HOLIDAY ROYALE Read online

  Lucy said, “I do like these three. The cat reminds me of Boris.” Boris was her fat orange tabby.

  “Is Boris still in California?” When he’d taken her to New York, they’d had to leave Boris behind in the care of Hannah Russo, Lucy’s former foster mother, who was now Noah’s housekeeper.

  Lucy shook her head, her gaze on the cat in the drawing. “Hannah brought him to me a few weeks ago. He likes it in Manhattan. He sits in the front window and watches all the action down on the street—very much like this cat right here.” He knew she’d already checked for and found the scrawled initials, DBC, in the lower left-hand corners of each of the sketches. Lucy was always after him to dedicate more of his time to painting and drawing. She added, “These are so good, Dami. When did you do them?”

  He slid his arm around her waist, allowing himself the small, sharp pleasure of touching her, of feeling the warmth of her beneath the softness of her cashmere cardigan with its prim row of white buttons down the front. “Years ago. I was studying briefly at Beaux-Arts in Paris and drawing everything in sight. I came in for coffee, had my sketchbook with me. Justine gave me a box of pastries in exchange for these.”

  She leaned into him a little. He caught the scents of coffee and vanilla—and peaches. Today she smelled of peaches. And she scolded, as he’d known she would, “You should spend more time drawing and painting.”

  It was delicious, the feel of her against his side. “Life is full of diversions and there aren’t enough hours in a day.”

  “Still...”

  He turned her toward the door. “Let’s go. The Procession of Abundance won’t wait.”

  * * *

  After the parade, they strolled the Promenade in the harbor area, not far from where he’d told stories to the children the day before.

  She chattered gleefully about her upcoming first semester at the Fashion Institute of New York. She’d been to the school and pestered some of her future instructors for ways she might better prepare for the classes to come. As a result, she was designing accessories and working with fabrics she hadn’t used before.

  And then, again, she brought up his painting. “I know you have a studio here in Montedoro. I want you to take me there.”

  He teased, “Never trust a man who wants to show you his etchings.”

  “But that’s just it. You don’t want to show me. You keep putting me off.”

  He took her soft, clever hand and tucked it over his arm. “I’ll consider it.”

  She bumped her shoulder against him and flashed him a grin. “And I’ll keep bugging you until you give in and let me see what you’ve been working on.”

  “But I haven’t been working on any of that. I’m a businessman first. And you know that I am.”

  “You’re an artist, Dami,” she insisted. “You truly are.”

  “No, my darling. You are. Now please stop nagging me or I won’t take you to the holiday gala at the National Museum tonight.”

  Her big eyes got wider. “Oh, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten about the show at the museum. There will be an exhibit of that new car you’ve been working on, the Montedoro, won’t there?”

  “You make it sound as though I built the car personally.”

  She put on an expression of great superiority. “I know how to use the internet, believe it or not. I read all about the new sports car and how you helped design it.”

  “So, then, we’re agreed.”

  She sent him a look. “Agreed about what?”

  “You’ll go with me to the gala tonight. We’ll drink champagne. I will dazzle you with my knowledge of Montedoran art. And you’ll stop giving me grief about how I should spend more time in my studio.”

  * * *

  Lucy wore red to the gala that night. Her own design, the dress was strapless, of red satin, with a mermaid hem and a giant jeweled vintage pin in the shape of a butterfly at the side of her waist. She felt good in that dress—comfortable and about as close to glamorous as someone everyone considered “cute” was ever going to get.

  Dami said, “Wow,” when he saw it. And she had to admit, the way he looked at her, all smoldering and sexy, had her convinced that the dress was just right.

  The National Museum of Montedoro filled a very old, very large rococo-style villa perched on a hillside overlooking the harbor. Dami’s sister Rhiannon, who was a year older than Alice, worked there. Rhia oversaw acquisitions and restorations. She greeted the guests as they entered the museum.

  Seven months pregnant, wearing royal-blue satin, Rhia had that glow that so many pregnant women get. She kissed Lucy on the cheek and said that Alice and Noah were expected any minute now. Lucy shared a glance with Dami over that. He frowned a little, probably doubting that Noah would behave himself. Lucy flashed him a confident smile. Noah would behave himself, all right. If he didn’t, he’d get another middle-of-the-night visit from his little sister.

  Rhia said, “Follow the Hall of Tapestries. The Montedoro Exhibit is in the South Gallery. You can’t miss it.”

  They proceeded down a long hallway hung with beautiful tapestries, some of them very old, to a large two-story room with tall windows overlooking the harbor. The second floor was a balcony rimming the space. Guests could stand at the railing up there and gaze down on the action below.

  The gallery was already milling with people in full evening dress sipping champagne. A jazz quartet played on a stage near the windows. A sleek red sports car gleamed under spotlights in the center of the room.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she told Dami at the sight of the new car.

  “It has to be,” he said. “After all, it’s called the Montedoro.”

  They made their way around the exhibit. Lucy took her time, studying the photographs and scale drawings and reading the descriptions that detailed the creation of the new car. The Montedoro would be available to exclusive individual buyers that coming May and offered for sale in upscale auto dealerships all over the world in the fall. Many of the drawings were signed DBC.

  Evidently, Dami saw her checking out his initials. “See? There’s more to life than painting and sketching fat cats in windows.”

  “Noah told me that you took a degree in mechanical engineering and design.”

  “I like to keep busy.”

  “You’re way too modest.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not.” He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed her temple. “I have a lot of interests. And I become bored very easily.”

  “You hide your abilities behind your jet-setter facade.”

  “Does anyone actually say jet-setter anymore?”

  She drew her shoulders back. “I do. It’s a perfect way of saying shallow-rich-people-who-fly-all-over-the-place-in-their-private-jets. Just IMO, of course.”

  He pretended to hide a yawn. “I hope this isn’t the beginning of one of your lectures concerning my wasted artistic talent. I thought we had an understanding about that.”

  “You’re right.” She did her best to look contrite. “We do. And I didn’t mean to insult rich people with too much time on their hands.”

  “As opposed to hardworking rich people, you mean?”

  “Well, you have to admit, a hardworking rich person is much more admirable.”

  “Spoken like an American.”

  She scolded, “And would you please stop telling me how easily you get bored?”

  He leaned even closer and whispered, “Done.”

  She breathed him in. He did smell wonderful. “Terrific.”

  He touched her hair, tracing the line of it along her temple and cheek then following the shell of her ear. A little shiver of pleasure went through her and he whispered, “Not bored now. Not with you....”

  They were sharing a lovely, intimate smile when she heard the disturbance by the wid
e arch that opened back onto the Hall of Tapestries. Dami was facing the entrance. He could see what was happening. His tender look turned to a scowl. Lucy followed his gaze to the stunning woman surrounded by admirers and eager photographers just entering the exhibit.

  It was Vesuvia.

  And she looked even more magnificent than she did on the covers of all those glamorous fashion magazines, with magnetic almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones to die for and lips so full they should be X-rated. She was very tall, with shapely shoulders and long, graceful arms. Her lion’s mane of tawny hair fell to the middle of her back and her perfect round breasts seemed to defy gravity. She wore a low-cut white gown that clung lovingly to every curve and was slit high on the right side to reveal a whole lot of toned golden-skinned leg and a pair of Grecian-inspired metallic sandals with the straps wrapping halfway up her otherworldly calves. She laughed and tossed her acres of hair and the photographers went into a frenzy of picture taking, calling encouragements to her and begging, “Vesuvia, this way!” and “Vesuvia, over here!”

  Dami leaned close again, “Don’t stare, Luce. It only encourages her.”

  Lucy turned back to him, feeling slightly dazed, the way you do when you stare directly into the sun. “Sorry, Dami. How can I help it? She’s pretty amazing to look at, you know?” She glanced again at his ex-girlfriend just as the woman raised her golden arm to send Dami a little wave, a come-and-get-me smile on those impossibly large lips. And that had Lucy whipping her head back to catch Dami’s reaction.

  But his gaze was waiting for her. “You look as though you’re watching a tennis match.”

  She didn’t deny it. “Am I?”

  “Not on my part. I’ve conceded that game.”

  Are you sure? she longed to ask. But no. Maybe later when they were alone, if it felt right, they might talk about his ex. Because they were friends and they trusted each other.

  But to get into all that now, well, uh-uh. Time and place, it wasn’t. Plus, Lucy found she felt... Well, not jealous, exactly. How could she be jealous? She and Dami didn’t have that kind of thing going on.

  But at a disadvantage. Yes, that was it. Like suddenly she was walking around blindfolded in an unfamiliar room, groping at the furniture, trying to find her way.

  Vesuvia and her posse were headed for the scale model of the Montedoro in the center of the exhibit. A man and a woman broke from the group. The woman wore a black sheath cocktail dress and the man a dark suit. Both had on ear-to-ear smiles. They came right for Lucy and Damien.

  “Watch out,” Dami warned. “Ad executives.” He named a major international advertising company.

  “Your Highness,” fawned the woman. “How are you?”

  Dami nodded. “Wonderful to see you.” He introduced Lucy. She murmured a hello.

  The woman gave her a quick nod and got right to the point. “I wonder, a few pictures? You and Vesuvia and the Montedoro? Is it possible, do you think?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right over.”

  The man said, “Excellent.”

  The woman said, “Perfect.”

  And then they both turned and went back to where Vesuvia was laughing and tossing her head in front of the red car.

  Dami wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulder, drew her close to his side and spoke softly in her ear. “We want to keep the Montedoro in the news. Unfortunately, that means I have to try to say yes to any and all shameless photo ops whenever the car happens to be involved.”

  Lucy didn’t like it. And it annoyed her that she didn’t like it. She kind of did feel jealous after all. Ugh. Jealousy was not in her plan.

  Dami did the loveliest thing then. He pressed his lips against her hair, just above her right ear. “Luce? Are you all right?”

  Really, she had to stop crushing on him. It just wasn’t fair, wasn’t part of their arrangement. She put on a bright voice. “Of course. I get it.” And she did. He and Vesuvia might or might not be through, but pictures of them together would fuel rumors about them and their stormy relationship. The pictures would make all the tabloids—and the Montedoro would be in all the pictures. “Go ahead with your photo op. I’m just going to look around the other exhibits a little.”

  He pulled her close again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips were warm and soft and a thrill went through her. She felt the affection in that brushing caress. At the same time, she couldn’t help thinking, Oh, Dami. On the forehead? Way to make me feel like a child.

  Still, she met his eyes one more time and smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world. And then she left him so he could go and pose with his ex.

  She headed for the Hall of Tapestries, trotting as fast as her mermaid hem would allow, determined to make a quick escape from the South Gallery. But she wasn’t quite quick enough. As she passed under the wide arch that got her out of there, she spotted Noah and Alice coming straight for her.

  They saw her. What else could she do but deal with them? If she took off running, Noah would assume there must be something bothering her. And then when he got into the gallery and saw Dami and Vesuvia together, he would guess what that something was.

  He might get mad about it in his protective big-brother way. Or he might just feel sorry for her because she’d been crushing on Dami and look where that had gotten her. Neither of those possibilities was acceptable. Okay, maybe she wasn’t gorgeous and sophisticated with perfect breasts and legs for days. She had other things going for her. Among them her pride.

  No way Noah was going to see her suffering over Dami—not that she was suffering over Dami. She wasn’t.

  Not much, anyway.

  She waited, smiling sweetly, as they approached her. And then she stood there for five full minutes chatting with them, telling them how impressed she was with the car Dami had helped to design and how she couldn’t wait to check out more of the museum.

  Then Noah said, “Where is Damien, anyway?”

  She gestured back toward the gallery behind her. “Major photo op with Vesuvia.”

  Alice said, “That’s right, Vesuvia’s the spokesmodel for the Montedoro.” She lowered her voice to a just-between-us level. “They signed her for the job before she and Dami got completely on the outs.”

  Completely on the outs. That sounded kind of good—not that it was anything Dami hadn’t already told her.

  About then, Rule, who was second-born of Damien’s brothers, came toward them with his wife, Sydney. Alice waved them over. Lucy was able to say a quick hello to the prince and his wife and then move on. She tried to go with dignity and slow steps, her head high.

  The Hall of Tapestries took her back to the grand entry in the center of the villa. Rooms and other hallways branched off the entry like the spokes of a wheel. A curving staircase soared up behind the information desk. The main directory told her there were three stories of galleries to explore.

  She began with the north wing on the ground floor, in the three galleries dedicated to textiles and clothing. First off, she found a gallery full of beautiful examples of Montedoran clothing through the years. There was an excess of what she thought of as the Little Dutch Girl look—blousy homespun shirts with snug lace-up bodices worn over them and full embroidered skirts, layers of lacy petticoats beneath and frilly aprons on top.

  The next room had the finery that the princely family had worn. The exhibit spanned hundreds of years, with examples of clothing worn by many generations of the Calabretti family. The gowns were spectacular, some of them sewn with pearls and semiprecious stones. The lacework, even yellowed with age, stole her breath.

  The wedding gown was there, the one Princess Adrienne had worn when she’d married Dami’s dad. Lucy had been drooling over pictures of that famous dress long before she was old enough to hold a needle and thread. The gown held pride of place in the center of the exhibit, i
n a tall glass case. Lucy stood and stared at it for a long time.

  It really lifted her spirits to see it close up, the impossibly perfect embroidery, the exquisite lace, the thousands of sewn-on seed pearls. Looking at Princess Adrienne’s wedding dress reminded her of the great adventure that lay before her as a designer. It made her remember that her life was rich and full and good. That she was not going to be jealous of Dami and his ex—or if she was, a little, it was okay. Even the unpleasant emotions were part of being alive and she would take life over the alternative any day of the week.

  Warm hands clasped her waist. Dami. “How did I know I would find you here?”

  She’d been so transported by the legendary wedding dress that she hadn’t seen his faint reflection in the glass of the protective case. But she saw him now. She turned to him and brought her palms up to rest on the satin lapels of his jacket. “I can now say I’ve seen the dress in person. Not to mention generations’ worth of serious Calabretti style. I’ve also already checked out the various examples of traditional Montedoran dress.”

  He still held her waist and his eyes gleamed down at her. “Are you saying you’re ready to move on?”

  She hooked her arm in his. “Where to next?”

  He took her back to the main entrance and up the stairs to the Adele Canterone Exhibit. For an easy, companionable hour they admired the art of Montedoro’s great Impressionist painter.

  They ran into Noah and Alice again on the way out.

  Alice said, “Come back to the villa with us, you two. We’ll share a late supper.”

  Lucy instantly suspected that Noah might be up to something. She gave him a long narrow-eyed look.

  Noah was all innocence. “What? Good company, something to eat. Is that going to kill you?”

  Lucy couldn’t help grinning. “Fine.” She glanced at Dami, who nodded in agreement. “We would love to come.” Then she teased her brother. “Because I can see you’re on your best behavior.”