To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,4
room as the future king of San Rimini married Lady Aletta Masciaretti. They’d practically left drool spots on the carpet when Eduardo winked at his bride while slipping the ring on her finger, and Aletta had tried to hide a grin. Claire found it surreal that she’d be face-to-face with King Eduardo diTalora in less than an hour, at the formal ceremony to present her diplomatic credentials.
She tried to tell herself that as popular as His Highness might be, his late wife was the one with true icon status. Libraries, schools, and a wing of the Royal Memorial Hospital were named after Queen Aletta.
Claire was simply in the country for as long as the President desired, to represent the United States and its interests to the best of her ability. To do that, she had to remain focused on the king’s position as a politician and as the face of his wealthy country, not on his celebrity status or the way she and her friends had mooned over him as they watched his wedding all those years ago.
The car eased past a knot of well-dressed tourists who stood at the curb waiting for the light. Several carried purchases from trendy boutiques, while others held bags bearing the logo of the country’s seaside aquarium. Finally, the driver reached their turn, then threaded his way along the narrow cobblestoned side streets, following the arrows pointing to La Rocca.
“La Rocca di Zaffiro,” Karen said, glancing at the sign. “The Sapphire Rock.”
“I spent a good chunk of last night reading about its history,” Claire said. “The oldest remaining section, the keep, was built at the beginning of the First Crusade to keep watch over the bay. The stone was chosen to blend into the landscape and make it difficult to spot from the water. But when the keep was expanded, a trick of the light at certain times of the day caused the new stone to appear bright blue from the water below.”
“I wondered how it got its name. I’d never thought of it as being blue.” She craned her neck, but there was no way to see the palace from their position.
“Most of the current palace was built in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries with a gray stone that looks nothing like the original. But apparently, if you look down on the keep from up in the mountains, you can still see hints of the blue.”
“Two minutes to the gate,” the driver said, twisting so he could be heard in the back seat.
Claire thanked him. Showtime.
Without being asked, Karen held out a compact so Claire could do a quick check of her makeup. Spotting a smudge at the edge of one dark brown eye, she used her pinky to swipe at her eyeliner, then, satisfied, she returned the compact. She adjusted the fabric of her red silk skirt to keep it from wrinkling before their arrival, then checked to ensure the looped buttons down the front of her white silk top remained firmly closed.
No, this was nothing like living in Uganda. She ran a hand over her hair one final time, making sure no strands protruded from the sides of her short cut, then took a deep breath.
As if reading her mind, Karen said, “Your job here will be different than it has been the last five years. You’ll actually need to use hairspray and wear formal gowns more than once or twice a year. You’ll be working with both the royal family and with parliament.”
Claire couldn’t quite hide her smile. She always tried to look professional, but she couldn’t remember being as concerned with her appearance during her time in Africa. Of course, the cameras hadn’t been on her as frequently then, whereas paparazzi were part of the San Riminian landscape. “I had a few gowns shipped from my storage locker in the States. They should arrive in a few days. I just hope I can be as effective here as I was in Uganda. The work we needed to do there was more apparent.”
“You can. You have an impeccable reputation and the weight of the U.S. government behind you. And you’re you. No one stands in the way of Ambassador Claire Peyton.”
Claire smiled. Karen always knew the right thing to say. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
Karen raised her hand, palm out. “Voice of truth.”
The car rolled to a stop outside a massive pair of wrought iron gates. After a uniformed guard walked around the vehicle to inspect it, then