Royal Scandals: Scandal With A Prince Part 11

"Well, it's nice we can see them here." Without the maintenance. "It makes it special."

Anna shrugged, considering that. They thanked the woman once more for allowing Anna to feed the parakeet and wished her a successful day of sales before taking their leave. Three blocks later a subtle rise in volume hinted that they were near the entrance to the covered marketplace. As the only spot open at this hour, early risers came here to grab a quick breakfast or to socialize.

Megan only hoped they could pull off the socialize part without Stefano being recognized. Her stomach tightened with anxiety to think of him meeting her here. When he'd called earlier in the week, fresh from his economic meeting, he'd suggested breakfast at Anna's favorite spot and promised the outing would be without incident. "Believe it or not, I've done it before. You'll see. If we stay relaxed, we'll appear like any other tourists. No one will pay attention. But don't call me Stefano. Let's go with Mr. Jones."

"Jones?" She'd laughed aloud at the suggestion. Tall, dark, and Mediterranean...he looked like anything but a Jones.

"Trust me."

Megan had hung up the phone on a groan. The man was thick as a brick. He wanted to prove to her that he could protect her and Anna, not understanding that what she really needed was love. Deep, abiding, romantic love.

He'd put the proverbial cart before the horse. She wasn't about to explain it to him, though. If she did, could she ever trust it if he declared his undying love for her? She'd always suspect he said it simply to coerce her into a convenient-for-him marriage.

A moment later, Megan and Anna rounded the corner to Placa de Sant Josep, where the public market sprawled under an expansive metal roof. Near the entrance, a knot of men unloaded crates from a line of vans while two others wheeled past them with fruit- and vegetable-laden dollies. A woman barely out of her teens sang to herself as she blew by carrying a ma.s.sive stack of egg containers. Megan watched as the young woman darted around a man carrying a box stacked high with tomatoes, wondering at her skill in keeping the eggs from breaking. A few of the workers smiled in greeting or nodded in Megan and Anna's direction, a luxury they wouldn't have once the market filled with tourists and they were busy manning their stalls.

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-s.h.i.+rt, worn jeans with a battered black leather belt, and dark leather sandals. A slight but s.e.xy growth of beard dotted his chin. Amber-tinted sungla.s.ses with dark frames made it difficult to see his eyes, though when she leaned closer, she noted the amus.e.m.e.nt 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 gla.s.s cases or arranged piles of fruit and vegetables into artful displays as they pa.s.sed. "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 b.u.t.tered 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 gla.s.s 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 espres...o...b..fore 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 pa.s.s. 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 pa.s.sing 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 s.e.xual nature of the comment without having heard it.

When Megan nodded, he asked the ap.r.o.ned 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 sungla.s.ses. "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 ap.r.o.n 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?"

"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 bra.s.s 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 Plexigla.s.s."

"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 s.p.a.ce, 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 cla.s.ses 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 s.e.xy 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?"