A tiny moan escaped. There she went again, making this whole situation about her. He’d said he would phone. But until he did, she had work to do. Her mind cast back to what her mother had told her when she was at her lowest ebb. One day your prince will find you. In the meantime, work on finding yourself.

  Good advice. Keep remembering it, Dea. Hit the gym before work and concentrate on the fabulous opportunity of learning from the great Juliana.

  * * *

  Guido waited until Wednesday morning to phone Rini and Alessandra to thank them for the great weekend.

  “Are you telling me you had a better time than you’d imagined?”

  “You could say that.” Thoughts of Dea had been on his mind ever since. “Before I went to bed that night, I told Dea I’d call her, but I don’t have her cell phone number.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Guido wrote it down. “Thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome. Congratulations on another win on Sunday. Your name is all over the sports news.”

  “We’re on a roll right now. Here’s hoping it lasts.”

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “Thanks again for everything. Talk to you soon.”

  “Ciao.”

  At noon Guido phoned Dea, but his call was put through to her voice mail. He wanted to meet her for lunch on Thursday if she was available and asked her to call him back. Later in the day Dea rang back. They decided on a little bistro around the corner near her work. She’d meet him there tomorrow at twelve thirty. With the opera’s opening coming up in May, they were swamped with work.

  Thursday finally arrived. Guido had been living for it. Even in jeans and a top with her hair pulled back in a chignon, Dea was a standout beauty. She drew the attention of everyone when she walked in the foyer, but no one more than Guido, who’d arrived ten minutes ahead of time to wait for her.

  A smile lit up her face. “Hi, Guido! I hope I’m not too late.”

  “I’m early,” he explained. “Shall we eat outside?”

  “I’d love it. The workrooms tend to suffocate you when we’re all in there running around for this and that.”

  The waiter showed them to a table and they sat down while he took their order. “I’m glad I called ahead for a table. This place is crowded.”

  She nodded. “It’s so popular I’ve only been here once. And that time we had to wait in line for a half hour, which made us late for work.”

  “Us?”

  “My friend Gina, who works at the shop too. I told you about her. By the way, congratulations on your win last Sunday. You must be feeling on top of the world.”

  “That feeling lasted until Monday morning.”

  She chuckled. “So your fears are working up to a frenzy again for this coming Sunday?”

  “Frenzy is the right word.”

  Their pasta arrived. “While the waiter is here, would you like some wine?”

  “Not during my workday, thank you. Just coffee.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “It wouldn’t be so funny if I designed the skinny pants for the baritone and they ended up being for the fat tenor, who couldn’t pull them on.”

  Guido burst into laughter. “I see where you’re going with this. You’ve made your case.”

  Dea was working her charm on him and it made him nervous as hell, but he couldn’t identify the reason why until after she’d told him she had to get right back to work. He followed her through the restaurant to the front door.

  “Thanks for lunch, Guido. I enjoyed this break with you.”

  “So did I. I’ll phone you again.”

  “Good. Ciao.”

  He watched her walk off. So did every other male in sight, many of whom had probably recognized the famous supermodel.

  On the drive back to his apartment, he figured out what was wrong with him. Dea wasn’t just any woman. She had the title of princess, if she ever wanted to use it, but he couldn’t see her doing that.

  What worried him was that she’d become his addiction since their unexpected time at the castle. He knew he wanted a serious relationship with her, but would a princess consider what he did for a living to be something suitable?

  Guido’s father had always been very negative about soccer being a proper career. The comments he had made in the past were never very far from the surface, and they came back to haunt Guido now. For the next few days he let that concern prevent him from calling Dea again.

  On Saturday afternoon Guido was getting ready to leave the stadium and found Sergio in the mail room. “How come you’re still here?”

  “I’ve had to stay open until the suppliers delivered this week’s inventory. A few more orders need to get mailed out before I go to my sister’s place for a party.”

  “That sounds fun. Before I leave, tell me, what’s selling the most?”

  “Besides T-shirts, our signed soccer balls and autographed posters of our team’s stars, of course. We can’t keep in enough of the ones of Drago and Dante.”

  That figured. The two forwards were the current rage. Guido’s brows lifted. “How many requests came in for posters of you?”

  “Give it up, Guido. None this week, but last weekend someone ordered two posters of you. They picked the one of you making the point that won our game against Team Lancio. I blinked when I saw the name.”

  “Why?”

  “How many women do you know with the name Dea? You know who I’m talking about. Italy’s own Helen of Troy.”

  Guido’s heartbeat skidded off the charts. “I imagine there are hundreds of Deas living in Italy,” he muttered in a gravelly voice. Sergio knew nothing about Guido’s private life.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Don’t keep your family waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow before the game.”

  “Ciao, boss.”

  He left the stadium and went out to the parking lot for his car. Tonight his parents had invited him for dinner at the family villa in Naples. He’d take the helicopter from the airport.

  During the flight he couldn’t stop thinking about Dea. It had to be a coincidence that someone with the same name had ordered from the store. Much as he wished he could forget it, he remained preoccupied throughout the evening with his parents. It was good to see them, but he was anxious to get back to Rome before it grew too late.

  After his return, he had every intention of driving straight to his apartment. But at the last second he turned off the main route and headed for the stadium. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew who had ordered those posters.

  The night watchman nodded to him before he let himself inside the store. Once on the computer, he found the week’s invoices and scrolled down until he saw a name and address near the bottom that stood out like a flashing red light. Dea Caracciolo, Via Giustiniani 2, Roma, Italia.

  She’d ordered them the previous Saturday night.

  The breath Guido had been holding escaped. That exclusive, pricey address was near the Pantheon, not far from the soccer stadium. She’d ordered two posters of him. He remembered her telling him about her friend Gina, whose fiancé, Aldo, wanted to meet him. Maybe Dea had decided to buy her a signed poster of Guido to give to him. But why had she ordered two?

  Guido walked through to the mail room. No tubes or packaged soccer balls were in the out basket. That meant Sergio had taken all the mail to the post office on his way home. She would have received them by now.

  The worry he’d felt since their lunch was suddenly replaced by a flicker of hope that his job didn’t turn her off. But ordering some posters from the store could mean anything. Guido would be a fool to jump to conclusions until he saw her again.

  If he hadn’t stopped in to talk to Sergio for a minute, he would never have known she’d ordered something from the store. Every Italian male was halfway in love with Dea’s image. It was no surprise his business partner had picked up on her name immediately.

  Preoccupied with thoughts of her, he locked up and drove home to his apartment. Morning would come early—he would be meeting with the team and the coaches then. The game against Genoa tomorrow would be critical. Granted, his team had been riding a wave since last November with only one loss, but that could change. A defeat at this stage would tell the soccer world that Team Scatto Roma wasn’t ready to compete at A-tier status.

  Five more games to go. The season would be over at the end of May. Tonight his father had asked him if he intended to continue for a second season. Guido couldn’t give him an answer, but he’d promised to work part-time at the shipping office during June and July. That was as much as he could agree to and still run summer-camp training sessions with the team.

  There were other businessmen who would love to buy him out if the team won the national B championship at the end of May. But the decision to sell was still a long way off. Going back to the shipping firm full-time meant signing on as CEO. Guido wasn’t ready for that. At the moment he loved the work he was doing. Whether that translated into being fully involved in the soccer world for the rest of his life was a question he couldn’t answer yet.

  When he’d made the decision to buy a failing team, some element in his life had been missing. It was still missing. The more he thought about it, the more he feared that no matter what path he took, his life would go on to be unfulfilling without the right woman.

  Now that he’d spent some time with a Dea he hadn’t known existed, the truth of that statement stood out as nothing else could have. He’d lived with her image for a long time, but with that tackle, she’d gotten under his skin in a brand-new way. There was a fire in her he wanted, needed to explore.

  Guido fell into bed experiencing alternate waves of anxiety and excitement at the thought of being with her again. He needed to call her but couldn’t handle falling so hard for her only to meet with eventual rejection because his choice of career didn’t meet her expectations.

  If those posters had been ordered for her friend only, then he didn’t want to know about it.

  * * *

  Stadio Emanuele held seventy thousand fans. Dea had researched everything on the website before hiring a taxi to drop her off Sunday afternoon. Tickets for the game against the soccer team from Genoa were still available, but she had to get to the ticket office two hours before the match started.

  She’d never been to a sporting event. Men, women, children of all ages made up the massive crowd. They were fired up and so noisy already she could hardly hear herself think. This was sheer craziness.

  After standing in line for twenty minutes, it was her turn. She asked for the best ticket on the long side—as if she knew what she was talking about—and was charged 130 euros. Before she went to her seat, she wanted to visit the soccer museum, but she found out it would be open for only fifteen more minutes.

  She had to wait to get inside, but by the time she reached the doors, the person in charge announced the museum was closing. If people wanted to see pictures and videos of the all-time best Italian soccer greats, they would have to come another day. People filed out.

  Dea stood aside until the last one had gone. “Signor? When will you be open again?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Until how late?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll come after I get off work.” She wanted to see videos of Guido that couldn’t be viewed anywhere else.

  The attractive Italian in charge gave her a long look of male admiration and approached her. He’d probably been a soccer player himself, but she noticed he had a very slight limp. “I’ve seen you before, signorina. You’re Dea the model, aren’t you?”

  Uh-oh. “How did you know?”

  He let out a hearty laugh. “Surely you are joking.” His hand went over his heart. “Your pictures are on the inside of half the locker doors in the gym here at the stadium.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I think you’re full of it, but thank you for the compliment. Now I’d better get going and find my seat before the match begins, but I’ll be back.”

  “You’re here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this your first time at the stadium?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful. It can get rowdy out there during a game.”

  “I’ve heard, but I can take care of myself.”

  He grinned. “I’ll look for you tomorrow.”

  She thanked him, then left the store to make her way through the crowds to her seat.

  The next two hours felt like being on a giant roller-coaster ride, taking her emotions up and down. She’d never sat through anything so riveting. Many times she saw those few moves Guido had taught her. They helped her understand the game a little because she’d been taught by a master. Her admiration for him grew seeing his team play like this.

  To her chagrin, the score remained tied until the last few seconds, when Guido’s team had a breakthrough by the crowd favorite Dante. When his kick got past the goalie, the crowd let out a deafening roar. Everyone went wild over the two–one score, screaming, “Dante! Dante!”

  Dea was elated for Guido, but she barely escaped the pandemonium inside the stadium with her life. Thank goodness she’d arranged for a taxi ahead of time to meet her outside. Otherwise she would have been forced to walk blocks.

  She asked the driver to stop at a deli so she could take food home to eat. Later, after getting comfortable on the couch, she watched the ten o’clock news. The sports segment featured a clip of the soccer game. She heard the announcer praise the rise of the Scatto Roma team and pictures of Dante were flashed on the screen. Guido had to be so proud.

  After working up some new costume sketches for tomorrow, she went to bed and got up early to go to the gym before reporting to the shop for work. The costumes for Don Giovanni were shaping up. She worked hard and didn’t lift her head until five thirty.

  Though she’d planned to go to the stadium museum after work this evening, she changed her mind. If she ran into Guido by mistake, he wouldn’t believe it was a mistake.

  The man who worked at the soccer museum had recognized her on Sunday, and she realized he had to be a friend of Guido’s. She should have disguised herself. If he happened to mention that she’d been in the museum, Guido would suspect she’d been looking for him.

  Because he hadn’t phoned her since their lunch, that was the last thing she wanted him to think. Let your prince find you.

  By Thursday she was totally deflated that Guido hadn’t tried to reach her. At the end of work she found Gina and handed her a tube. “I have a present for Aldo.”

  “What?”

  “Open the end and see.”

  Gina did her bidding and pulled out the signed poster of a twenty-year-old Guido caught in action midair with the banner Cuor di Leone. “Oh, Dea—” She lifted shining eyes to her. “Aldo’s going to be thrilled when I give him this.”

  Dea had been just as thrilled when she opened her own tube and spread the poster on her bed. It now graced her bedroom wall. How she would have loved to meet the dashing athlete back then!

  “I’m sorry it was already signed when it was printed.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Isn’t he gorgeous? Of course, I don’t dare tell Aldo that.”

  “That might be wise.” No man compared to Guido.

  “You’re fantastic, Dea!” She put the poster down and hugged her so hard she almost knocked her over. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to do this for you.”

  “Ooh.” She squealed. “I’m so glad work is over. I’m going to drive by the garage and surprise him with it. You’re the best friend I ever had.”

  Dea watched her run out of the shop. It had made her glad to see her new friend this happy. While she was cleaning up a few minutes later, the middle-aged receptionist came in the back room.

  “Dea? There’s a man here to see you.”

  Her heartbeat picked up. She lifted her head. “Did he give you his name?”

  “He only said he’d come from the museum at the Stadio Emanuele.”

  Museum? How had the man running it found out she worked here? “Please tell him I’ll be right out.”

  Most everyone had left already. She hurried into the ladies’ room to freshen up and make sure the clip holding her chignon in place was still secure. Her uniform was a pair of sneakers, jeans and a top. Today she’d worn a simple red tee with short sleeves.

  She went back in the room for her purse and made her way through the shop past all the racks of costumes to the reception area. Her footsteps slowed. Instead of the dark-haired man from the museum, she spied the dark blond male who’d been haunting her dreams. He stood in front of a dozen framed photographs of Juliana taken at various operas.

  Dressed in beige chinos and a silky black shirt with an open collar and short sleeves, his tall, well-honed physique captured her gaze. She couldn’t look anywhere else. “Guido?” she asked in a breathless voice. Dea had feared he might never call her again.

  He turned to her. Those midnight blue eyes raked over her from head to toe, spilling warmth through her body. “I’m glad I caught you before you left,” he said in his deep voice. “My business partner and former soccer buddy Sergio Colombo told me you were going to come by the museum on Monday. When you didn’t show, I’m afraid he was very disappointed.”

  Her brows met in a delicate frown. “I don’t understand.”

  “When an order for two posters came in online, he was the one who sent them out to a Dea Caracciolo. As soon as you walked in the museum, he recognized you as the famous model and made the connection. You’re all he could talk about. Surely you know you made a conquest of him?”

  After being in therapy, she didn’t like that word anymore. Was this all about Sergio? “He was very nice and warned me to be careful in case the crowd got too boisterous.”