To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,19
white roses, same as last year. Loose is fine. No need for a vase.”
“Excuse me. I wasn’t clear. I meant the arrangement for Ambassador Peyton.”
He swiped a hand over his face. He never lost concentration like this, never dwelled on the personal side of his life. His country demanded his full attention and he liked it that way. “I’m sorry, Luisa. I should have specified. You can tell the florist to use whatever is in season. Something uplifting and local. We want the ambassador to feel welcome in San Rimini.”
He heard a familiar voice in the background and paused. “Count Giovanni Sozzani, I presume?”
Luisa made a noise of affirmation. “He stopped to drop off—what is it?—oh, I see. He stopped to drop off a book he borrowed from you.”
“He could have brought it Sunday.”
Luisa repeated the statement, then Eduardo heard a male voice say, “I was in the building and had it with me. Why send flowers to the embassy, Your Highness? Did you insult the new ambassador already?”
His friend was teasing him for the amusement of the staff, Eduardo knew, but since the two of them weren’t in the same room with the ability to make eye contact, Giovanni had no idea his comment hit the mark.
“Luisa, please tell the count to leave the diplomacy to me, then inform him that I look forward to beating him at cribbage this Sunday.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” She relayed the message, then heard Giovanni’s robust laugh as he said goodbye to the staff. Luisa quickly came back on the line and said, “I’ll ask the florist about her stock of local flowers. I believe he’ll be able to deliver the arrangement this afternoon, as soon as the card is ready.”
“I’m writing it now.” Making the delivery today was good. The press would salivate if they spotted a florist making a delivery to the embassy on the same day he was at the Duomo. Whether or not the flowers were sent as an official courtesy, some news outlet would post a misleading headline speculating on whether the king had a new romantic interest.
The thought made him realize what he’d done. He pressed a hand to his forehead, astounded at the mistake he’d nearly made. “Luisa, could you check something? Do I have any dinners scheduled for Friday?”
“Not a dinner, but you have the Our Place reception that runs from six to eight p.m. After that, you have thirty minutes with Sergio to discuss the Strada il Teatro project, then three phone calls to congratulate the winners of the national library essay contest.”
He remembered now. “All right. What about Saturday?”
“Saturday you have breakfast with Prince Marco in his palace apartment. After that, a few quick meetings, then a luncheon at the aquarium to celebrate their new conservation initiative. You’re free in the evening.”
“All right. If Samuel could make arrangements, let’s move dinner with Ambassador Peyton from Thursday to Saturday. That way she has more notice.” It would also give the dinner separation from his visit to the Duomo. Such separation shouldn’t be necessary, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance.
“I’ll talk to Samuel, but I don’t foresee a problem.”
“Thank you, Luisa. I’ll have the note to you shortly.”
After hanging up, he pushed aside the briefing folder, opened his desk drawer, and located a monogrammed notecard. Though he sent several personal notes each week, he stared at the card for a moment, at a loss for words.
Dear Madam Ambassador was as far as he got when a child's happy yell echoed from outside.
Latching onto the excuse, he rose, left the study, and strode to the far side of the great room, where one of the windows afforded a view of the palace garden. Eduardo leaned out the open window just in time to see Prince Federico’s two sons, Paolo and Arturo, racing toward the private lawn that was located on the far side of the rose garden. The boys enjoyed wrestling in the grass, kicking balls, and climbing trees in the open area whenever possible. Eduardo smiled to himself as the boys tore along the gravel path, then disappeared from view.
It didn’t surprise him to see Federico start jogging to catch up with his sons, despite the fact he wore a business suit and dress shoes. This was an entirely different Federico than the dutiful, contemplative man he’d been for most of his life. After being suddenly widowed a few years ago, he’d struggled to find meaning in his royal role as he raised a