Scorsolini Baby Scandal
CHAPTER 1 Rio
I am Principe Vittorio Micheli Scorsolini, third in line to the throne of Isole dei Re and trained from the cradle to be self-possessed even in the face of country-wide catastrophe.
Yet, when the most compellingly beautiful woman I have ever seen walks by, I trip over my own feet.
Twenty-five years of training kick in, and I stop myself from falling, pivoting to follow the vision of loveliness crossing Palermo”s Piazza Pretoria. The view is as beguiling from the back as the front, although her hat”s wide brim obscures most of her hair.
What I did see is rich brown with golden highlights, falling in silky waves to her shoulders and framing a face worthy of a Botticelli. If Botticelli”s Muses had worn Chanel sunglasses and backless white sundresses with a plunging neckline.
There”s too much of the tanned skin on her back on display for her to be wearing a bra.
My dick engorges to semi-hardness in a single heartbeat.
Wanting another glimpse of her mouthwatering cleavage, I quicken my steps to catch up with her.
Her strappy sandals add three inches to her already statuesque height, but she walks with elegant grace, her hips swaying enticingly.
My beauty stops in front of the Fontana Pretoria and lifts her phone for a selfie giving me what I want. Another view of her appealing curves from the front. Papa would throw a blanket over my sister if she wore something that revealed so much flesh.
As Crown Princess to the throne of Isole dei Re, Elena would never think to wear a dress like the one gracing the delicious figure of my obsession.
Primal satisfaction courses through me that this woman is not hampered by the same expectations.
Frowning, the beautiful woman shifts her position and takes another selfie, but shakes her head.
Never slow to take advantage of an opportunity when presented, I step forward. ”Would you like me to take a picture of you in front of the fountain?”
I sound so damn formal. I”ve tried relaxing my speech, but it feels like I”m pretending to be someone I”m not. People will accept me for who I am, or not at all.
The English is a calculated risk though. Most tourists speak at least some English. Though with her perfectly oval face, defined cheekbones and narrow nose, the other option I consider is Castilian Spanish.
She drops the hand holding her phone and eyes warm with humor meet mine through the light tint of her sunglasses. ”You noticed my pathetic attempts to get both me and the fountain framed in my shot?”
”Sì.” I manage a passably coherent affirmative, mesmerized by the soft contralto of her tone.
”That”s a Sicilian yes, not Spanish.” She cocks her head to one side, looking at me with curiosity.
”It is. I would be happy to...” I offer again, waving between her, the camera and the fountain.
Lightly glossed, bow shaped lips curve in a smile. ”That would be great!”
The response isn”t anything out of the norm. However, the breathy quality in her voice and the way she leans toward me without seeming to realize she”s doing it tells me this instant and overwhelming attraction is not one-way.
I put my hand out for her phone.
After a brief hesitation, she gives it to me, careful not to brush my fingers with hers. ”Just tap either of the white dots.”
”I”m sure I can figure it out.”
Slipping off her sunglasses, she puts one foot in front of the other at a slight angle and poses unselfconsciously in front of the fountain.
Eyes the color of storm clouds connect with mine in a look so compelling, it”s me leaning forward this time.
Tia Maggie always claims she fell in love with Tio Tomasso at first sight, but it had taken him a lot longer to catch up.
I always thought my aunt was being a fanciful romantic until this moment. This overwhelming reaction cannot be love, but it is something. Something I can neither ignore nor deny.
The object of my newfound obsession shifts her position in a natural rhythm that seems almost choreographed and I take several shots in quick succession. ”Are you a model?”
”Nope, just a student.” But there had been an odd flicker of reaction to the word model in her grey gaze.
I take my time getting the perfect shot, using the opportunity to chat her up. Her name is Tanzi Menendez. So, my guess on the Spanish heritage had not been off.
I tell her that my name is Vittorio Scorsolini, making no mention of my connection to the royal family of Isole dei Re or my title. Scorsolini is a common enough name that unless she”s familiar with my small island country, she will not realize who I am.
I”m not the brother whose face made it into the tabloids. That is Adamo.
For some reason, Tanzi knowing Vittorio the man, not Principe Vittorio is important.
She”s in her last year of university in New York, which makes her two to three years younger than me. She”s in Sicily with friends for Spring Break, but she”s only in Palermo for the day.
Tanzi puts her hand up to keep her bright white sunhat on when a small gust of wind threatened to send it flying. ”I”ll be finished in June if my dad doesn”t talk me into going for my MBA.”
”Not interested in climbing the corporate ladder?” I ask.
Her lips twist in a moue of distaste. ”No offense, Rio, as clearly that”s your thing, but no. My bachelor”s will be in psychology.”
”What gave me away?” I force myself to banter, having a strange reaction to her shortening my name. No one does that. ”The suit?”
”Well, it is custom tailored Armani. And probably the only reason I handed my camera over to a stranger to take my picture.”
”It could be a knock off, and I could be trolling the square to steal unwary tourist”s cameras.”
She shakes her head. ”No chance. That”s definitely Armani and it fits you like a glove.”
”You”re very sure of your designers.”
”It”s in my genes. I don”t think my mom knows there are clothes made without a fashion house label attached.”
I laugh. ”She sounds like my sister.”
Elena might be forced to dress more conservatively than other women her age, but her closet is well acquainted with the world”s leading designers.
”Why businessman and not rich playboy?” I”ve never been entirely sure how people can always tell my brother Adamo is the ”fun” one.
He got his MBA just like I did, but he did it cutting a swath through the female population at our university. And he still managed to graduate Summa Cum Laude right beside me. He”s moved on from coeds to super models, but he still spends a lot more time entertaining than I do.
”The tie,” Tanzi says, answering my question. ”I bought one very similar for my dad. They”re both from the Oleg Cassini line designed for the power broker businessman. Too expensive for your average office drone and too serious for a rich playboy.”
For the first time in memory, I”m not feeling serious, or intently focused on my day”s ”power business” agenda right now. In fact, I”m tempted to do the unthinkable.
Take a day off.
I could text my assistant with instructions to reschedule the rest of the afternoon. It would be entirely out of character and seriously considering it is absurd.
And yet, my fingers itch to tap out the message.
”I think that”s enough pictures.” She smiles, even white teeth flashing, clearly unaware of the revolution of thought going on inside my head. ”Thank you for taking them.”
”Are you visiting the palazzo?” I ask, referring to one of the more commonly visited sights in the city.
”Actually, our tour group is supposed to head to the cathedral next.”
I consider possible scenarios to stay in her company without coming off like a stalker.
She flicks a glance down at herself and grins. ”I brought a shawl so I could go inside.”
”Too many tourists don”t give deference to Sicilian conventions. I like that you do.”
She shrugs, like it”s not a big deal. ”I grew up splitting time between Southern California and Spain with my parents. Two very different cultures. They expected me and my brothers to respect each culture and adapt to the norms of both.” She flashes that brilliant smile again. ”Besides showing respect for the culture in which you find yourself is just good manners.”
”Agreed.” Though it isn”t merely good manners for the son of a monarch; it is imperative. ”Have a coffee with me and I will give you a personally guided tour of the cathedral after.”
”You”re an expert, are you?” she teases
”My family were originally from Sicily.” Generations ago, before the country of Isole dei Re was founded by my ancestors. ”We still have business interests here.”
She bites her bottom lip, clearly considering whether she wanted to break away from her tour group to spend time with a stranger.
”You said you are here with friends, sì?”
”Yes.”
”Invite them to join us.”
The concerned furrow on her brow smoothed. ”You don”t mind?”
”Not at all.” Would I rather be alone with my beautiful goddess?
Certo. But I understand her reluctance.
”Let me text them.” She lifts her phone and points it at me before tapping the screen. It clicks, indicating she took my photo. ”I”m sending your picture too. What”s your mobile number?”
I rattle it off, surprised at my own willingness to do so.
She dials. When the phone in my suit jacket inner pocket buzzes, she nods with satisfaction and sends her text.
”I approve your caution.”
Perfectly shaped brows rose, her expression turning wry. ”How nice for you.”
I laugh. ”Yes, well, I have a tendency to think my opinion matters too much. At least, according to my sister and brother.”
”Younger, I bet.”
”My sister is twenty-five minutes older, my brother fifteen.”
”And you boss them both around?”
”Boss is a strong term. I make suggestions.” Not that either Elena or Adamo appreciate my advice when I give it.
They both might be older by minutes, but we were born on the same day and of the three of us, I am the most practical.
”You”re a triplet?” she asks with obvious curiosity.
”Sì.” And my entire life is overshadowed by that fact.
The youngest triplet of the royal family. Not the heir. Not the spare. But I refuse to melt into the background like a distant relation to the throne.
My siblings and I share our family”s business responsibilities, but I am the one who took over those that kept my father away from the palace. Our family”s business is Isole dei Re. If our company does not thrive, neither does our economy.
So, I travel extensively. Add that to my increasing diplomatic duties on behalf of the Crown and I spend only scattered weeks throughout the year with my family.
”My older brothers are twins. There”s a bond that they don”t share with me.” For a moment, she looks sad.
And I understand. Being the heir and the spare, Elena and Adamo share a bond outside of our multiple birth that I”m not part of.
”Being a triplet isn”t always amazing,” I offer. ”We aren”t identical, but we look enough alike there is never a question we are siblings. And we tend to be judged as one entity.”
Their roles as future queen and her heir (until Elena has children), set my sister and brother apart. However, there has been very little in their life I have not done right along with them. That can both be beneficial and incredibly stifling at times.
Especially when I am forced to train for a role I will never inhabit, nor do I wish to.
While our royal parents see only the benefits to our multiple birth, Adamo and Elena share my sometimes ambivalent feelings.
Each of us has our own way of establishing our individuality.
Tanzi carries on texting while we talk. ”It beats being the only daughter with older twin brothers and parents with huge expectations any day.” She reads her latest text and smiles. ”They”re coming.”
”Good.” If I touch the sun-kissed skin of her naked shoulder, will it be as smooth and silky as it looks? ”Trust me, expectations can be just as entrenched when you have siblings to share some of the burden.”
Even when you aren”t destined to wear the biggest crown.