I stared at him blankly, unsure what he was talking about, until I saw that I was still clutching my bottle of Bella Collina Reserve. A surprised laugh burst from my mouth. I placed the bottle on the table. “I didn’t even realize I was still holding it.”
“Clearly you do like the vintage,” Zeno replied with a hint of humor in his voice.
“I don’t think like is a strong enough word.”
“Then I’m glad I brought you to this estate,” he said softly.
An awkward silence descended. Fortunately it was interrupted by a female server bearing water and a bottle of white wine. She made to take the merlot, but I put my hand over hers to stop her. “I shall drink this.” She bowed and poured out the wine with an expert hand.
The next few minutes were occupied by servers bringing bread, Bella Collina’s homegrown olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and finally our appetizer of insalata caprese. The servers excused themselves.
Once again I was alone with the prince.
Inhaling deeply, I scanned the grounds and the trellis climbing up the ancient stone walls. I shook my head.
“Something wrong?” Zeno inquired.
My eyes snapped to his. “No,” I said. “This is all just . . . so surreal.”
His head cocked to the side as his bright blue eyes focused on me. “The marriage?” he asked. His voice was tense, as if he were forcing the words.
I lowered my head and played with the stem of my wine glass. “Yes. But not just that.” I pointed to the vineyard, the mansion, the food. “Everything. Being here is testimony to fact that the monarchy’s abolition may as well never have happened. You are still the prince to these people. These magnificent grounds are worthy of a ruler.”
“You are the Duchessa di Parma. You are not so unused to this life either.” I looked at Zeno to find a single, challenging brow raised in my direction.
“I know that. Believe me. As a child in Parma I was always at royal functions. In New York, it was more so. We were the exotic Italian aristocrats who lived on Fifth Avenue. We were even more under the microscope, if that is at all possible.”
Zeno sighed and tipped his head back, eyes focused on the blanket of stars above. “It is our life. The titles, the status of monarchy may have legally been revoked, but we both know we shall always be someone. You cannot erase that much history from a country in such little time.” He batted his hand. “There will always be rich and poor. And whether they like to admit it or not, the lay public love to have a royal line to admire, to wonder what our lives are like and to look up to.” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Or hate, as the case may be. The monarchy is officially gone, yet look at us—a dethroned prince and an American-raised duchessa arranged to be married by our fathers. You can’t get more medieval than that.”
I swallowed, and realized I felt a sudden kinship with Zeno. He didn’t want to marry me either. I saw by his expression that he too acknowledged we understood one another . . . perfectly.
“Well, to those in our strange little world, you are about to become king.”
Zeno seemed to pale. He sat straighter in his seat. “Yes,” was all he could muster in response.
“I think my parents dream of coming home to Italy one day. They love New York, but home is always home.” I tried to fill the suddenly tense air with idle chatter—it was a much better alternative to strained silence.
“The duke has taken our business to a level my father could never have dreamed of by moving to America. I know that my father understood the sacrifice your father made by becoming the distributor of our wines for North America.” Zeno fidgeted with the napkin on his lap. “And now we must start again, from scratch. My father’s passing brought unease to the investors. King Santo, the great king of both Italy and the vines, died, and the competitors that have always been pushed aside have reared their heads. They are already stealing business from us left, right and center—it began mere days after my father’s death.” His jaw clenched. “It seems the usual buyers don’t think my father’s Midas touch with wines has been passed on to me. I apparently make them nervous. Your father is holding down the fort as best he can in America. Italy is down to me.”
I knew everything he said was true. It was not so much his father’s passing, rather it was Zeno’s reputation as a lothario and party socialite that required our swift union. He said the buyers weren’t sure of him. I wasn’t either; I was certain my father felt the same. Zeno was completely untested. Of course, I could not voice these thoughts out loud.
“However, you are here now. A Savona and an Acardi to make the business strong again.” And to convince the investors and buyers of the same thing, I heard in my mind.
“Yes,” I said. This time I had nothing left to say. I took a bite of my caprese. “I am to stay here for the duration of our courting period, not Florence?”
Zeno took a long drink of his wine. “I thought it would be best.”
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “And you are to stay here too?”
Zeno met my eyes. “I have much business to attend to in our estates all over the country, many crisis talks to attend. I will often be absent. There is much to do now that I’ve been strapped tightly into the driver’s seat.”
“That would be a ‘no,’ then,” I said, a sharp edge to my tone.
Zeno dropped his knife and ran a hand over his face. This time when he looked at me, there was no pretense. All I saw was agitation and frustration on his handsome face. “Look, Caresa.” He paused, gritting his teeth, then continued, “We both know this whole marriage is for the business. It’s nothing new in our world. Marriages have always been based on social bonds and securing family ties in Europe, since the beginning of time. Nothing has changed. I’m a royal, you’re a duchessa. Let’s not pretend this is anything beyond what it is—a contract to ensure that stability is clearly demonstrated to our business partners, and a solid, appropriate marriage for those in our social circle.” He gestured to the house. “Ancestral money can only get us so far. To keep these estates thriving, we need money by modern-day means. There are no tithes or bribes bringing in the coin. We do what we must to survive and keep our lineages alive. Wine is our key. You and I joined in marriage is what will calm the stormy waters our families have found themselves in.”
Zeno sat forward and took my hand. “I am not saying this to be cruel. But you seem like an intelligent woman. Surely you do not believe this charade is about love.”
I laughed. I truly laughed as I removed my hand from his. “I don’t, Zeno. I am very much aware of what this ‘charade’ really is.” I leaned forward too. “And seeing as I have just finished my master’s degree in educational psychology from Columbia, I assure you, your assessment of my perceived intelligence is well-founded.”
A smirk pulled on Zeno’s lips. “Educational psychology?”
“Yes.” I bristled. “Had this marriage not been arranged and I wasn’t a duchessa, it is what I would have devoted my life to. Helping children—or adults—who have learning difficulties. Any problem can be overcome; we just need to find the best way for each person. I would have either worked in that field, or something with horses.”
Zeno sat back in his chair, looking every inch the royal prince that he was. “Maybe I have underestimated you, Caresa.”
“Maybe?” I retorted.
He studied me closely and said in a low voice, “You are extremely beautiful.”
I tensed, unnerved by the sudden change of topic. He observed me closely, seemingly amused by my cautious expression. “We are a good match in every way that counts,” he said. “Looks, money, status. We both could have done worse.”
I laughed. Loudly. “So you believe yourself to be very handsome?”
Zeno took another sip of his wine. “There is no need for false modesties, Caresa. I’m very much of the opinion that we should always say exactly what we think. In private, of course. We both have reputations to protect.”
The server came to clear our plates and, for the next hour, the prince and I talked about trivial things. It wasn’t unpleasant, yet by the end of the meal, my stomach was in knots. I hadn’t expected a fairytale with this arrangement. For us to instantly fall in love the moment our eyes met. But neither had I expected things to be so clinical. So . . . cold and matter of fact.