Royally Roma

by Teri Wilson

“From my friend Chiara across the hall. I went to her flat in a panic when I realized who you were. I showed her your picture and prayed with every fiber of my being that I was wrong.” She waved her arms at his luxurious surroundings. They may as well have been in Versailles. “Clearly I wasn’t.”

  He angled his head toward her. “You found the idea of making love to a prince so abhorrent, did you?”

  “Yes, frankly.” She crossed her arms. She needed a barrier between them, no matter how ineffective. She could feel her resolve slipping. With every word, every glance, she felt herself drawn to him once again. This cannot happen. “My family has a history, Nico. An ugly one. I don’t want to read about that ugliness in the papers again. Ever.”

  He grew dangerously still. Quiet.

  “Yesterday at the fountain, you were running from the press, weren’t you?” She felt like she might faint all of a sudden. How close had she come to being front-page news?

  “No, actually. I was running from the palace staff.” He shook his head and let out an unexpected laugh. “Are you seriously telling me that you were worried about ending up in the papers because of me.”

  “Exactly.” She threw the envelope full of money down on the table. Twenties, fifties, hundreds and that despicable check spilled out onto the floor. “And then you left me with this humiliating parting gift—without saying good-bye, I might add—so please explain to me the part where I’m supposed to be impressed by who you are.”

  “But this is what you wanted. This was why I spent the weekend at your flat, was it not? I’m paying my debt.”

  “Your debt totaled seven hundred fifty euros, not one million twenty thousand.” One million twenty thousand euros. It was absurd. She could barely bring herself to utter the sum out loud.

  “The twenty thousand was an apology for getting you fired, and the million was for—”

  She cut him off. “Keeping my mouth shut or having sex with you? I’m having trouble figuring out which.”

  He jammed a hand through his hair. He suddenly didn’t look quite so regal. In fact, he looked almost human. “Piero told me about your father, then I saw the magazine and the photo on your phone, and I thought . . .” He shook his head, and went from looking human to looking every bit as broken as she felt inside. “I don’t want to say what I thought.”

  “You don’t have to.” She blinked back tears. Of all the things she had to say to him, this was the most difficult to get out. “You thought I wanted to take advantage of you, that I would sell our story to the press. You thought when I looked at you that all I saw were dollar signs. Like father, like daughter.”

  He closed his eyes, as if doing so could make her disappear.

  She wanted to scream. Make up your mind. All she’d wanted was to disappear, to leave him behind forever. He was the one who’d had some poor valet wrench her off of her Vespa and drag her inside.

  “You know what hurts the most, Nico?” she asked quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself, lest she fall completely apart. “I would have thought if anyone would understand that some things aren’t passed down through the gene pool, it would be you.”

  A sob escaped her. It sounded like a noise a wounded animal would make. And she hated herself for being so vulnerable in front of him. Again. Why couldn’t she stay strong, detached?

  Because I love him.

  He opened his eyes, and she saw her pain multiplied tenfold in his gaze. “Keep the money, Julia. Keep the money and finish your master’s degree.”

  “No,” she said. “I will do no such thing. Frankly, I can’t believe you have the audacity to even mention the money to me again.”

  “Keep the money, Julia.” His voice went lethal again. “That is not a request. It’s a command.”

  “Have you forgotten? I’m an American. I’m not one of your subjects. I don’t have to bow down to you like you’re Caesar reincarnated, and I most definitely do not have to follow your orders.” She lifted her chin in defiance and wondered what would happen if she dared to speak to him this way in his home country. She would probably be flogged or something.

  Well that didn’t matter, did it, since she would never set foot in Lazaretto.

  She pretended that particular fact didn’t make her heart feel like it had a gaping hole right through its center. She had to stop wishing things could be different.

  She would have liked to see the place he called home. Not the palace, but the country. She would have liked to know the colors of the sand and sea he saw when he looked out his bedroom window. What kind of trees had he climbed as a boy?

  But of course she never would.

  She swallowed against the lump that had lodged in her throat. Keep it together. You still have your pride. It was pretty much all she had left at this point.

  “Julia, this is not a game.” His gray eyes glittered. She wished it didn’t excite her to see him like this. Powerful and passionate, even though at the moment that passion was very much a by-product of anger. “Take the money.”

  “I can’t. Don’t you see?” She couldn’t believe she needed to spell it out for him. Did he really not understand, or did he get some perverse sense of satisfaction out of making her say it out loud? “Taking your money, especially such an obscene amount of it, after I’d had sex with you would make me a whore.”

  “You are no whore, Julia Costa. And don’t ever speak that way of our time together.” Something indiscernible flashed in his gaze. Julia stared at him for a prolonged moment, wishing he would say something, anything that would make her feel less like a common criminal and more like the woman she’d been when he’d made love to her.

  “It wasn’t just sex.” His gaze softened to a misty gray that reminded her of an ethereal fog rolling in after a long rain. “It was . . .”

  Everything froze while she waited for him to finish. Even the air seemed to stop moving.

  “ . . . more than that. Much more.” He cupped her face in his hands and drew the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip.

  And it felt so good, so right to have him touch her again that she could have wept for a century.

  “Oh, Julia, my darling.” His hands slid into her hair, and he pulled her close, kissing her closed eyelids with tender, reverent touches of his lips. “It wasn’t sex. It was poetry.”

  She gathered his lapels in her fists. Hold on. Just hold on. If she could just keep her composure for one more minute, they could say good-bye and then she could go home and fall apart in private.

  She would never see him again, would she?

  Deep down, she’d known as much all along. But she didn’t think she’d really accepted it until now. Maybe it was the lush surroundings—all the ornate molding, velvet cushions, and gilded elegance that shimmered with the truth that she didn’t belong here. Not now. Not ever.

  Or maybe it was the way that Piero had looked at her back in her apartment. As if she were some sort of pariah. Something to be managed, lest she do something embarrassing.

  Like her father.

  She was a mistake, a mess that needed to be cleaned up so the prince and his entourage could move on to the next country, the next luxurious hotel room. Probably even the next woman. Everything from here forward was damage control.

  She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. Damage control. It was too late. There was no controlling the damage that had been done.

  “Nico, I can’t do this. Any of it.” I’m leaving.

  “Julia . . .” Something about the way he was suddenly looking at her caused her skin to dance with goose bumps. His expression had become so earnest and intense that it was frightening.

  Her throat grew dry. She was terrified suddenly. Not because he was angry, but quite the contrary. Shouting she could handle. Tenderness, on the other hand, just might break her.

  He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, slowly, gently. An
d something seemed to come apart inside her chest. Because she didn’t want to hear whatever he was about to say. She just needed to leave this place, leave him, while she still could.

  It was almost a relief when the door swung open and Piero walked in. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”

  Nico exhaled a tense sigh. “Not now, Piero.”

  Piero cleared his throat. Quite loudly. “I’m sorry, sir. But there’s someone here to see you.”

  “I should go,” Julia murmured. There was no reason to stick around. She’d done what she needed to do. She’d returned the money. It was time for good-bye.

  “Stay,” Nico said. “Please stay. Whoever it is can wait.”

  Stay.

  It was the one word she’d longed to hear.

  After everything—after the lies and accusations, after the maddening embarrassment she’d felt when she’d opened that envelope and seen so much money—she still wanted him. God help her.

  It took superhuman effort not to reach for him, to seek comfort in his lips, his hands, in the pleasure of his embrace. To stay.

  “I’m afraid it can’t wait.” Piero’s voice snapped her back to reality. “The king is here.”

  Julia froze. “The king?”

  It was like being slapped in the face by reality. How could this be happening? How could she be standing here arguing with a prince while his grandfather, the king, was right outside?

  She shook her head. “I have to go.”

  Nico spoke without taking his eyes off her. “Piero, leave us. Tell my grandfather I’ll be just a moment.”

  “Very well, sir. But I doubt he’s willing to wait.” Piero bowed, withdrew from the room, and closed the door behind him.

  “Don’t leave,” Nico whispered.

  But his eyes were filled with good-byes, and in that moment, Julia wished more than anything that she’d never met His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of Lazaretto, Niccolo La Torre.

  She planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “You were all I wanted, Nico. Not your money. Not your crown. You.” Her voice broke. She had to force the words out, because one of them had to say it. And if he wouldn’t, she would. “Only you. But I can’t do this. And neither can you. You said so yourself, remember? Your life isn’t your own.”

  He pulled back and stared down at her. Hard. “Sei mio, my darling. Sei mio.”

  Sei mio.

  You’re mine.

  “I’m not.” She knew it, and so did he.

  She dashed to the door as quickly as she could manage. She had to leave. Now, while she could still force herself to go. With her hand on the doorknob, she gave him one last glance over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Nico.”

  Then she turned her back on the world of royalty and romance and walked away.

  Back to where she belonged.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  TWENTY-ONE

  Silence fell like a heavy blanket the moment Julia left the room. Silence so thick that Niccolo felt as though he were suffocating. She’d walked into his life like a breath of fresh air, and when she departed, she stole the breath right out of his lungs. His chest grew tight, and a fierce pain took up residence in the place where his heart would have been, had his heart not just walked out the door with the woman he loved.

  There was no more denying it.

  He loved her.

  Only moments ago, he’d been sitting in this gilded cage—alone and lost—thinking that he would never see her again. And by some strange twist of fate, she’d returned. What kind of miracle had brought her back? To what Roman god did he owe his gratitude, after he’d so callously thrown her away?

  He’d been wrong. So very wrong. About so many things. But she’d come back, and the truth couldn’t have hit him any harder than if it had knocked him over.

  She was the one.

  It had been her all along. It had always been her, even before she’d walked up to him on the piazza and he’d pretended his name was Mano Romano just so he could spend the day with her. It had always been her, and it always would be. This felt predestined somehow. Written in the stars. No misunderstanding, no crown, no godforsaken newspaper, and no act of parliament could change the way he felt.

  But she was gone.

  Go after her, you idiot.

  Niccolo lunged at the door, but when he swung it open, he found himself face-to-face with his grandfather.

  “Going somewhere? Because I wouldn’t advise it, Grandson.” He didn’t raise his voice an octave. He didn’t need to. Everything about Niccolo’s grandfather oozed authority. He was every inch a king.

  Niccolo bowed his head. “Grandfather.”

  “Well, where do you think you’re going?” The king raised his brows. “Again?”

  Niccolo swallowed. He wasn’t going anywhere, apparently. “Nowhere, sir.”

  “Precisely. Have you forgotten that you’re speaking to the press in a matter of minutes?”

  Of course he hadn’t. How could he? This was his life. It always had been, and it always would be. He’d accepted his fate a long time ago.

  He thought he had, anyway.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. But . . .”

  “But?” His grandfather’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve never dared talk back to me before, Niccolo. In the past forty-eight hours, you’ve turned our monarchy upside down. Do you have any idea how many palace resources have been devoted to tracking down your whereabouts? We thought you’d been kidnapped or held against your will. Imagine my disappointment when I found out the crown prince had simply run away. This is unacceptable. Have you forgotten that you’re the future king, Niccolo?”

  “Forgotten?” Niccolo spat. “I couldn’t forget such a thing if I tried.”

  His grandfather flinched as if he’d been slapped. Niccolo was crossing a line, and he knew it. His grandfather was his sovereign. The ultimate authority. Niccolo should be groveling at this point.

  But he’d been the dutiful prince his entire life, and where had it gotten him? He’d never been so miserable in his life.

  “Grandfather, I’ve never made a single misstep in my entire public career.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed. “Until now.”

  “Wrong.” He refused to think of the past two days as a misstep. He may have been pretending to be someone else, but he’d never felt more genuine. If only he’d admitted as much to Julia before it was too late. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice—one that I would make again, if given the opportunity.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Niccolo. We will never speak of this weekend again. You’re going to go out there and speak to the press, appease the Roman people, and then you will continue your royal tour. Is that understood? You’re a prince. Act like one.” The king turned around and headed for the door.

  The discussion was over. Just like Niccolo’s ill-fated holiday.

  Had it just been a holiday and nothing more? Was he a fool to think he could make something out of a relationship that should have never happened to begin with?

  Maybe. Probably. But the idea of letting her go without a fight was impossible to consider. Would Caesar have given up on the woman he loved?

  “No,” he said. Quietly. Calmly. It was almost frightening how calm he felt, despite the fact that he was breaking every known rule of royal protocol.

  The trouble was that protocol seemed of little importance at the moment. The only thing that mattered was finding Julia. Finding her and convincing her that they could make this work. Somehow.

  His grandfather sighed, and when he turned to face Niccolo again, the lines on his face seemed deeper. He looked older somehow. “Niccolo, don’t do this. You’re the good prince. Without you, our monarchy is doomed.”

  “Exactly. It’s too much pressure for one man, Grandfather. I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t, and I won’t. Not like this.” He didn’t even know he’d made the decision until the words left his mouth, but once they had, it was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He could breathe again. “I love you. I love Lazaretto, and I love our family. But I can’t be the one to clean up Cassian’s messes anymore. I can’t be the perfect prince. I need a life of my own.”

  The king stood quietly for a moment, absorbing what Niccolo had said.

  When at last he lifted his gaze to Niccolo’s, the look in his eyes was more human than regal. “What are you proposing?”

  “For starters, I’d like a few days to myself every now and then. I’ll still handle the bulk of the royal appearances, but from now on, Cassian will be responsible for atoning for his own misdeeds. Does that sound fair to you?”

  His grandfather nodded slowly. “I suppose it does.”

  “One more thing.” Niccolo squared his shoulders. “I choose the women I date, including the one I will eventually marry. My life. My choice.”

  “You’re talking about the future queen. It’s not that easy, Grandson.”

  “It can be,” Niccolo countered.

  “Might I assume you’re talking about Miss Costa?”

  So his grandfather had already been told about Julia. Of course.

  Niccolo’s throat grew tight. “Yes and no. Miss Costa and I have said our good-byes.”

  “Perhaps that’s for the best. As you’re quite aware, her family is plagued by scandal.”

  “As is ours. The Costas’ family business is just more out in the open.” Niccolo shrugged. “Perhaps it’s better that way. I’ve had enough of secrets, haven’t you?”

  “You’re playing with fire, Grandson. Even if I agree to this, the people of Lazaretto won’t accept just anyone.”

  “I think they will.” And he knew just how to make them.

  Within moments, Niccolo would be face-to-face with a swarm of reporters, the very people of whom Julia was so afraid.

  And the irony was that Niccolo understood her fear. He understood it all too well. He knew precisely what it was like to have the press poke and pry into your life. They left no stone unturned. And they were ruthless in their assessment of their prey. Nothing sold papers more than a scandal. Years of experience as his father’s son and Cassian’s brother had taught him that much. The press picked a person apart, bit by bit, and only moved onto someone else once the devastation was complete.