Scorsolini Baby Scandal by Lucy Monroe Page A

going for my MBA.”
    “Not interested in climbing the corporate ladder?” he
asked.
    Her lips twisted in a moue of distaste. “No offense, Mich, as
clearly that’s your thing, but, no. My bachelor’s will be in psychology.”
    “What gave me away?” He forced himself to banter, having a
strange reaction to her shortening his name. No one did that. “The suit?”
    “Well it is a custom-tailored
Armani.”
    “You’re very sure of your designers.”
    “It’s in my genes. I don’t think my mom knows there are clothes made without a fashion-house label
attached.”
    Micheli laughed in commiseration. “She sounds like my
sister.”
    He knew way more about women’s designer fashion than any man
without a wife should have to, but that’s what came from being the eldest in a
set of triplets. Elena shared every aspect of her life with her brothers, even
when Micheli would have been content to be left in peace.
    There was a reason he’d lobbied for the position with his
family’s business that allowed him to travel extensively. Add to that his
increasing diplomatic duties on behalf of the crown as heir apparent, and he
spent only scattered weeks throughout the year in Isole dei Re.
    “Why businessman and not rich playboy?” He’d never been
entirely sure how people could always tell his brother Adamo was the “fun”
one.
    “The tie. I bought one very similar for my dad. They’re both
designed for the power-broker businessman. Too expensive for your average office
drone and too serious for a rich playboy.”
    Micheli wasn’t feeling serious or intently focused on his day’s
“power business” agenda right now. In fact, he was tempted to do the
unthinkable: take a day off. He could text his assistant and reschedule the rest
of the afternoon.
    The thought was entirely out of character; the reality that he
was seriously considering it absurd. And yet, he was.
    “I think that’s enough pictures.” She smiled, even white teeth
flashing, clearly unaware of the revolution of thought going on inside his head.
“Thank you for taking them.”
    “Are you visiting the palazzo?” he asked, referring to one of
the more commonly visited sights in the city.
    “Actually our tour group is supposed to head to the cathedral
next.”
    He thought furiously of how to continue in her company.
    Perhaps misreading his expression, she said, “I brought a shawl
so I could go inside.”
    He appreciated her deference to Sicilian convention and told
her so.
    “I grew up splitting time between California and Spain with my
parents. They taught me young that respect for the culture in which you find
yourself is good manners.”
    “I also.” It was an imperative for the son of a monarch.
“Listen, have a coffee with me, and I will give you a personally guided tour of
the cathedral afterward.”
    “You’re an expert, are you?”
    “My family was originally from Sicily.” Generations ago, before
the country of Isole dei Re was founded by his ancestors. “We still have
business interests here.”
    She bit her bottom lip, clearly considering whether she wanted
to break away from her tour group to spend time with a stranger.
    “You said you are here with friends, sì? ”
    “Yes.”
    “Invite them to join us.”
    The concerned furrow on her brow smoothed. “You don’t
mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    She grabbed her phone from her bag. “Let me text them.” She
pointed her phone at him and it clicked. “I’m just sending your picture, too.
What’s your number?”
    He rattled it off, surprised at his own willingness to do
so.
    She dialed. When the phone in his jacket’s inner pocket buzzed,
she nodded with satisfaction and sent her text.
    “I approve of your caution.”
    Perfectly shaped brows rose, her expression turning wry. “How
nice for you.”
    He found himself laughing. “Yes, well, I have a tendency to
think my opinion matters too much. At least, according to my sister and
brother.”
    “Younger, I bet.”
    “By