in the New York arts society.”
Who eats with her husband’s ashes? “Does Mr. Brown know about this?”
“Of course he knows.”
“Oh.” And he wasn’t disturbed? “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.” The next time a party arrived carrying a jar of remains, she’d make sure to seat them promptly.
“It most certainly will not,” Javier replied. “You’ve done quite enough damage for the evening.”
Arianna stiffened as he touched her elbow. She still wasn’t used to being touched so casually. In Corinthia, only her family and closest confidants took such liberties.
And Manolo, she added ruefully. He had taken a lot of liberties. But then, she’d been foolish enough to think the words coming out of his mouth were sincere.
“Are you sending me home?”
Javier shook his head. “Only Max can do that.” Arianna was certain she heard a silent “unfortunately” prefacing the sentence. “For now, I just want you out of the way.”
“Doing what?” As if she couldn’t guess.
* * *
Folding tableware. Tucked away at the corner of the bar, with a stack of linen napkins and a silverware tray in front of her, she was quickly becoming an expert at the task.
Take a napkin off the pile, fold the cloth carefully into a triangle and stack a knife and two forks by the fold. Then tuck the corners to keep the silverware in place before rolling them into a cylinder. Within five minutes she’d built a small pyramid. At this rate, the restaurant would have table settings to last until New Year’s.
She should have called home by now. If she was back home, she’d be curled up in her big comfortable bed right now waiting for a servant to bring her a cup of lavender mint tea.
Instead, her feet hurt, her back hurt and her stomach wouldn’t stop lurching from the constant food smells passing by her nose. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight.
Worse, after three days, she was no closer to deciding what she should do.
As if on cue, a wave of nausea hit her, forcing her to press a fist to her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the child inside her was voicing its opinion. Too bad she did not know what side the bambino was on. Then again, how could an embryo know what to do when she herself didn’t?
If only she had not seen Manolo’s true colors. Then perhaps the idea of spending a lifetime with him would not seem so...daunting. Her father, of course, was thoroughly impressed by the man and had been thrilled when she and the industrialist began dating. A wedding and grandchild would send him over the moon.
But wasn’t wanting to please Father what had gotten her into this dilemma? Knowing how happy the relationship made her father, she’d ignored the questions whispering in her ear. If Manolo’s kisses failed to make her head spin, or if there were times when she thought he loved being with the king more than with her, it was her imagination. After all, no relationship was perfect one hundred percent of the time. Perhaps if they were intimate her doubts would disappear...
Finding another woman’s underwear in his apartment had shown her how wrong that idea was. Unfortunately, the shutters were pulled from her eyes a little too late.
“You’re doing that wrong,” a voice said from behind her.
Max. A quiver struck low in her stomach. The bambino seemed to have an opinion about him as well. Since that first day, her stomach insisted on wobbling every time she and the owner crossed paths.
He reached over her shoulder to take the setting from her hand. “The ends have to be tucked tightly or else the silverware will slide out. See?”
Arianna could feel his breath on the back of her bare neck. In Corinthia, it was considered disrespectful to stand so close to a member of the royal family. A deferential distance had to be maintained at all times. Max’s arms were nearly wrapped around her. She could feel the edge of his jacket brushing her spine as he leaned forward, the feathery touch causing goose bumps.
“Now you try.”
She tried to repeat the steps she’d done dozens of times throughout the night, but her fingers had grown clumsy. Instead of stacking the silverware, she fumbled and knocked them over. “It would be easier if you weren’t breathing down my neck,” she told him.
“Sorry.” The space behind her cooled as he took a spot at the bar next to her chair. Better, but not by much. Arianna could still feel his slate-colored eyes watching her every move. Taking a deep breath, she rolled the napkin into the tightest cylinder humanly possible.
“Good,” Max said. “Although next time, you might want to include a spoon.”
Her shoulders sagged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darius slide a drink across the bar. Max wrapped his hand around it without looking, and settled back against the bar rail to survey the restaurant. Unable to help herself, Arianna stole a look.
The man had the most effortless grace about him. You could see it in the way the glass dangled from his long fingertips and in the way he moved. Yet for all his smoothness, he wasn’t overly soft. Just like how the scar on the bridge of his nose kept his face from movie-star perfection, there was strength beneath the elegance. A toughness that said he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. In a way he reminded her of the ancestral portraits lining the halls of Corinthia Castle, with their impenetrable gazes that followed her every step.
They always left her feeling very exposed, those paintings. Max’s stare did as well.
“I hear you’re having trouble catching on to hostessing,” he said, his gaze thankfully still on the dining room.
Trouble catching on had to be an American euphemism for making a lot of mistakes. “It was not all my fault,” she said, defensiveness kicking in. “No one told me the woman was deluded.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The woman in the green dress. How was I to know she wanted a seat for her husband’s remains?”
“Ah, Mrs. Riderman.” Understanding crested over his features. “You’re right, Javier should have warned you. She and her ‘husband’ come in every Friday.”
“Every week?” With her dead husband? “Does that not violate some kind of health code?”
“Probably,” he said with a shrug, “but seeing how she owns most of the buildings on this street, we’re willing to risk the infraction.”
“Oh.” Whatever vindication she felt faded away. “I did not realize she was so important.”
“All our customers are important,” Max corrected. “Without them, we wouldn’t exist.” He took a sip of his drink. “Did he tell you that every time you move a party or seat them at the wrong table, that he needs to redo the seating chart?”
More times than she could count. “Yes,” she said.
“Did he also tell
