To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,7
toward the rotunda that fronted the ballroom, Claire tried to stifle her irritation that King Eduardo had dismissed her idea without bothering to discuss it with her himself. The rural education program was the greatest humanitarian achievement of her time in Uganda. She was certain its success was the primary reason the President appointed her to the coveted post in San Rimini. He’d run on a platform of improving the world economy through education and diplomacy whenever possible, rather than through strong-arm trade tactics. The program meant too much to Claire—and to the new President—for her to allow a potential new partner to walk away without giving the plan their full consideration.
The tinkle of glassware reached Claire’s ears. They turned a corner and saw guests being shepherded from the rotunda into the ballroom. Opposite the ballroom doors, a grand staircase descended into the rotunda. A guard stood discreetly near the base, while two others occupied positions at the top. She wondered if the stairs led to the family’s private apartments.
Sergio paused. “His Highness will join us here momentarily.”
She nodded. The plan was for Claire to enter the ballroom alongside the king, then walk to the low dais at the front of the room, where they would be seated for dinner. King Eduardo would be at the center of the table, with Claire to one side. Prince Antony, the eldest of the king’s four children, would be on Claire’s other side. The current head of parliament and San Rimini’s foreign minister would also be seated at the front of the room.
“Thank you, Sergio,” Claire said. “I expect it will be a memorable evening.”
“I expect so, Madam Ambassador.” As he uttered the words, Sergio’s gaze slid toward a side door. A large man entered the hallway. He was obviously security, though his suit was as well-tailored as any guest’s. The king followed behind him. When he caught sight of Claire, his smile was practiced, but warm.
Sergio bowed his head slightly as the king approached. “Your Highness, may I present the Honorable Claire Peyton, the Ambassador of the United States. Madam Ambassador, may I introduce His Highness, King Eduardo of San Rimini.”
Claire shook the king’s hand as his political advisor moved to the side. She introduced Karen, who greeted the king before accompanying Sergio into the ballroom. Once Claire and the king were alone with his guard, she said, “La Rocca is beautiful, Your Highness. It’s an honor to present my credentials at such an event.”
In Uganda, she’d met the President in his office, presented her credentials to the President and Uganda’s foreign minister, then posed for a few pictures. She’d worn a professional suit and heels, given a couple quotes to Kampala’s news outlets, and had been back at the embassy to begin her role that same day.
This was something else entirely. Not only did the crystal chandeliers and marble floors of La Rocca add a level of glitz that was nowhere to be found in Uganda’s government buildings, San Rimini’s credential presentation ceremony was far more formal. It involved a slew of VIPs and their spouses in addition to the world-famous monarch.
“We’re pleased to have you at the palace, Madam Ambassador. I’m certain our countries will continue our deep friendship on your watch.” His eyes shone with sincerity, but she still wondered how much of the smile was for her and how much was out of habit, given the mass of press photographers who awaited them. But as he gave her hand the slightest squeeze, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his clear blue ones.
Eduardo diTalora might be a grandfather, but the man carried himself as if he were much younger. Despite having major heart surgery a few years earlier, he was every bit as fit and handsome as when she’d watched his wedding on television. Her stomach did a slow flip, the same way it had when she’d been a young teenager in braces.
Or maybe not the same. As he released her hand, she noted the textures the press could never properly capture: the fine cut of his tuxedo, the smile lines that extended from the outer corners of his eyes, and the subtle shadings of his salt-and-pepper hair. And then there was the charisma. He radiated it.
The cacophony of voices coming from the ballroom quieted in anticipation of their entrance. Claire inhaled and reminded herself that King Eduardo was a man who happened to represent a country. Not a superhero, not an icon.
He gestured toward