CHAPTER FOUR
Sandro shrugged. “Probably.”
“It figures.” She sipped the juice, fighting the urge to smile. He stood far too close, and she could smell the last traces of some kind of yummy expensive cologne clinging to him. When she told people this story none of them were going to believe her.
“Why didn’t you buy a goose?” he asked.
“Why would I?”
“It’s the traditional Christmas bird. You didn’t buy a turkey, either.”
“I bought a rolled turkey breast with stuffing in it.”
He grimaced. “I saw that in there. Sorry, but no.”
She stared. “What? It’s not any of your business what I eat.”
“Indeed it is.” He polished off the last of his glass and put it in the dishwasher. “I have fallen into your life, and I intend to save you from yourself.”
“I don’t need saving, thanks.”
“Because you already figured everything out and wrote a book about it?”
“Pretty much.” Strange feelings built in her chest. A mix of hurt and anger and humor at her own ridiculous predicament. “And since that’s how I pay my bills, I need to write another one. And I can eat a rolled turkey breast while I’m writing it if I want to.”
He chuckled and turned on the oven light. She could see the top of the frittata already beginning to bubble.
She frowned. “You preheated the oven?”
“Of course.”
“So you were going to make a frittata whether I wanted one or not?”
“If you wanted something else I’d have made that. Just getting prepared. Speaking of which, we need to hit the local stores before the storm rolls in. I started writing a list.”
“There’s only one store, and I don’t think they’re going to have goose. I went there in daylight, remember. I wanted to buy feta cheese, but they didn’t have anything that exotic. They have a lot of different cuts of pig.” She shuddered at the memory.
“Excellent. My chef friend I told you about is from the Deep South. New Orleans, to be precise. His name is Louis DuLac.”
“I’m not eating pigs’ feet. Or intestines. I’m not wild about the rest of the pig, either.”
“Shame. We’ll make do with turkey. If you rub butter and herbs underneath the skin it stays juicy.”
“You really do love to cook, don’t you?”
He’d turned away to remove the dish from the oven using one hand and the dish towel. “It’s a useful hobby.”
“I agree. I wish more men could cook.” She wasn’t much of a cook herself. She liked reading cookbooks and watching cooking shows, but even when she used all the right ingredients and followed the directions to the letter, nothing ever came out quite right.
Kind of like her life lately.
Her stomach growled. “That smells wonderful.”
Enjoy life’s unexpected blessings. Hadn’t she used that as a chapter heading once? “Let me get the plates. If I can find them.”
It didn’t take long to get two places set at the large stone island. She even found some ironed linen napkins.
“Coffee?” He put freshly cut slices of frittata in both places.
“I thought I smelled coffee.”
“I’m glad you thought to shop ahead.”
“I try to think of everything.”
“Is that something you recommend in your books?”
“Absolutely. The power of making lists.” She smiled. He was so easy to talk to that she couldn’t be mad at him right now. Even if they were blowing through all the ingredients she’d bought for her holiday for one. “But seriously, where will you stay? Is there a hotel? Or another rental?”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Just milk.” Was he ignoring her questions? Just because he was royal didn’t mean he could do whatever he wanted.
“Say when.” He poured in a trickle of her one percent milk.
“When.”
“I hardly poured any.”
“I like it dark. So when are you leaving?”
He put the milk back in the fridge. “About that.” He turned and put his hands on his hips. “Wouldn’t you enjoy a multi-course, expertly prepared Christmas dinner with all the trimmings? And I brought some Christmas music. You’ll like Zach and Ajay. They’re super nice guys even though they’re geeky shut-ins a lot of the time.”
The frittata looked so delicious that she didn’t feel like arguing right now. Maybe the eggs would give her the strength she needed to put her foot down. She decided to ignore his question.
His phone rang, and she heard someone talking on the other end.
“Just a few gusts of wind, nothing serious.” He sat down on the stool near hers. “We’re not going to get snowed in. We’re at the beach! Who ever heard of getting snowed in at the beach. Don’t worry. You’ll be back in time for your meeting.”
He hung up and shook his head. “It’s hard to get these workaholic types to take a break. He’s trying to use the storm as an excuse to cancel.”
“You were trying to convince me only a few minutes ago that I might need help shoveling out. I take it you’re the kind of person who says whatever they think will win.”
“Do you warn about people like me in your books?”
“Not yet, but I’m considering this breakfast as research.” She shot him an arch look.
He had the audacity to look pleased. “I hope they don’t cancel. Then I’ll be all alone for Christmas.” He looked up at her with sad eyes.
You’re the kind of person who says whatever they think will win.
“You could fly back to…Altaleone.”
“It’s too late already. By the time I fly from here to a hub, then from there to Austria, or Switzerland, and drive through the mountains—which are heavy with snow at this time of year…”
“That would be sad, wouldn’t it?” She tried to sound sarcastic. “You could use the time to write a book. What do you do, anyway? Or is being a prince a full-time job?”
“I’m a mechanical engineer by training. I invent things by inclination.” He sipped his coffee.
“Like what?”
“Right now my main focus is on portable solar panels for smaller applications like a single laptop.”
“So spoiled executives wouldn’t have to worry about running out of power on the train.”
“You’d be surprised by how much of the world is still off the grid. Picture someone in rural Africa being able to connect to the Internet via satellite and share or retrieve information a hundred miles from the nearest lightbulb.”
“Okay, that does sound pretty cool.” Great, he had to be smart as well as handsome. And his bringing power to African laptops made her posts on how to organize your closet seem a bit lame. “Did you bring a panel or two with you in case we lose power during the storm?”
He laughed. “Nope. I’m like the shoemaker’s children who have bare feet. But knowing Zadir, this place probably has a full backup generator. How do you like breakfast?”
“It’s very good,” she admitted reluctantly.
He looked pleased again. “When you’re done we should hit the store. No sense waiting until the weather gets really bad.”
She heard a text come in on his phone. He muttered a veiled curse and dialed someone. “Zach, it’s just a storm. The airports are not going to be shut down for days.” He rose and paced while listening impatiently. “And being Jewish is no excuse to be alone on one of the most festive days of the year. Jesus was Jewish, remember? And it’s his birthday. If the local airport gets snowed in I will personally drive you to Atlanta. Or Charlotte. Or somewhere bigger, anyway.” He paced some more. “They always overestimate these things. The house is gorgeous—right on the beach! And the weather here is perfect right now.”
Serena glanced at the kitchen window, where rain spattered gently against the glass. It was kind of adorable that Sandro wanted to give his non-Christian friends a festive Christmas so they wouldn’t be alone. Then again, it was pretty obnoxious, too.
He put his phone down, looking annoyed. “Some people are so pessimistic.”
“He’s not coming.”
“Nope. Ajay should be getting on his plane any minute, though. He’s only in Philly so he’ll be here in a few hours.”
His phone pinged with an incoming text. He picked it up and peered at it. “Quitter.” Then he turned to her. “I guess it’s just you and me, after all.”