by Ana Adams
He pulled back the nightie to expose her breast and placed a soft kiss over her taut nipple. Then he replaced the nightie, sighing. “I’m going to finish this paperwork now. Do you want me to call for breakfast?”
“Oh, yes! Let’s have fruit.”
“And granola?”
“Mmmm. And some yogurt.”
They shared a smile, which made the butterflies leap to life again in her belly. It just felt good to be around him. When had granola and yogurt ever been so fun with her past boyfriends?
He rolled out of bed, put his shirt back on, and headed out of the room, speaking in low tones to someone. When he returned, he shut the heavy mahogany door. Even the way he walked to the round desk in the middle of the room was stately, somehow. She nestled into the pillows. This morning would be all about absorbing this. Absorbing him. Taking it all in before it disappeared into memory and she was left aching and lost in Italy, having dreams about her first time with her prince.
She certainly hadn’t imagined any of this for her first public poker tournament.
Lulled to sleep by the soft scritching of Louis’s pen as he wrote, she awoke with a start when a soft knocked sounded at the door. Louis stood to answer it, receiving a platter of mango, blueberries and pineapple, lined with bowls of granola and yogurt. He brought it to the bed, setting it down between them, eyes twinkling.
She yawned, stretching a final time before digging in alongside him. They took turns feeding each other juicy pieces of pineapple and mango, sucking the dribbles from their fingertips. When they cleared the platter and had licked the last smear of yogurt from the spoons, Louis’s gaze was heavy on her.
“What are you thinking about?” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Wondering about your life in Italy.” He looked away, toward the window. “What your mornings look like, on a normal day.”
“Definitely not enough mango in them, that’s for sure.”
He watched her with something heavy in his eyes. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
The question floored her. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you ever think about it?”
“I do, in my own way.” She took a final lick at the spoon and placed it on the platter. In ten years, she’d be 35. That seemed a lifetime away, but also just around the corner. “I think I’ll be very successful. Maybe even opening my own linens company, away from my father.”
He stiffened as she spoke. Looking away he said, “Do you like working with your father?”
“I do. I mean, I love him. But he can be so hard to work with. I want my own company, my own control.”
A strange silence filled the air. “It seems as if we’re both in the family business.”
She laughed softly, tracing the curve of his arm with her fingertips. “Do you have disagreements here in the palace as well?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He took the platter and set it outside the bedroom door, then resumed his perch on the bedside. “Monaco isn’t just a city-state, it’s also a business. And not all of the members have the same ideas about how it should be run.”
“What do you think?”
He stalled, his gaze searching for something unknown over her right shoulder. “I think we have to protect our assets. I think we have to cultivate more independence, more proprietary endeavors. Otherwise, we’re always depending on others.”
She nodded, tugging at some wiry chest hairs escaping the top of his shirt. “That sounds logical.”
“I want to see your designs.”
His firmness made her pull back, with something between shock and flattery. “Well, okay. Do you want my entire portfolio? I’d have to send for it in Milan.”
He grinned. “No. I mean, I can wait, I suppose. But I’m very curious about what you create.”
“You can see some of it in the casino.”
His face fell. “What?”
“Some of my designs are part of the casino’s decor.” She wasn’t sure if she should be worried or pleased by the expression making slow steps across his face. “We saw them yesterday. I didn’t point them out.”
A tense silence filled the air as he worked through something. When he turned to her, he had a smile. Unsure what to make of it, she returned it.
“Please. Show them to me today.”
Chapter Six
As the stately sedan pulled up to the cul-de-sac of the casino, Louis’s stomach plummeted. The paps swarmed his car specifically, after having been hovering around someone else before their approach. They were waiting for them. The pieces must be falling already.
Antonia seemed confused at his side, peering through the window at them. “Is this for you, or…?”
“I’m not sure. You can never tell what gets them riled up.” He sighed, resting his forehead against his fingertips. “Let’s give it a minute. Maybe they’ll leave.”
But they didn’t. They swarmed like bees, waiting for their exit. The driver tapped on the window as if asking whether they were alive, and Louis pushed open the door. A swell of clicks filled the air, countless photos being snapped, video cameras watching their every move.
He pushed through the crowd, trailing Antonia behind him, gripping her wrist tightly. The paps used their typical provocations: elbowing, shouts, tantalizing soundbites that might make someone turn and respond.
“Are you two on a honeymoon? Was there a secret marriage? Is there a new princess, Prince Louis? What does Antonia think about her chances to win? Will she be disappointed if she loses the jackpot and the faith of her home country?”
He pulled her through the fray, rushing through the door a bellman had opened. When the door shut behind them and silence arrived, he heaved a sigh.
It was worse than he thought.
But yet, exactly according to his original plan, which he wasn’t sure whether to be happy about anymore.
“I had no idea people cared about my place in this tournament,” she breathed, eyes wide. “Do you think people from back home are watching this?”
He cleared his throat, adjusting his suit jacket before entering the main gallery. “Shall I check the news? I haven’t been keeping tabs, because I generally make it a rule to never keep tabs.”
She looked around, as though the answer might be lying somewhere in the corner. “Could you? I’d love to know. Even just a couple headlines.”
He offered her arm and they strolled toward the lounge. Opening the browser on his phone, he did a perfunctory search about the poker tournament in Monaco alongside Antonia’s name.
Headlines popped up one by one, filling the screen. Some screamed “Italy’s Golden Girl”, others proclaimed her an elusive temptress beguiling the male players. He showed her the screen, scrolling slowly through them, worried that this might unravel her. Most people couldn’t handle being in the spotlight. Which was one of the reasons he typically never openly dated and had no plans to marry unless necessary.
Life in the royal spotlight was hard work. His hardened pedigree assured he could handle it. Others didn’t fare so well once they got under the microscope.
To his surprise, she laughed once he’d finished scrolling. With a slack jaw, she narrowed her eyes, pondering something. There had been a lot of mixed feedback in the headlines. Enough to make a weak person cry themselves to sleep, for sure.
“Wow.” She tutted and sat down in a nearby chair, straightening her back. “Well that’s very interesting.”
“Is it?” He sat down cautiously, pocketing his phone. That usually wasn’t the first word he heard when people caught wind of themselves in the tabloids.
“It is. I’m actually kind of flattered.”
He cracked a grin. “You are?”
“Sure!” She tossed her head back and laughed. “They think I’m a temptress! Some sort of evil witch from the bottom of the sea! And then others think I’m the Cinderella story, poised to win. I think that both of those are great things to be in this life.”
&nbs
p; “I told you it’s either one extreme or the other. There’s usually no middle ground.”
“You’re right.” She eyed him, a knowing smile crossing her face. “And maybe it’s better that I don’t inspire any lukewarm reactions.”
“Exactly. You’re too beautiful for that.”
She leaned forward to kiss him. “If you aren’t careful, you’re going to sweep me off my feet, you Prince.”
Forehead to forehead, they looked into each other’s eyes for a long while before pulling apart. She checked her watch and they both stood, taking each other’s hands. Antonia scanned the room with authority, trying to sniff out the competition, how the hands might fall today.
“So, who will you be today? Golden Girl, or Beguiling Witch?”
“I think I’ll go with witch, today.” She strutted confidently toward the doors of the game room and pushed them open, several heads swinging to look at them. Smart phones rose to snap photos, as a whispered clamor circled the room. They headed for the table she’d been assigned; she carried her head high. Already she looked as if she’d embraced the side of the Beguiling Witch. Louis couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
A coordinator stopped her, urging her to visit the interview booth both before and after the hands. “A network wants to follow your story more closely,” she added, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience. He promised it wouldn’t take too long.”
“No bother at all.” Tossing a confident smile his way, she followed the coordinator to the far corner where the cameras and host waited.
Louis watched as she strutted away, seemingly buoyant from the extra attention. The reaction surprised him, made something deep inside sit up and notice.
She was ready to face the fame. Which would bode well if Louis could admit the fervent, swirling truth inside that told him he wanted her in his life.
***
By four p.m. that evening, Antonia was one victory closer to the jackpot. Once she’d finished her interviews—with grace and a certain air of mystery, she felt—she was riding high on the success. One of the losers had been so upset he ripped his cards and stormed out of the casino. Of course, it had all been captured on camera, so she figured the drama would help ratings.
Something inside her was darkly curious about what it might be like to be famous for her card-playing. It hadn’t occurred to her as a legitimate possibility before. But ever since the paparazzi had taken an interest in her, the thrill hadn’t completely dissipated.
And something inside her knew that if Louis were to be a part of her future, she’d have to get quite comfortable with the attention.
He greeted her with a smile on his face once she emerged from the interview area. Offering his arm, he led her toward the main doors of the casino.
“Well done,” he said. “You managed to push a grown, hardened professional to rage. You are quite the superstar.”
She giggled. “I’m not doing anything special, I swear. I think by now the pressure is rising. They know that the hands are more serious.”
“Well, I think your work deserves a special reward.” He pushed open the main door, stepping aside so she could cross through first. “What do you say I take you out for dinner?”
“I’d love that.” More time at her prince’s side. Could she call him her man by now? It seemed as if they were building something serious. But after only five days, who could tell? It was either fate or fantasy. Why did the only truths exist on opposite ends of the spectrum?
“I’d like to take you someplace special.” He stopped under the chandelier, fishing out his phone to send a message. “I’ve arranged everything already. I thought you might agree, so I planned ahead.”
She lifted a brow. “Planned ahead? How much arranging did this dinner need?”
“A bit.” He smiled mysteriously. “Shall we?”
She took his arm again and they strolled toward the main doors. Outside, a sleek limo awaited them, alongside lots of interested photographers. Cameras snapped as they got into the car. Antonia couldn’t discern most of the shouted questions, except for one about the player who ripped his cards in half.
“Word travels fast with these guys,” she mused, looking through the tinted windows at them as the limo drove off.
“Sometimes they know about things before they even happen. Other times, they make up whatever suits them best. Or repeat whatever lies are being spread. Fact-checking isn’t their strong suit.”
His tone made her pause. She reached out for his hand. “Do they get to you?”
“Sometimes. I try not to pay attention, but sometimes the things they print affect me personally.”
She frowned, rubbing her thumb against his palm. “What did they say?”
“Oh, what haven’t they said? More recently, there was a…scandal, let’s say.”
“About what?”
“About my personal life.” His curt tone made her hesitant to probe much further. But she was too curious to heed the warning.
“It wasn’t good, was it?”
Lou paused, holding her gaze, something unknown clouding his face. He opened his mouth to speak then faltered. Finally he said, “My integrity was called into question. By someone who knows nothing of my integrity.”
Something in his voice made her suddenly desperate to make him feel better. “Well, you seem like a man of high integrity.” She laced her fingers through his. “I haven’t known you long, but I can tell already.”
He offered a smile, but it looked sad. He cupped her cheek, eyes dancing over her face. “And you are so sweet. So purely, truly sweet.”
They kissed softly, the scent of him making her head spin. It was almost Wednesday, which meant it was almost the end of the tournament—three more full days together, and then what? The realization crashed around her, made her feel anxious and confused.
When they parted and locked eyes, he must have sensed the change in her emotional state. He furrowed a brow, searching her face. “What’s wrong, my sweet?”
“I was just thinking about how I have to leave soon.” She let her gaze fall to his lap, to his broad, tanned hand resting there. She tilted her head against the hand caressing her face, trying to soak up every last drop of pleasure. “I don’t want to. This is so nice, being with you.”
He let a low sigh. “I think about this too. How is it possible that we have spent all this time together? And I still want more.”
She giggled. “You mean you don’t do this with every girl you pick up at the poker table?”
“Please. You’re the first.”
“Well that makes me a little happy, I’ll admit.”
His other hand moved to her exposed knee, creeping slowly up the side. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”
“We do?” The heat of his palm was intense as it moved up her thigh. She could barely think straight with it there. “Where are we going?”
“Nice.”
She gasped when his hand reached the edge of her undies. “Really? Just for dinner?”
“It’s not that far…and I thought you deserved a little getaway.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Monaco can be confining. I wanted to treat you.”
Heat spread through her; a combination of tenderness and horniness. He was thoughtful, which she loved, and he was also a huge turn-on. She looked at the partition between the back of the limo and the driver, raising a brow.
“He can’t see through. Nor will he open the window. I promise you.” He yanked her closer to him, his big hands sliding around her waist, lips finding the curve of her neck.
“Mmmm.” She tilted her head to allow him more room for lavishing kisses. “I trust you.”
Despite the question marks that remained, everything inside her said to follow this man wherever he’d lead her. She’d take his hand and go with him, with no other reason than because her intuition was screaming that this was right. This was the way.
***
When the limo pulled up
to his favorite haute cuisine restaurant in Nice, Louis was relieved by the lack of a welcome committee. He held the door open for Antonia, admiring her ass as she stepped out, then offered his arm so they could walk together toward the tiny, hidden villa that comprised La Petite Therese. Cypress and olive trees lined the walkway.
It was a Spartan place with incredible red mullet and rabbit. He came here often enough that the staff knew him, but he could always at least arrive in peace. Usually at least one or two photographers awaited him by departure time, and he figured today would be no different. But for now, the silent arrival was a blessing, a brief respite that made him feel like a regular person.
Inside, a waiter led them wordlessly to a table in the back, against a wooden wall that looked as if it came from medieval times. The restaurant was almost full; all eyes were on them while they walked to their table. As they were seated, Antonia looked enchanted.
“This is my favorite place in Nice,” he said, spreading his napkin on his lap. “The red wine selection here is practically unheard of. And the food is…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Otherworldly.”
“It’s already my favorite place,” she gushed, fingering the stem of the wine glass in front of her. “You are so sweet to bring us here.”
“It is my pleasure to share such carnal joys.” He grinned, reaching for her hand on the table. “Which we share many.”
She flushed and bit her lip. In the low lighting, she looked like an ethereal movie star, some sort of temptress of the big screen. His cock stirred; he couldn’t get enough of her, and that worried him.
Three full days left. He had to make the most of them, and he had to play it right. But by now, he wasn’t sure which was the bigger issue: the fact that he had to go through with the plan to publicly humiliate her, or the fact that he wanted to scrap the whole plan and just find a way to be with her.
Postpone. That was the only game plan he had. Which, after five days together, could only go on so much longer before the plan either fizzled or he ruined the sweetest girl who’d ever crossed his path.
He swallowed hard, arranging the silverware at his setting even though it was already perfect. The idea of hurting her caused massive guilt attacks. Could he even do it? He doubted his commitment; he doubted her own underhandedness. She seemed totally unaware that he was wrapped up in a feud with her father; the hint toward his recent scandal had prompted exactly zero recognition from her, which propelled him even further into confusion and dismay.
