By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ and polenta sitting uneasily in his stomach.

      He sighed and wished he had finished the rest of the bottle of wine rather than restraining himself to the two glasses he normally imbibed. Rotten Dieter.

      He hoped the man’s ancestral holdings were overrun with mold and rats. But then Stefania would be unhappy, and that was the last thing in the world Giorgio wanted.

      Actually, he hoped Dieter had some money of his own for the ancestral holdings and wouldn’t constantly hit Giorgio up for loans. Giorgio had enough trouble with his own palazzo, molto grazie.

      “But, Giorgio, you must realize none of this will be official until you give us your blessing. Dieter insisted it be so.”

      Hmm. He quirked his mouth. It was true. As ruling head of the Most Serene Principality of Vinciguerra, Giorgio had the right to approve or deny betrothals of members of the royal family, i.e. his sister, Principessa Stefania Maria Cristina Angela Martelli di Leone. It said so on his business card. Well, not really.

      The only other members of the royal family were his grandmother, who at eighty was not expected to seek permission to wed again, and himself: Giorgio Alphonso Giuseppe Franco Martelli di Leone, Prince of Vinciguerra. Long ago, Giorgio had decided that if he never wed and had the requisite heir-and-a-spare, he would pass the title to Stefania and her children. After all, he was an enlightened, twenty-first-century monarch. One with the power to send Dieter the Dunce packing. He snickered.

      “Giorgio?” his sister asked nervously. “Are you still there?”

      “Si, si.” He lapsed into silence, pondering what to do and how many heavy items Stefania would hurl at his head if he refused her undoubtedly golden-haired, Teutonic Prince Charming.

      “Come to New York,” Stefania commanded.

      “What? Now?”

      “Yes, now. I called Grandma today and she told me to get you out of her hair. She says you’re driving her nuts.” Having spent most of her childhood in New York, Stefania had a definite command of American idioms.

      “What?” Giorgio sat bolt upright in his ergonomic Corinthian leather chair. “I am doing no such thing!”

      “She begs to differ. She says you poke your nose in on her day and night so she can’t get any rest.”

      Now he was insulted. Their grandmother had had a nasty bout of flu that had settled into pneumonia. After a couple touch-and-go weeks of around-the-clock care, she had pulled through but still needed nursing visits, respiratory therapists, physical therapists and doctor visits. And it was his job to make sure they were doing their jobs. He was more at ease if he could be present for all their consultations.

      He reconsidered. Maybe that was a bit too much. After all, his grandmother had run Vinciguerra while he was off at university and had absolutely no trouble making her wishes known. He could also have his assistant text him updates on her health.

      “Yes or no, George!” his sister shouted. She only called him his American nickname when she was either very pleased with him or very annoyed. No bets on which it was this time.

      “Fine, Steve!” he shouted in return, his matching temper surfacing. “I want to meet this German Romeo who thinks he’s good enough for my only sister. If he’s not up to snuff, forget it! You can finish your master’s degree instead. I’m not paying university tuition to have you moon over some man you barely know.”

      “He is not some man! He is my man, and I know him very well.”

      Giorgio gritted his teeth at her implication and forced himself to take several deep breaths. If he pressed his sister too hard, she was likely to elope to Vegas with the guy. “If you think so highly of him, Stefania, I will be happy to meet him.”

      “Fine.” She sounded mollified, for the moment at least. With Stefania, you never could tell. “And I am finishing my degree, you know. If I take an extra course each semester, I’ll be able to graduate next spring.”

      “That’s wonderful news.” He checked his schedule on his phone. “I can fly into New York Wednesday if that would work for you. And Dieter,” he added grudgingly.

      “Great! We’ll meet for dinner Thursday, just the three of us.”

      “Great,” he parroted, with much less enthusiasm. “I look forward to it.”

      “No, you don’t, but thanks for saying so.”

      “Insincerity has its place, Steve. I would appreciate a tiny bit more insincere flattery from you, for example. ‘Oh, my princely brother, if it pleases you to meet the unworthy specimen who has asked for my dainty royal hand in marriage…’”

      She snorted. “If you wanted me to be dainty and insincere, you should have left me in Vinciguerra after Mama and Papa passed away.”

      “You know I couldn’t do that, piccina mia.” My little one—it was what their papa had called her, at least when she wasn’t raising hell. Some things never changed.

      “I know, Giorgio, and I love you for it.”

      He cleared his throat, which was developing a sudden lump. “I love you, too,” he muttered. Words of love never came easily for him, even for his beloved sister.

      “Ciao, Giorgio.” She made a kissing noise into the phone and hung up.

      He spun his chair to stare at the terraced vineyards beyond his office, the land still leafy and green in the April sun after a wet spring.

      Springtime and young love. Giorgio’s lips pulled into a wry smile. He remembered how romantic New York City could be in the spring. Unlike Stefania’s Dieter, though, he had never been tempted to propose to anyone. He’d been busy with his education and bracing himself to return to Vinciguerra.

      And now he would return to New York. It had been so long since he had been a foolish young student in the city. He straightened in his chair, the idea sounding better by the minute. He hadn’t even had a free day in what seemed like forever, his every action in Vinciguerra witnessed and gossiped over by his loyal subjects. And to date any of them? Unthinkable.

      He grimaced and tried to roll the kinks out of his neck. It wasn’t as if he had any free time to date anyone, Vinciguerran or not. He pressed the intercom to call his assistant. “Alessandro? Please make arrangements for me to join Princess Stefania in New York tomorrow.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Stefania would give him grief if she thought he looked scruffy for her big dinner. “Oh, and also make an appointment with my barber.” Women always loved a fresh haircut.

      “RENATA?” RENATA PAVONI’S assistant, Barbara Affini, who was also her aunt, stuck her perfectly coiffed, poufy head of black hair into Renata’s workroom.

      “Hmm?” she mumbled around a mouthful of straight pins as she pinned the white satin hem of a wedding dress. The dress dummy stood on a carpeted platform, high enough that Renata didn’t have to crouch to work with the fabric.

      Barbara tsked and came into the room. “Your mama would have a fit if she saw you like that. If you swallow a pin, I’m going to call your brother’s firehouse to take you to the hospital and you’ll never hear the end of it.”

      Renata СКАЧАТЬ