“How are things over there at the palace? We all heard about your ‘gig.’ Everyone knows,” he said, appraising the guests gathered.
Of course, it’s a small town, word gets around.
“Is the princess as nice as she looks?” Danilo threw a wicked grin at her.
Sara smiled. “She’s exquisitely beautiful in person and yes, the princess is a lovely person to work for. More down-to-earth than most people think.”
Danilo nodded. “Probably from all those years spent in America incognito—attending public schools and working, doing things for herself.”
Although Sara wasn’t one of the ladies-in-waiting who accompanied Princess Chantalise to America, having only been in her employment for nearly two years, she heard stories about the “ordinary” lifestyle the princess led abroad.
Danilo eyed her plate. “Mmmm. That all looks good. I’m famished. Why don’t you start eating while I go get my food? You don’t have to wait for me.”
With that he was off and Sara was left raking her food with her fork observing the guests mingling. While she was back home where she had grown up, she somehow felt a bit of an outsider now. She hadn’t lived in her hometown since before college and so much had changed in her life. Her eyes rested on her sister and new husband as they gazed into each other’s eyes while they talked. While she and Amaia had been close growing up, when Sara left for university then to Africa, the sisters kept in touch but didn’t always confide in one another as they had before; she couldn’t quite recall where her sister had met Gael. And it was still a mystery as to why Lord Arlen was present at the wedding.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Detecting a teasing tone to that voice, Sara glanced up and to her surprise, a pair of blue eyes seared into hers.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Lord Arlen”—as she continued referring to him if only to herself—stood smiling, a plate of food in his hands. Observing their surroundings and noticing that his classic blonde lady friend was nowhere in sight, she managed to say, “Yes, of course, my lord.”
He sat down across from her and immediately she felt the heat of his gaze as she diverted her eyes, preferring to focus on her food.
“Well, if we’re to dine together in this idyllic setting, let’s just get one thing straight,” he said. “I would prefer that you call me Arlen. None of this ‘my lord’ stuff.” He plunged his fork into a cherry tomato wedge of his salad and, to her surprise, playfully waved it like a wand at her. “Deal?”
While Sara had attended university, spent two years teaching English in Africa, then trained in royal protocol to become a lady-in-waiting, nowhere did the manual say anything about what to do when a member of British nobility waves a tomato-impaled fork at you. After she smiled and nodded, he popped the tiny tomato in his mouth.
“You have a lovely family,” Arlen said, between bites of food.
“Thank you.” Sara lowered her head; her curiosity overcame her timidity. “So you know the groom then—my new brother-in-law?”
Her eyes focused on Arlen’s pink lips as he wiped them with a napkin and nodded. “Gael was my valet for a few years. When I opened hotels in Madrid and Buenos Aires, he became my tutor in Spanish.”
Chewing her food thoughtfully, Sara blinked in understanding. All she knew about her new brother-in-law was that while his family was originally from her hometown, Gael had lived abroad for work and recently got hired to be a Spanish language tutor and art instructor at the newly-resurrected arts academy in Santangelo.
“Mia.”
Danilo’s voice made her jump as she noticed her childhood friend standing by their table. Arlen raised his eyes and the two men took time sizing each other up.
“Danilo, this is…”
“Arlen,” he said, between chews, an act that Sara found endearing. Swallowing his food, the viscount extended his hand which Danilo took with his free hand, the other hand balancing his food plate. “Won’t you join us?”
Sara’s eyes darted from Arlen then to Danilo and back again. “Yes, please do.” She watched as the two men ever so subtly continued to scrutinize each other.
“So you are Sara’s relative, I presume?”
“I am her friend,” Danilo said, intensely regarding Sara as he sat down. “A very dear friend.”
“I see.” Arlen sliced his leafy greens eyeing Sara then Danilo.
“And you are?” Danilo, who had yet to touch his food, held onto his wine glass.
Arlen and Sara’s eyes met before Sara faced Danilo. “I met Arlen through Princess Chantalise.”
If Danilo noticed she hadn’t formally addressed the viscount as “Lord Rydelthorpe,” she hoped he wouldn’t mention it. Instead, Danilo sat back and sipped his wine. Then, as if a light went on in his head, he smiled.
“Ah yes, I remember now,” Danilo said, nodding at Arlen. “About a year or so ago, you were engaged to Her Royal Highness. It was all in the news.”
Arlen took a gulp of his wine. “Yes,” he said rather softly. “Sadly, it was.”
As Danilo heartily took up knife and fork, evidently about to dive into his grilled salmon cutlet, he paused, his flatware in mid-air. “I—I am sorry I brought it up.”
Arlen shrugged, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It’s all in the past.”
With her hands on her lap, Sara processed this brief, albeit awkward, interaction. She did remember the time when it seemed all of Europe, and even in America, celebrated the upcoming royal nuptials, only to hear that the princess had abruptly canceled her brief engagement to Arlen. It garnered that much public attention only because of the media and the public’s fascination with the princess who, after her father, Prince Sebastien’s attempted assassination, lived incognito in America for half of her life. She wanted to mention that but held her tongue out of respect for Arlen who clearly was not yet over the princess.
“So how long do you plan on staying here?” Sara asked before taking a sip of rosado.
Arlen refilled all their wine glasses. “Indefinitely. I would certainly like to tour some of the area while I’m here.”
“No doubt you’ll want to spend more time in Santangelo, the ‘Little Paris of the Mediterranean,’ as we locals like to call it,” said Danilo, wrapping up some grilled prawns with soft, crisp thin buttered flat bread. “It’s more cosmopolitan than this place.”
“Yes, I’ve spent time in the capital before.” As Arlen said this, Sara guessed the viscount had his fair share of Santangelo during his visits with his former royal fiancée. “Santangelo holds possible business potential.” He gazed at Sara. “But what you have here is very enchanting; Morada is quite a charming town. You’re fortunate to have grown up here.”
Sara smiled, grateful to Arlen for recognizing the appeal of her hometown of which she was proud to share her humble beginnings. In contrast, she thought about the British nobleman’s upbringing and recalled that, in addition to being a viscount and heir to his father’s estate and fortune, Lord Arlen Spencer-Cromwell amassed a fortune of his own as an entrepreneur establishing hotels in major cities all over the world.
“But I would like to spend more time here in the countryside.” Arlen contemplated, casting eyes at Sara. “I think there’s just as much potential here.”
Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, Sara lowered her head, peering at him through her lashes.
Soon, the band began playing much livelier music. Danilo stood up and took Sara’s hand leading her to the dance