To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,66
financial support and teachers to the program. Latvia looks like it will come through with a similar commitment. I told him I have a good shot at convincing San Rimini. That let me end the call on a positive note.”
“You really think you’ll line up the support?”
She gestured for the remote. “Give me that. I’ll search.”
As she changed screens, she said, “I have Barrata and Galli for certain. Luciano Festa is wavering, but Mark Rosenburg is meeting with him this week. Mark’s good. He’ll convince Festa.”
“And Selvaggi?”
“Still working on her. On the other hand, do you know Ana Maria Marotti?”
“I know the name, but haven’t met her. She’s new to parliament.”
“Mark recommended we get her support, too. She’s young and has a degree in education. Marotti is on board. When you introduce that legislation, she’s the ideal person to speak to the generation of teachers we most want involved.”
“You’re that confident you’ll get Selvaggi?”
She grinned and leaned into him. “Let’s say that I’m optimistic. However, I have a real gripe about your movie selections. Look at this.”
A movie poster showing Meryl Streep and Robert Redford sitting on a grassy hill occupied the left side of the screen. On the right was a notation that the film was unavailable at this time.
“So much for being an all-powerful king,” she teased.
“Never said I was all powerful. You’re confusing me with The Wizard of Oz.”
“You’re a hell of a lot sexier than the Wizard.”
“I should hope so.” He snuggled her closer, then pressed a kiss to her head. The thought there’s no place like home fluttered through his brain. Claire made him feel at home.
“Want to watch it?” she asked, raising the remote and scrolling until she found The Wizard of Oz. “I haven’t seen it in years. We’ll get Out of Africa another way. Soon.”
He held her tighter and said, “Follow the yellow brick road.”
On Monday morning, Luisa waited at the bottom of the stairs as usual. And, as usual, she handed Eduardo his schedule for the week as they walked from the residential wing to his office.
Before she could inquire about his morning workout, he said, “I have a question for you, Luisa.”
She raised a brow.
“Why is it that I can’t get Out of Africa on the television in my apartment? Is there someone you can call?”
“I’ll check and get back to you, Your Highness. I’m sure there’s a way to do it. I believe it won Best Picture.”
“It did, and I would appreciate that. Now, in answer to the question I know you are dying to ask, today was all about sprints.”
Luisa’s expression turned to one of astonishment. “She had you run? You should be in a good mood, then.”
“Not at all. You see, I’m all about endurance. The long haul. Short and explosive has never suited me. I’d much rather run at a steady pace for an hour than do a twenty-minute series of all-out sprints.”
They passed a series of windows that looked onto the garden. Princess Isabella sat on a large blanket on the ground, her legs tucked beneath her as she read to a group of preschool-aged children. A gaggle of parents wielding their phones stood in a semicircle behind the children and took photos. A reporter and photographer were off to the side, covering the event in a more understated fashion than the excited adults.
Isabella sensed movement behind the windows and paused in her reading, then pointed out the king to the children. The parents’ phones went upward as if on marionette strings as the children waved. Eduardo waved back, then continued walking with Luisa. As one, the adults’ phones swung to their previous positions.
“Princess Isabella is hosting a fairy tale story hour for participants in an early education program,” Luisa explained. “She has another session this afternoon, then two scheduled for tomorrow with groups from other schools.”
“Nick is working on a research project about the medieval origins of fairy tales. He plans to teach a course on the subject next semester.”
“He’ll still teach his medieval art course, won’t he? I have a niece at the University of San Rimini who is hoping to take it.”
“I believe so. The course does fill, though, so if you’d like me to put in a word—”
“Oh, no,” Luisa said, waving off the favor. “She told me that Professor Black is good at getting students into his classes off the waitlist as long as they attend the first week or two of class. Now, as to Greta and the sprints—”
“You