CHAPTER THREE
It took a phone call to the number on his card, and some convincing, but Tony finally agreed to let me meet him at his hotel instead of sending a car to Jackson Heights. I’d never hear the end of hopping into the back of a glitzed out SUV with chrome caps and dark tinted windows with half the neighborhood watching.
The only time I’d ridden in a car fancier than Aja’s Jeep Cherokee was when my mom’s boss insisted on renting a town car for the family during her funeral. My dad and I and all that room felt like a waste. Especially when the only person in the family who truly would have enjoyed the ride, was instead lying in a box in the back of the hearse.
The subway was more to my liking—the smells, the sounds, the panhandlers walking from car to car on the weekends with their hardship stories. It all reminded me of the brief time I lived in the city and the adventures that always waited there.
Three blocks from the station, I stepped under the overhang of a small boutique hotel in an alley off Broadway and 5th. The gold lettering read Palazzo Margherita over a dark green awning. The doorman wore a matching green suit, and his smile said he made more money opening doors than I did working two jobs.
His eyes followed me the entire way through the door and I still felt them on my back as I made my way from the entrance to the main bar. Not that being gawked at in the city was anything new, but with the guests avoiding eye contact as if I had conjunctivitis and could pass it with a look, his stare grated on my nerves.
“Welcome to Palazzo Margherita, madam. Will you be dining with us?” A tall man in a dark suit stood behind a podium, which was emblazoned with the hotel name and gold crown logo, and stared just as hard as the doorman had. I glanced down at the sweater dress under my coat. Burgundy red with a brown belt around the waist and ankle-high, brown jodhpurs. I didn’t mirror the cocktail attire of most of the guests filtering in and out of the bar area, but I also didn’t resemble a bag lady from the street either.
“I’m meeting someone.” I disregarded his smug expression and glanced into the bar. There was a step down into a dining area with small white tables and a white bar that ran the length of the room. Gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, four that I counted, and the back wall was one solid mirror, making the bar look twice its actual size. I’d never been in a fancier place and the expanse of it gave me goosebumps.
“Perhaps you’d like to wait here until they find you?” He smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile. He stepped from behind the podium and I had to look over his shoulder to continue searching the bar.
“Perhaps,” I replied, matching his high-class tone. “If you’d move to the left he’d be able to spot me.”
Another glance over his shoulder and I spotted one of the shadows from that afternoon’s coffee debacle approaching from the back of the bar. He moved with a purposeful gate and a straight face that defied no emotion. In a few seconds, he’d be at my side.
“If you gave me a name I could call for your guest.” The maître d’s lips widened, as did the sarcasm in his voice. “He really should escort you around the hotel from now on.”
I matched him with a tight grin of my own, and had just started to speak Tony’s name, when the shadow put his massive hand on the guy’s slender shoulder. He addressed me first. “Good evening, Ms. Johanson, Antonio is expecting you. I’ll take you to him.” Then he turned to the impertinent little gnat of a man whose amusement had been completely wiped from his face. “Unless you’d like Mr. Ferraris to come from his private room to escort Ms. Johanson himself?”
I know I shouldn’t have taken pride in another person’s pain, but the way the maître d’s lips quivered and his brows furrowed when his last remark to me was thrown back in his face had me almost giddy.
“That will not be necessary, Alifonso. Ms. Johanson will be welcome here anytime. I’ll see to it myself.”
“See that you do.” Alifonso held out his arm to me and I wrapped my fingers around his elbow and followed, making sure to pass a smug smirk behind my back as we passed.
Alifonso lead the way through the clusters of tables and passed the bar as if he’d been connected to a track and knew the quickest route. To my surprise, we weren’t even noticed by the groupings of guests drinking multi-colored cocktails and eating elegant, yet small, hors d'oeuvre. In Jackson Heights, the locals stopped off at Benny’s on the corner for a Miller Light in a can and a bag of roasted peanuts, sitting on barstools so ancient they had butt impressions worn into them. Here, everything seems expensive and extravagant.
Alifonso came to a stop and I almost missed his cue from surveying the dresses and jewels. A curtain the same color gold as the letters outside draped over an open doorway, and the voice just beyond spoke a language I didn’t understand, though it was smooth and musical to my ears. Alifonso lifted the curtain with his free arm and ushered me under.
“Ciao, amore.” Tony sat at one of the small round tables like the ones in the main dining area, with a glass of red wine in his hand and a man in either seat beside him. Both men, in dark suits identical to Alifonso’s, stood upon my arrival and moved back to stand against the walls. “I hope you don’t mind if we have dinner here. Leaving the hotel can be tricky when escorts are involved.”
The word “escorts” rang in my ears and my mind went to the females paid for sex kind before Alifonso pulled my chair out and I realized he meant his suited shadows.
“I don’t mind at all.” The chandelier above the table, a match to the ones in the main dining room, cast a soft light over the smaller room and the smells coming from the kitchen were enough to make my mouth water. “Most of the places on this side of town are too stuffy anyway.”
Tony wore a casual cream-colored turtleneck sweater over a pair of dark denim jeans, with his short brown curls brushed back and his chin freshly shaven. He stood and took my hand from over the table. His lips were warm where they kissed my skin before he led me to the seat opposite his that Alifonso had pulled out for me earlier. Before I could say hello, a short man, the same dark tanned color as Tony, stepped into the room and poured red wine in the glass in front of my gold-rimmed plate.
“I hope you like red.” Tony smiled and the room warmed. The few times I chose wine over beer, it came from a box. There wasn’t much of a difference between one and another, so I smiled and tipped the glass to my lips.
Heaven hit my tongue. Warm, sweet, fragrant heaven. I pulled the glass away too quick and had to wipe the dribble from my lips with my fingers. When I did, I caught Tony staring.
“I see why you like this place.” Small talk had never been my strength. When he tilted his head and angled his mouth looking baffled, I held my glass between us and pointed to the logo. “The crown. On the logo.”
“Ah,” he responded as he leaned back and grinned. The temperature in the room rose another ten degrees. His sweater stretched over wide, broad shoulders, and when he reached a hand to his curls, one tendril fell to right above his brow. What was it Uncle Jessie used to say in Full House? Have mercy.
“The hotel is owned by my cousin. His wife helped pick the decor. She’s an American like you.”
I sipped again, trying to figure out if I’d just been insulted for being American, or if Tony only sucked at small talk slightly less than I did.
“She has good taste.” I took another long sip before realizing if I didn’t ease up on the nervous drinking I’d be drunk by the salad round.
“She has exquisite taste.” Tony put his glass on the table and leaned back in his chair. “That is why I sought out your grandmother. Where I’m from, we don’t get many single American visitors.”
So it wasn’t an insult. My cheeks heated for jumping to such a conclusion. “You came all this way to find an American?”
“I came to New York to find investors for my cousin’s technologies endeavors. He hopes to put our home, Monterra, on the map for more than just it’s scenic destination qualities. With the help of a few American investors with experience bringing small countries into the digital age, we’ll do just that.” He leaned closer and the same tendril of hair feel over his brow. “But while I’m here, there’s no harm in searching for something my country can’t provide.”
“Girls?” I half snorted on my last sip of wine. The liquid burned my nose and I had to fight my reflexes to not blow it through my lips.
“Women,” he corrected with a thicker accent than normal. “More accurately, women who are attracted to more than my family's social status.”
“Women who don’t know you’re a prince.”
He answered with a half grin that sent a warm current pulsing through me.
The waiter returned with two salad plates and dashed under the curtain as if the tails of his white suit had caught fire. I unfolded my napkin and laid it in my lap before stabbing at the leafy greens with my fork.
“How would a long-term relationship work with you in Monterra and her in the states?”
“Monterra is a beautiful country in the Italian Alps with skiing and village shopping. She’d live in the palace with my family and work side by side with me to increase our country's tourism and businesses marketability.”
At that remark, I was glad I hadn’t tried to eat the leafy green before he spoke. Spitting wine through my nose was one thing, green slim projecting from my mouth was a completely different matter.
“So this woman will just fall into your life plan without any questions or complaints?” I felt Alifonso's glare at my back and cooled my tone. “What if she already has plans for her life? What if she doesn’t want to move?”
Tony pushed the hair out of his eyes. “If she’s the right one, she will want the same things I do. That’s why I hired your grandmother.”
“That’s a tall order.” Too hungry to stop myself, I shoved the fork of greens in my mouth and chewed. They must sprinkle crack on the greens in Monterra and ship them to the states, because the salad tasted even better than the wine.
“That’s what I want.” The seriousness in his voice gave me pause. I stopped chewing for a second and swallowed the lump of food. “I will make no excuses for it.”
“If that’s what you want.” I tore a piece of bread from the mini loaf that appeared soon after the salad; to hell with the carbs, I wasn’t his type anyway. I enjoyed my independence and thinking for myself too much. “Gram will make sure you get what you want then.”
Several minutes of silence followed. I chewed my bread, took another bite of salad, then washed it down with wine, all without lifting my gaze past my plate.
Tony cleared his throat. “In Monterra, a member of the royal family is asked to perform certain tasks. I’m not trying to offend you, bella.”
I swallowed and glanced up. Offended? No. A little less impressed with Tony’s princely qualities? Definitely. “You didn’t offend me, Your Grace.” I snapped my mouth shut, not sure how I should address him. “But if you don’t mind me saying, you’re looking for a Barbie doll, not a wife.”
He dropped both elbows to the table and leaned on his hands. The light from the chandelier caught in his eyes, and I swear they sparked. “A girl who fancies a prince with a palace is easy to come by. If that was my wish, I’d have my pick. I need someone who can withstand the pressures of being on stage, even in her own home. Someone who pleases me, as well as the royal court. Someone who understands having secrets and upholding the family name, no matter the price. All of that requires intelligence, integrity, and refinement. Hardly the skills of a Barbie doll.” His lips twisted into a grin which I found more unnerving than calming. “But hey, if she happens to look like a doll, move her to the top of the list.”
The weight of his demands made my stomach flip. I’d pictured him a playboy with a shallow airhead hanging on his arm. But he wanted someone deeper. Although, the thought that someone would uproot their life at the snap of his fingers and work their tailbone off to fit into his world without complaint made me want to hate him. At least a little.
I knew he wanted to say something more but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold my tongue, so I glanced up at the ceilings and the intricate circular molding wrapped around the chandelier.
“Let’s change the subject.” He leaned back and the short waiter appeared again and stole my plate before I could finish. I watched the crack dusted salad disappear behind the curtain with heartache. Then the smell of basil and tomatoes hit my nose and my stomach rumbled. “What do you do, besides apprentice for your grandmother?”
The waiter returned with two plates of pasta with red sauce. I could tell by the longing in his eyes that Alifonso wanted a bite about as bad as I did. Poor guy. I wondered when he ate. Or had breaks.
I used my spoon to roll a couple long strands on my fork. “I’m a journalist for a newspaper in Jackson Heights. Mostly neighborhood interest stories and entertainment reviews, but I like it enough.”
“Is that your passion?”
I stalled my pasta spinning and glanced over the table. He wasn’t eating. Hadn’t even touched his plate. And he was staring right at me. I must have looked like quite the pig.
“Writing, yes.” I twirled my fork so the pasta wouldn’t fall off. “I’ve done it most of my life. But I wouldn’t mind working on something larger scale than a neighborhood paper.”
“We have papers in Monterra.”
I thought the salad was delicious, but the pasta was soft and warm and melted on my tongue. A couple meals here and he’d be able to roll me out the back door. It took a couple swallows to get it all down and register what he’d just said. Papers in Monterra? Was that an offer? “Of course you do. Most everywhere has one. What types of stories do they cover?”
“Depends on the paper. Some are political, though most of those are employed by my cousin. There are a few devoted to tourism and travel. A few more to food.”
“None for entertainment?” I asked before my second bite.
“No.” His gaze sharpened and I backtracked over what I’d just said in my brain, trying to find how I’d caused that reaction.
“We do not have paparazzi in Monterra. My uncle outlawed it years ago as a draw to the rich and famous of the world who use the area to vacation in quiet and in peace.”
A tinge of hostility crept into his voice. My staring must have clued him in on his reaction. He gave me a half smile and picked up his fork. “Your country doesn’t have such rules and it’s jarring to visit here and forget everything is seen by the masses.”
When he paused, I realized I still had my fork mid-air between my plate and my mouth. I took the bite and let the warm pasta melt on my tongue before answering. “I guess traveling with your own security detail makes you a target for attention in the city.”
He finished chewing and answered. “It all goes with the job. And the woman I marry will also have to understand that fact.”
He took another forkful, and I twirled more pasta on mine. The meal tasted too good to waste even one noodle of, though as I watched him sip his wine, a thought hit me so hard my appetite flew out the window. As beautiful as the room appeared, with its crystal chandeliers and gold curtains and the funny little waiter running back and forth, to me, it all seemed a luxury. To Tony, it must have felt like the gilded cage of the songbirds.
And whatever woman he picked would have to live in that cage alongside him, willingly.
The pasta clumped in my stomach and I put my fork down.
“Something wrong, bella?” His eyes narrowed across the table.
I tried to smile, but only the corner of my mouth moved. “Dinner was great, but I need to get back to Gram and help her for tomorrow.”
“Sure.” His brows furrowed and he stood when I did. “Alifonso can take you home.”
I picked up my clutch from the table and realized I didn’t know the proper way to dismiss myself from a prince. I started to nod, but then bent my knees and dipped my head in an off balance bow of sorts.
Tony rounded the table and reached for my hand. He lifted it to his lips and I knew it was dangerous, but I looked into those crystal blue eyes and found myself lost. “Thank you for coming tonight, Liza.”
I’d only begun to open my mouth when the voice behind me drowned out my thoughts.
“Ms. Johanson?” Alifonso's voice pulled me back. “I’ll take you to the car now.”
Tony patted my hand, his eyes still reading me. “I hope I didn’t tarnish your view of me.”
This time the lines around his eyes softened and his lips curved into a perfect grin.
“Gram always loves a good challenge. If she’s out there, Gram will find her.”
“I know she will.” He dipped his head for a second kiss and released my hand.
I wished he hadn’t. I wished he’d held on longer, asked me to stay for dessert, insisted we take a walk around Broadway to work off our dinner.
Taking Alifonso's elbow, I reminded myself the things I wanted were the vary things a man like Tony couldn’t give. The same things his match would be giving up to love him.
Alifonso lifted the curtain and I stepped under, back into the main dining room. Back into reality.
Gram had her work cut out for her. Finding someone Tony would approve of would be hard enough, but finding someone who could cut herself off from everything she’d ever known and live behind a gold curtain...I didn’t envy Gram that job.