Maggie bounded out of bed the next morning. Normally, she would have been looking forward to a quiet day after the hectic pace of the last few days, but all she wanted to do was see what Raffaele had planned for them.

Dancing at the ball had been magical. She’d felt like a princess in her beautiful, sparkly dress, and when they danced, it felt like there was no one else in the room with them.

A maid knocked on her door, and then entered carrying coffee. The young woman set the tray down and handed Maggie a note.

Maggie looked at her in question and the maid said, with a knowing smile, “From the Prince. He requests that you have breakfast with him in town.”

Maggie smiled, her face lighting up as she read the note. “Of course.” She looked up at the maid in question. “Um, should I send a note back to him?”

She got a smile in return. “No, miss. I think he’s already waiting on you downstairs.”

“Okay, then. I should get ready.”

Maggie dressed in record time, and raced down the stairs. She was excited to see what Raffaele had planned for the day, and even more excited just to see him.

Raffaele was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs; he kissed her cheek and grabbed her hand to pull her outside to the car.

They drove into town, where Raffaele took her to a tiny bakery, getting pastries and coffee. They sat outside next to a fountain surrounded by bright red flowers in hanging pots.

It was still early, but the town was bustling as people walked to work and school. Maggie could see that people recognized Prince Raffaele, but except for a few enthusiastic waves from school kids which Raffaele returned cheerfully, no one bothered them.

The coffee steamed in the cool morning air, but Maggie didn’t even notice the temperature. She was sure she had a sappy grin plastered on her face, but she didn’t care; she was happy and fine with everyone knowing that.

After breakfast, Raffaele took her to the Spiaggi’s museum of national history. The curator offered to close the galleries so they could walk through privately, but Raffaele declined, saying that he didn’t want to interrupt the regular business of the museum. He escorted Maggie himself, telling her stories about the exhibits and about his visits to the museum as a child, and finding every opportunity he could to steal a kiss from her.

The national art gallery was next, and then lunch at another tiny restaurant Raffaele liked, followed by a drive up the coast. Raffaele held her hand as they walked along the beach, and then he took her to dinner at a place where they got the seafood right out of the water behind the restaurant.

The next morning, Maggie met Raffaele practically bouncing with excitement. She laughed and let him rush her out the door. When they got to the center of town, Raffaele parked and then steered her down a side street.

When they came out at the end of the street, it was to a large open square set up with long rows of tables filled with all sorts of food. On the far side of the square, Maggie could see an area with more tables which held what looked like crafts and art.

Raffaele waved a hand in a grand flourish at the market. Maggie stared around in wonder.

“I know I said I was happy not to cook for the rest of my vacation, but this makes me want to change my mind.”

Raffaele laughed. “It’s early in the season. You should see it in summer.”

“Okay,” she agreed, only half paying attention to what he was saying as she wandered down an aisle of cheese vendors.

Raffaele shook his head fondly at her, and followed. They tried the different cheeses, then moved onto bread. Maggie strolled down the aisles of fruit, not touching anything, but running her hand through the air above the stacks of citrus and few early berries.

Raffaele teased her, asking if she wanted to be alone with the fruit. She glared at him, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning against his side.

For lunch, they bought fruit and cheese from the market and sat on a bench in the town square. Maggie basked in the sun.

“Is the weather always like this?” she asked, her head tilted back, enjoying the warmth.

“It’s cooler in winter, but there’s really not that much variation.”

She dropped her head to squint at him. “I could get used to this.”

He laughed. “I sincerely hope so.”

After lunch, Raffaele took Maggie to a medieval town on the other side of the island. It was mostly ruins, though Raffaele took her on top of a section of the old wall that was being restored. Maggie peppered him with questions about local history until Raffaele teased her that even his teachers hadn’t made him memorize so much information.

Maggie teased him back, offering him a kiss for every fact he told her. So, Raffaele told her everything he could remember, and then started making up outrageous “facts” about his country’s history.

“Did you know that pirates founded Spiaggi?” he asked her, trying to convince her that part of the old walls were really a hiding place for buried treasure.

Maggie laughed. “That is so not true.”

Raffaele nodded sagely.

“They did. There was a terrible storm that caught a ship commanded by the most feared pirate in all of the region. The storm washed them up on the shore, just there.” He pointed to an area along the water. “And when the storm passed, they found the island so beautiful and welcoming, they decided to stay.”

“So, you’re descended from pirates.”

Raffaele shrugged. “My ancestors have been called worse things.”

Maggie laughed again. “I still don’t believe you, but that’s a good story.”

Raffaele waggled his eyebrows at her. “Good enough for a kiss?”

She grinned and pulled his head down. “Definitely.”