‘You do not like lobster, signorina?’
Realising Rodolfo Fragottini was politely waiting for her to start, Victoria picked up her fork and smiled briefly. ‘I’m sure it’s delicious,’ she replied, forcing herself to slip a forkful into her mouth.
‘I doubt it. These large dinners rarely are. Would you consider me very pushy if I said I think you are lying?’
Victoria nearly choked. She hastily grabbed her water glass and took a long sip to quell her laughter.
‘Better?’ he enquired solicitously.
‘Fine. Sorry.’ She cast him an apologetic glance tinged with a smile. ‘It’s just I seem to have had so many different cocktails lately I’m a bit saturated.’
‘I can understand that,’ he sympathised, rolling his eyes expressively. ‘Lobster cocktail, foie gras, quenelles. I too have to admit that I’ve had my share of rich food for a while to come.’
‘But surely you eat things like this the whole time? I mean, you’re a prince or a king or something, so I suppose you live in a palace and eat off gold plate?’ she challenged.
‘Not quite. Even we royals have had to adapt to modern times,’ he replied, tongue in cheek, enjoying the banter. ‘Actually, I rather like going to the supermarket, choosing ingredients and cooking myself.’
‘Gosh, in the royal kitchen?’
‘No. I have an apartment in the castle where I live, and I try to prepare my own dishes as much as possible. Nothing like a nice plate of spag bog,’ he added with a wink.
‘Spag bog?’ she exclaimed, spluttering with laughter and trying to remember that he was a royal. She pressed the napkin to her lips to suppress a giggle. ‘Where did someone like you learn to eat spaghetti Bolognese?’
‘At Oxford. I’m really rather good at pasta, though I say it myself. You should come and try it some time. Do you cook? Or does your Hollywood schedule not allow for such personal indulgences?’
‘You’re right,’ she sighed, ‘it doesn’t. But actually I love to cook. Or used to, until all this came down.’ She raised her hand, then let it drop in her lap.
‘And where was that?’ he asked curious about this girl who jogged his memory.
‘Oh, back in Hetherington. That’s the village where my mother lives. I do quite a lot of baking too.’
‘Where is this village?’ he asked, picking up his fork once more.
‘In England—Sussex. It’s very pretty—cottages with thatched roofs and no lighting on the streets at night. We live in a manor house just outside.’
‘It sounds wonderfully quaint. I can understand why you would want to return there.’
‘Can you? I thought people like you were trying to transform their countries into havens for the rich and glitzy.’
‘Really? Is that what you’ve heard?’ She caught the edge to his voice.
‘My agent has some idea that I ought to move to a principality called Malvarina. Apparently they have very attractive tax laws. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’ she responded.
‘Actually, I know it quite well. What have you heard about Malvarina?’ He arched a brow thoughtfully.
‘That it’s another Monte Carlo—filled with rich tycoons flitting about on glitzy yachts. I suppose the local potentate is luring them in by the dozen. Personally I think it’s criminal to spoil somewhere which up until now seems to have been preserved from an invasion by the outside world just for the sake of money. It sounds a bit like a theme park to me.’
‘You don’t say?’ He raised an amused, quizzical brow and leaned back in his gilt dining chair, the better to observe her. Quite the little spitfire, Miss Woodward, if her conversation up until now was anything to go by. ‘Let me get this right. You think that the Prince of Malvarina is some sort of exotic dictator, making a theme park out of what was once a beautiful, unspoiled Mediterranean retreat?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Maybe you should go and take a look at it yourself before forming such a cast-iron opinion. You never know. You might be agreeably surprised.’
‘I suppose you could be right about that, but I doubt it,’ she confided. ‘I heard the Prince himself is here, flogging the place. That doesn’t bode well, does it?’
‘Definitely a bad sign,’ he agreed.
‘In fact, I was meant to be sitting next to him tonight. They must have changed the seating.’
‘Really?’ His laughing dark eyes met hers full on.
All at once Victoria’s stomach lurched. ‘Uh-oh,’ she murmured, turning bright red as she leaned forward and peered beyond his plate at the name card. Her worst expectations were fulfilled. Sitting back, she took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. If I’d known it was you I never would have—Oh, dear, how embarrassing.’
‘Signorina,’ he said, slipping his hand over hers, ‘please don’t be upset. I assure you there is no need to be distressed. I’ve never been described as a potentate before, but it has a certain ring to it. I must remember to tell my PR people to slip it into the next brochure we do for Malvarina. In fact, the only bit I objected to was your certainty that I am trying to create a theme park.’
His hand was still laid over hers, warm and reassuring, and Victoria felt a delicious shiver run up her arm. She looked up at him. Their eyes met and she smiled apologetically. ‘I’m always putting my foot in it. I’m truly sorry.’
He gave her fingers a light squeeze. ‘The only way I shall forgive you is if you personally visit Malvarina and allow me to dispel what I truly believe to be your false image of the island. I certainly intend for it to be very different from what you describe.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, drawing her hand away. ‘I suppose I should be fair and give the place a chance before judging it so arbitrarily. I’m sure it’s lovely. I just don’t want to move anywhere.’
‘I understand. But if you have to move, Malvarina may not be such a bad spot as you think. But then I’m prejudiced.’
AN HOUR LATER, VICTORIA was surprised at how quickly the dinner had gone by. Before she knew it, the guests were being ushered into the ballroom where an orchestra was striking up. The Prince was still at her side, and Victoria realised that she was far more at ease in his presence than she had been while meeting Hollywood moguls and stars. There was something easy and natural about him. Amazingly, he felt like the only real person she’d met here.
‘Would you like to dance?’ Rodolfo smiled down into her eyes, and for a moment Victoria’s pulse missed a beat. There was something very charming about this handsome man, she acknowledged.
She accepted the offer and accompanied him onto the floor. As his arms encircled her she felt a thrill course up her spine. She told herself to stop it immediately. He was just being polite, just trying to get people to go and live on his island—that was why he was being so nice to her. She must not lose sight of that. But it was hard not to feel light-headed as they twirled about the room and the musky scent of his aftershave reached her.
She could see Anne watching approvingly from the sidelines and groaned inwardly. She could imagine all the directives the woman would be giving her shortly. As the music subsided and they walked off the dance floor a flash went off in their faces and Victoria cringed involuntarily. At the same moment Rodolfo’s arm slipped protectively about her and she felt herself being guided quickly out of the ballroom and through the French doors that led onto the terrace.
‘Damn photographers,’ he exclaimed as they stepped outside. ‘They never give one any peace.’
‘No,