Scandal With a Prince (13 page)

God help Megan.

Anna assessed him with confidence.
 
“Hello, Prince Stefano.
 
Welcome to our home.”
 

Then she curtsied.
 
All the way to the kitchen floor.

“Honey, that’s not what we discussed—”

“You don’t need to do that,” Stefano said at the same time.
 
He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or to laugh.

Without a hint of sarcasm in her voice or expression, Anna asked, “Am I supposed to bow?
 
Because I thought bowing was for boys.”
 

“For a first meeting, I think a handshake will do.”
 
He reached across the granite countertop that separated the kitchen from the living space and waited.
 
After few painful heartbeats, Anna stepped forward and clasped his hand with her own.
 
Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone so small.
 
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Stefano.”

He kept his smile steady.
 
He couldn’t quite believe he was shaking hands with his own daughter.
 
“Why don’t you call me Stefano?
 
‘Prince Stefano’ feels too formal.”
 

Anna glanced at Megan, then back to him.
 
“I’m not supposed to call adults by their first names.
 
My mom’s says it’s a respect thing.
 
Is Mr. Barrali okay?
 
Or is that wrong, since you’re a rich and famous prince and everything?”

Megan propped her forearms on the countertop and flashed Anna a warning look for the choice of words.
 
“This is a bit of an unusual circumstance.
 
It’s fine with me if you call him Stefano while we’re here in our apartment.
 
But if you ever address him in public, go with Prince Stefano.
 
Not Stefano.
 
And definitely not Mr. Barrali.”

“Sounds like a good compromise,” Stefano said, hoping to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation.
 
He’d spent more hours of his youth than he cared to remember being drilled on the finer points of etiquette, but this particular scenario was never addressed.
 
He doubted there was a protocol guru in the world who knew the proper way to handle parent-child introductions.

“So you’re, like, my father?
 
For real?”
 

“I am.”
 
Seeing Anna in the flesh left no doubt.

Beside him, Megan shifted and cleared her throat.
 
He imagined she was trying to steer Anna in a different direction, but he kept his focus on Anna, who quirked one side of her mouth as she studied him.
 
“Can I ask a stupid question?
 
Since you’re my father and you’re a prince, does that make me a princess?
 
Or not really?”

“It’s not a stupid question at all.
 
The way royal titles work is complicated.
 
But technically, no, because your mom and I aren’t married, you’re not a princess under the laws of my country.”
 
Keeping a straight face at the unexpected question proved difficult.
 
He wasn’t about to explain Sarcaccian legitimacy.
 
He wanted to tell her that it was fine
not
to be a princess, but wasn’t sure how a girl her age would view such a statement.

“Huh.”
 
Much to his surprise, Anna didn’t seem bothered by the information.
 
Rather, she appeared to weigh it in her mind as if she’d been handed the solution to a complex math problem and now wished to work it backward to be certain she understood.

He nodded toward the oven.
 
“When I came to the door, I told your mother that whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.
 
Is that pizza?”

The question earned him a guarded smile.
 
“My grandma was here last week and she taught me.
 
But after I made it I figured you probably don’t eat pizza, so it’s okay if you want to order lunch instead.
 
My mom does it all the time.
 
We have menus.” She gestured toward one of the kitchen drawers.
 
“My grandma says that you can freeze pizza after it cools and it’s still good, so I can eat it later.
 
It won’t get wasted.”

She might take after him physically, but she had Megan’s practical streak.
 
Always thinking of a Plan B.
 
He told Anna, “I don’t eat pizza because no one ever offers.
 
People assume I prefer fancy dishes with colorful sauces and radishes or cucumbers cut to look like flowers.
 
Truth is, I’d much rather have pizza.”

“No way.”
 

The combination of hesitancy and surprise in her voice reminded him of how he’d sounded as a child on those rare occasions his parents allowed him something he was positive wouldn’t be permitted.
 
“It’s true.
 
Pizza is a treat for me.
 
What kind of topping did you put on it?”

“On
them
.
 
I made two.
 
Wanna see?”

He circled the counter before crouching beside her to peek through the oven’s window.
 
Inside, a perfectly browned pizza occupied each of the two racks, their surfaces bubbling with cheese, green peppers, and mushrooms.
 
He looked sideways at her, noting the satisfaction in her expression as she inspected her creations.
 
“Did your mother tell you what to put on these?”

“No.
 
Why?
 
You don’t like mushrooms, do you?
 
I knew it.”
 
She stared at the pizza in dismay.
 
“Well, I left half of one pizza plain, just in case.
 
The mushrooms never even touched it, so you’re safe if you still want it.”

“No way.”
 
He took a risk in using her phrase, then gave her a gentle elbow to the side.
 
“My favorite pizza is mushroom with green peppers.”

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes.
 
“You’re only saying that to get me to like you.”

“Like me or not, it’s true.
 
Maybe it’s hereditary.”
 
Still crouched in front of the oven, he frowned over his shoulder at Megan.
 
“Though apparently your mother and I like the same kind of omelets for breakfast.”

“What can I say?”
 
Megan spread her hands.
 
“Anna and I have good taste.
 
I told her to pick whatever she wanted from the fridge to put on the pizza.”

“I like sausage, too,” Stefano confided, giving Anna a sideways just-between-us look.
 
“Do you have a sausage pizza hiding in there?”

When she shook her head and told him she couldn’t stand sausage, he said, “I doubt the three of us could eat a third pizza, anyway.”

“You haven’t tried
my
pizza, so you never know.”

“Think I’m about to find out.”

“Timer says six seconds left, so…here goes!”
 
She straightened, then pulled a pair of oven mitts from a nearby drawer and asked Megan to help her take out the pizza.
 
Stefano sidled out of the narrow kitchen, watching as the pair removed the pizzas and made quick work of slicing them.
 
When he noticed a festive-looking stack of napkins and plates at the counter’s edge, he took them and went about setting the table.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d set a table, let alone with confetti-specked paper plates.
 
It felt odd, but good.
 

“Oh, Stefano, I was going to use real plates,” Megan said, glancing over at him from the kitchen.
 
“Those were left over from one of Anna’s class events.
 
I can’t imagine you’d—”
 

“I seem to recall the two of us eating off old, peeling plastic plates while sitting on a dirt floor in a family’s shanty.
 
I think I can handle paper.”

That drew a cautious smile from her.
 
“If it’s fine with you, it’s fine with me.”

A few minutes later, as they ate the pizza, which was every bit as delicious as it smelled, along with a salad Megan prepared, Anna asked him what it was like to live in a palace.
 

He glanced at Megan before giving his answer.
 
“Well, it’s certainly beautiful.
 
There are chandeliers in nearly every room, and Persian rugs so thick you can curl your toes in them.
 
Since it was built in the days before electric heat, the fireplaces are so tall and wide you can walk into them.”
 
He tried to imagine what Anna would notice, were she to walk the palace’s wide halls or sleep in its rooms.
 
“The palace has gorgeous gardens on three sides.
 
I played there all the time when I was a child.
 
Then there’s a parade ground in the front where tourists come to see equestrian demonstrations in the summer.
 
There’s also a giant clock tower beside the front gate that tolls every hour.
 
When I was growing up, I would lie in bed at night and count the strikes, then listen for the last reverberation to fade away.
 
I liked timing it, because the sound could change depending on the weather.”

Her mouth dropped into an O.
 
He could virtually see the wheels spinning in her mind, imagining life in a palace as if it were a fairy tale come true.
 
“That sounds fantastic!”
 

“In many ways, it is.
 
But have you ever heard the phrase, ‘living in a fishbowl’?”

She hesitated.
 
“Like, living underwater?”

“Not quite.”
 
He explained the meaning, then said, “Sometimes, it’s like that for me.
 
When I’m in the palace, I have very little privacy.
 
I don’t always control where I go, who I see, or even my own phone calls and e-mail.
 
Everyone knows what I’m doing at all times.”

“That must suck.
 
Big time.”

“Anna—” Megan’s warning came despite the fact she’d just taken a bite of pizza.

“Not always.
 
For instance, I don’t have to clean anything or make my own bed.
 
I don’t even have to shop, because people who work at the palace bring me whatever I need.
 
But can I tell you a secret?”
 
At her nod, he said, “I don’t mind making my own bed.
 
And there are days I wish I could walk out my front door on a whim and shop the way you do.
 
Not because I like to shop, but because it’d be fun to wander through a pedestrian shopping area and see the sights or stop for an ice cream without worrying about being watched or having my picture taken.
 
I occasionally do it when I’m traveling, but it’s rare while I’m at home.
 
I’m usually recognized too quickly to have much time to myself.
 
Living in the palace especially makes me appreciate times like this, when I can visit friends and eat whatever I want and be myself.”

“Well, we’re not your friends.
 
We’re your family.”
 
She paused, scrunching her nose.
 
“Kind of.
 
I mean, we’re not really your family.
 
But we
are
related, so I guess, well…you know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean.”
 
He kept his gaze fixed on Anna, but he could sense Megan’s stillness as powerfully as a punch to the gut.
 
He kept a smile in his voice as he whispered to Anna, “It’s a little awkward meeting a parent for the first time when you’re almost done with fourth grade, isn’t it?”

“Totally awkward!”
 
She picked a mushroom off the top of her pizza, popped it into her mouth, then shrugged. “But it’s not a big deal, right?
 
I mean, that you’re my father.
 
Not if no one knows.”

He couldn’t lie to her.
 
“It won’t be an easy secret to keep.
 
I imagine someone will find out eventually, even if none of us say a word.
 
Maybe not soon, but someday.
 
Whether anyone knows or not, though, I do think it’s a big deal to be your father.
 
That’s why I asked your mom if I could come to lunch today.
 
I want to get to know you and I want you to get to know me.”

She radiated skepticism as only a pre-teen could.
 
“
You
want to get to know me?”

“I do.”

“Huh.”
 
She took another bite of her pizza, contemplating that, then washed it down with a long sip of lemonade.
 
Her plastic cup clunked against the tabletop as she set it down.
 
“But I bet you never wanted kids.
 
Like, if you didn’t know I existed and a friend asked you if you wanted kids, you’d probably say no way.
 
Right?”