Читать книгу Christmas Baby For The Princess - Barbara Wallace, Barbara Wallace - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

ONCE SHE FINISHED her dinner, Arianna didn’t know what to do with herself. Most of the patrons were gone, and the staff was busy getting ready to close. From the looks they gave her, it was clear they did not want her assistance.

She couldn’t sit there and do nothing. Her nerves wouldn’t let her. In a little while Max would emerge from his office to walk her home, ending her career at the Fox Club. She would be back to where she started three days ago: looking for a way to postpone her return home. Only this time, she doubted there would be another handsome white knight waiting to ride to the rescue.

Looking around, her attention stopped at the piano on the stage. She’d noticed it her first day here, but had yet to take a close look. Her spirits picked up a little. Surely no one would mind if she looked now. Reclaiming her heels, having kicked them off while eating, she slipped them on and headed over.

For as long as she could remember, the piano had been a close friend. When she was a little girl, she would sit on the bench next to her mother and accompany her by plunking out random notes. Later, the discipline of practice helped her survive the pain of losing her mama. And again when she mourned her sister-in-law’s death.

Of course her instructors would say those were the only times she appreciated discipline since she spent most of her childhood ditching formal practice in favor of playing lighter, more enjoyable pieces.

She hadn’t played much when she was dating Manolo; he’d been more interested in being seen than in listening to her play. The club’s baby grand might not have as sophisticated a soundboard as the palace piano, but it was in excellent condition, and more importantly, she thought as she smiled and pressed middle C, it was in tune. Taking a seat on its bench felt a little bit like greeting a long lost friend.

Stretching her fingers, she played a scale, followed by an arpeggio. Because she was rusty, her fingers fumbled, and for a moment, it was like when she tried rolling tableware. Quickly, though, she loosened up, and the notes began to flow with ease. Confidence restored, she started playing one of the handful of songs she knew from memory: “In the Bleak Midwinter.” The quiet, melancholy song seemed fitting, given her circumstances.

When she finished, she realized everyone in the club was watching her. Including Max, who stood near the front of the stage.

“Bravo,” he said, clapping. “That was amazing.”

Arianna blushed as satisfaction swept her from head to toe. Her entire life, people had showered her with compliments regarding her playing, and she’d basked in them all, but none of the accolades had affected her as much as seeing the admiration on Max’s face was. Knowing she had his approval left a thrill that started at the base of her spine and spread outward, to the ends of her fingers.

He hopped onto the stage to join her. “You’ve been keeping secrets. Why didn’t you tell me you could play the piano?”

“I didn’t realize it was important,” she replied. After all, she’d applied for a job as a waitress. If she had known it was important, she would have touted her skills first thing.

“Play something else,” one of the waiters called out.

“Sounds like you’ve won at least one fan. How about it? You got any other songs tucked in that pretty head of yours?”

“A few.” Running through her mental library she decided upon a Corinthian folk song, a simple melody that had been a childhood favorite. She did her best to ignore the fact that Max was watching her. Hard to do with him propped against the curve of the piano, his long fingers curled around the rim.

“Pretty,” he said, after she’d been playing a moment. He was smiling, bringing the blue to his eyes again. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was old enough to sit at the bench without falling over,” she replied, adding a glissando for flourish.

“That old.”

“My mother played. When I was little, I would watch her. Playing was a natural progression.”

He leaned forward, a curious look on his face. “I don’t suppose you sing, too?”

“Perhaps.” If only he knew. Both she and her brother had to study voice. One could hardly lead the people in the Corinthian anthem off-key. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I was curious, is all. I have to close out the till. Would you mind playing a little longer? I think people are enjoying the concert.”

Arianna looked out at the waitstaff, some of whom were nodding their heads in time with the music as they worked. Even Javier looked to be tapping his foot. “But of course,” she said. It would be nice to leave them on a positive note after so many mishaps.

She played every song she could remember, an eclectic combination that ranged from Beethoven to Bocelli. Finally, there was but one song left that she could play from memory: “Tu Scendi dale Stelle,” a popular Italian carol her grandmother used to sing. She hadn’t meant to sing, but the words came out automatically.

In a flash, her head filled with memories of home. Of making candied fruit for Babbo Natale and pastries for Christmas Eve and how the whole country seemed to smell of evergreen and wine. So many traditions and she loved them all. She was Corinthian to the core.

Her heart jumped to her throat, choking off the words. She couldn’t go on. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stepped off the stage.

Max came out of his office as she was rushing toward the coatroom. “Is everything all right?”

She couldn’t answer; the lump was still stuck in her throat. Brushing past him, she kept going until she was safely shut in with the coats and hangers. There she squeezed her eyes tight.

This was ridiculous. Getting emotional over a Christmas song. So what if the words reminded her of home? It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t be returning to Corinthia again.

Although if she chose not to marry Manolo, she would lose the country’s respect, and that was as bad as never going home at all.

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Arianna? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she told him, sniffing. “I felt a little homesick for a moment, that’s all.”

“Homesick, huh? Maybe this will help.”

Out of nowhere, a handkerchief appeared before her. It was such an old-fashioned, chivalrous gesture that she couldn’t help smiling as she dabbed at her eyes. The square smelled faintly of aftershave. Woody and masculine. Without thinking about what she was doing, she pressed the cloth to her nose and inhaled the scent. “Are you always this prepared?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I’m a Boy Scout, absolutely not. I’ve just learned to keep a handkerchief on hand in case I run in to emotional women.”

“Do you run in to them often?”

“More often than you’d think, unfortunately”

And what would they be crying for? she wondered. Because he had broken their hearts? It certainly wouldn’t surprise her if those slate-colored eyes left a whole trail of women in their wake. Manolo had his assortment of conquests, did he not? And he wasn’t nearly as handsome. Or, as gallant.

That gallantry was on full display as he took her coat from the hanger and held it for her to put on. “Where is home exactly?” he asked. “I mean, where in Italy? You are Italian, right? Tell me that much is true.”

Arianna paused to enjoy the way his hands settled on her shoulders, the touch providing a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. It would be easy enough to say yes and end the speculation. For some reason, though, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him again. “Close.”

“Close?”

“I’m from a small island country off the coast. I doubt you’ve ever heard of it.”

“Probably not,” he replied, brushing her shoulders again. “I always sucked at world geography. If a place isn’t on one of the six continents, forget it.”

“Seven,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. She liked how he knew not to ask any more questions.

The grin she got in response made her forget all about homesickness. “Antarctica doesn’t deserve full billing, if you ask me. Come on. Let me get my coat, and I’ll take you home.”

“You know, you really don’t have to...” She followed him back into the dining room and into the darkly paneled room that passed as his office. “I will be fine on my own.”

“Are you still staying at the Dunphy?” She nodded. “Then, yes, I do need to escort you. Besides, you and I need to talk about your future.”

Which future was that, she was tempted to ask. Because she still hadn’t figured out an answer. “I did not think I had a future here,” she said instead.

“Did I say that?”

“You said you didn’t have time to train me.”

“As a waitress, I don’t,” he said, reaching behind the door for his overcoat. “But you clearly don’t need training to play piano.”

Arianna’s pulse quickened. “Are you suggesting I play the piano? Here?”

“No, at Carnegie Hall. Of course I mean here. It’s the perfect solution, really. Every good movie nightclub has a chanteuse.”

“A what?”

“A sultry lounge singer. My former one, she was unable to fulfill her contract. I planned to hire someone new after the holidays. Now, I don’t have to. You’re perfect for the job.”

No, she wasn’t perfect. Playing piano meant being in the spotlight. Far different from waiting tables or passing out menus, jobs where she had limited interaction with people and if someone recognized her, she could easily claim coincidence.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” She looked away rather than meet his eye.

Several beats of quiet followed, where the only sound in the room was that of him shrugging into his coat. Arianna prayed his silence was because he’d decided to accept her answer without asking for a reason.

“I had a feeling that would be your answer,” he said after a moment.

“You did?”

“Like I told you before, I’m not an idiot. Anyone with half a brain can tell you don’t want to be recognized.”

She should have realized her crude efforts at disguise wouldn’t make it past a man as sharp as Max. “How did you figure it out?”

“Honey, I knew the minute you walked through the door. The cashmere coat and do-it-yourself haircut were dead giveaways.

“Don’t worry,” he added, as her hand flew to her neck. “It looks better pulled up. Makes the haircut look less obvious.”

“Here I thought I was being clever.”

“You didn’t do that bad a job.”

“I could not have done a very good one either if I didn’t fool you.”

“Only because I’ve seen more than most people.”

Like what? What made him different than everyone else?

Because he was different, in so many ways.

Once more, his hands found their way to her shoulders. Despondent as she was, warmth still managed to travel down her arms. Like metal to a magnet, she felt herself leaning against him.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know what your story is, but if you’re in some kind of trouble...”