much detail?”
“What? About you getting cranky when you’re hungry?” He was still grinning.
“No. About the pizza.”
“No. Just asking. Hoping, actually.”
At that moment, a liveried servant walked into the room carrying an incongruous-looking large, flat, card board box in his white-gloved hands. “The usual, sir?”
Rafe nodded.
Quickly, Rafe and the servant rearranged furniture so that two of the ornate and probably priceless dining chairs were placed in front of the wide window Lexiehad recently been staring out of. An ottoman was set in front of the chairs and a side table between them.
The cardboard box, linen napkins, a bottle of pinot noir and two crystal goblets were placed on the side table.
As the servant left, Lexie glanced from the box to Rafe, and her stomach grumbled again. “Is that…?” The aroma of tomato and basil permeated the air.
Rafe smiled properly, looking inordinately proud of himself. “Sure is. The uncle of a friend of mine has a place not too far from here. He makes the best pizza outside of Italy.” Rafe crossed to the table and folded back the lid of the box. “It’s simple, but exquisite. And we don’t have time for much else.”
He gave a small bow and a theatrical sweep of his arm. “Take a seat, and help yourself.”
They sat, feet almost touching on the ottoman, snow-white linen napkins on their laps, and ate looking out at the glowing lights of the fog-shrouded city.
For the first time in days the tension seeped from Lexie’s shoulders and her breath slowed. She didn’t speak until she’d finished her second slice of pizza. “Thank you. That was divine, and just what I needed.”
“I figured it’s going to be banquets from here on in till the end of the anniversary celebrations and that this might be…nice.”
“It was better than nice. It was perfect.”
The chimes of Big Ben rang out, carrying on the night air. Lexie took a sip of the pinot noir. “What did you mean, we don’t have time for much else?”
Rafe glanced at his watch as he finished a mouthfulof pizza. From an inside pocket of his blazer he pulled a slip of paper and held it out to Lexie.
“What is it?”
“Look at it and find out.”
She wiped her fingertips and took the paper, eyeing both Rafe and it suspiciously.
“Tickets,” she ascertained quickly, then read the print, and then read it again. “Shakespeare. At the Globe.” She stood, her napkin falling to the floor, and hugged the tickets to her chest. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think there’d be any chance. I never even thought to ask.”
“Royalty, even foreign and relatively minor, carries a certain amount of weight.”
Lexie laughed with delight. “Thank you.”
“Don’t. I did it for both of us. It beats staying cooped up in these apartments all evening.”
There was nothing cooped up about the expansive suites. But maybe to a prince? “Thank you, anyway. You have no idea how thrilled I am. I studied Shakespeare.”
“At Vassar. I know.”
Wow. He really had read, and paid attention to, whatever background information he’d been given on her. “So you can guess what this means to me.”
“What it means is that I don’t have to worry about you donning a wig and climbing out the window to go clubbing.”
“I didn’t bring my wig.” She still clutched the tickets in her hand. “I’ve left my clubbing days behind.”
The look Rafe cast her told her clearly he didn’t believe her.
“I’m going to be a model of respectability.”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. And though she knew there was no fault he could find with what she wore—it was all designed for the image she needed to project, elegant and stylish—still she sensed something close to disapproval in his frowning assessment.
“So, you didn’t even bring the shimmery little dress from the other night?”
“I left it behind with instructions for it to be taken to a charity shop.”
“Pity.”
“Are you
“What? About you getting cranky when you’re hungry?” He was still grinning.
“No. About the pizza.”
“No. Just asking. Hoping, actually.”
At that moment, a liveried servant walked into the room carrying an incongruous-looking large, flat, card board box in his white-gloved hands. “The usual, sir?”
Rafe nodded.
Quickly, Rafe and the servant rearranged furniture so that two of the ornate and probably priceless dining chairs were placed in front of the wide window Lexiehad recently been staring out of. An ottoman was set in front of the chairs and a side table between them.
The cardboard box, linen napkins, a bottle of pinot noir and two crystal goblets were placed on the side table.
As the servant left, Lexie glanced from the box to Rafe, and her stomach grumbled again. “Is that…?” The aroma of tomato and basil permeated the air.
Rafe smiled properly, looking inordinately proud of himself. “Sure is. The uncle of a friend of mine has a place not too far from here. He makes the best pizza outside of Italy.” Rafe crossed to the table and folded back the lid of the box. “It’s simple, but exquisite. And we don’t have time for much else.”
He gave a small bow and a theatrical sweep of his arm. “Take a seat, and help yourself.”
They sat, feet almost touching on the ottoman, snow-white linen napkins on their laps, and ate looking out at the glowing lights of the fog-shrouded city.
For the first time in days the tension seeped from Lexie’s shoulders and her breath slowed. She didn’t speak until she’d finished her second slice of pizza. “Thank you. That was divine, and just what I needed.”
“I figured it’s going to be banquets from here on in till the end of the anniversary celebrations and that this might be…nice.”
“It was better than nice. It was perfect.”
The chimes of Big Ben rang out, carrying on the night air. Lexie took a sip of the pinot noir. “What did you mean, we don’t have time for much else?”
Rafe glanced at his watch as he finished a mouthfulof pizza. From an inside pocket of his blazer he pulled a slip of paper and held it out to Lexie.
“What is it?”
“Look at it and find out.”
She wiped her fingertips and took the paper, eyeing both Rafe and it suspiciously.
“Tickets,” she ascertained quickly, then read the print, and then read it again. “Shakespeare. At the Globe.” She stood, her napkin falling to the floor, and hugged the tickets to her chest. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think there’d be any chance. I never even thought to ask.”
“Royalty, even foreign and relatively minor, carries a certain amount of weight.”
Lexie laughed with delight. “Thank you.”
“Don’t. I did it for both of us. It beats staying cooped up in these apartments all evening.”
There was nothing cooped up about the expansive suites. But maybe to a prince? “Thank you, anyway. You have no idea how thrilled I am. I studied Shakespeare.”
“At Vassar. I know.”
Wow. He really had read, and paid attention to, whatever background information he’d been given on her. “So you can guess what this means to me.”
“What it means is that I don’t have to worry about you donning a wig and climbing out the window to go clubbing.”
“I didn’t bring my wig.” She still clutched the tickets in her hand. “I’ve left my clubbing days behind.”
The look Rafe cast her told her clearly he didn’t believe her.
“I’m going to be a model of respectability.”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. And though she knew there was no fault he could find with what she wore—it was all designed for the image she needed to project, elegant and stylish—still she sensed something close to disapproval in his frowning assessment.
“So, you didn’t even bring the shimmery little dress from the other night?”
“I left it behind with instructions for it to be taken to a charity shop.”
“Pity.”
“Are you
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