Scorsolini Baby Scandal. Lucy Monroe

tie. I bought one very similar for my dad. They’re both designed for the power-broker businessman. Too expensive for your average office drone and too serious for a rich playboy.”

      Micheli wasn’t feeling serious or intently focused on his day’s “power business” agenda right now. In fact, he was tempted to do the unthinkable: take a day off. He could text his assistant and reschedule the rest of the afternoon.

      The thought was entirely out of character; the reality that he was seriously considering it absurd. And yet, he was.

      “I think that’s enough pictures.” She smiled, even white teeth flashing, clearly unaware of the revolution of thought going on inside his head. “Thank you for taking them.”

      “Are you visiting the palazzo?” he asked, referring to one of the more commonly visited sights in the city.

      “Actually our tour group is supposed to head to the cathedral next.”

      He thought furiously of how to continue in her company.

      Perhaps misreading his expression, she said, “I brought a shawl so I could go inside.”

      He appreciated her deference to Sicilian convention and told her so.

      “I grew up splitting time between California and Spain with my parents. They taught me young that respect for the culture in which you find yourself is good manners.”

      “I also.” It was an imperative for the son of a monarch. “Listen, have a coffee with me, and I will give you a personally guided tour of the cathedral afterward.”

      “You’re an expert, are you?”

      “My family was originally from Sicily.” Generations ago, before the country of Isole dei Re was founded by his ancestors. “We still have business interests here.”

      She bit 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.”

      She grabbed her phone from her bag. “Let me text them.” She pointed her phone at him and it clicked. “I’m just sending your picture, too. What’s your number?”

      He rattled it off, surprised at his own willingness to do so.

      She dialed. When the phone in his jacket’s inner pocket buzzed, she nodded with satisfaction and sent her text.

      “I approve of your caution.”

      Perfectly shaped brows rose, her expression turning wry. “How nice for you.”

      He found himself laughing. “Yes, well, I have a tendency to think my opinion matters too much. At least, according to my sister and brother.”

      “Younger, I bet.”

      “By ten and fifteen minutes, respectively.”

      “You’re a triplet?” she asked with obvious curiosity.

      “Sì.”

      “Wow. That would be so amazing.”

      “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” As much as he loved his siblings, it was not an aspect of his life that was an unending source of joy. “None of us are identical, but we look enough alike that there is never a question we are siblings.”

      His role as heir to the throne set him apart, and yet there had been very little in his life that his sister and brother had not done right along with him. While their royal parents might not understand how the bond could be both beneficial and stifling, Adamo and Elena shared Micheli’s feelings.

      And each had their own ways of establishing their individuality.

      She carried on texting while talking with him. “It beats being the only child of parents with huge expectations, any day.” She read her latest text and smiled. “They’re coming.”

      “Good. And trust me, expectations can be just as entrenched when you have siblings to share some of the burden.” And some burdens? Could not be shared.

      * * *

      Kiki had to admit that seeing the cathedral with a private tour guide and two of her friends was a lot nicer than being part of a big group, but she still couldn’t believe she’d let the gorgeous Sicilian pick her up in the piazza. Even if her friends were coming along.

      As the daughter of a Spanish billionaire and a former supermodel, she’d been raised to be about ten times more cautious than the average person.

      Only there was something really special about Mich. Her mom always said Kiki would know when she met that guy—the one she could not resist. She’d dated, a lot more than her dad would have liked and less than her mom had encouraged.

      But Mich? He was Kiki catnip. He got to her with a smile in ways other men hadn’t managed to after months of going out.

      Okay, he was gorgeous. Like over-the-top, alpha-of-the-pack impressive. She didn’t think he wore a power tie to impress, but because that’s who Mich was. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than her, but she got the feeling he was already one of the “important players,” as her dad called them.

      Mich had presence in spades. Even in her heels, he was a good three inches taller than her, and his body was to die for, and his business suit couldn’t disguise that to-die-for body. He had these aristocratic looks that went with the arrogance she’d come to realize pretty quickly was innate, too. And she had a near-irresistible urge to reach up and muss his perfectly styled black hair.

      It was his eyes that really got her, though. Espresso-brown, they glowed with appreciation for her and a humor he invited her to share.

      After the cathedral, they spent an hour at a trattoria, talking about everything and nothing at all, while Joni and Davin played tourists with their cameras nearby. Palermo was a beautiful city with bits of history and art everywhere.

      And rather than wallowing in it, Kiki was lost in another kind of attraction altogether. She felt as if she’d known Mich forever.

      As scary as that was, she was a lot more terrified of telling him goodbye.

      “We need to get a taxi to catch up to the group, if we don’t want to miss this afternoon’s tour,” Davin said, walking up to the café table.

      Kiki’s stomach tightened with panic that made absolutely no sense.

      Mich smiled at them all. “I am happy to continue in the role of tour guide, and I believe my car will be a more comfortable ride than a tour bus.”

      “Only if one of us drives.” Joni crossed her arms, her expression set in stubborn lines.

      She’d taken classes at Kiki’s dad’s school of caution.

      No way would Mich agree. Kiki prepared to tell him goodbye, but he smiled, handing the keys to Joni as they followed him to a luxury vehicle parked nearby. “Have at it.”

      Joni slipped into the driver’s seat, giving Davin a superior look. “Not all men are such Neanderthals that they think women are lesser drivers.”

      Kiki wasn’t touching that old argument between them. She personally hated driving, especially back in New York, and was happy if anyone else wanted to play chauffeur.

      Mich joined her in the backseat, taking her hand in his as soon as their seat belts were buckled. It felt as if her heart had stopped and then started double-time at that small touch.

      He smiled at her, as if he knew exactly what the chaste physical connection was doing to her. Then he started caressing her hand with his thumb, the brushes back and forth never stopping.