Part 11 (1/2)
”Well, it's nice we can see them here.” Without the maintenance. ”It makes it special.”
Anna shrugged, considering that. They thanked the woman once more for allowing Anna to feed the parakeet and wished her a successful day of sales before taking their leave. Three blocks later a subtle rise in volume hinted that they were near the entrance to the covered marketplace. As the only spot open at this hour, early risers came here to grab a quick breakfast or to socialize.
Megan only hoped they could pull off the socialize part without Stefano being recognized. Her stomach tightened with anxiety to think of him meeting her here. When he'd called earlier in the week, fresh from his economic meeting, he'd suggested breakfast at Anna's favorite spot and promised the outing would be without incident. ”Believe it or not, I've done it before. You'll see. If we stay relaxed, we'll appear like any other tourists. No one will pay attention. But don't call me Stefano. Let's go with Mr. Jones.”
”Jones?” She'd laughed aloud at the suggestion. Tall, dark, and Mediterranean...he looked like anything but a Jones.
”Trust me.”
Megan had hung up the phone on a groan. The man was thick as a brick. He wanted to prove to her that he could protect her and Anna, not understanding that what she really needed was love. Deep, abiding, romantic love.
He'd put the proverbial cart before the horse. She wasn't about to explain it to him, though. If she did, could she ever trust it if he declared his undying love for her? She'd always suspect he said it simply to coerce her into a convenient-for-him marriage.
A moment later, Megan and Anna rounded the corner to Placa de Sant Josep, where the public market sprawled under an expansive metal roof. Near the entrance, a knot of men unloaded crates from a line of vans while two others wheeled past them with fruit- and vegetable-laden dollies. A woman barely out of her teens sang to herself as she blew by carrying a ma.s.sive stack of egg containers. Megan watched as the young woman darted around a man carrying a box stacked high with tomatoes, wondering at her skill in keeping the eggs from breaking. A few of the workers smiled in greeting or nodded in Megan and Anna's direction, a luxury they wouldn't have once the market filled with tourists and they were busy manning their stalls.
Once again, Megan's stomach signaled worry. How would they stay anonymous if everyone working in the market made eye contact? Who wouldn't recognize Prince Stefano Barrali when they saw him face to face?
”Keep your eyes open, Anna. We may have to-”
”I believe that woman was carrying our breakfast,” a deep, familiar voice said at the same time.
Megan spun around to see Stefano, but not like she'd ever seen him before. He sported a fitted charcoal T-s.h.i.+rt, worn jeans with a battered black leather belt, and dark leather sandals. A slight but s.e.xy growth of beard dotted his chin. Amber-tinted sungla.s.ses with dark frames made it difficult to see his eyes, though when she leaned closer, she noted the amus.e.m.e.nt there. Above the light shades, a frayed Red Sox cap covered his dark, wavy hair.
”Good morning, Mr. Jones!” Anna emphasized the name as she looked him up and down, not bothering to hide her glee at his clothing choices. ”You look, um-”
”Handsome,” he finished. ”That's the word you wanted, right?”
Anna pursed her mouth. ”Uh...sure. We'll go with that.”
Unless his own mother were to walk by, Megan couldn't imagine Stefano being recognized. The look was so...not royal. Even when he'd dressed in work clothes in Venezuela he'd had a regal presence, perhaps because everyone there knew he was a prince, whether or not they cared. Today he didn't ooze charisma in quite the same way. His entire bearing had changed, giving him the appearance of a streetwise athlete rather than that of a confident, stylish royal. Despite the fact he towered over most of the men bustling around them with market wares-and was, she had to admit, drop dead handsome-he managed to blend in.
”And you?” Stefano turned his dimpled grin on Megan. ”Were you about to say handsome, too?”
Megan tried not to let him see that she was thinking exactly that. The stubble gave him a rough-around-the-edges aura that had her imagining what his cheek would feel like against her own. ”I was about to point out that we're Twins fans, not Red Sox fans. But I'll forgive you this once.”
”I'll keep that in mind.” He glanced overhead to study the large, colorful sign adorning the entrance to Mercat St. Josep La Boqueria. ”If this is any indication of what's under the roof, I suspect I'm in for a treat.”
”Have you been inside yet?” Anna asked.
Stefano shook his head. ”I was waiting for my tour guide. Should we explore first or go straight to breakfast?”
”Duh! Breakfast!” Anna grabbed Stefano by the crook of his arm and pulled him along. ”You'd better be hungry.”
”Of course.” He gave Megan's arm a quick tweak so she'd follow. ”Come on. A dash of espresso and you'll be fueled for the day. We have a lot on the agenda.”
”If you say so.” She kept her voice even, but inside, her heart raced against her will. A full day with Stefano sounded delightful, even if it held risk.
Maybe-if she were honest with herself-especially because it held risk, though she suspected that made her a less-than-responsible parent.
They wove their way through the first row of the market, stepping around crates as the stalls opened for the day. Attendants wiped down gla.s.s cases or arranged piles of fruit and vegetables into artful displays as they pa.s.sed. ”See the fruit juices?” Anna pointed out a stall where two women poured buckets of ice around rows of clear plastic cups filled with multicolored blended drinks. ”I told you they're unbelievable.”
”We'll come back and try some.” He stopped walking and tipped his gaze toward a stall in front of them as the scent of warm b.u.t.tered eggs and toast filled the air. Only a few stools were occupied at the polished wooden bar. ”Please tell me that's where we're headed?”
”Yep, El Quim de la Boqueria,” Anna beamed. ”You're gonna love it.”
Megan could only trail in their wake as they eagerly crossed the short distance to El Quim and slid into barstools, with Anna claiming the spot between the two adults. They were approached at once by a cook in short sleeves with a buzz cut and a small silver hoop in each ear. ”Anna, Megan, so happy to see you!” He opened his arms wide. ”And you brought me a guest this morning. But not your parents this time?”
”They left last weekend. This is Mr. Jones.” Anna's voice was firm and direct. ”And the two of us would like huevos con chipirones.”
”You would?” The chef grinned at Anna before turning to Stefano for confirmation. ”Mr. Jones?”
”That sounds delicious,” Stefano agreed. ”But I'll take mine with an espresso.”
The chef nodded, not bothering to write down the order, then turned to Megan. ”Could I entice you with huevos con gamba this morning?”
”Oh, why not?”
”Wonderful!” As he left to begin cooking, Stefano shot a look at Megan. ”No espresso?”
”He knows that part,” Anna said. ”She doesn't have to tell him.”
”Ah. I see.” He made a show of studying Anna. ”So what, exactly, are huevos con chip...what did you order again?”
Anna giggled. ”Huevos con chipirones. Eggs with squid.”
Chapter Seventeen.
His mouth dropped open in mock horror. ”No wonder the cook wanted to double-check that order. You sure it won't make me sick? Because it will be a challenge to explore the city if I'm trying to keep my breakfast from making a return appearance.”
Megan smiled at them both. ”Sounds terrible, tastes like heaven. As long as you like squid.”
”I do,” he said over Anna's head. ”Remember, I live on the waterfront. But squid for breakfast will be new.”
The cook returned, handing espresso cups to Megan and Stefano and a gla.s.s of fresh-squeezed orange juice to Anna before moving back to the grill to tend to the eggs, humming as he went. At the same time, a group of twenty-something women approached the empty stools near Stefano. One asked him in clipped Catalan if the seats were free and he gestured for them to go ahead and sit. They dropped their bags and slid into the seats without a word or a second look.
Stefano took a sip of his espres...o...b..fore turning to Megan with an I-told-you-so grin.
They spent the rest of their time at the counter enjoying their eggs, chatting off and on with the cook and planning the rest of their day. The group of women beside them ate quickly and left, then another group took the vacated seats and placed orders. As before, none of the patrons paid Stefano any attention. When they finished eating, Stefano left payment and a generous tip, then let Anna guide them through the market.
As the sun rose in the sky, the aisles of the market became increasingly crowded. Hunched women used wheeled carts both for balance and to carry their purchases, fishmongers handed locals paper-wrapped packages with the day's catch, and teenage girls in trendy clothes dodged up and down the rows, sipping fruit juice while giggling over the young male sales clerks and the packs of boys who walked through the market eyeing the candy and fruit drinks. Tourists soaked in the atmosphere while they oohed and aahed over the variety of cheeses, nuts, fruits, and vegetables on display. In spots, the congestion was so great Megan, Stefano, and Anna were forced to stop walking to allow others to pa.s.s. Mumbles of ”excuse me” in a half-dozen languages could be heard through the crowd as shoppers jostled toward their targets.
Not a soul gave Stefano more than a pa.s.sing look.
When they stopped at a narrow wooden stall so Megan could purchase her favorite milled soap, Stefano leaned in over her shoulder to take a sniff of the sage green bar cradled in her palm.
”Is this what's in your shower?” The question was asked in a voice so low only she could hear, yet the brush of his breath over her skin caused her face to heat, making her fear the clerk might infer the s.e.xual nature of the comment without having heard it.