Gemma, can no longer handle the job this late in her pregnancy. I’d promised I would produce her replacement by tomorrow, but with Signor Fragala in the hospital, the job has now fallen on my shoulders. I’ll have to let them know in the morning. That doesn’t give me time to find anyone else with his credentials. It could take me several months.”
“And I don’t have any,” she half moaned the words.
In an unconscious gesture he put a hand on her shoulder and kneaded it gently. “I’m not my mother’s son for nothing. You’ve convinced me you want this job more than anything. By the time I’m through with you, I’m hoping you’ll be able to write your own ticket as a pastry chef.”
After a long pause he said, “At this point I’ve been wondering. Is the difficult, uncontrollable, incorrigible Principessa di Trabia of Palermo, Sicily, worth her salt? It would be fun to find out the truth. I’ll be back soon.”
* * *
Tuccia rested against the closed door with her arms folded. His touch had crept through her body like a fine wine, weakening her physically. Yet his final comment before he’d gone out the door had caused a sudden surge of adrenaline to attack her.
“Is the difficult, uncontrollable, incorrigible Principessa di Trabia of Palermo, Sicily, worth her salt?”
Cesare had said that to get a rise out of her. Without question he’d accomplished his objective.
Frightened and excited by the whole situation she’d created for herself, Tuccia turned on the TV in the corner to distract her for a little while. She grazed the channels with the remote and came across two stations giving the four o’clock news. The second she saw a news clip of herself and Jean-Michel flash on the screen, she felt sick and sank down on the couch.
“Authorities in France and Italy are asking for anyone to come forward who knows anything about the whereabouts of Princess Tuccianna of Sicily, the daughter of the Marchese and Marchesa di Trabia. She’s the fiancée of the acting Comte Jean-Michel Ardois of the House of Ardois and prominent CEO of Ardois Munitions. Princess Tuccianna disappeared yesterday morning in Paris and hasn’t been seen since.
“The famous couple were to have been married today. Speculation that she was kidnapped by some foreign government faction for ransom has not been counted out.
“According to police, the Marchesa had been waiting in the lounge for her daughter to change after the final fitting of her wedding gown at the exclusive bridal shop on the Rue de L’Echelle. But she never came out. The police found her betrothal ring and are suspicious that some employees working at the shop helped aid in the kidnapping and are now being detained.
“Both families are desperate for news of the beautiful dark-haired twenty-five-year-old princess. So far any sightings of her have turned out to be false. She speaks French, Spanish, English, Italian, Sicilian and is known to be an excellent swimmer and sailor who—”
Tuccia turned off the TV and buried her face in her hands, swamped by guilt for the terrible thing she’d done. At least Jean-Michel would get her letter soon, but in the meantime innocent people were being questioned and detained. Hundreds of policemen in two countries were searching for her. She’d endangered her aunt and Cesare’s mother. But she couldn’t go back to that life. She just couldn’t.
Jean-Michel wanted to marry a woman with a title, preferably a young one who’d give him children and not cause him trouble. Her parents wanted a son-in-law with a fortune that would never run out. No love was involved. Tuccia was a pawn and always had been. It was a fact of life that she’d been born to royalty.
It truly wasn’t fair to Cesare, who’d been forced to come to her rescue this morning, flying her with him on the ducal jet no less. Knowing the huge risk of aiding a fugitive—that’s what she was at this point—a lesser man might never have done such a favor, not even for his own mother.
To add to her crime, Tuccia had proposed an idea to save both their skins. But it was so audacious and dangerous if anyone were to find out who she was. For Cesare to be willing to go along with her idea made him a prince among men as far as she was concerned.
He had a reputation for being brilliant. She’d known that about Lina’s son long before she’d ever met him. But she hadn’t counted on him being so incredibly handsome, too. Working with him, she would fast lose her objectivity. How could she possibly concentrate on what she was doing while she was in his presence? If there was such a thing as love at first sight, she’d fallen victim to it.
By working with him, there was no doubt she’d be learning from a master. It would be an honor to be the student of a man famous on two continents for his business acumen as a restaurateur. He’d built an enviable empire of restaurants in New York.
Part of her wanted to show him she was worth her salt. But what if she failed? She’d passed lots of tests in her life, but none would be more important than this one now that she’d made the commitment.
While she was sorting through her tortured thoughts she heard a knock on the door. Tuccia rushed to let him in. He was loaded with three big sacks of food and carried them into the kitchen.
She shut the door behind him. “It looks like you bought out the store.”
“Several stores to be exact.” He washed his hands in the sink. “The risotto with veal looked good at the deli. I picked up some rustic wheat bread and a bottle of Chardonnay Piemonte to go with it.”
“Wonderful. I’m hungry, too.” She peeked in the sacks and found their dinner, which she put on the round kitchen table. Their gazes fused. “I take it the other two sacks contain enough pastry ingredients to feed a small army.”
“You’re partially right. The rest are provisions for you to take with you in case you change your mind before the evening is over.”
Her spirits plunged. “What do you mean?”
“While I’ve been gone, you’ve had time to reconsider what we’ve talked about. After we’ve eaten, I’ll be happy to take you to the train station if that’s your wish. The standard service leaves at quarter to nine for Sicily. There’ll be no amenities. You’ll have to sit up in your seat all night. But you’ll be like dozens of passengers with little money and melt into the crowd.”
He pulled wine glasses from the cupboard and poured some for them, but what he’d just said to her had shocked her.
TUCCIA STOOD THERE with her hands on her hips. “You honestly expected that I would change my mind while you were gone? That I didn’t mean any of the things I said?”
“It would be understandable,” he said, sounding so reasonable she wanted to scream.
“Naturally you have every right to believe I’m not up to the task. No one would believe it.”
“I have faith in you, but I want to give you the freedom to back out of this if you think you might have spoken too hastily.”
As they sat down to eat, he handed her a copy of the Il Giorno newspaper to read. She came face-to-face with a two-month-old picture of her and Jean-Michel attending the opera in Paris. The headline read, Sicilian Princess still missing.
“You’ve
