Page 42 of The Prince's Green Card Scheme

“What?”

“Hang on a second.”

He drops my hand, leaving me with a hollow, cold feeling. I stuff my hands in my pockets to force myself to ignore it.

Paolo doesn’t seem to notice my disappointment. He picks up his phone, dials a number, and starts having a very animated conversation in Bellamari. I can’t follow it at all, but he’s smiling and nodding, which seems to be a good sign.

Then he meets my eye again like he’s remembered I exist, and pulls the phone away from his mouth.

“How do you like the idea of going wine tasting?”

CHAPTER 20

PAOLO

“Okay, why not?” says Chloe, giving me a puzzled look. “Does this mean we have to leave?”

Her face falls, and I shake my hands in front of me. “No, I just remembered that there is a really excellent vineyard just outside this village run by this old woman and her husband. My parents used to love their farm. They probably remember your family. Hang on.”

I put the phone back to my mouth, and in Bellamari, say, “Yeah, that would be great, thank you so much for agreeing to open for us. I do hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not for the young prince,” says Carina, her voice crackling down the line. “It would be our honor to host you and your wife.”

“Yes, actually, about that. I’ve brought her here because her father grew up in this village. You wouldn’t happen to remember him, would you? Antonio Fontana? It would mean the world to Chloe if you could tell her anything about him.”

Carina hums, and my heart flips in disappointment. Maybe promising Chloe stories was a hope too far. And then Carinasays, “The name is very familiar to me. I do remember a young boy by that name.”

“Honestly, even if you make something up, that would still be great.”

“You are still a cheeky young thing, aren’t you? I won’t be telling lies to your wife. I will think of a true story, though she will have to forgive my English — I assume she doesn’t speak Bellamari, if you are speaking so crudely in front of her.”

“No, she doesn’t,” I say, my face heating at the callout. There are very few people I would take that kind of reality check from, but Carina is one of them. I remember being very young, running around the vines with my brothers, free and wild — before I really understood what being a prince meant.

“Thank you so much,” I say again as I hang up, then turn to Chloe. “Come on!”

Chloe chases me back to the car, calling for me to wait. I don’t. I’m too excited. She’s going to love this. It’s only a five-minute drive, and she gives me a look the entire time.

As we head up the path, Carina comes out to greet us. She waves to me, and the second we get out of the car, she launches at us, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me hard.

Then she turns and looks Chloe up and down. “This must be Chloe,” she says, speaking English with a thick accent. “Welcome, welcome. My name is Carina. It is a great pleasure to have you here. And Prince Paolo…”

She turns back to me and pinches both of my cheeks before ruffling my hair. In Bellamari, she says, “You are always sohandsome, young man. It has been too long since you came to see us.”

My face heats in faint embarrassment. But she is right. I haven’t been here in years, and I should have. Carina has always been as kind as a mother to me.

She waves at us to follow. We do, and Chloe leans in to whisper, “What was that about?”

“She’s not usually open for visitors on a Sunday, but for us she’s making an exception. She’s an old family friend.”

“That’s nice of her,” Chloe says. “She didn’t have to.”

We head for the old barn. It’s a big, airy space that’s designed to give tourists a good view of the vines when they sit to drink wine. What Carina doesn’t tell tourists is that she never gives them her best wines — or that she got her certificate for being a master wine taster online for fifteen euros.

She seats us at the big table so we can see the grapes soaking up the warm, golden sunshine, then starts putting together a sampling basket. Chloe stares out at the farm as Carina scurries back and forth, and I stare at her.

Even a few days of being in the sun has given her hair highlights, touched all the freckles on her face and brought them out, framing her dimples when she smiles. She isn’t looking at me, and it gives me the perfect chance to commit every curve, every line of her face to my memory.

Even if I have nothing else after this, I’ll be able to think of her like this.

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