by Amy Patrick
“Eighteen. Why?”
“Why are you traveling in Europe alone? Shouldn’t you be in university or something?”
She squirmed in her seat. “I was going to go but then… I changed my mind. I’m taking a gap year—or two or three.”
“I see. And your family?”
“What about them?”
“They’re okay with you traveling by yourself in foreign countries?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“There are many dangers that could befall a young, beautiful girl on her own.”
Her blush deepened at my compliment, but her fiery spirit wasn’t dampened. Not by a long shot. “Oh—you mean like being kidnapped and forced to be at the beck and call of an arrogant star athlete?”
I grinned again. Couldn’t help it. “So you do think I’m a star.”
“That would be the word you’d focus on.” She rolled her eyes. “So what is this business you have to do in Florence?”
“There’s a property or two I need to look at for my father. And there’s a man I must stop and see on the way.”
The truth was I’d slipped away without actually mentioning my impromptu holiday to my father. And I did need to see someone in the Chianti region, but it wasn’t as pressing as I’d made it sound. There was no real agenda for this trip, though I did consider it necessary. As soon as Macy had said Alessia seemed “mean,” it had struck me—I had to get away from the castle—and take Macy with me.
Her safety was the main issue, but I also wanted something out of this trip. I felt the need for… oh, I didn’t know… one last fling or something before I committed myself for eternity to Alessia next month. I wanted to have fun, visit some of my favorite places, to be myself one last time before handing over my freedom.
It wasn’t like there was any negotiating the marriage pact—the deal was done. And I would do my duty when the time came. I’d show up on the day, say the words I was supposed to say, and somehow force myself to get through that night and do what was required to seal the bond and make our connection eternally binding.
But it wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be organic, effortless, like, say… bonding with Macy, for instance. Now that I could visualize and had more often during the past day than I should probably admit.
“Oh.” She blinked a few times, unaware of my dangerous, wandering thoughts and acting as if the wind had been taken out of her blustery sails. “So this really is a business trip.”
“What did you think? That I’m running away with you?” I chuckled, although once I’d said the words, the appeal of the idea grabbed me with a force that was shocking. I’d never even considered it before—walking away from my duty, which hung over my head like an anvil, from my career, which passed the time but wasn’t the one I would have chosen, from my family with all their expectations. From Alessia.
“Oh—uh… no… I,” Macy stammered.
“And,” I continued. “There happens to be a passport office in Florence.”
Her head whipped around to face me. “Really? You’re going to help me get a new passport?”
“I’m going to try. Of course, you have no I.D. and have all the hallmarks of a terrorist, so we’ll have to see.”
Macy finally stopped staring and relaxed back into her seat. She was silent for a few minutes. “Thank you, Nicolo,” she finally said, her words barely above a whisper.
I chuckled at her obvious misery over having to be grateful to me. “You see—I’m not such a bad guy. And believe it or not, I don’t have to brainwash—or kidnap—girls to get them to talk to me.” I gave her a teasing look. “With one or two exceptions. And call me Nic. Please.”
She responded with a shy smile. For the first time since we’d met, her eyes warmed, though they still held a glint of wariness. They were green—a very light green, like the waters at Palombaggia Beach in the early morning sun.
“Thank you… Nic.”
Realizing I’d let the car drift out of the lane, I jerked my attention back to the road ahead. “You are welcome.”
After a few minutes, Macy spoke again. There was a new attitude in her voice—something friendlier and more trusting. “So… you really think the girls are in your fan pod voluntarily then? I mean—besides me of course.”
“I can show you the fan mail letters from around the world—especially America—all of them pleading to join.”
“Okay. I believe you. But Olly doesn’t want to be there. I mean, she did want to join a fan pod, but now she wants to go home.”
“She should go home. I don’t know how a thirteen-year-old kid got in, but it must have been a mistake. I certainly didn’t know about it—I haven’t even met this child. I don’t want anyone there who doesn’t want to be. I’m not a predator, Macy.” Then adding a teasing note to my voice, I added, “If I were, I doubt I would have let you go last night without following the instructions on the back of your panties first.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock, and she jerked her head around to stare at me. “It’s a saying. A putdown. An insult, you know? It’s not literal.”
I laughed out loud at her wide-eyed horror. “I know. I’ve been to America. And believe me, I have been invited to kiss someone’s ass on more than one occasion in my life. Listen, Macy, you’re not my prisoner. You can leave. I have a strong feeling that if I don’t allow it, you’ll just climb the wall again—or maybe the trees—and swing branch to branch or something until you’re off the estate. You’re very strong, you know. I don’t see many hu—”
I stopped right there. For the first time in my life, I’d almost let my non-human status slip. Keeping the secret of our identity, of our race’s existence, was the number one rule of our people.
“I don’t see many girls who are so physically fit,” I continued.
Macy’s cheeks pinkened, and she looked away, out the window at the passing scenery. “I, uh… used to work out a lot.”
“I believe it.”
Reaching the ferry in Bastia, I pulled my car into the open spot indicated by the parking supervisor. Bardo and Piero parked just behind us. It was a sunny day, and I hit the button to let down the Bugatti’s windows and turned off the engine.
The ferry ride from Bastia to Piombino typically took three and a half hours. Normally when I traveled this way, I stayed in my car and checked my phone, took a nap. But Macy got out and went to stand at the boat’s railing, so I followed, stepping up to the railing beside her and glancing down at the churning water below. She said nothing, just stared out at the slowly passing scenery. I’d made this trip so many times in my life I scarcely noticed the surroundings anymore. I wondered what she thought about it. I wondered what she thought about everything, in fact.
“So tell me about yourself,” I said, trying to get a conversation going.
Macy turned to me with a little smile, scrunching her nose. “Why? If I’m going to leave soon, what’s the point? It’s not like we’ll ever see each other again.”
She was right, of course, but her reluctance to tell me about herself only made me want to know more. “So then, what’s the harm in telling me your life story? In fact, you can be completely honest. You can tell me things you wouldn’t normally tell anyone else. Total honesty. No consequences.” I smiled, teasing her.
Her brow puckered, her pretty lips twisting in indecision.
“Hey, if I’m going to help you orchestrate the Great Escape, the least you can do is entertain me along the way,” I quipped.
When she finally gave me a hesitant smile, I felt like I’d won a football match. The hours drifted by as we made small talk about her hometown in Missouri, about my one visit to the States, during which I’d seen only New York City and Los Angeles.
“You have to go back sometime,” she urged. “There’s so much more to see, like the Florida Gulf Coast. Oh, and Colorado—it’s incredible.”
“You are a snow skier?” I asked.
“No, I went in the summer and stayed in Colora
do Springs for a few months for—”
She stopped abruptly.
“What? For what? Rafting? If you say rock climbing, I’ll believe it.”
She shook her head and looked away, out at the water. “Just something I was doing at the time. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Okaaaay.” My questioning tone produced no results. “Tell me about your family,” I asked instead.
Her gaze came back to me, but it was no less haunted. “They’re great. My dad is a dentist. My mom was a teacher until she retired recently. They’ve always been very supportive. They’re not rich like your parents, but they gave me everything I needed growing up. And… I have a younger sister. Her name is Lily.”
“How old?”
“She’s twelve.”
“Ah—there is nothing more frightening to a boy than a preteen girl. I have a sister, as well,” I told her. “Of course, it’s been a while since Estelle was that age. We’re twins. But I remember it well. Does she drive you crazy—Lily?”
Instead of playing along with me, Macy seemed to withdraw. Her expression sobered. “No,” she said in a quiet voice. “She’s perfect. I miss her.”
“You have not been home in a long time.” It wasn’t a question, but Macy answered it anyway.
“No. I needed to get away.”
There seemed to be an untold story there, but Macy was obviously not in a storytelling mood. I told her about my sister instead, leaving out a few pertinent details, of course.
“My sister Estelle has been to America many times. She loves it there, wants to live there. She’s a fashion model—very successful.”
Like all Elven females, Estelle was very tall and thin. That was why the modeling industry was inundated with our kind. Sometimes it shocked me the humans didn’t guess that another species lived among them. To me, it seemed we’d be easy to spot. We were so far removed from the average human body type and bone structure.
“Like I said, we used to fight constantly, but now we are friends.”
“Does she live in the castle?”
“No, she has her own place in Paris—as I do. We each come home occasionally, when we want to get away from it all.”
“Is that why you came home after the World Cup?”
“Yes. Paris would be too crazy right now. I’m hoping Florence will be quieter. We will not make it all the way there tonight, though—the drive is too far. We’ll stop for the night in Siena.”
At her alarmed expression, I said, “There’s a very nice hotel I know there with suites—multiple rooms.”
She nodded in apparent satisfaction, and we made our way back to the car to prepare for debarkation. The roads were uncharacteristically quiet as we traveled from the ferry port to Siena through the Tuscan countryside.
As we meandered along, Macy craned her neck one way then the other, drinking in the large wineries and quaint estates, the fields of vivid wildflowers waving in the late afternoon sun—sights that were so familiar to me yet new to her.
I smiled, appreciating her acute interest. I never tired of these views myself. As we arrived in Siena on the Via Roma, she gasped as the Casa Di Riposo Per Anzaiani il Pavone came into view. Built in 1825, it was an enormous and elegant villa that now served as a rest home surrounded by a beautiful park.
Chuckling to myself, I assured her, “You have seen nothing yet. That is a new building here.”
As a case in point, only moments later, we passed the Porta Romana, one of the portals in the medieval walls of Siena, built in 1327. The complex double-portal gate was centered by two marble arches that welcomed visitors to the city in ancient times and was also effective at keeping out those who were not so welcome.
As a child, I’d loved to sit for hours and stare at the Porta and Siena’s incredible array of grand palazzos, sketching them from every angle as my mind’s eye imagined the structures I would create someday—even greater and more beautiful than these. That was until my father discovered my drawings and scolded my nanny for allowing me to “waste time” in such a manner. He'd taken them from my room, along with my sketch pads and pencils.
“You are not a human, my son. And you are not a Light Elf. They are the craftsmen,” he’d said, his tall, imposing figure looming over me as I’d sulked in my chair. “You were born to greater things. It is time to let go of your fantasies and accept your role in the Dark Court, just as I did. When I was a boy, I dreamed of being a goldsmith and creating exquisite jewelry. But my father told me, as I am telling you now, to put away those silly dreams and accept my destiny. I was born to be a king. You will be king someday. And a king has no time for scribbling and dreaming.”
“This is phenomenal.” Macy’s voice beside me pulled me from my dark rumination.
“It is, isn’t it?” I offered her a wan smile, though her thirsty gaze had already turned back to the passing homes and restaurants and hotels.
“Are we staying in one of these places?” she asked, hope evident in her tone.
“Wait and see,” I said. “I think you’ll find our accommodations quite satisfactory.”
And just like that, my morose mood lifted and turned into anticipation. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to reach our hotel in the historic heart of the city and see Macy’s reaction.
8
Macy
“This is where we’re staying?” I gasped, unable to stop myself from gawking as we followed a uniformed bellman through a set of revolving glass doors into an opulent lobby toward the elaborate wooden hospitality desk.
Nic beamed at me. “It’s my favorite hotel in the region. These frescoes on the walls and ceilings are original to the structure—dating back to the sixteen hundreds. And the cotto tiled floors? Guests have been walking across these for five hundred years, though they weren’t always paying customers. This used to be a palace, the Sienese residence of the Queen Consort of Italy.”
His face looked suddenly very young, like a little boy showing off his favorite toy car. The enthusiasm was understandable. I didn’t know anything about cotto tiles and Queen Consorts, but this whole place was magnificent.
I’d taken some trips with my family as a kid, but we were more Holiday Inn than Hilton types. And of course since I’d left home and been traveling on my own, the accommodations had been youth hostels most of the time, meaning they were safe and clean (and affordable) and that was about it. My shared room at the castle was the nicest place I’d stayed in months, and as it turned out it was basically a jail cell.
This place was… well, it was what Nic was used to, I supposed. His entire life had been lived in luxury. We were like night and day—I couldn’t imagine what his interest in me was. Well, I could imagine it if I got creative. We’d see what the sleeping arrangements really were when the elevator door opened on the top floor, and that would determine whether I’d stick around long enough to see if he really would help me get a passport or whether I’d slip away and take off on my own without one.
When we got to the panorama suite, it was just as he’d said—a central living area with a sofa and chairs and a dining table. Three separate bedrooms, so I could stand down on that concern. But the quarters were close. If I did decide on the escape option, I wasn’t sure how I’d pull it off. There was only a front door to the suite, and no doubt either Bardo or Piero would have an eye on it at all times.
Nic was a big guy, but his guards were huge. And they were totally jacked. Also, kind of ominous. They never spoke—just looked at Nic and seemed to know what to do. Sometimes they looked at each other in that same knowing way and then sort of moved in unison.
One of them silently escorted me to one of the bedrooms, and I stepped inside. The canopied bed caught my attention first. The walls were covered in fine silk wallpaper. A large fireplace centered one wall. Another was lined with large windows opening to tiled roofs, and dark blue skies, and hills off in the distance.
The attached bathroom contained a pedestal sink, an elevated garden tub with fixtures that appear
ed to be made of gold, a toilet, of course, and next to it, a similar-looking structure. Oh, it was a bidet. I’d never seen one in person. Every surface gleamed. Drifts of freesia and vanilla tickled my nose.
Even amidst all the beauty surrounding me, my eyes were drawn to something hanging on the wardrobe door— a dress— a red one—my favorite color. Sleeveless and nipped in at the waist, it was a tailored fit-and-flare knee-length dress with a daring deep V-neck. It was perfect. Exactly the kind of dress I would have picked out for myself—even if I’d had all day to explore every shop in Paris. I grabbed the hanger and marched back out into the living area.
“What is this?”
Nic smiled. “It is a dress. Appears to be your size.”
“I know it’s a dress. What’s it doing in my room?”
“It is for you. For dinner. There is a restaurant I like to visit each time I come to Siena. I wasn’t sure you had anything appropriate in your backpack.”
“What I have in my backpack is none of your business,” I snapped. “And I don’t want to go out to dinner tonight. I’m tired. You go. I’m going to stay in and order room service.”
Nic’s face fell. “Of course, if that is what you wish. But it’s too bad. Bardo and Piero aren’t the most scintillating dinner companions, and this restaurant—it serves the most amazing peach-marinated sea bass with basil emulsion. Like sex for your taste buds.”
Hearing his description of my most favorite food—sea bass—prepared in the most delicious-sounding way, saliva spiked in my mouth, and my stomach let out a greedy roar. How did he know exactly how to tempt me?
He added one final provocation with a lifted brow. “Unfortunately this ristorante doesn’t offer carryout or delivery.”
I stayed in place, still holding out the dress—which was exactly my size—and shifted from one foot to the other. Finally, I blew out an aggravated breath. “Well... I am hungry. And I doubt this is going to fit Piero. What time do I need to be ready?”
