Silver Spoon Romeo Read online

  Table of Contents

  What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

  Silver Spoon Romeo

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Blue-Blooded Romeo

  Chapter One

  Blue-Blooded Romeo

  About the Author

  Sign up for Jenny Gardiner's Mailing List

  Also By Jenny Gardiner

  What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

  "A fun, sassy read! A cross between Erma Bombeck and Candace Bushnell, reading Jenny Gardiner is like sinking your teeth into a chocolate cupcake...you just want more."

  —Meg Cabot, NY Times bestselling author of Princess Diaries, Queen of Babble and more, on Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

  "With a strong yet delightfully vulnerable voice, food critic Abbie Jennings embarks on a soulful journey where her love for banana cream pie and disdain for ill-fitting Spanx clash in hilarious and heartbreaking ways. As her body balloons and her personal life crumbles, Abbie must face the pain and secret fears she's held inside for far too long. I cheered for her the entire way."

  —Beth Hoffman, NY Times bestselling author of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt on Slim to None

  "Jenny Gardiner has done it again—this fun, fast-paced book is a great summer read."

  —Sarah Pekkanen, NY Times bestselling author of The Opposite of Me, on Slim to None

  "As Sweet as a song and sharp as a beak, Bite Me really soars as a memoir about family—children and husbands, feathers and fur—and our capacity to keep loving though life may occasionally bite."

  —Wade Rouse, bestselling author of At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream

  Silver Spoon Romeo

  (book five of the Royal Romeos series)

  by Jenny Gardiner

  Copyright © 2017 by Jenny Gardiner

  Cover art by Kim Killion, The Killion Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  http://jennygardiner.net/

  Chapter One

  Sophie Pellegrino had grown weary of famous people who did idiotic things. Professionally, it didn’t bode well for her, considering she’d been producing a soul-exposing (and not in a good way), mea culpa-type reality show that featured celebrities who’d landed themselves in a pickle for all sorts of embarrassing reasons. Usually it was regrettable behavior induced by too much Cuervo, recreational drugs, arrogance, or a combination thereof, and sometimes it was out of sheer stupidity. Simply because you were a famous celebrity didn’t mean you had a brain that served you well.

  She’d produced stories about an actress found running naked down Rodeo Drive while shouting like a fishmonger that her actor boyfriend was having sex with the Dalai Lama (she claimed a bad case of exhaustion). And the famous reality TV shrink who turned out to have three families in three different countries (he chalked it up to too many anxiety meds).

  Then there was the married actor and father of three who was caught on camera in a compromising position with a child star on the set of his latest film (he was a big fan of Ecstasy, both the drug and the state of). Sophie shook her head on that one, wondering what the hell was wrong with the man. Couldn’t he see nothing good would come of that once he was busted? They always got caught. And that boded well for her show: there was never a dearth of sordid stories with which to regale her audience and the publicists desperate to force their clients onto her show for damage control purposes. She sometimes wondered if celebrities did some of this stuff to remain relevant, which would be sort of pathetic yet not too surprising. Sometimes those who feasted at the banquet of fame starved to death without it and were willing to settle for notoriety instead.

  She was beginning to feel like she needed a long, hot soak after work each night. Not so much to relax, but rather to cleanse the figurative muck off after dealing with the many unseemly people who thought fame was a license to behave abhorrently.

  That’s why the timing could not have been better when her boss announced some big changes were looming.

  “Soph, I’ve got some great news for you.” Danny Slinger spoke like a human machine gun in a rapid-fire New York-accented banter as he slurped what was probably his eighth cup of high-octane coffee before noon. His mussed-up, salt-and-pepper hair hung over his eyes as if he couldn’t be bothered to get it trimmed, and he was missing a button on his shirt. When around her best friends, Sophie tended to refer to Danny as a bit of a schlub since he never seemed to put a scintilla of effort into personal maintenance. Nevertheless, she respected him professionally in spades. “You’re getting your own show. Starting immediately, you’re going to produce and host a lifestyle program featuring fantasy destinations.”

  Sophie pretended to clean her ears out as if she hadn’t heard him right. “Is this a joke? Cause seriously, I don’t think I can handle it if you tell me in five minutes you were just pulling my leg.” She ran her fingers through her long, mahogany hair that fell in soft waves over her shoulders.

  Danny took another swig of coffee, his hyper-caffeinated brain causing the mug to tremble in his hands. “Would I lie to you?”

  His mouth spread into one of those annoying grins you see when your poker opponent tells you he has four Jacks to beat your full house. The kind of smug look you’d usually want to wipe off a guy’s face. Only for Danny, it all worked in his favor.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said, her earthen brown eyes twinkling, highlighting her high cheekbones. “Remember that time you told me you’d landed that marriage-in-the-shitter Brad Pitt interview and I was going to be in charge of it?”

  He rolled his eyes and slapped the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Are you that dense?” He fixed his gaze on her. “It was April Fool’s Day. You should’ve known that was a lie. Besides, don’t you think I’d have taken on someone of his magnitude if we’d actually gotten him?”

  “My first clue should have been that Brangelina—minus the ‘ngelina’—would never do an interview for one of your tawdry shows.”

  He clutched his hands to his heart. “You’re killing me, Pellegrino.” He half pushed her away and fake staggered a few steps. “Here I do you a solid and what do I get? Disrespect.”

  Sophie lifted her eyebrows in hope. “Wait, so you’re telling me you’re actually serious?”

  “As a heart attack. Which you’re going to give me if you turn this down.”

  “Are you kidding? I was beginning to think we needed to install a disinfectant room to cleanse ourselves after the show, the program’s turned so icky. I would love nothing more than to get away from Gotcha with my soul intact.”


  “Believe me when I say we could never have become so icky without you. Consider this your reward for a job well done. You found the bottom of the barrel and you made it look like a Park Avenue penthouse. But I do recognize it’s time to let my little fledgling fly from the nest.”

  “You mean that shit-encrusted nest I’d have become glued to if I stayed much longer?”

  “One man’s bird crap is another man’s Emmy award-winning programming.”

  Sophie tipped her head in disbelief. “Daniel Slinger, you never earned an Emmy for that program.”

  “I’m only saying it’s possible. Just because you think my show is catering to the lowest common denominator doesn’t mean that those unwashed masses who inhale every episode and obsess about it on social media for days afterward don’t think the show is a class act.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “More like a class action lawsuit waiting to happen.” She waved her hands as if to erase the conversation. “Enough about that. I want to hear what you’ve got going for me. By the way, I feel the need to get it in writing that I will never again have to interview some pathetic, attention-seeking, D-level celebrity who’s just been sprung from his fourth stint in rehab after going on a joyride with a monkey at the wheel while under the influence of a controlled substance.”

  Danny rubbed his hands together with glee. “That was one of our best shows this year!”

  “Stop!” Sophie clasped her head with her fingers, staving off the headache that would come with him gushing about that show any more than he already had.

  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Here’s the deal. The men in suits want to take things in a new direction. They like your style and they want to give you free rein to show us what you can do. It’s going to be an aspirational type of show—your viewers are going to want to be there in your shoes. Maybe even want to kill you to replace you in those shoes.”

  “Like a gladiator-style show? To the death and all that?”

  Danny curled his lip in annoyance. “So little faith, my dear. It’s like you don’t think I have your best interests at heart.” He petted her head. “Trust in the process, Grasshopper.”

  She shook his hand away. “Sorry. It’s hard to imagine instantly transitioning from the land of sludge. I can’t quite fathom a world of purity and joy.”

  “Well, prepare yourself. Because this is your baby to do with as you please. Think about what you would love to do—put your passion behind it. And make a show out of it. Sky’s the limit.”

  She looked skyward. “Seriously? Anything? Anywhere?”

  “Within reason and within budget. Like we’re not going to send you up in the space shuttle.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Give it some thought and get back to me. The executives are ready to move forward with this. I’m giving you the weekend to decide. The important thing to know is that you’re in charge: it’s your baby, and you’re the host. And don’t fuck it up or my next show will be that gladiator-style one with me feeding you to the lions.” He slurped some more coffee as he pointed toward the door. “Now go.”

  ~*~

  “Oh, my God,” her best friend Gisele Hornsby said as she took a sip of her wine. They’d gone to their favorite wine bar after work to discuss details of Sophie’s new assignment. “This is like your dream. Like your dream of dreams. Like if someone asked you what your impossible-to-attain fantasy job would be, this would be it.”

  “I know. I keep pinching myself to be sure I’m not just sleeping.”

  “So what’re you going to do?”

  “With the sky being the limit, it’s awfully hard to narrow it down to something more specific. I feel like I’ve been given a chance to eat the finest meal I’ve ever had yet only get one stab at it—do I go for the sumptuous lobster thermidor or the potentially lethal Japanese puffer fish?”

  Gisele held up her finger. “I think I can solve your problem. See, I was about to ask for some time off to go visit Tomasso.” She’d recently fallen in love with Tomasso Romeo, a member of the Romeo family, which had run the world-famous Italian vineyard Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo for centuries. He’d been living in Manhattan under her roof while on a woodworking apprenticeship and had recently returned home. She’d been pining for him badly. “Why don’t you take the show to Chianti? Do a big thing with the Romeo family. Everyone knows Romeo wines, but does everyone know about the opulent lifestyle that comes with being a Romeo? And don’t you think your audience—primarily women—would swoon madly for the Romeo men? One more handsome than the next?”

  Justin Magruder, Sophie’s long-time production assistant, piped in. “Now you’re speaking my language. Hot Italian men. Sign me up.”

  The women laughed. “Italy, huh?” Sophie crossed her arms and rested her hand on her chin in thought. “I could combine this with a search for my Italian roots. And my love of wine, and, well, my love of men, Italian or otherwise.”

  Justin fist-bumped her. “I’m with you, sister.”

  “Plus, I mean, all the biggest celebs hang there. George Clooney. Didn’t Tom Cruise have one of his weddings there? Beyoncé, she’s always on a damned yacht somewhere in Italy.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Gisele said, her blue eyes sparkling. She lifted her brow and tucked her long, wavy, blond hair behind her ears.

  “Road trip to Tuscany?” Justin said as he flagged the waiter down and ordered a bottle of prosecco.

  When the waiter brought back the bottle and uncorked it with a pop, Justin stood.

  “This calls for a toast.” He lifted his glass and held it to Sophie and Gisele’s. “Here’s to the best damned team Gotcha ever had and is now going to lose to the big leagues.” He waved his fingers. “Sayonara, Gotcha. And here’s hoping we are drowning in the best wine and the best men Italy has to offer.”

  “Sorry, dude, I’ve already found my guy,” Gisele said with a grin.

  “Fine, then maybe share some of that football team of a family with us. Sophie and I are looking for some Romeo man meat. Amiright, Soph?”

  She laughed. “One thing at a time. I want to do this right. Job first, and with any luck, the wine and men will follow.”

  Chapter Two

  Lorenzo Romeo was drop-dead gorgeous. And that was saying something coming from the oh-so-handsome Romeo family, in which each of the seven siblings was better looking than the last. For Lorenzo, though, something must have clicked when they put him together, and the media loved to compare him to the ancient Roman god Apollo. It pissed him off. Not that he didn’t want to be put on par with higher beings. After all, that was a flattering comparison. But he was sick of being viewed as the family pretty boy and used as such to promote the world-famous wines that came from his family vineyard.

  Why couldn’t the wines simply sell themselves? Why couldn’t they emphasize his brains, not his looks? He knew it sounded sort of silly to feel objectified. It’s not as if he was some female supermodel whose job was to make whatever she wore look good. Nevertheless, he was just a family member who was forced to be the face of Romeo wines because he looked so damned good. To him that seemed demeaning.

  His five brothers called him a whiny pussy and said he needed to buck up. His sister and mother only laughed and hugged him and told him he was overreacting. And perhaps for this reason, Lorenzo often seemed a bit too defensive and truly relished one-upping his siblings. In fact, he took great pleasure in the conquest. Whether it involved a woman—and he was notorious for his propensity to have his fleeting way with a steady stream of mostly interchangeable women—or business, he was all about setting his sights on his goal and achieving it. Even more so when it meant winning money, which was why he was practically doing a happy dance as his brother Tomasso peeled from a stack of hundred Euro bills, placing them one by one into the palm of Lorenzo’s hand.

  “Seven, eight”—Tomasso ran his fingers through his thick, wavy black hair and looked up at his brother and glared, his lips pursed—�
�nine, and ten.” With emphasis, he slapped the final bill down. “Take your money, you greedy bastard.”

  Lorenzo held up his hands. “Greedy? I won the bet fair and square.” He grinned, his warm brown eyes sparkling with glee. “I can’t help it you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants for twenty seconds.”

  Tomasso shrugged. “Dude, I fought the good fight. But it was worth it because I ultimately came out the winner while you’re the one who still has to grovel for a little snatch when you’re desperate.” He grinned at his brother.

  “Spare me,” Lorenzo said with a scowl. “I’ve never begged for a piece of anything a day in my life. Besides, the last thing I’d want is to be tied down to one woman.” He grimaced as he tucked a hank of his thick, black hair behind his ear. “Ugh. That would suck.”

  Tomasso arched a brow. “Try it, you might like it. Intimacy makes the sex even better.”

  Lorenzo shook his head. “Thanks, I’m good with incredible sex with any woman I want whenever I want. Can’t see ever wanting to narrow my options down when the sky’s my limit. I’ll leave that to suckers like you.” He playfully punched his brother, then pulled out his wallet and stuffed the cash into it. He’d made his brother pay him in bills rather than simply doing a bank transfer—it gave him the opportunity to gloat.

  “Suckers, eh?”

  “Looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like one.”

  “So you’re an avowed bachelor, then? Never going to settle down?”

  “You do know what they say about me,” Lorenzo said, a sly grin lifting one side of his mouth.

  Tomasso shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve all heard it a million times before.” He held up his hands and moved his fingers like they were puppets talking. “‘Lorenzo put the roam in Romeo, blah blah blah, yak yak yak.’ Which is actually sort of stupid anyhow because Romeo isn’t even spelled the same.”

  “It’s the idea behind it. I like to diversify my options. After all, when you’re used to eating gourmet meals every day, why in the world would you ever choose to settle for old, stale leftovers.”