By Royal Decree: Royally Romanced

“At the local museum,” he clarified. “But the armor used to be at my house.”

“You got tired of peasants wandering through looking at it?”

“If all peasants were as lovely as you, I would have no problem with that.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m only joking, Renata. I’m priviledged to serve my people, not the other way around.”

“All right, then.” She let him off the hook. For a prince, he wasn’t very arrogant. Not that she knew very many. Or any.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the gallery entrance. “Here we are.”

Renata gave a gasp as she and Giorgio entered the darkened, dramatically lit hall. “Now this is what I call a real art exhibit.” Strategically placed spotlights illuminated mannequins in elegant 1890’s ballgowns.

“Very elegant,” Giorgio agreed. “And little danger of tetanus.”

Renata went as close to the mannequins as she could without getting tossed out of the museum and peered at the fine details of the gowns. They were satin, velvet and silk. The silhouette was a tight bodice flowing out to a small bustle and then fabric draping down to the floor in a small train. The embroidery was elaborately done with crystals, pearls and jet accents. Butterflies and flowers, swirls and loops. “Maybe I haven’t been taking enough advantage of Aunt Barbara’s skills. She could do this in her sleep.”

“The lady who is going to embroider Stefania and Dieter’s initials on her, um, underskirt?”

Renata laughed. Typical brother. “That’s her. She’ll be disappointed she missed you.” The overwhelming under-statement of the century. A real live prince and princess came to out-of-the-way Peacock Designs and Aunt Barbara was sitting in the gastroenterologist’s waiting room. She’d at least get to meet Stefania when she came for her fittings.

The next rooms had sports clothing, a revolutionary idea in the late nineteenth century. Although playing tennis in a floor-length dress or riding a bicycle in a wool skirt and suitjacket didn’t appeal to Renata, she saw the historical importance of the broadening of women’s activities.

Ah, more ball gowns, but this time they were a flowing, turn-of-the-century style with Asian-influenced fasteners and draping tunic silhouettes. Another set of new ideas for her.

“Art Nouveau, one of my favourite eras.” Giorgio gazed at the Tiffany stained-glass windows and classic Italian opera posters.

“Oh, my God, me, too! I just love Gustav Klimt’s painting with the man and woman embracing surrounded by all that gold and jewel tones.”

“The Kiss.” His gaze dropped to her lips.

She licked her mouth, suddenly dry. “Yes, it’s called The Kiss.”

“Have you been to Vienna to see it?” he asked.

She laughed and the spell was broken—at least temporarily. “No, I haven’t made it to Vienna yet.” Or anywhere east of the Atlantic Ocean.

“You should go.”

With what money? She caught his hand and pulled him along. He was a sweet guy, but there was a world of difference—and money—between them. “Maybe someday. Oh, look at the suffragettes’ uniforms. Very masculine.”

Giorgio stood patiently next to her, not fidgeting a bit or checking his phone as she examined the clothing in the remaining rooms. She wished she could take photos, but the light was too low to get any of the details. They exited into a gift shop with several reproduction jewelry items and books on art and fashion of the time period covered.

Giorgio picked up the hardcover, full-color photo book that accompanied the exhibit. “Would you allow me to buy you a small gift, a souvenir of our afternoon together?”

“That book’s not exactly small.” But she was dying to get her hands on it, especially to look at the beading and embroidery in close detail.

“I’ll carry it for you if it’s too heavy.” His green eyes twinkled.

She paused for a second and then decided her self-reliance could take a backseat to graciousness for once. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Giorgio seemed surprised, as if he’d expected her to tussle with him over it. “You’re welcome.” He hastened to the cash register to pay for it before she changed her mind, probably.

Renata busied herself by examining the jewelry. It was a bit elaborate for her tastes, with filigree and crystals and jet beads galore. Aunt Barbara would love it.

“Do you see anything you like here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I was just thinking my aunt would like some of this. She likes more…elaborate things than I do.”

He eyed her up and down. “A woman who looks like a forties’ movie star doesn’t think that counts as elaborate?”

“I suppose silk stockings with seams up the back can’t be considered plain.”

“Not at all.” His voice sounded husky for a second. “But authentic, right?”

“Absolutely.” Renata had to clear her own throat. “Maybe I’ll bring Aunt Barbara to see the exhibit. I’ve encouraged her to branch out a bit with some designs of her own.”

“With you as her mentor, I’m sure it would be a success.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Giorgio shrugged. “Only the truth. You’re a self-made woman, whereas I’m the royal caretaker, making sure everything stays intact for the next generation.” He sounded a bit dejected.

“But that’s important, too. You have thousands of families depending on you to make sure everything runs smoothly, that parents can give their children the opportunities to succeed that they might not have had themselves.”

He grinned. “You’ve very smart, you know that?”

“Of course. And now, if you’ll call for that slick car of yours we can tour around for a bit before you meet your sister for dinner.”

He immediately texted his driver who showed up in an impossibly short period of time. Giorgio helped her into the limo. “Drive downtown, Paolo.”

Paolo nodded and they slid away from the curb. Renata settled back into the luxurious seats. She didn’t know where the royal ride was going, but she was sure it would be memorable.

“THANK YOU FOR DINNER, Renata.” Giorgio relaxed back into the limo seat. “I have to admit I am not used to ladies paying for me.”

“Don’t be silly, it was just a chili dog,” she chided him. She hadn’t been in a limo since one of her brothers’ weddings, and this was much nicer than being stuffed into the back with several giddy bridesmaids in poufy dresses. “I’ll add it onto the alterations bill for your sister’s dress if you insist.”

He leaned toward her. “I do.”

Stefania had called to cancel dinner since she had a term paper due soon and her fiancé was fogged in at Heathrow airport anyway.

Giorgio had called his driver to come get them and they had cruised the city as best as they could with a giant limo. But it was getting late, and Renata had reluctantly told Giorgio to head for Brooklyn.

“Tell me when you are free again.” Giorgio twined his fingers between hers.

“Free for what?”

“Free to see me again. I’ll take you to the Plaza for dinner.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if they serve chili dogs.”