Free Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) by Nicole Burnham Page B

Sarcaccian heritage would be more likely to recognize him than those from other countries.
    As the days lengthened into weeks, he grew more comfortable, not simply with the fact his disappearance had gone unnoticed, but in his own skin. He’d explored Buenos Aires, discovering what it meant to be completely free for the first time in his life. Reveled in the ability to walk anywhere he pleased, visit the city’s famous cemeteries, and eat ice cream from walk-up windows. He’d spent more than one afternoon on a rented bicycle, pedaling his way through parks and along trails. Taken public transportation for the sheer joy of it, looping through the city and observing people he’d never have interacted with in his day-to-day life as a wealthy crown prince. And not once had he needed to make a speech, present a head of state or local dignitary with a gift, or pose for a photograph. He had no schedule. No expectations. Not even an alarm clock.  
    And while he wasn’t exactly excited about the prospect of returning to Sarcaccia and resuming his role as crown prince, at least he now knew he could handle a surprise onion.
    Women, on the other hand, were another matter. Carmella’s unexpected deception exorcised that part of him. He had no interest in bedding one since the day he’d discovered her real reason for pursuing him and he’d ended the relationship.  
    At least not until he met Emily Sinclair.

    * * *

    As Vittorio lay with his head on his pillow the night following his lunch with Emily, listening to the hum of street noise below his hotel window, he convinced himself his attraction to her was a freak occurrence, the result of months with only brief, necessary female contact.  
    Thinking of her as touchable . Flirting with her. Kissing her hand. It wasn’t like him, especially not the person he’d become since opening Carmella’s letter.
    But as Vittorio walked into La Bombonera stadium behind Emily and her crew in the bright light of day, it took only a glimpse of the fall of golden hair against her tailored white blouse and watching the sway of her hips in a pair of curve-hugging slacks to discover his libido hadn’t died with Carmella, it had only gone dormant. The radiance of Emily’s smile as she turned to wave to the stadium’s head of operations, who’d given them permission to film, sent a surge of heat through Vittorio he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time, one that made him realize that his response to Emily yesterday wasn’t a fluke.
    He exhaled, resolving to enjoy the entire experience…the television cameras, the jubilant noise, the scent of freshly-grilled meats that permeated the air, and even his reborn sense of desire. It might not be quite the way Alessandro would’ve embraced the day, but it was adventure enough for Vittorio.  
    They paused at the edge of the field, where a local makeup artist quickly touched up Emily’s lips with a thin brush, then fluffed powder over her nose and forehead. He’d had his own face touched up for a camera more than once, particularly before hosting televised charity events. Necessary, he knew, but awkward. Yet there was an effortlessness to Emily’s last-minute preparations—the makeup check, a review of her script with Rita, a discussion with her cameraman, Ignacio, about the angle of the sun—that put Vittorio at ease when the makeup artist approached him and asked to do a quick shine check before she left for her next job.
    Vittorio’s attraction to Emily was more than the physical, though. When she introduced him to Mike, the gregarious Australian cameraman who’d capture Vittorio’s experience at the game between the local Boca Juniors and their cross-town rival, River Plate, he found himself admiring the way Emily interacted with her coworkers. Her confident demeanor and the respect with which others spoke to her left no doubt she was the star of the show, yet her lack of hubris and the efficiency with which she’d scheduled the