The Prince's Secret Baby (A Baby for the Prince Book 1)
Holly Rayner
Chapter 1
Raffaele
The car pulled up in front of a two-story white brick building with what Prince Raffaele Caldini was beginning to recognize as the traditional New Orleans look: big windows, a welcoming front porch, and wrought iron everywhere. The restaurant’s sign was elegant—black script on a white background with a wine-red border.
He liked it. It was ornate, but in a way that fit with every other building on the block. This was a restaurant that knew its history, and honored it.
Honoring history was something Raffaele understood, even if his family didn’t always think he did. Before he’d left on this trip, his father had once again asked him when he planned on getting more involved in the family business. The Prince supposed he was lucky to get away with only a discussion on business, instead of also having his parents ask when he planned to get married and start a family.
Raffaele hated to disappoint his father, but as the youngest member of Spiaggi’s royal family, he had a different perspective on things. He wasn’t required for many royal responsibilities, and he wasn’t interested in the family business. He also didn’t see a need to search for a wife. Of course, he wanted a family, but that started with finding a woman he instinctively meshed with, not with auditioning young ladies of good breeding.
What he was interested in was travel and restaurants. Preparing good food was a craft, and restaurants could be lucrative businesses. He’d mentioned to his father that he’d be interested in owning a restaurant, but so far, his father didn’t agree. His uncle, King Filippo, backed his brother—a restaurant was not a good use of Raffaele’s connections or education.
Raffaele knew he was lucky. Spiaggi was a small country, little known next to its much larger sovereign cousins in Europe. The tiny island nation just off the coast of Italy had a strong economy thanks to some high-value natural resources, and it was fairly self-sufficient due to a good climate, access to the Mediterranean, and—above all—good management by the royal family.
Raffaele’s family was beloved by the people of Spiaggi and he was constantly aware of the need to maintain a positive public image. He did enjoy the advantages of his position, indulging in the best of everything from hotels to clubs to a private jet. He was invited to the best events around the world, and given entry into the most exclusive places.
But what he most enjoyed was his access to the finest restaurants in the world. And although this was his first visit to New Orleans, he already knew exactly where he wanted to eat while in the city.
Raffaele had heard excellent things about this particular chef, whose take on French Creole with a farm-to-table spin had garnered accolades and awards for the restaurant. When he’d received an invitation to a party in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, he’d immediately made reservations.
Well, he’d had his secretary make reservations.
And it was a good thing I did, he thought as he stepped from the car into crowds of people lining the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. In this part of town, at this time of year, the restaurant was absolutely packed.
In spite of the fact that he knew he could, Raffaele would never disrespect a chef’s hard work by waltzing in and demanding a table without a reservation. After spending long hours in conversation with some of the world’s best chefs, he knew just how hard they worked to turn out first-class meals every night, and his unexpected presence could throw their whole evening off.
So, his secretary had made a reservation and communicated the fact that paparazzi would likely be waiting outside. Raffaele never asked for special consideration on the menu—he wanted to experience the chef’s cooking as they intended—but he did want the restaurant to be prepared for any potential disruption.
Since he was looking forward to this meal so much, he’d decided to dine alone. He wanted to enjoy a quiet meal before what was sure to be a loud, boisterous Mardi Gras party later that night. Raffaele was looking forward to the party—he liked loud, boisterous parties—and Mardi Gras in New Orleans was something he’d always wanted to be a part of.
He made his way up the stairs and through the entrance, smiling smoothly for the two people with cameras who were obviously waiting for his arrival. He was greeted just inside the front door by the ma?tre d’, a beautiful older woman in a chic, eggplant-colored dress, her ebony hair smoothed back into a stylish chignon.
Her dark brown eyes barely widened when she saw him.
“Prince Caldini?” she asked, sounding like she greeted royals every day.
Raffaele turned his best royal smile on the older woman. He wasn’t surprised that she knew who he was. His picture graced the tabloids frequently, and of course, the reservation had been made in his name.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her smile told him she welcomed his politeness.
“Welcome to BienVille. Your table is ready; if you’ll please follow me.”
As they made their way through the dining room, the woman continued, “I hope you didn’t have any problems getting to the restaurant. Traffic downtown this time of year can be hectic.”
Raffaele simply replied, “I enjoyed having the time to see the city.”
Walking through the restaurant, Raffaele saw more than a few heads turn in his direction. He was used to the attention; being royalty, even from a tiny island nation in the Mediterranean, generally meant getting noticed.