Royally Roma

by Teri Wilson

  What in the world just happened?

  Her knees wobbled. Every bone in her body had somehow melted. She was languid and liquid, nothing but a puddle on the floor. She’d never been so thoroughly kissed in her life. She’d also never been so thoroughly mortified.

  We can’t.

  He was rejecting her. The man who’d been lying to her since the moment they’d met was rejecting her. She wanted to die. But first she wanted to strangle him.

  “Of course we can’t.” She gave her eyes a good and thorough roll and crossed her arms so he wouldn’t see the way her hands were shaking. Or how breathless she’d become in just a matter of minutes. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Exactly.” He smiled. It was probably the saddest smile she’d ever seen.

  Much to her indignation, it took the edge off her anger. Suddenly she was on the verge of tears. Again. How many times would she let this man make her cry? “You could tell me, you know. Just tell me who you are. It’s as easy as that.”

  “I wish it were.” He sighed. “But it’s not.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. She was exhausted all of a sudden. Exhausted and embarrassed beyond belief. What was she doing? She couldn’t allow herself to stand here in her kitchen and practically beg a complete stranger to take her to bed.

  “Julia.” Nico removed her hands from her face, cupped her chin, and gazed searchingly into her eyes.

  It felt like he was looking straight into her soul, and she hated it. Hated how exposed she felt, how vulnerable. How did people do this? How did they open themselves up without feeling like they’d just willingly walked off of a cliff? Maybe it was too late for her. She’d been through too much to give of herself. Perhaps at all. Perhaps ever.

  It had taken everything she had to offer herself to him, and he didn’t even want her. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

  “On the contrary. I find you captivating.” He smiled down at her.

  And something seemed to come apart inside her chest, different from the way she’d come undone at his kiss. This new something felt far more dangerous.

  A lump sprang to her throat. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just sit back and count the hours until she had her money and he was gone?

  Because as much as I didn’t expect it to, this means something.

  It couldn’t mean something. It couldn’t mean anything. He would be gone come sunrise. And she still didn’t have a clue who he was.

  She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “You’re pretty captivating yourself.”

  Whoever you are.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  TWELVE

  Hours later—after they’d had wine and dinner and yet more wine, after Nico had emerged from her tiny bathroom looking unfathomably masculine in her favorite slouchy PJ bottoms—Julia woke in a panic.

  She sat bolt upright in bed, blinked against the darkness and tried to piece together the night before. Why was her head so fuzzy? And why was she only wearing her pajama top?

  Then it all came rushing back. The kiss. The embarrassment. The wine. So much wine. But not enough to make her forget that there was a man in her flat. A man whom she seemed to alternately despise and adore.

  She looked across the room, and there he was. The man whose last name she still didn’t know, sound asleep on her sofa. In the rest of her pajamas, no less. God, why did they have to be called boyfriend fit? And why did he have to be shirtless? With her bedsheets draped over his bare chest, he looked like a provocative Caesar.

  She resisted the urge to peek beneath the covers. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him. She needed time to think, time to put things in perspective without the disorienting pleasure of those gray eyes gazing at her. She couldn’t concentrate around him. He sent her head reeling whenever she looked at him.

  Which made it a good thing that he would be gone soon. Off to Helsinki to do his thing, whatever that might be. Assuming, of course, that her money would be delivered first thing in the morning as promised.

  She almost believed him now. She wasn’t sure why, but she sort of did. Maybe because she’d all but thrown herself at him and he’d acted honorably. Like a gentleman.

  How was it possible to feel like she could trust this man? It didn’t make a bit of sense. But she sort of did trust him now. Somehow, some way, she would get her money.

  Yet it would be a hollow victory since she was jobless now. Why was she even awake this early? She didn’t have a tour this morning, thanks to Nico or Mano or whoever he was. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

  She took a deep, yoga-esque breath and counted to ten. Despite the massive detour her life had taken in the past twenty-four hours, she would figure it out. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

  She could do this. She’d find another job. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of private touring companies in Rome. Surely one of them would give her a chance. It would be easier if she could use Giuseppe as a reference, but clearly that was out of the question. Still, she’d find something.

  Just as soon as she managed to rid herself of the Adonis on her couch.

  He shifted a little and the sheet fell away, exposing a set of washboard abs the likes of which she’d never seen outside of a Roman sculpture gallery. She couldn’t help but stare. He looked like he’d been Photoshopped. Or at the very least like he was enjoying the flattering benefits of a Valencia Instagram filter.

  Real people actually looked like this?

  “Good morning.”

  Julia’s face went hot. He’d caught her looking. Because of course he had.

  She dragged her gaze from his tanned physique to his knowing smirk, pausing ever so slightly to notice the fine trail of dark hair that started just below his belly button and ended somewhere beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Her pajama bottoms, technically. They rode so low on his hips it was practically criminal. Which she supposed was rather appropriate considering he was a criminal.

  “Good morning, captive. How did you sleep?” She nodded toward his feet dangling off the end of her secondhand couch. Crushed red velvet. Retro. Kitschy. And way too small to accommodate his sizable frame.

  “Like a baby.” His sat up, rolled his neck from side to side and winced.

  Julia couldn’t help but smile. “I’d call you a liar, but that’s already been established.”

  “I suppose I deserve that,” he said. Then he frowned at a lump wiggling beside him under the covers.

  It shimmied closer to the edge of the sofa until Valentina’s petite little head poked out from beneath the edge of the blanket.

  So her dog was sleeping with him now?

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Julia rolled her eyes.

  “I told you I have a way with dogs.” Nico ran his hand over the Yorkie’s tiny back, and the dog peered up at him with unabashed affection. It was like Julia wasn’t even there.

  Will the humiliation ever end?

  Julia scooped up Valentina and cleared her throat. “I need to take her for a quick walk. That will give you time to wake up and . . . you know . . . put some clothes on.”

  Please, please put some clothes on.

  Nico raked a hand through his hair, and his bicep flexed in the process. Not that Julia noticed.

  “Whatever you say. You’re the one calling the shots around here.” He winked.

  She tried not to think about the fact that if she was truly the one calling the shots, he might have woken up in her bed this morning rather than the sofa. But she couldn’t manage to think about anything else. Not while he was so close. And so . . . so . . . shirtless.

  She swallowed. “Okay, then. We’ll be back in a minute.”

  His lips curved into a cheeky grin. At least Julia thought they did. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at his abs. Valentina yi
pped, snapping her back into mostly coherent thought.

  Dog. Outside.

  Right.

  Julia squared her shoulders, turned her back on Nico and his ridiculously hot bod, and marched toward the front door. She grabbed Valentina’s leash from the hook on the wall and slid her feet into her loafers, which she always kept right by the entryway.

  She would not let Nico rattle her again. Not when he’d had the nerve to reject her the night before. After getting her fired. She refused to be that woman. She just needed to clear her head for a minute, and she could go back to properly despising him. As she should.

  She reached for the doorknob.

  Behind her, Nico called out, “Julia?”

  His voice sounded warm, sultry. Like Rome. Like sex.

  “Yes?” she said, keeping her gaze firmly glued to the door.

  He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  She paused for a beat.

  “Your pants,” he said.

  She looked down at her bare legs stretching out from beneath her pajama top and wanted to die.

  Nope, she wasn’t rattled at all.

  * * *

  NICCOLO PUSHED HIMSELF OFF the sofa, raked a hand through his hair, and ordered himself to stop thinking about Julia’s long, graceful legs. Or how adorable she’d looked with her hair mussed from sleep and cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. Now that she’d slipped on a pair of jeans and taken her little dog outside, he should be getting dressed himself. Preparing to leave. What he most certainly shouldn’t be doing was thinking about how he’d very nearly slid into her bed the night before to kiss her, hold her.

  Love her.

  Nor should he be thinking about how he found her humble home charming and cozy compared to the impersonal elegance of the places where he normally slept. Or how the cheap Chianti they’d consumed the night before had somehow tasted better than the finest Italian wines on the Hotel de Russie’s menu. Or how arguing with Julia was far more enjoyable than having people bow and cater to his every whim.

  None of those things should matter. Couldn’t matter. But they did. All of them.

  He bent to gather his discarded clothes off the floor, and when he stood up, he banged his head on one of the ceiling’s low-hanging wood beams. Good. Maybe it would knock some sense into him, because his innocent little holiday had clearly become something bigger. And if he stayed here much longer, it wouldn’t be so innocent anymore either.

  Show me.

  He’d done the right thing the night before. He had absolutely no business bedding Julia Costa. He shouldn’t feel an ounce of regret about stopping things when he had.

  Except he did. Big heaping loads of regret.

  You’re perfect, but we can’t.

  The hurt he’d seen in her eyes when he’d said those words had just about killed him. He’d wanted to take them back before they’d even left his mouth.

  She was a grown woman, after all. She could make her own decisions. Who was he to tell her what to do?

  That sounded awfully close to the sort of rationalization Cassian specialized in, though. At least his brother’s conquests had the benefit of knowing who they were sleeping with.

  Niccolo sank back down on the sofa and dropped his head in hands. What if he told Julia who he was? What if he just laid it all out? Would that really be so awful?

  Of course it would.

  He’d carried the charade too far. Getting her sacked certainly hadn’t helped. The consequences of his impulsive choice to follow her yesterday morning had been worse than he’d anticipated. They’d pretty much confirmed every terrible notion Julia had about people in positions of power. Not to mention, men in general. If she found out he was a high-raking royal now, after everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours, she would be furious. Possibly furious enough to tell her story to the press.

  He hated to think she would do something like that, but he couldn’t afford to think otherwise. Not when there was so much at stake in Lazaretto.

  Thanks a lot, Cassian.

  Niccolo sighed. He couldn’t blame Cassian for the mess he found himself in. Not this time. This was a predicament of his own making.

  He needed to make it right. Not for himself, but for Julia. She shouldn’t have to pay the cost for his error in judgment.

  Which meant he needed to get in touch with Piero as soon as possible. As he stepped into his trousers, he felt his cell phone vibrating away in his pocket and for once it was a relief. He looked at the display and marveled at the time. Had he really slept so late?

  The phone vibrated again, and he answered. “Ciao, Piero.”

  “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” his secretary said.

  Niccolo could hear a world of stress in that simple greeting. “I trust you’ve followed my instructions.”

  “Yes, sir. Now if you’ll just tell me where to deliver the funds . . .”

  Niccolo took a deep inhale and looked around. He didn’t want Piero here. Not if he could help it. “I’ll meet you at Café Rocha in half an hour.”

  “Rocha? The little sidewalk café place? Sir, if I may . . . perhaps we should meet somewhere less public?”

  Niccolo shot a glance at his beard-free reflection in the mirror. “It will be fine, Piero.”

  It wasn’t as if they were planning a long, leisurely meal at the café, anyway. Just long enough for Niccolo to render payment to Julia. Then they’d both go their separate ways.

  A dull ache throbbed to life in the back of his skull.

  It has to end. Better sooner than later. If he’d created this much havoc in twenty-four hours, he didn’t want to contemplate the kind of damage he could do before he extricated himself from Julia’s life.

  He needed to get back to work and back to the palace immediately.

  “As you wish,” Piero said.

  But he didn’t hang up right away, and the silence from the other end of the call felt heavy. Ominous.

  “Is there something else you need to tell me, Piero?”

  His reply was too quick, too full of cheer. “Absolutely not, Your Royal Highness. We look forward to your return.”

  Niccolo ended the call and finished getting dressed. Julia’s microscopic bathroom was roughly the size of his personal dry sauna back in Lazaretto, so it didn’t take him long to locate a tube of toothpaste. By the time he heard Julia’s footsteps on the other side of the door, he was clothed, groomed, and ready to go.

  But something still felt off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it had been about the phone call that left him unsettled until Julia flung the door open.

  Valentina shot toward him in a flurry of fur, and he forced a smile while Piero’s final statement echoed in his consciousness.

  We look forward to your return.

  Not I.

  We.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  THIRTEEN

  “Wait. Where are we going?” Julia wasn’t sure why she’d asked Nico to repeat himself. Whatever he’d said in the first place—something about a café—had been completely and wholly unacceptable.

  The only proper answer would be the name of a bank. Any bank. She wasn’t choosy. Honestly, she wasn’t. Any monetary institution would do, so long as she walked away from it with two hundred fifty euros in her hand.

  “Café Rocha,” he said, as if they were on holiday rather than engaged in a serious hostage situation.

  Well, they weren’t on holiday . . . the many empty wine bottles notwithstanding.

  Julia shook her head. She didn’t want to go out for breakfast. Even if she did, eating out wasn’t a luxury she could afford. Especially now. Besides, her fury at Nico had been rekindled during her walk with Valentina. She’d taken the opportunity to call When in Rome to beg for her job back, hoping against h
ope that Guiseppe would be willing to reconsider now that he’d had some time to cool off.

  No such luck. He still refused to take her calls. Even Paola had sounded less than thrilled to hear from her. Plus, Julia found it far easier to be mad at Nico again now that he was dressed.

  She crossed her arms. “No.”

  “No?” he repeated. Out of nowhere, an angry vein made an appearance on his right temple.

  “You promised you’d pay me back this morning. Look around. It’s morning.” She threw her hands up in the air, and Valentina scurried for cover, coming to a shivering stop right between Nico’s feet.

  Julia sighed. Honestly, had he brainwashed her dog when she wasn’t looking?

  She cleared her throat and continued. “I’m not hungry. I just want my money.”

  Her stomach chose that most inopportune moment to growl. Loudly.

  Nico lifted a perfectly groomed brow and shot a pointed stare at her midsection. Julia’s gaze swept over his combed hair and his button-down shirt, neatly tucked into his dress pants. He looked fresh as a daisy, like he was ready to walk into a business meeting. He’d slept on a sofa that was a good two feet shorter than his body. Couldn’t he at least have the decency to look the slightest bit disheveled?

  “Hungry or not, we’re going to Café Rocha. I’m meeting my secretary there to collect your money,” he said.

  “Oh.” His secretary. Interesting. Julia tried—and failed—not to picture him alongside a gorgeous woman wearing a charcoal pencil skirt and patent leather stilettos. “You travel with your secretary?”

  “No questions, please.” He gave her a contrite look, which only made her more annoyed.

  The beautiful secretary could have him. Good riddance. “Fine. Just give me a few minutes to get ready, and we’ll be on our way.”

  She stomped toward her closet, congratulating herself for remembering to put clothes on this time before she left the house. It was a small victory, but she’d take what she could get these days. She pulled a red polka-dot dress with a full, swinging skirt off the rack and shut herself inside the bathroom to change. If Nico was going to strut around in a suit, she could at least do a little better than a pajama top and jeans. She slipped into a pair of ballerina flats, twisted her hair into a bun, and applied a fresh layer of lipstick.