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The object of my newfound obsession shifts her position in a natural rhythm that seems almost choreographed and I take several shots in quick succession. "Are you a model?"
"Nope, just a student." But there had been an odd flicker of reaction to the wordmodelin her grey gaze.
I take my time getting the perfect shot, using the opportunity to chat her up. Her name is Tanzi Menendez. So, my guess on the Spanish heritage had not been off.
I tell her that my name is Vittorio Scorsolini, making no mention of my connection to the royal family of Isole dei Re or my title. Scorsolini is a common enough name that unless she's familiar with my small island country, she will not realize who I am.
I'm not the brother whose face made it into the tabloids. That is Adamo.
For some reason, Tanzi knowing Vittorio the man, notPrincipeVittorio is important.
She's in her last year of university in New York, which makes her two to three years younger than me. She's in Sicily with friends for Spring Break, but she's only in Palermo for the day.
Tanzi puts her hand up to keep her bright white sunhat on when a small gust of wind threatened to send it flying. "I'll be finished in June if my dad doesn't talk me into going for my MBA."
"Not interested in climbing the corporate ladder?" I ask.
Her lips twist in a moue of distaste. "No offense, Rio, as clearly that's your thing, but no. My bachelor's will be in psychology."
"What gave me away?" I force myself to banter, having a strange reaction to her shortening my name. No one does that. "The suit?"
"Well, it is custom tailored Armani. And probably the only reason I handed my camera over to a stranger to take my picture."
"It could be a knock off, and I could be trolling the square to steal unwary tourist's cameras."
She shakes her head. "No chance. That's definitely Armani and it fits you like a glove."
"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."
I laugh. "She sounds like my sister."
Elena might be forced to dress more conservatively than other women her age, but her closet is well acquainted with the world's leading designers.
"Why businessman and not rich playboy?" I've never been entirely sure how people can always tell my brother Adamo is the "fun" one.
He got his MBA just like I did, but he did it cutting a swath through the female population at our university. And he still managed to graduate Summa Cum Laude right beside me. He's moved on from coeds to super models, but he still spends a lot more time entertaining than I do.
"The tie," Tanzi says, answering my question. "I bought one very similar for my dad. They're both from the Oleg Cassini line designed for the power broker businessman. Too expensive for your average office drone and too serious for a rich playboy."
For the first time in memory, I'm not feeling serious, or intently focused on my day's "power business" agenda right now. In fact, I'm tempted to do the unthinkable.
Take a day off.
I could text my assistant with instructions to reschedule the rest of the afternoon. It would be entirely out of character and seriously considering it is absurd.
And yet, my fingers itch to tap out the message.
"I think that's enough pictures." She smiles, even white teeth flashing, clearly unaware of the revolution of thought going on inside my head. "Thank you for taking them."
"Are you visiting the palazzo?" I ask, referring to one of the more commonly visited sights in the city.
"Actually, our tour group is supposed to head to the cathedral next."
I consider possible scenarios to stay in her company without coming off like a stalker.
She flicks a glance down at herself and grins. "I brought a shawl so I could go inside."
