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Her eyes sparkled like blue diamonds. “Roast pig? I’m sure I have.”
“But this recipe is different and you’re in for a real treat.”
After a minute he found a parking space along the ancient street, but it turned out to be a tight squeeze between cars smaller than his. He slid from the car and hurried around to help her.
Soon people were staring at her, but she seemed oblivious. He noticed that men couldn’t take their eyes off her. No doubt they wished they were in Nico’s shoes as he ushered her inside Prospero’s, a small dimly lit cantina over two hundred years old.
The owner saw Nico and hurried toward him with a wide smile. He couldn’t take his gaze off Fausta. “Dottore—are my eyes deceiving me?” he whispered.
Nico chuckled. “No, amico mio. Prospero Gallo? May I introduce Princess Fausta Rossiano?”
“I knew it! Benvenuto, Your Highness!” He beamed. “I’ve never been so honored.”
“Just call me Fausta, Signor Gallo, and I’m the one who feels privileged. Nico tells me you make the best roast pig in Domodossola.”
Nico could tell by the way the owner seemed at a sudden loss for words that her compliment had thrilled Prospero. But after a moment he recovered and led them past several other diners to the best table of the house in the corner, where they were seated.
“We don’t need a menu, Prospero. Just some white wine and your wife’s rigotoni alla carbanara to go with the maialino allo spiedo followed by coffee.”
“Al vostro servizio, Nico.” His gaze switched to Fausta. “Princess,” he murmured before hurrying to the kitchen, unable to call her by her first name.
By now the staff had to be aware of their illustrious visitor. Nico knew that a visit from a member of the royal family had made Prospero’s night. Being with her had made Nico’s night and he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.
“The owner is charming. Has he been a patient of yours?”
“No. We met in an entirely different way. When I moved to Domodossola eighteen months ago and joined the hospital staff, I asked around to find out what restaurants served roast pig. I tried several places, but they were a disappointment. Then I came to Prospero’s and now I never go anywhere else when I’m in the mood for it.”
“Why is that dish so special to you?” She’d just sipped the wine one of the waiters had brought to their table. Her lips glistened from the liquid, causing him to think thoughts he shouldn’t be having, like how she would taste right now if he were to kiss her. His instant attraction to her was growing in leaps.
He drank some of his. “They use an old recipe that reminds me of the years I lived in Biella.”
Her eyes searched his. “You mean Biella, Italy?”
“Have you been there?”
“Once years ago, with my mother and sisters. Mamma loved it because it was hilly with old castellos she’d visited as a child. As I recall, we had lunch there with a friend of my father’s cousin. I remember walking up the steep, narrow streets to the citadel.”
“I did it many times myself.”
“So you’re Italian! You must be here on a visa. Now that you’re a doctor here, do you think in time you might apply for Domodossolan citizenship? Quite a few people from other countries hold dual citizenship.”
“That’s true—”
But before he could answer her question, Prospero brought their food to the table. He nodded to Nico then said, “Buon appetito, Princess.”
“Grazie, signor. It looks delicious. So does the rigotoni alla carbanara.”
Nico eyed her after Prospero walked away. “He cooks the meat. His wife makes the pasta with guaciale.”
She looked surprised. “Doesn’t that mean ‘cheeks’?”
He chuckled. “In this case pig’s cheeks. Normally the pasta is made with pancetta, but the meat is too crisp. Guaciale melts in your mouth.” All the time they talked, he couldn’t stop admiring the mold of her face and the way her eyes danced. There wasn’t another woman like her in existence and he didn’t want this evening to end.
The waiter brought coffee as they started eating. After a few minutes she leaned toward Nico. “This food is divine. How do you know all this? Were you a five-star chef before you became a doctor?”
“Not exactly. From the age of twelve to eighteen I was a pig farmer on an estate on the outskirts of Biella before and after school.”
“You’re kidding!” she cried with excitement. “You got to play with all the little piglets?”
