Royal Date

by Sariah Wilson

  I looked out the window, ignoring the conversations going on all around me. It was my first look at the castle from the outside, and it was one of those fabulous fairy-tale kinds, all gray stone and tall towers, with slanted roofs covered in thick snow. We passed through a massive outer wall on our way down the hill.

  I had my hands at my side, and Nico’s hand was next to mine. He used his littlest finger to gently rub the top of my hand. Instead of it being something that got my blood racing, it comforted me and improved my mood. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him as he had one phone call after another during the entire trip.

  Before long we were on a tarmac, next to a small airplane. A stewardess stood at the top of a set of stairs. I looked over at the airport. “Don’t we have to go inside? Get our passports checked?”

  “Not when you travel with me, you don’t.” Nico grinned, putting his phone away. In addition to the people in our car, there was an SUV full of security, and another one that had secretaries or assistants like Giacomo in it.

  Everyone moved to the plane, and Nico took my hand to help me up the steep steps. I didn’t need his help, but I didn’t make him stop either.

  Inside there were comfortable-looking cream-colored leather chairs separated by small tables, and some full-length couches made of the same material.

  “Wow.” A private plane? I’d only ever seen them in movies, and now I was getting to ride in one!

  Lemon came and commandeered me away from Nico. “My turn now,” she said with a flirtatious smile, and it flooded me with warmth when I realized that Nico hadn’t even looked at her or responded. His gaze was instead fixed on mine, until one of his secretaries handed him a stack of papers, directing him to a different area so that they could talk.

  Lemon and I buckled in as the very pretty flight attendant asked if she could get anything for us. I said no, and Lemon asked for coffee.

  “Okay, this is pretty amazing,” I told her.

  “You won’t believe this, but it has a full bathroom and a bedroom on here, too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because Dante offered to ‘show’ me the bedroom.” She rolled her eyes, and we both laughed.

  I saw the two brothers talking to their “family friends.”

  “What are the twins like?” I asked. “I haven’t actually spent any time with them yet.”

  “Rafe is quieter, more easygoing. Loves to read, but really loves videogames. He’s finishing up his degree in gaming design. And Dante . . . well, let’s just put it this way. I am wildly attracted to him.”

  “Which means he’s an obnoxious playboy with no real ambition who will break your heart.”

  Lemon sighed. “You got it. I will be steering clear.”

  I put my hand on her arm and squeezed. “Good thing you have Salvatore. How’s that going?”

  “Slowly. Slowly, but surely.” She tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the armrest. “But let’s talk about your boy, shall we?”

  I let out a happy sigh. I picked up where I’d left off in the story, watching Lemon’s eyes grow bigger and bigger as I built up to the kiss in the moonlight garden.

  “And then?”

  “Then he kissed me.”

  Lemon squealed out loud, and almost everyone on the plane turned to look at us. “Shh,” I told her, giggling.

  “I’m as excited as a hen on a hot griddle. I can’t believe it’s finally happened! My little unicorn finally has a dent in her horn!”

  “And there’s more.”

  “More?” she shrieked.

  I again shushed her and told her about our kitchen rendezvous. As I remembered my conversation with Nico, it struck me how easy it was for me to talk to him. I’d never been able to manage more than a few fumbling words around guys before. But with him, everything just flowed. Lemon was the only other person I’d ever experienced that with, but a large part of our conversations succeeded because of her socialness and ability to carry it one-sided if she needed to.

  I finished up the story with mine and Nico’s arrangement and the rule I’d put down.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re not going to let him kiss you again? Are you crazy?”

  “Not according to the court-appointed psychiatrist.”

  She made a face. “Not funny. You know what I mean.”

  Lemon knew a lot, but she didn’t know everything. Maybe I should tell her and then she’d stop pushing me. An icy fear gripped my spine when I thought of confessing. “I can’t. I can’t handle being with him.”

  She took me by the hand then and stayed quiet for a moment. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. Heaven knows I’ve tried to get you to. And I respect that it’s private. But if you aren’t going to tell me, darlin’, you need to tell somebody. You need to stop shutting everyone out. Stop making up reasons to not be with someone. You need to move past whatever it is so that you don’t live your whole life in fear.”

  The attendant returned with Lemon’s drink, and I crossed my arms, shaken and upset. I turned to look out the window. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to tell someone. It would be hard to tell Lemon, though. Who knew what kind of conclusions she’d already come to? How would she react? Would I still be able to look her in the eye after it was done? Would she tell me how stupid I’d been? I’d spent the last ten years beating myself up. I didn’t need my best friend doing it too.

  Lemon excused herself to use the restroom, and I looked over the seats to where Nico sat. He was deep in conversation with the men and women surrounding him, looking very serious. I liked having the chance to observe him without him knowing. I was quickly disabused of that notion though when a small half smile appeared, followed up with a knowing look in my direction. I turned away from him.

  Insufferable. So annoying.

  A small voice asked me then if that was how I really felt about him, or if I was doing exactly what Lemon had accused me of. Making up excuses so I wouldn’t have to be real with Nico.

  If I was just living in fear.

  I didn’t want to discuss the Nico situation any further, and Lemon didn’t press me. Instead, she invited the twins to join us. They told us several hysterical stories about trouble they’d gotten into while at boarding school. The mindless laughter was infinitely better than serious introspection.

  Dante made googly eyes at Lemon the whole time, but she didn’t encourage him at all. Which seemed to only make him try harder.

  The plane landed and I freaked out once, right as the tires made contact with the runway. I gripped the armrests and let out a sigh of relief when we started to slow down. When the pilot told us we could disembark, everybody stood up at the same time. I heard Dante offer to take Lemon’s carry-on bag, but she refused.

  Nico made his way over to me and, smiling, took my hand. I followed behind him to the exit. Where I was pretty sure he started swearing in Italian. He looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Stay behind me,” he said. He said something in Italian to the security still on the plane. Nico stepped back to allow two men to pass by us. He tugged on my hand to indicate that I should follow him. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, two more men flanked me on either side. We began walking to the car.

  I heard the noise before I could understand what was going on. As we stepped off the plane, there were dozens of reporters and photographers. They were all calling out and there were a series of bright, blinding flashes. The cold winter air swirled around us, with snow flurries dancing in and out of the crowd.

  We ran to the limo and dove inside. Everybody from the first car ride piled in behind us, plus one man I didn’t recognize. We took off so fast my head hit the back of the seat. “What was that?” I asked.

  Nico looked furious. “Paparazzi.” He said it like it was a bad word. “Johann, I don’t understand how they knew we were here. I was very clear in my instruction that our travel plans be kept secret.”

  A man with a large, pointed nose and small, be
ady eyes, topped off by a slicked-up comb-over answered. “Not every hole can be plugged. They are a very resourceful group. Perhaps if you’d let go of the signorina’s hand, they wouldn’t have been so interested?”

  Johann peered down his nose at me, making me completely uncomfortable. I hadn’t even realized that I was still holding Nico’s hand, gripping it tightly. I relaxed my hold, but that only made him grab on tighter.

  We drove quickly, and Nico kept turning around to see if we were followed. But we managed to make our escape, and he finally relaxed.

  Johann started outlining an itinerary for Nico that day. It sounded like one appointment right after the other. It was only eight thirty in the morning, and he already looked exhausted. I wanted to smooth the worry lines in his forehead away.

  We pulled up in front of a very old and very beautiful white building. Somebody said the name of the hotel, but it was all French to me.

  There were more paparazzi waiting by the entrance. Security jumped into the crowd and did their best to clear a pathway. Everyone got out until it was only Johann, Nico, and me left in the limo.

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “Enjoy yourself today, bella.”

  “Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.

  “I wish I could spend the day with you, but I have many responsibilities that I must attend to.”

  Nodding, I said goodbye and left him with Johann in the car. Strangely enough, I didn’t want to leave him. I stepped right into the gutter and slush filled my shoes. Lovely. Giacomo appeared at my side to help me through all the crazy people with cameras. I didn’t think they realized that I was American, because not one of them yelled anything in English.

  Sometimes it was nice to be oblivious.

  A doorman let us inside the hotel. The lobby was done up in shades of red and gold, with a huge chandelier hanging down what seemed every five feet or so. They had decorated for the holidays, and there were large wreaths with ribbons that matched the interior of the lobby, as well as several elegant Christmas trees. We didn’t have to check in, and were instead led to an elevator separate from the others. One of the bodyguards used a keycard before he could press the button. We went all the way to the top floor.

  Francesco, Salvatore, and Davide were shown to their rooms, and the rest of us walked to the end of the hall. “The Presidential Suite,” Giacomo announced as he opened the two double doors. A valet followed him in, pushing a trundle that held all of our bags.

  Dante and Rafe went in like we weren’t walking into the most luxurious, gorgeous hotel room ever. A large front entryway led us into a living room, decorated with modern furniture. A heavily ornate fireplace dominated one entire wall. More chandeliers. A huge dining table that seated twenty off of a small kitchen. And I saw four bedrooms, grouped in twos on either side of the living room. The windows facing out of the living room were floor-to-ceiling and seemed to overlook all of Paris. “That’s the Eiffel Tower!” I said, pointing out the window. But nobody seemed excited about it but me.

  “If you need anything else, you have only to call me,” Giacomo said as he handed all of us our own keycards. “All of the staff is staying on this floor, so we should be readily accessible. The designers’ teams should be here shortly.”

  The twins went to claim two of the bedrooms. That left two, so I supposed that Lemon and I would be sharing. We opened the doors of the two empty rooms. One had a huge bed, bigger than a king. The other had two beds. “This is us!” Lemon said. She went back and grabbed her suitcase, pulled out the handle, and rolled her luggage in. It was a pretty room, decorated in pale violets, dark purples, and silver.

  I flopped backward onto one of the beds. Not as nice as the bed at the palace, but still better than every bed I’d had growing up. We started exploring. I looked at the fancy leather-bound folder full of information about the hotel, read over the room service menus, and then went into the bathroom when Lemon called for me. The mosaic-tiled shower was big enough for twenty people and had more showerheads and gadgets than a car wash.

  “Look at that tub!” Lemon exclaimed, clapping her hands together with glee. Lemon adored a good bath, and I knew she’d make use of that jetted tub before we left.

  “Breakfast!” one of the brothers called. We came out of the room and the dining room table had a large assortment of breads and pastries. “Try this one,” Rafe said to me. “It’s called pain au chocolat.”

  I took what looked like a croissant from his hand and bit into it. There was melted chocolate inside! How had I lived my whole life and never had chocolate inside of bread before? “Are you serious right now?”

  Rafe looked confused and adjusted his glasses. “Serious about what?”

  Lemon laughed. “That means she likes it. A lot.”

  “Oh, we’ve gone past liking. I am ready to marry this thing.”

  Dante came out of his room, reminding Rafe about their first appointment of the day. They left and promised to see us later.

  Before I had a chance to go back and jump on the bed like I wanted to, there was a knock on the front door. Lemon answered it and let in Giacomo, who was followed by several severely skinny French women dressed all in black, who were pushing racks of clothes and carrying suitcases. They set the racks in the middle of the living room and then started propping up portable tables. They opened their suitcases and took out the contents, arranging them on the tables.

  “Some of these gowns have been pulled directly from the rack, some will be couture originals,” Giacomo said. “Any of them will do well for tonight.”

  This was Lemon’s grown-up equivalent of a kid in a candy store. I noticed her rack had more dresses than mine, and she started flipping through them. “I’m so excited, I’m shaking. But that could also be from all the coffee I’ve been drinking today.”

  I halfheartedly looked through them as well. All different kinds of styles and colors. How was I going to choose? I had no love for fashion. But when I found it, I knew.

  This dress was The One.

  With reverent hands I lifted the hanger off of the rack. The dress was strapless, the palest pink, and the entire bodice and full, flouncy, floor-length skirt were covered in sparkly crystals.

  “Oh.”

  By this point Lemon had already disrobed and tried on three different dresses, laying the ones she didn’t want over the back of a chair. Where a pissed-off-looking Frenchwoman was putting them back on hangers while glaring at Lemon.

  Lemon caught sight of me holding The Dress. “Did you find one you liked?”

  “I think so.” There was a tag attached to the side. I lifted it up and my eyes went wide. “Lemon, this dress is frakking thirty thousand euros.”

  “So?”

  “So I can’t wear a dress worth more than my student loans.” What if I ripped it? Or stained it? Both of which were highly distinct possibilities. “I can’t afford this.”

  “You don’t have to buy it. These designers are lending us these dresses because you’ll be pictured wearing it while you’re with Nico. Those pictures will go in a bunch of magazines. The designer gets publicity, and you get to look gorgeous. Win-win.”

  I found it pretty unlikely that anyone would want to take my picture. With a downcast heart, I put the dress back. “I can’t wear it.”

  Lemon got that determined look in her eyes. She came over and took the dress off the rack. “Yes, you can. For once in your life, you will wear the dress and go to the ball and dance with the prince. And if you won’t, I will make you.”

  Was this third grade? “Make me?”

  “Yes, make you. You’ve lived a hard enough life. I won’t let you go on doing things I know you’ll regret later. You deserve at least one night of fun. Try this on. Now.”

  Lacking Lemon’s self-confidence, I went into our shared room and closed the door. Before I even stepped into the dress I knew. It was perfect. The sheer, soft lining felt amazing against my skin. I had worried it might be too short because I was so tall, but the hem went
all the way to the floor. Like it had been made for me.

  I came out of the room holding the bodice, because I couldn’t reach the zipper. Lemon had a delighted expression in her eyes and told me to turn around so that she could zip it up. “You look amazeballs.”

  I went back into our bathroom where we had a full-length mirror. I twisted from side to side and puffed the skirt out. I even did a couple of twirls to see the skirt flare out. I caught myself smiling in my reflection. “You’re sure this is okay?”

  “Trust me,” Lemon said. “It goes perfectly with my master plan.”

  Before I could ask her whether the plan she was referencing was the one to help market Monterra and Nico to the world, or the plan to get me a boyfriend, she had left.

  I came out into the living room, and Giacomo stopped what he was doing. He wore an expression of pride. “You look bellissima, Signorina Kat.” I thanked him.

  Several of the women came over and started poking and prodding me. I gave Lemon a questioning look. “They’re going to tailor it so that thing fits you like a glove.” Once they’d finished, they unzipped me and had me step out of the dress. I hurried back to our room to get redressed, not wanting to stand around in my underwear.

  When I came back out Lemon stood in a strapless, deep red, mermaid-style dress. Flounces shot out just above her knee, and it was belted in the middle with what looked like a belt made out of a bunch of cubic zirconia. “What do you think?”

  “You look sort of perfect,” I said. “But I think you could show up in a flour sack and every guy there would still want to be with you.”

  “Not every guy,” Lemon teased. I rolled my eyes. Could we go five minutes without a Nico mention?

  After they finished with getting her measurements, we were directed over to the table. There were undergarments, shoes, and jewelry. Lemon picked up a black, lacy strapless bra and sexy matching panties.

  “I thought you were doing the virgin thing with Salvatore.”

  “This isn’t for him. This is for me. It makes me feel pretty and confident.” She put her hand on my arm. “And it’s okay to want to feel pretty, Kat.”