days, that’s not the case. Your coworkers think you’re fantastic.”

“I like to think so. I’ve worked very hard to earn their respect. They’re the best in the business.”

“But that doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you want to dance today when it’s obvious that you love it? What were you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid of my show being cancelled.” The night breeze carried the loose strands of her bun into her face and she swiped them away. “That’s it. Period. I can’t let them down.”

Risking her ire, he took a step closer and looped the wayward hair behind her ears. “You won’t. They know you’re working day and night to make the show a success. They admire you. They
like
you. I can’t imagine them thinking you’re any less competent because you’re female or because you’re dancing on camera. If it’d been a male host and a female guest—”

A ragged breath escaped her, betraying the emotion she struggled to keep hidden. “Victor…stop.”

“I told you before, I understand what you’re going through. I’ve spent my entire life working day and night to make other people secure. I’ve put my own needs and desires aside because I felt like they wouldn’t trust me otherwise, and I couldn’t help them if they didn’t trust me. But I’ve learned the hard way that I need to put myself first.”

He cupped her face in his hands, needing to drive his point home. “I know it’s cliché, but life is short. You need to enjoy it. No one will begrudge you a dance if that’s what makes you happy, let alone when it’s integral to the show you’re fighting so hard to keep on the air. It’s a hell of a lot better than running off for a five-month vacation.”

She could have it all, if only she could see it. Instead, she lived in a cocoon of professionalism, hoping it would protect her. He’d learned the hard way that—no matter how careful one might be—no one could insulate themselves from pain.
 

“I
do
enjoy my life,” she protested. “Hesitating over a dance segment doesn’t mean I’m not happy. Just…would you please stop looking at me like that!”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say,
like what?

“Like you’re going to kiss me again.”

“I told you I wouldn’t, and I keep my word.” He let his hands fall away from her cheeks. “Though I must point out that your coworkers wouldn’t think less of you if you kissed someone now and then. Frankly, Rita would encourage it.”

“In that case, stop looking at me like you can see through me and know what I’m thinking. It’s utterly unfair when I don’t know you at all.” She stepped back, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I still feel like I should. Like I know you from somewhere. But I won’t pry, because you know what? I keep my word, too.”

The air stilled between them. Their eyes held. Neither moved toward the street, where they’d be compelled to say goodnight and go their separate ways.
 

“My name is Vittorio.” He almost gave her his last name, but caught himself in time. Her lips parted in surprise, but she said nothing. “I didn’t want to tell you that morning in the café for the same reason you don’t want to dance or enjoy a goodnight kiss. It’s a risk. Both professionally…and personally.”

She exhaled, then glanced at a bus lumbering down the street that separated the park from her bed and breakfast, as if she needed the distraction to corral her thoughts. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because I want you to trust me and to realize I have no ulterior motive for what I’m telling you. I’m simply a man who’s made mistakes and I’m trying to prevent you from doing the same. That’s all.” He spun on his heel and covered the last few paces to the street. If she slept on it, maybe had a few days to get through the production and reflect on what he’d said, she’d realize he was right.
 

He punched the button for the crosswalk and waited for the light to change. Emily stood beside him in silence. He was about to hit the button again when she wrapped her hand around his wrist. Rather than looking at him, her focus was on her bed and breakfast, a contemplative crease bisecting the space between her brows.

“You’re right. I made a bad decision once and it’s made me sensitive to how I’m perceived.” Her voice held a mix of apology and regret. “I’ve never considered that I’m oversensitive. Or that I may sometimes overreact as a result.”