by Teri Wilson
CHAPTER
* * *
FIVE
The Colosseum was packed, as always. Of all the sights in Rome, it was the one most requested by clients of When in Rome Touring Company. Probably of every touring company in Rome.
As Julia led Mano through the crush of people, she was aware of little else but his eyes on her. His gaze lit tiny fires in places she’d all but forgotten about after Elio. Places that had come screaming back to life when this mysterious stranger had wrapped his arms around her on the Vespa. One innocent touch and she’d all but melted into him. She couldn’t even think about how solid and firm he’d felt sitting behind her.
All of him. Every unyielding inch. It was much too overwhelming.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a trembling hand and vowed not to let what was surely nothing more than simple chemistry go to her head. He was an attractive man. That’s all. She’d have to be blind not to notice. Surely she could deal with one handsome man. She’d met plenty of other attractive men in her life and somehow managed not to melt into a puddle at their feet.
But none of those other men had made her feel quite this way before. Aching. And uncomfortably empty. Something about Mano felt different. And wrong. Very, very wrong.
She couldn’t trust him. Everything about him screamed as much, from his too-expensive taste to his phony-sounding name. For once, she was going to listen to reason, to trust her head instead of her heart. She’d been blindsided by her father’s deception. And even after his actions had cost her everything—her name, her reputation, the only home she’d ever known, every penny she’d ever possessed—she’d been foolish enough to allow herself to be taken advantage of by Elio. She’d met him her very first day in Rome, when she’d been at her most vulnerable. They’d bumped into each other at a quaint outdoor bookstall near the Circus Maximus. He was a used-book dealer, which Julia found hopelessly romantic.
Within an hour, they were having coffee together. Within three weeks, he was sharing her apartment. She’d fallen for him hard and fast. When he began talking marriage just two months into their relationship, she’d been so flattered and giddy that she’d failed to see the warning signs. He was spending more time on her couch than he was at the bookstall. There were fewer and fewer books piled up in the corners of her apartment. He’d stopped going to estate sales altogether.
He’d begun borrowing money.
When she finally told him no, they’d had their first argument. Afterward, they made love and promised never to fight again. The next day, she’d come home from work to find Elio gone. Along with every penny she owned.
Once again, she’d had to rebuild her life.
No more. Enough was enough.
Mano Romano might be dreamy on every level, but he was her client and she had a job to do. As far as jobs went, being a tour guide wasn’t bad. Especially in Rome, where centuries upon centuries of treasures lay scattered beneath her feet, just waiting to be discovered. It was the closest thing she could do to being an actual archaeologist, at least until she finished her master’s degree. Of course she’d rather be up to her elbows in Rome’s flinty brown Mediterranean soil or the rich terra rossa of southernmost Italy, digging for those treasures herself. But that would come in due time. Once she got caught up on her student loans and all the other bills that had gone unpaid since the Elio disaster, she’d have more hours to devote to her thesis. She was so close. She’d completed all the necessary course work and excelled at her field studies. But none of that meant anything without a written record of all her findings. The university’s graduate committee had approved her proposal six months ago, and she’d yet to write a single word. When she wasn’t dragging tourists all over the city, she was too exhausted to string together a coherent sentence.
All of that would change once her debts were paid. Or even part of her debts, for that matter. All she needed was a few extra hours a day.
Until then, she’d be hanging out with the likes of Mano Romano. Not that he was in any way typical of her ordinary clients. On the contrary. She released a jittery sigh and turned to make sure he was keeping up in the throng of people.
He came toward her, maneuvering his way through a group of French-speaking tourists, looking far too handsome for someone dressed in a green rain poncho. “I see you walk as swiftly as you drive.”
Her cheeks warmed. Why did every word that came out of his mouth bring about a physical reaction? It was beyond annoying. “It’s a must, I’m afraid. Otherwise, we’d be at a standstill for days. If you’re having trouble spotting me . . .”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. “My eyes couldn’t be more on you, Julia.”
There it was again. That empty ache in her center. A tingle in her thighs.
She took a step backward and cleared her throat. “Good.”
“I have no intention of letting you out of my sight.” He took a step closer, diminishing the distance she’d put between them. “Happy now?”
She ordered her feet to move again. They flagrantly disobeyed and remained rooted to the spot. “Your happiness is what matters here. I’m just the guide.”
“At my disposal, are you?” The gleam in his eyes was nothing short of wicked.
Her breathing grew shallow. Breathe, just breathe. And for goodness’ sake, relax. It’s a paycheck. A hefty one.
She lifted her chin. Disaster might be flirting with her, but she didn’t have any intention of flirting back. “So long as you’re footing the bill, I am.”
Something indecipherable passed through his gaze. Then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once again with that intense, probing way he had of looking at her. “Now that we’ve got that sorted, shall we proceed?”
He glanced at the massive queue of people waiting at the entrance and frowned. Clearly Mano Romano wasn’t a man accustomed to waiting in line.
Displeased or not, at least his focus was no longer centered exclusively on her. She was grateful for the respite, however brief. “Don’t worry about the crowd. You get to bypass the queue since you’re with me.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly. Why couldn’t she seem to stop looking at his mouth? “How fortunate. I suppose it pays to have friends in high places.”
She shrugged. “It’s part of what you’re paying for. The touring companies get to use a different entrance.”
“After you, then.”
She led him past the general admission entrance toward one of the great stone archways closer to the Arch of Constantine that led to the Palatine Hill and Circus Maximus. Once past the mob of tourists, she slowed to a stop.
“This is where we go in.” She pointed to the entrance gate, one of only four unnumbered arches that composed the ruins of the ancient amphitheater. “It’s funny. In a way, this system mirrors how spectators entered the Colosseum in ancient Rome when the gladiator games were in full swing.”
Mano lifted a brow. “Really? The gladiators had private guides, as well? I hadn’t heard.”
“Of course they didn’t. They were slaves. I know it’s fashionable to romanticize them, but there was nothing poetic or heroic about being a gladiator. Over half a million of them lost their lives here.”
Mano’s smile faded. “Half a million?”
“Yes. Half a million. They entered the arena through Porta Sanavivaria, the Gate of Life, over there between gates nineteen and twenty.” She pointed toward the far east side of the building. “If they were successful, they left through the same gate.”
His brow furrowed. “And if they weren’t?”
“If they lost, they exited through the gate directly opposite, the Libitinarian Gate.” He looked slightly relieved. Clearly he wasn’t getting it. “Also known as the Gate of Death.”
“The Gate of Death,” he repeated. His gaze met hers and held. “What, pray tell, does that have to do with how we’re entering the b
uilding? Are you planning on clobbering me over the head in there and dragging me out through the death gate? Because I hadn’t realized I’d signed on for such an authentic experience.”
As if incapacitating him was in the realm of possibility. This man was a force to be reckoned with. “Loosen up, Mano Romano. I have no plans to throw you to the lions. All I meant was that since its inception, the Colosseum has been strictly governed by social structure. The masses entered the building through one of the seventy-six numbered entrances, according to the seat numbers etched on their marble tickets. The other four entrances were ceremonial—the Gate of Life, the Gate of Death, and the north and south entrances, which were reserved for the magistrates, Roman officials, and royalty.”
He looked away, swallowing hard. “Royalty?”
“Yes. Royalty. Although the Emperor Commodus had a special underground tunnel built that led all the way from the Imperial Palace to the Colosseum so he could travel without the threat of assassination. After the Passaggio di Commodo was built, the emperor usually arrived that way, through a tunnel elaborately decorated with frescoes, marble, and mosaics.”
He considered this for a moment. A moment in which Julia pretended not to notice how dreamy he looked standing in the rain, like a melancholy literary hero. “That certainly sounds . . .”
“Pompous?” She lifted a dubious brow.
Mano’s gray eyes narrowed. Julia had never seen such beautiful eyelashes on a man. It was hardly fair. But it had been an awfully long time since she’d been naïve enough to believe in the fairness of life. “Actually, I was going to say stressful.”
“Stressful? You think the emperor’s life was stressful?” Surely he was joking.
He didn’t crack a smile. His perfectly shaped lips remained in a perfectly straight line. But why was she looking at his lips again? “Absolutely. He was in charge of the entire Roman kingdom. That’s a great deal of responsibility, not to mention the fact that he feared being murdered as he traveled through the streets.”
She should smile and laugh off his comments. He was her client, after all. But he was also wrong. So very wrong. “Goodness, I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before. I’m sure the poor emperor had far more to worry about than the gladiators who had to fight one another to the death. Or even the sixty thousand slaves who were forced to build the Colosseum.”
He remained unfazed. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
She crossed her arms. “Then what are you saying, exactly?”
“Just that being emperor probably wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” His smile bordered on patronizing.
Julia found it wholly annoying.
Stop talking. Just smile sweetly, keep your mouth shut, and move on with the tour.
She forced her lips into a grin. It was the keeping-her-mouth-shut part that seemed to be giving her trouble. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.” If he hadn’t struck her as so well educated, she would have thought he was in need of a history lesson.
Perhaps he simply needed a refresher course. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Caligula, widely considered to be one of the most evil men in human history.”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “As I recall, after a short four-year reign, he ended up being murdered by his own security detail. His body was rumored to be eaten by dogs in the street, so I believe he got his due.”
He was defending Caligula? Unbelievable.
Julia pushed her damp fringe from her face. The rain was really coming down now, yet here they stood, arguing about the relative nastiness of Roman emperors. Nothing about this tour was ordinary. Nothing at all. “You know that Nero killed his mother, right? And his ex-wife? And he’s said to have fiddled while Rome burned? He wasn’t just evil. He was nuts.”
His expression remained impassive. Julia had never met a more brazenly confident man in all her life. Not even her father. “I believe he eventually committed suicide, did he not? Hardly the mark of a stress-free lifestyle.”
He had a point.
Julia was temporarily silenced. And also very much impressed. The man knew his emperors.
“Don’t tell me I’ve rendered you speechless. Come now. I’ve no doubt you can tell me more about the evils of the reigning classes.” He winked.
Was he flirting again or being condescending? Julia honestly couldn’t tell. Nor did she know which would be preferable.
On second thought, she’d prefer condescension. Arrogance, she could deal with. Flirting, not so much.
The Elio debacle was all too fresh. Chiara was frustrated beyond words with Julia’s inability to put it behind her. Once six months had gone by, her friend had done enough handholding and had moved on to the tough-love phase. Half a year was more than enough time to devote to heartbreak, she insisted. Julia might have agreed if she weren’t still paying the very real consequences of her horrible lapse in judgment.
Charming as he might be, she didn’t know the first thing about Mano. Other than that he was handsome, smart, handsome, well-mannered, handsome, and sympathized with malevolent rulers. And had she mentioned handsome? Good looks aside, he was trouble. The warning signs were everywhere, from his odd behavior at the hotel and his insistence on not being photographed to sensing his overall detachment. It was as though he were somewhere he didn’t belong, which made no sense at all. Who came to Rome without seeing the Colosseum?
He looked down at her, a hint of a smile on his lips.
She looked up at him and her heart gave a rebellious tug. What had they been talking about again?
Tell me more about the evils of the reigning classes.
“Actually . . .” She was about to launch into an account of the emperor Tiberius when Mano tore his gaze from hers and began digging through the voluminous layers of his plastic poncho.
She watched as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He frowned at its display.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He stared intently at the phone for another minute or two, then smiled at her again. Except it looked a little forced this time.
“No. Nothing. Everything’s fine. Brilliant.” He slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Where were we?”
“We were discussing the woes of being royal. Ancient Romans thought of their leaders as gods. Some of them even claimed divinity for themselves. Domitian demanded his subjects call him ‘lord and god.’ Modest fellow, wasn’t he?” She rolled her eyes. “And you do know Augustus was deified.”
“So was Claudius, but that doesn’t make him perfect.” The corner of Mano’s mouth lifted into a sardonic grin. “I said I presumed it was stressful being the emperor. I never said the men in the royal household were saintly. Trust me. I know better.”
Julia would have snickered, but something about the steely look in his eyes told her they weren’t playing around anymore. He was serious.
Trust me. I know better.
She wanted to ask him what he could possibly know about the private behavior of emperors, kings, and princes. Then again, anyone with Internet access, a television, or a copy of People knew enough. Didn’t they?
It was laughable.
Except the man standing in front of her wasn’t laughing.
* * *
NICCOLO FOLLOWED JULIA THROUGH a massive stone archway and wondered if this had once been one of the two ceremonial royal entrances she’d mentioned. He hoped not. God, he hoped not. He much preferred entering the arena as a regular person, just an ordinary Joe.
Because it beat the hell out of being compared to Nero or Caligula.
Just inside the Colosseum’s damp stone walls, behind a plexiglass barrier, sat a uniformed attendant. Niccolo couldn’t help but notice a cash register within the confines of the cubicle, and he began to perspire beneath his plastic poncho.
Tickets.
Of
course there were tickets. Sightseeing wasn’t free. There had to be a price for admission to the Colosseum, right? Not that Niccolo had ever had to pay for entrance before. Anywhere. Come to think of it, perhaps he did. He honestly had no idea. He had people to take care of those types of things.
Where were those people now?
Waiting for him back at Hotel de Russie, blowing up his phone. His security detail may not have been as mutinous as Caligula’s, but they were attentive. Attentive and, at the moment, quite agitated.
His cell was vibrating like mad in his trouser pocket. Over a dozen missed calls and who-knew-how-many texts. He hadn’t bothered to read them all, only the most recent one.
THE KING HAS BEEN NOTIFIED OF YOUR ABSENCE. HE IS CONCERNED YOU MAY BE IN HARM’S WAY.
He had to respond. It was one thing to shirk his royal responsibilities, but another matter entirely to let the palace think he’d been kidnapped. Especially his grandfather.
THE KING HAS BEEN NOTIFIED.
Those were the words that should have made him turn around and head straight back to Hotel de Russie. His entire life had revolved around duty. Duty to his country, duty to the throne. That throne, in essence, was his grandfather. He’d always done as his grandfather—his king—had expected. And he would continue to do so.
He had no choice. The future of the monarchy rested on his shoulders. The people of Lazaretto may have overlooked the indiscretions of his father, but they wouldn’t put up with another generation of misdeeds. Niccolo was the literal end of the La Torre line.
He knew perfectly well he couldn’t fight his fate. Forty-one days from now, he’d be splashing around in a pool for that absurd swimming exhibition. He knew that as surely as he knew that one day he’d be the one sitting on the throne . . . after he’d married one of the suitable women who’d been approved by the high court of Lazaretto. An entire team of people. As if this were the Stone Age.
Or ancient Rome.
But why was he thinking about marriage all of a sudden?
He couldn’t fight fate. He wasn’t trying to. He simply wanted to take a breather. A single morning. Although now that he’d gotten a taste of freedom, a morning seemed wholly inadequate. Aside from worrying about being discovered, he was enjoying himself. Quite a lot. Julia planned to show him the sights for the entire day, not just the morning. Did she not?
