There's a scene early in THE PRINCE'S TUTOR that was inspired by a trip I took to the Bahamas. My husband and I were stuck inside the Atlantis Casino because it had been raining for two days and the boat trip we'd planned that afternoon was cancelled. I plopped myself down at a blackjack table and started to play. When my chips were almost gone, I was dealt a great hand--two kings. The dealer had a seven showing, so I was sittin' pretty. But since I knew it would be my last hand (and frankly, because I am a cheap gambler and was playing only the table minimum, which meant I had very little to lose!), I did something entirely against all gambling logic and split the hand. Just because I felt like taking a risk. Lucky me, it worked out and I won on both hands. I even got blackjack on one of them! Writing the blackjack scene with Stef in this book was a blast, because as a royal, he had a lot more money to wager than I did.

A fun tidbit: One of my best friends in high school was my next door neighbor, Stephen. Steve has always been an avid skiier, and hits the slopes in Austria as often as possible (he's an Army brat, and is now an Air Force pilot, so he actually gets to live where he can do this!) I decided to give Prince Stefano Steve's skiing obsession. With such similar names, this personality trait was a gimme--and fun to write. I even carried it over into the next San Rimini book, THE KNIGHT'S KISS, where Stef's ski equipment is found in a strange location.

Another tidbit: My former editor at Bridal Guide magazine was Denise Schipani. I've always liked her last name, so I poached it for the character of Lady Schipani. Thanks, Denise!

A sworn bachelor, Prince Stefano diTalora has been living the high life--his days filled with ski trips and speedboat races, his nights spent in posh casinos with the creme-de-la-creme of San Rimini society. The last thing he needs is his father's badgering that he clean up his act. Or the mesmerizing woman his father hires to do the job.

Amanda Hutton is in a bind, behind on her rent and between clients. When King Eduardo diTalora offers her a job in his royal household, it sounds like a dream come true--until she meets her new student. Her lessons in etiquette and diplomacy are designed for children of dignitaries, not for a grown man. And certainly not a man determined to thwart her at every turn. But can she risk turning away from the job--or the man who needs her help?

"Mi scusi. Is Stefano diTalora here? I need to speak with him immediately." Amanda Hutton tried to ignore the subtle--and the not-so-subtle--stares of San Rimini's high-rolling gamblers as she asked the manager of the elite Casino Campione the same question she'd discreetly posed at three other gaming halls in the last hour.

If she didn't find the wayward royal and get him back to the palace, pronto, the wedding between the tiny country's crown prince, Antony diTalora, and her best friend, Jennifer Allen, would be delayed. Even with two hundred of Europe's privileged descending on the palace chapel, the ceremony could hardly start without the best man in attendance.

She fought impatience as the heavy-set manager studied her with irritation in his eyes. He acted no differently than the other three managers had as he took in the sight of her elaborate shell-pink bridesmaid's gown and dyed-to-match shoes. Designed for a royal wedding, it wasn't your ordinary cheap taffeta bridesmaid's gown, to be sure, but neither did it compare to the Valentino and Chanel couture sported by San Rimini's wealthy as they made their way through the aisles of blackjack and craps tables, martinis in hand.

Despite her unusual appearance, after hearing three abrupt "No, signorina"s from casino managers in response to her question, she wasn't about to waste time on manager number four.

"Please," she began, assuming the manager at least spoke English in addition to San Rimini's Italian, "I realize I must look quite out of place, but I--"

"Your name, signorina?" He raised an overgrown eyebrow as if to say, how dare you make a demand of me?

"Amanda. Amanda Hutton. As I was saying, I was sent by--"

"Signorina Hutton, His Serene Highness Prince Stefano is engaged in private play and cannot be disturbed." He punctuated his statement with a patronizing smile, as if he fielded such requests from women on an hourly basis.

Amanda's pulse upped a notch. Not only did this manager speak English, he was hosting Prince Stefano!

Before she could explain the delicate situation, he added, "Perhaps you could wait outside...with the others." He gestured past the ringing slot machines toward a long row of glass-and-brass revolving doors leading to San Rimini's most famous thoroughfare, the Strada il Teatro.

She glanced at the doors. Several voluptuous young women lingered outside, apparently waiting for a glimpse of Prince Stefano. Or the chance to slip him their phone numbers.

Her mind kicking into gear, Amanda flashed the manager a conciliatory smile and replied, "Of course. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

He nodded his acceptance, but glowered until Amanda turned and walked toward the exit.

Scouring the main room of the posh gaming hall as she went, she spied a small staircase along one wall. A tall, armed guard stood off to the side. He kept his thumb hooked casually in his belt loop while he spoke with a patron, but his gaze never wavered from the steps. Amanda figured either the casino kept its cash up those stairs or it was where the private gambling rooms were located.

She hoped it was the latter.

Under the manager's watchful gaze, Amanda exited the casino, but kept close to the door, standing near the loitering women as if she stalked princes every day.

Unfortunately, the manager didn't budge from his position in the center of the casino floor, leaving her little hope of getting past him undetected.

"Shoot!" Amanda strode to the curb, then shielded her eyes against the setting sun to study the clock tower adjoining the San Rimini Royal Palace, which sat atop a hill less than a mile away to the west.

Six-thirty. Only an hour until the ceremony, and there was no way she could explain the situation to the casino manager without embarrassing the royal family. Not that the manager even cared to listen.

She could kill this stupid prince. "My one vacation," she grumbled to herself. The one time she'd be able to get away from it all--participate in her friend's fairy tale wedding, visit one of the world's most beautiful countries, meet some of Europe's rich and famous--before she had to return to reality, and her overdue rent, back in Washington, D.C.

But instead of spending the afternoon nibbling on canas at the palace with the other bridesmaids, she was running around San Rimini in an atrociously uncomfortable pair of shoes, hunting down some spoiled prince who'd gone gambling instead of attending the groom. Prince Stefano never appeared for his brother's afternoon reception welcoming the nobility who'd traveled to attend the wedding, and now, even if she managed to get the prince back to the palace chapel in time for the ceremony itself, she'd be an icky, sweaty mess.

Correction: an icky, sweaty mess with blistered feet. Who would be expected to smile in the wedding pictures.

She forced herself not to groan aloud. Since graduating from college, she'd worked exclusively with the children of dignitaries. In all that time, she'd never come across a child as irresponsible as this prince. And he was twenty-five!

Ignoring a wave of giggles from the waiting women, likely prompted when they spotted her frou-frou gown, she turned her attention back to the casino's interior.

A well-dressed patron now occupied the manager. The woman waved one heavily-braceleted arm, indicating a row of slot machines covering the rear wall of the casino. He repeatedly shook his head, but a few minutes later, he followed the woman out of view of the front entrance. Making the most of the opportunity, Amanda pushed through the revolving door and made a beeline for the staircase.

The guard who'd been keeping an eye on the stairs snapped to attention. "Signorina, may I help you?"

From his demeanor, Amanda could tell he wasn't about to let her see Prince Stefano, either. She hesitated a moment, then tried, "I hope so. Um...Those women out front? They're here to see Prince Stefano."

The guard's mouth crooked up. "I am quite sure they are. What of it?"

"Well, I heard one of them saying she knew which car His Serene Highness arrived in, and that the doors were left unlocked. She was going to try to sneak into the back seat and wait for him. I thought you should know."

The guard studied her a minute while Amanda did her best to look sincere. However, instead of going to check out the women, as Amanda had hoped, he yanked a walkie-talkie out of his belt, pressed a button, then began speaking in rapid San Riminian-accented Italian. Amanda understood just enough to realize the guard intended to stay put.

A few words of response crackled back over the walkie-talkie. The guard paused, then frowned at her. "What does she look like?"

"Red dress, blonde hair. Not very tall. Close to my height," she improvised, knowing none of the women out front fit that description. "I believe she went around the side of the building to check out the parking lot. If you need me to identify her, I can wait here while you look."

He hesitated, and she quickly pointed down to her shoes. "I'd go along, but I don't think I'd be able to keep up with you in these heels."

He rolled his eyes, then instructed, "Stay here. If there is truly a problem, you may need to speak with the police."

She nodded to a red vinyl-covered stool in front of a nearby Lucky Sevens slot machine. "Of course. I'll be right here."

Once the guard exited the casino, Amanda bolted up the narrow staircase. Reaching the top, she bit back an oath, seeing at least twenty closed doors lining the red-carpeted hallway in front of her. How could she possibly guess which room hosted the prince?

She made her way down the hall, pausing at each doorway to listen. Several of the doors were marked with names on brass plaques designating them as offices. Near the end of the hallway, however, she heard the unmistakable sound of gamblers cheering a big win. After looking back to make sure the guard hadn't discovered her ruse, she approached the double-doored suite where she thought the sound originated. Unlike the others in the hall, this door was simply marked Privato.

She waited a minute, listening. At first the voices were hard to distinguish, then a woman's voice rose above the babble to announce in English, "The dealer has blackjack," followed by the sound of men groaning. Anticipation making her heart race, Amanda pushed down on the handle and peered inside.

Sure enough, as if it had been modeled on a scene from a James Bond movie, the sumptuous suite was designed to cater to the ultra-rich gambler. To her left, a fully-stocked bar covered one wall, and a uniformed bartender stood behind a smooth black granite countertop polishing highball glasses to a spotless finish. Crystal wall sconces cast the room in a soft light, and a thick red carpet muffled footfalls to preserve the quiet atmosphere.

Opposite her, elaborate white and gold silk curtains framed three floor-to-ceiling windows, each of which offered a stunning view of the Adriatic Sea from the casino's clifftop perch. The sun dipped down to the west, over the far-off coast of Italy. She imagined that without the setting sun in her eyes nearby Venice would be visible, just across the border from San Rimini.

She focused her attention back on the room's interior, where no one seemed to notice her unannounced arrival. In the center stood a lone blackjack table, manned by a leggy blonde in a short black skirt, black vest and crisp white oxford shirt. Even though the four seated gamblers appeared to be in their mid-twenties and were equally well-dressed in tailored tuxedos and white silk shirts, she immediately identified Prince Stefano diTalora.

And he was far better-looking than the royal palace's official portraits portrayed him to be.

He sat with his head propped against his hand, his fingers forked into the sun-kissed blond waves of his hair. Intelligent, steel-blue eyes studied the movements of the dealer as she ran her hand across the green felt table, silently requesting the men place their bets.

He straightened, then shoved a large pile of chips forward. His mouth curved into a smile when the man next to him threw him a teasing elbow. The prince had full lips--very kissable lips, Amanda decided--and white, glamour-boy straight teeth. His tanned cheekbones were high and well-defined, like a GQ model's, though unlike most male models, Stefano was no teenaged beanpole. His broad shoulders filled his tuxedo to perfection.

She took a second look at his blond hair. Tousled a bit, as if he'd just clambered out of bed and smoothed it with his fingers, the style didn't scream wealth. The top button on his formal shirt was undone and his bow tie hung loose.

The powers-that-be at the palace must have made him ditch the California-boy look for his polished official portraits. Though Stefano possessed a prince's self-assured bearing, she suspected he preferred the rough-and-tumble look to something more refined.

Straitlaced as she was, she found she preferred it on him, too.

Still, he needed to look regal, and fast. They had to hustle to keep the ceremony from being delayed. She took a deep, reassuring breath, then eased into the room.

"Mi scusi, Prince Stefano," she began. "I was--"

"Just leaving." The guard, face flushed with anger, made her jump as his fingers curled around her arm, just above the elbow. "Mi dispiace, Your Highness. I allowed myself to be fooled and she got past me from the main floor. It will not happen again." The guard gave her a withering look, then began to pull her into the hall.

"Please," Amanda called over her shoulder to the prince just as she managed to get a hand on the doorframe. "I was sent--"

"Va bene, Carlo. Let her stay." Stefano surprised her by looking up from his game to address the guard, who immediately released his death grip on her arm.

But she...she...Of course, Your Highness." The confused guard bowed, then spun on his heel, presumably to return to his post.

The prince turned back to the table, attention riveted on the game as the dealer dealt him a king.

Amanda took a deep breath and let go of the door frame, then crossed to the table. Finally. "Your Highness, as I was saying, I was sent by--"

"You must be Ms. Hutton." The prince didn't look up. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your first name. And I haven't forgotten the wedding. I'll be done in a few minutes. Feel free to order a drink." He absently waved her to a chair near the windows.

Amanda did a double-take. His English was amazing--he sounded as American as she did! And apparently he knew her name, though she couldn't imagine how.

"Y-you were expecting me?"

His eyes still focused on the cards in front of him, he laughed. "Antony's wedding can't be more than a couple hours off. I figured either he or his bride-to-be would send someone once I missed that afternoon reception."

"Wish I'd skipped it myself," one of the men grumbled. "One of those gossip-mongers from San Rimini Today cornered me for nearly fifteen minutes."

Stefano shot the man a knowing look, then turned his attention back to Amanda. "Given your dress, I assume you're the maid of honor. My brother told me repeatedly that the maid of honor was American. Jennifer's college roommate. And her name was..." he snapped his fingers, "Oh, yes, I remember now. Amanda Hutton."

She swallowed, unsure of her next move. She'd only thought about locating the missing prince, not about what she'd actually say when she found him. He'd said he was nearly finished, but she needed to convince him to leave now.

"Actually, Your Highness," she tried to explain, "we only have an hour. Probably less now that--"

The dealer flipped over a second king for Stefano.

"Whoo-hoo!"

"Yes!"

"Stef!"

Amanda took an involuntary step back from the table as all three of Stefano's gambling buddies cheered. She'd only played blackjack once before, on a weekend trip to Atlantic City during college, but knew a good hand when she saw one. Since the dealer showed a seven up, and the best she'd likely do was seventeen, he'd scored a big victory.

"Wow," she found herself whispering as she looked again at the stack of chips he'd risked. Mentally tallying the number of black chips in the pile, she figured he'd gambled about a year's worth of her earnings. Before taxes.

Stefano ignored the cheers. Instead, he counted out another huge stack of chips and set it next to the first. "Split them."

"Pazzo!" The man Stefano had been chatting with a moment earlier shook his head, and even though her Italian was limited, Amanda knew enough to agree with the assessment. Nutty. Crazy.

"You know better than that, Stef," a second gambler added, his laughter echoing through the room.

The dealer raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She separated the two kings so they lay side-by-side, then pulled a card from the shoe and laid it on the first king.

"A six for sixteen."

She drew another card, placing it on the second king. "And sixteen again."

Stefano's friends groaned in unison. "Sorry, Stef," the fourth gambler commented, his English spoken with a crisp, upper class British accent. "Good thing you can afford it, chap."

The dealer finished with the other players, then turned over her own card.

"Seven and four for eleven--"

"You'd better not get twenty-one twice in a row, dear," the British gentleman interrupted. "I might not be able to explain to the missus why we can't afford a proper gift for the royal couple."

The blonde smiled, but continued to flip cards. "And two for thirteen, and a queen for twenty-three. Bust."

A whoop went up around the table.

"Now the missus will like that! And you, Stef! What possessed you?"

Stefano gave a nonchalant shrug. "It was my last hand. Thought I'd make a go of it." He pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal a thick tan line where his watch should be. "Well, no wonder I'm running late. Must've left it at home. You gentlemen better hurry if you want to get seated without being obvious."

He tipped the dealer a few black chips as the casino manager entered the room. The portly man glared at Amanda for a split second, then bowed to Stefano, all smiles. "Has everything been satisfactory, Your Highness?"

"Rafaella did her job extraordinarily well today. Perhaps she should get a raise." The casual, don't-you-want-me? wink he threw to the blonde made Amanda want to gag.

"Of course, of course," the manager nodded, only too anxious to please the prince. "Shall I cash in your chips for you, or would you prefer to have the amount deposited in your account?"

"The account," he replied, easing off the stool with more grace than Amanda thought possible for a gambling, never-one-to-miss-a-good-party twenty-something. Perhaps he had learned a few social niceties by being a prince.

Or at least the social skills that helped him attract women.

The manager began gathering the prince's chips, but Stefano clapped the man on the back before he could finish. "I've changed my mind. Please see that the money is sent to the San Riminian Scholarship Fund at Banca Nazionale. Make it an anonymous donation in honor of Prince Antony's wedding to Jennifer Allen. And you," he held up a warning finger and looked at his companions one by one, before his gaze settled on Amanda, "don't breathe a word. I want this to be truly anonymous. Understand?"

The men all murmured their agreement. Amanda did the same, though Jennifer would be curious about the source of the large donation to the charity she and Antony founded. Knowing Jennifer, she'd investigate until she learned the mysterious donor's identity. But given the wild-child impression Amanda had of the prince so far, she couldn't imagine Jennifer crediting him with such thoughtfulness.

"I would be honored to take care of it in person, Your Highness," the casino manager bowed.

"Thank you, no. Send someone. And do not mention that the deposit is from the Casino Campione."

The manager's smile slipped a notch as he straightened, but he maintained his composure. "As you wish, Your Highness."

"Well then, I have a wedding to attend." He buttoned the top of his shirt, tied his bow tie--without need of a mirror, she noted--then gestured her ahead of him to the now-open door to the suite. "Ms. Hutton?"

As they entered the hall, he smoothed his hair and pulled the front of his tuxedo jacket taut, sending a whiff of his delicious cologne her way.

"That was quite generous of you."

"Guilty is more like it," he confessed. "I've been snorkeling in Greece for the last week. Didn't have time to get a proper gift. Just some silly crystal candlesticks my father suggested."

Amanda forced herself not to point out the obvious--that he'd had time to gamble. Still, the gift was generous. And knowing Antony and Jennifer, they'd appreciate it far more than the crystal candlesticks.

Stefano ran a hand through his hair once more, unfortunately leaving it more ruffled than before. "So, Ms. Hutton, do I look ready for a royal wedding?"

"I'm sure you'll do, Your Highness." Amanda tried not to gawk at him. She was used to dealing with VIPs as part of her job. She'd even spent three months in the White House, teaching the president's children how to handle themselves with foreign dignitaries. And as the daughter of a former ambassador herself, she'd grown up surrounded by those in power.

Still, nothing had prepared her for Prince Stefano. He was about as un-royal as a royal could be. If she'd simply run into him at the wedding, without seeing his picture beforehand, she'd have mistaken him for a good-looking party crasher instead of a member of San Rimini's royal family.

The type of party crasher who usually disappeared with a giggling bridesmaid at the end of the evening.

"I'll do? Haven't heard that one before. You're supposed to tell me I look fabulous. Sexy." He shot her a women-fall-for-me-every-day grin. "At least say, 'Of course, Your Highness,' or 'Nice tux, Your Highness.' Not just that I'll do."

She hazarded a glance at him. He towered at least a foot over her, at around six-foot-two. Maybe even six-three. With his disheveled, surfer-boy hair, gigantic bank account, and impeccable bloodlines, she was certain women did find him sexy. She thought he was sexy, despite his behavior. But she wasn't about to tell him so, not in the tight confines of a narrow casino hallway.

And certainly not when he seemed well aware of his own sex appeal.

"Where did you learn your English?" she asked instead. "You sound like you could've grown up next door to Wally and the Beav. I've met your brothers, and they both speak more formally. And with heavy accents."

He laughed, apparently catching her attempt to change the subject. "Antony and Federico picked up most of their English from their nanny, who was from a well-to-do London family. Then they attended college in Italy, where their professors spoke British English. I went to school in the States, where I intentionally avoided watching reruns of Leave It To Beaver."

"Let me guess," Amanda deadpanned as they descended the steps into the main room of the casino. "UNLV?"

"Would you believe Princeton?"

"I suppose. It is close to Atlantic City."

He laughed as he strode across the casino floor. As he passed slot machines and gaming tables, the well-heeled patrons stared after him. The now-familiar guard approached from a corner and fell into step beside the prince, his gaze darting about the room as they approached the doors to the Strada il Teatro.

Carlo nodded to her, apparently reconciled to her presence, then addressed the prince. "Your Highness' car is ready. The driver says he can get you to the palace chapel in ten minutes, but you'll have go the back way. The direct route is crowded with paparazzi and well-wishers for the royal couple, I'm afraid. You should still make the wedding with time to spare."

The guard pushed through the glass doors, scanned the broad sidewalk, then waved them to a spotless black Range Rover waiting at the curb.

As she stepped out of the dark casino and into the crisp evening air, Amanda noted that the sidewalk was now clear; the women who'd crowded the door earlier had disappeared. Relief swept through her. Given her charge's flirty nature, Amanda feared he wouldn't be so quick to hop in the car and get to the wedding if faced with an obliging group of buxom bimbos.

She waited until Stefano had circled the car to climb in behind the driver, then hiked the skirt of her voluminous dress high enough to allow her to clamber into back of the tall vehicle. The dress hooked on the seat belt as she entered, but Stefano reached across to free it with a flick of his wrist before she could grab the trapped fabric herself.

"Thanks. They don't design these cars for bridesmaids' dresses," she said once they were both safely seated inside the oversized SUV.

Stefano flashed a skeptical look at the mass of pink fabric, which she'd bunched between her legs to keep it from filling the back seat, or from spilling over into the prince's lap. "You've got it backward. They don't design bridesmaids' dresses to be worn in these cars."

Amanda's cheeks grew hot at his criticism. The dress certainly wasn't her choice. Besides, she wouldn't be trying to cram it into the back seat at all if Stefano had arrived at the palace with the rest of the groomsmen like he was supposed to. If he had, she'd have the gown spread out on a chaise in Jennifer's lavish suite, waiting to finish her turn with the hairdresser and manicurist before donning it.

"Listen, I appreciate your efforts to get me to the ceremony on time, but Antony knows how much I hate crowds. I told him repeatedly I didn't care to attend all those ridiculous pre-wedding events with the paparazzi angling for shots." He shook his head, and a look of disappointment flitted across his face. "Antony should've known I'd be there for the wedding itself. I've never in my life missed an event that's truly important."

Amanda said nothing, surprised at the insight into the prince's personality. After a moment, he turned in the seat to face her. "So why did they send you instead of one of Antony's groomsmen, anyway? We've never even met."

Amanda shrugged. "They didn't want it known that you were missing. Antony and Jennifer were afraid that since the groomsmen are all prominent members of the San Riminian aristocracy, the press would figure out something was up."

"And let me guess. They were afraid the press would portray me as irresponsible."

"Maybe," Amanda admitted. She'd believed as much herself, though now she wasn't so sure. "But they also knew that if the press mentioned it, your father would find out you weren't at the palace when you were supposed to be. When I left, he hadn't noticed you were missing, and Antony said that King Eduardo's been concerned about your behavior lately...." Stefano's mouth thinned into a grim line, and Amanda dropped the subject. "Anyway, since I'm a foreigner, there wasn't much chance I'd attract press attention, even running around town in a bridesmaid's dress and asking questions."

"Makes sense," Stefano finally acknowledged. Looking down at her gown, he added, "The least I can do in return is make you more comfortable."

He released his safety belt, then slid over to Amanda's side of the seat.

Before she could say a word, Stefano had his hand on her thigh.

THE PRINCE'S TUTOR By: Nicole Burnham