Royally Romanced Read Online Free PDF Page B

consigned all the business activities he had planned to the trash heap. “I would be happy to take you to the exhibit. I have no plans for the afternoon.”
    “Are you sure?” Her lips pursed thoughtfully.
    He sneaked a look at Stefania, who was chattering away in Italian to Paolo, who nodded occasionally. He didn’t want to let her know that he was going along with her scheming. “I would enjoy doing so.”
    “In that case, Giorgio, I’d be happy to show you around.”
    “My pleasure.” It was the pleasure of spending time with her, but he didn’t want to come on too strong. “I am Vinciguerran—we love beautiful works of art. All kinds.” Especially the one sitting next to him.

4
     
    G IORGIO HATED THE ART —if he even thought of it as art. Renata wasn’t convinced from the sideways glance out of the corner of her eye. Scary how well she could read him after only meeting him this morning. He had sent his beefy driver back to their hotel.
    “And this signifies…” He gestured elegantly at the smelly mess of vegetation on the floor.
    She peered at the information tag. “The broken corn-stalks and soybean plants tell the plight of the family farmer in the ever-growing domination of industrial agriculture.”
    He blinked. “Ah.” Giorgio was a good sport, though, examining what looked like his nonna’s compost heap.
    “Let’s see the next.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow to tug him to another dubious installation. Lovely. A tangle of rusty barbed wire. Her heel caught on the rough concrete floor and he steadied her.
    “Careful, Renata. I do not want to take you for a tetanus shot.” He smiled down at her and she forgot for a second that he was an honest-to-God prince of someplace in Italy and his suit cost more than she made in a year. No, when he smiled at her, he was just Mr. Hot Guy who made her want to shred that expensive suit off him with her teeth. Her breathing sped up, pressing her breasts into the nice bodice of her black blouse.
    He noticed, his fingers tightening on hers. Not so cool on the inside, then. “And this represents the tangle of modern life?”
    “No, the plight of refugees.”
    Giorgio nodded. “Stefania is patroness of a charity for women and children that often works with refugee and displaced families.”
    “At her age?” Stefania wasn’t much younger than Renata.
    “Since she was thirteen.” His tone was full of love and admiration. “She testified in front of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees when she was nineteen. Stefania has become a better strategist since then. Perhaps I should have discouraged her from studying political science, but when a twelve-year-old reads Machiavelli’s The Prince so she can pass political tips on to her older brother, what else would I expect?”
    Renata let him guide her along to the next exhibit. It was a video installation with a variety of blurry faces grimacing in turn as loud static played in the background. Giorgio regarded it with the same pleasant expression he’d pasted on his face as soon as they’d walked in. He really was a polished man.
    Renata went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “This is just awful. Do you mind if we leave now?”
    “Aren’t you enjoying yourself.” His eyes twinkled.
    “You’ll know when I’m enjoying myself,” she assured him.
    “Indeed?” He turned his head slowly so their faces were almost touching. Renata swallowed hard. She thought he was going to kiss her but he clenched his jaw instead. Perhaps public displays of affection were against the Vinciguerran Royal Book of Etiquette. “I will call Paolo to pick us up.”
    “No, don’t.” She didn’t want anyone intruding in what was turning out to be a very intriguing afternoon. “It’s a nice day—let’s walk.”
    “Where?”
    “A surprise.” She tugged him out of the gallery and onto the sidewalk, tipping her face up. “Ah, sun. Makes up for a long and gloomy winter.”
    “An