To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,45

I have plenty of opportunities to wear it.” Luisa’s chin lifted suddenly. “Speaking of whom, I believe His Highness has arrived.”

Sure enough, Claire heard King Eduardo’s familiar voice coming from the corridor outside the box, most likely as he spoke with Chiara Ascardi. And damn if the sound didn’t jack Claire’s heart rate sky high.

For more than a week now, Claire had heard that same voice in her head, whispering the words he’d spoken just before he’d kissed her.

I’m human, you know. Same as you. You won’t catch fire if you touch me.

Oh, how little he knew. Everything about Eduardo diTalora set her on fire. His voice. His gaze. And definitely his touch.

Thankfully, it didn’t take a diplomat’s perception to realize that she had the same effect on him.

What they would do about it, though, that she didn’t know.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. The theater lights flashed once more, the remainder of the guests hurried from the lobby to take their seats, then King Eduardo entered the box as the lights dimmed. He said something to Luisa as she passed him on her way out, then took a step toward Claire and leaned in so she could hear him over the swell of murmurs from the crowd below.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Even in the faint light, his eyes twinkled. “I need to go on stage for a moment. Have a seat and I’ll be right back. If you’d like a drink, there’s a refrigerator hidden behind the seats.”

He disappeared through the curtain. She glanced behind her and noted a low cabinet with a built-in refrigerator unit. Through its glass door, she saw several bottles of water and soda along with what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Four highball glasses and four wine glasses were arranged beside an ice bucket on top of the cabinet.

Luisa was right about this being the proper way to see the opera.

Claire slipped into a seat, then a spotlight tracked across the stage and the crowd silenced. The king stepped into the spotlight and a wave of applause rose from the seats. Claire realized that he must have taken a staircase that connected their hallway to an area backstage.

The king welcomed the audience to the performance and noted that the proceeds of the evening’s ticket sales went to the Royal Foundation of San Rimini. He thanked the cast, crew, and theater staff for donating their time and talents, then said, “The Foundation supports a wide array of charities and philanthropic causes, from preserving our country’s architectural wonders—such as this very building—to protecting our historic waterfront from the effects of pollution and climate change. The goal of the Foundation is to ensure that future generations have the opportunity to enjoy San Rimini’s splendor. It is my honor to be here tonight and to share this evening with you. I hope you will stay after the curtain call for a special event that will be presented by the cast. And now, La Traviata.”

The spotlight faded and the king moved offstage. The curtain rose on the scene of a lavish Parisian salon decked out for a party. As the opera began, King Eduardo eased into the seat beside Claire’s.

Softly, he asked, “How did I do?”

“You’re a natural performer.”

He smiled, then looked toward the stage. The main character, a stunning courtesan named Violetta, had entered the salon to applause from the audience.

Claire shifted so the king could hear her. “This will test my Italian.”

“Focus on the music. It’s transporting in any language.”

At first, Claire sat as she usually did when in public: back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap. Though the production was mesmerizing, she was keenly aware of the audience sneaking peeks at the royal box. But Eduardo was right. The music was truly transporting, filling the theater and wrapping the audience in a magical bubble of sound and emotion. Knowing the story ahead of time was helpful, but Claire believed she’d have been able to follow the action regardless. When the performers began what was obviously a drinking song, she found herself relaxing in the seat.

Eduardo leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “You’re smiling.”

“So are you.”

Before Claire knew it, Violetta captivated the house with a song about needing her freedom, the stage lights dimmed, and the curtain fell to end the first act. The audience cheered.

She and Eduardo both stood and clapped, joining the rest of the crowd.

“Come with me,” Eduardo said, then cradled her elbow and led