“I’m not hungry!” she shouted to him before jumping off the bed.
“Then let it be on your head if you faint during the ceremony,” he said as she slipped on her sneakers.
Good. He was still in the kitchen.
Without wasting another second, she ran over to the windows and opened them. But when she would have climbed out, there was a middle-aged man working in the garden.
“Buongiorno, signorina,” he called to her very innocently, but Callie had every reason to believe Nicco had stationed him there to prevent her from escaping.
“Good morning,” she murmured before pulling the glass closed again. There was nothing to do but reach for her purse and make a trip to the bathroom.
While she freshened up and put her hair in a braid, a new plan to get away from Nicco entered her mind. She imagined he would be driving them back to Torino on the motorcycle.
If she waited until they were stopped at a light or held up in traffic, she would jump off the back and run away. It could be dangerous and she might even get hurt. But it would be worth it if she had to be driven to a hospital in an ambulance. Getting injured would prevent that absurd marriage from taking place.
Armed with her latest strategy, she left the bathroom anxious to carry out her scheme. Nicco had already disappeared from the kitchen. Though her stomach growled, she walked past the food he’d prepared for her and kept on going until she’d stepped out the door into the sunlight.
“At last,” came his mocking response. “What a lovely autumn morning for a wedding.”
We’re not at the church yet.
Nicco had already put on his helmet and stood next to his bike. After helping her into his jacket, he slipped the other helmet over her head.
Beyond the bike she saw the truck parked in the drive. She guessed it belonged to the caretaker who’d brought it home at some point during the night. To her chagrin she’d been so sound asleep dreaming about being in Nicco’s arms, she hadn’t heard any noise.
“This is your special day. I hope you’ll enjoy the return ride to Torino. Up you come,” he said after he’d gotten on the bike. With a flick of the switch, the powerful engine came to life.
The man in the garden waved them off as they rode past the farmhouse toward the highway in the distance.
Callie groaned in disbelief when two elegant black limousines with flags flying a royal crest appeared out of nowhere to escort them down the mountain. They moved in front and behind Nicco’s motorcycle. So much for jumping off the bike and running away.
Though she couldn’t see through the smoked glass of the limo windows, she assumed the interiors were filled with the prince’s security guards who would make certain no mishap occurred that would prevent her from arriving on time for her wedding.
Naturally Nicco had lied to her about his cell phone needing to be charged. He couldn’t have orchestrated these details without being able to communicate.
How on earth was she going to get out of this?
If she faked illness, Nicco would only ignore her machinations and carry out the prince’s orders. Panic set in to think she could be kidnapped like this in broad daylight. Their bodies were wedged so closely together, he could check any move she tried to make.
Hundreds of clueless people in other cars watched in rapt fascination as the unique cortege displaying the Tescotti royal emblem passed them by. Even if she screamed for help, no one would hear her. Now that they’d reached the outskirts of Torino, two police cars joined the limos. Their sirens blared, forcing the traffic to give them plenty of space to maneuver.
When she realized they were headed for one of the baroque palaces she’d seen on their way out of the city last evening, a chilling feeling of inevitability crept over her.
If she were a woman inclined to faint, now would be the time. Unfortunately Callie had a strong constitution. If the prince wanted her for his bride this badly, then he’d have to take her kicking and screaming to the altar.
Too soon they arrived at a gate where a uniformed guard to the palatial estate allowed them entrance. Callie supposed that even if the prince was so impoverished he had to live in an apartment in town, his parents probably occupied a wing of the palace. No doubt it was state-supported by opening up most of the rooms to the public for tours.
She presumed the family retained some privileges, such as use of the royal chapel for christenings and marriages.
Dear God. Marriages… Her marriage. To a total stranger!
The head limousine drove around the heavily wooded estate to a private road leading to a side entrance of the ornate palace. Nicco stayed right behind it, then finally pulled to a stop and levered himself from the bike.
By the time he’d helped her to the ground, a dozen uniformed guards surrounded them. He handed one of them his helmet.
“I’ll relieve you of these,” Nicco explained before removing the jacket along with Callie’s purse and helmet. Another guard stood by ready to take them.
She swallowed with difficulty. “Nicco—please don’t make me do this.”
He stared at her through veiled eyes. “It’s only for thirty days, remember? If after that time you want a divorce, you can walk away, no questions asked.”
Tears threatened. She fought to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. “But this whole thing is a terrible mistake. If you would make one phone call to my sister, you would find out the truth.”
His lips tautened. “It’s too late for the truth. You will marry the prince this morning. Once we pass through these doors, we’ll take a walk down the hall. It leads to the chapel. I’ll accompany you to the altar and tell you when to say I do.”
By this time Callie’s moist eyes were spitting green sparks. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.
He could read her mind. “If you make any struggle or cry out, I will toss you over my shoulder and keep you there until the priest pronounces his benediction. Do you understand?”
She threw her head back. “This is madness!”
A cruel grin broke out on his unforgettable face. “I couldn’t agree more, but it’s what the prince wants.”
“He must be the most spoiled male on the planet!”
“As his wife, I’m sure you’ll be the first to find out. Do you need to use the ladies’ room before we go any further?”
“No!”
“Very well. Put your hand on top of mine.” He lifted his arm.
Heat scorched her cheeks. “I won’t do it.”
No sooner had the defiant words flown from her lips than he did exactly what he said he’d do and threw her over his shoulder.
“Put me down, Nicco!”
Ignoring her protest, he walked through the doors held open for them. As her head bobbed and her braid swung back and forth like a pendulum, she caught glimpses of snowy white marble floors and gilt-edged mirrors lining the long promenade to the chapel where she could hear an organ playing.
“You can’t carry me in front of the priest like this!”
“He’s the least of your worries. Naturally he and the prince’s family will assume you’re typical of your nationality…flaunting your lack of respect for tradition on the prince’s wedding day.
“Americans are noted for their uncivilized behavior. Your noisy presence on my shoulder will simply underline all that is unflattering and undesirable about your kind.”
“How dare you say that to me! If you were in my shoes, I can guarantee you’d do anything you could to escape!”
“Signorina—now it is you who has the better imagination if you can see me in your predicament.”
“Stop!” She grabbed hold of his rock-hard thigh with both hands, trying to hold him back. He just kept going, not seeming the least out of breath. “Please, Nicco. I’m begging you. Put me down.”
“You already had your chance.”
“I’m asking for a second one. You win—all right?”
He paused before the golden bars of the chapel gate. “
How do I know this isn’t another of your creative tricks?”
“You don’t…but I have no wish to offend God who will hold you and the prince responsible for this crime.”
“I’m willing to accept His punishment,” his voice grated. “So is the prince who is waiting impatiently for you to make an appearance.”
On that note he lowered her to the stone floor. He could probably feel her trembling outrage. And fear.
She took a last look around. There were security guards everywhere.
No place for you to run, Callie Lassiter. This is the zero hour. Time to get it over with. You still have an opportunity between the ceremony and your wedding night to run away from the prince.
Without looking into Nicco’s eyes, she faced the golden bars. Instead of him offering her his arm, he clasped her hand. No doubt he’d changed his mind in order to make certain he had a good grip on her in case she’d lied to him and decided to make a run for it.
“Once we pass through this gate, we’ll proceed to the center aisle, then turn toward the altar and walk the short distance. Let’s go,” he said as one of the guards opened it for them.
With Nicco half dragging her, she was forced to take her first steps. It reminded her of a science fiction film where this couple from the future grabs hands and jumps off an exploding planet into a beam of light, not knowing what will happen to them. Callie felt exactly like that frightened woman.
Until they came to the center aisle, she kept her eyes on the scarlet runner covering the marble. When Nicco turned them toward the altar, she chanced a look ahead of her and was dazzled by the sight of the royal family bedecked in ceremonial dress, gowns and jewels.
Brown-haired Prince Enzo stood in front of the shrine of the small chapel. In his wedding finery, he was even more handsome than the picture Ann had shown her.
On his left stood a very pretty, young-looking brunette in a long white gown wearing a coronet. Nicco hadn’t mentioned that the prince had a sister. Next to her were two beautifully dressed women in their late fifties or early sixties, also brunette. One of them also wore a coronet. Obviously it was the prince’s mother. Possibly the other woman was an aunt.
Callie’s gaze swerved to the two middle-aged men standing to the right of the shrine. The aristocratic one with black hair was dressed in clothes similar to the prince. He had to be his father though they didn’t appear to resemble each other that much. Callie presumed the man next to him was an uncle or close relative.
As Nicco tugged her along, an elderly priest in his vestments took his place in front of the august group. It seemed to be the signal for everyone else to turn around and watch Callie and Nicco’s approach.
Though she’d been literally kidnapped here against her will, the gravity of the occasion didn’t escape her, nor the fact that she looked ridiculous and out of place in such a sacred setting.
When compared to the Tescotti family, she couldn’t help but reflect on her miserable attire. Jeans, sneakers and a cotton top would never be appropriate for a wedding. To wear them in a church, in front of royalty no less, verged on sinful. However she couldn’t do anything about it now except hold up her head until this ghastly experience was over.
The wedding processional music accompanied them the rest of the way, increasing her sense of humiliation even though none of this was her fault or doing.
In touching distance now, Prince Enzo reached for her free hand. After eyeing her soberly, his mouth broke into a kind smile before he bestowed a princely kiss on top of it.
Ann had been right about him. He did seem nice, and he had the most beautiful brown eyes and attractive dimples she’d ever seen. It was his right hand man Nicco who was the cunning mastermind behind this storybook scene.
While the prince made room for her to stand next to him, Nicco stayed at her other side, never letting go of her hand. The whole situation was so ludicrous, Callie could have sworn she’d landed in the twilight zone. Anyone watching would think she was being married to Nicco.
The priest began to speak in Italian. Except for the fact that she knew she was being married to a prince who looked like he’d come right out of the fairy tale Snow White, she had absolutely no idea what the priest was saying.
Surely a man as appealing as Prince Enzo could have won the heart of any girl, Italian or otherwise. Not for the first time did Callie wonder why he’d picked an American woman for his bride. Someone who wanted to be a Hollywood film star more than anything else.
Being this close to Prince Enzo, she had the strongest conviction he hadn’t chosen Ann for the money she would bring to the marriage from her films. Otherwise he wouldn’t have put that thirty-day clause in the contract which would allow both of them to bow out if they didn’t want to be married anymore.
None of it made sense. Ann brought no land, no crown, nothing to cement a political marriage as in the days of old.
Something wasn’t right here. Callie just didn’t know what, and Nicco wasn’t helping anything by making small circles against her palm with the pad of his thumb.
Perhaps he didn’t realize what he was doing, but the motion was more like a caress, and it was driving her crazy. She tried to ease her hand out of his, but he only increased the pressure until she couldn’t move her fingers at all.
She was so preoccupied by the way his touch made her senses come alive, she scarcely understood the thrust of his words as his lips brushed her ear and he whispered, “It’s time to say, ‘I do.’ If you refuse, I’ll say it for you.”
The priest’s benign eyes rested on her.
Much as she wanted to scream that she had been brought here under duress, she realized the priest wasn’t to blame for any of it. Only God knew the secrets of this day. He was the judge of this perfidy. In time both Nicco and the prince would have to answer to Him.
“You go ahead and tell the priest I do,” she whispered back to Nicco in a baiting tone.
A satisfied smile broke out on her captor’s face. In a surprise move he pulled the betrothal ring out of his pocket and slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. Then he said something else in Italian to the priest who nodded before turning to address the Prince.
For a fleeting moment she had the impression that maybe she was marrying Nicco instead of Enzo, but surely not.
Nicco couldn’t be a prince.
Callie tried to listen to Prince Enzo’s response, praying he would back out at the last moment. To her chagrin, Nicco squeezed her hand, distracting her. It seemed he was relieved to have done his part for his employer.
He’d done it all right!
Not only had he managed to get her to the altar—with those few simple words and the ring, he’d helped the prince to lock her into the kind of forced marriage you read about in history books.
It wasn’t until she heard the organ begin to play that she realized the ceremony was over. The priest made the sign of the cross before walking down the aisle. The Tescotti family followed.
While Callie was waiting for the prince to turn to her, she found herself being commandeered by Nicco who pulled her along. Without anyone else being aware of it, he squeezed her hand, forcing her to keep up with him.
Wondering what was going on, she looked over her shoulder and discovered Prince Enzo following them out of the chapel with his sister on his arm.
Evidently Nicco feared Callie might make a scene and run away from her new husband, so he was still her captor and the normal protocol for a royal wedding couple marching down the aisle together had been abandoned.
She imagined he wouldn’t let go of her until he’d taken her back to the prince’s apartment. First however, she had to pass through the small receiving line in the mirrored galerie.
The priest stepped forward. “My congratulations, Princess,” he said in heavily accented English. “May God’s blessings be upon you.”
Princess Tescotti.
Callie moaned. Could anything be more absurd?
“Thank you, Father,”
she murmured back.
Nicco whispered something private to the priest in Italian. To Callie’s surprise the older man answered back in English, “It was a great honor, my son.”
“Niccolino—”
The woman who looked so much like the Prince broke out of the line to embrace him. Obviously Nicco was held in great esteem by Enzo’s parents. Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. She spoke in rapid Italian and a lengthy conversation between the two of them ensued.
Finally he turned her toward Callie. In English he said, “May I present Callie Ann Lassiter from America who is now a part of the Tescotti family.”
The older woman kissed Callie on both cheeks, unaware of her turmoil. “I thought this day would never come. We’ve been praying for such a long time, haven’t we, Carlo,” she said to her husband who was standing next to them.
At close range Callie couldn’t see a resemblance to his son, not with his black hair.
The Prince’s father kissed her on the forehead. “My son has picked a beautiful bride who appears perfectly suited for him.”
Perfectly suited? Was the prince an aspiring actor? Maybe that was why he’d chosen Ann, because he thought he could get into films with her help. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?
“After your honeymoon, you must come to the palace so we can all get acquainted.”
Again Nicco answered for her, but he spoke in Italian. Whatever he said caused the older man to nod.
By now Callie was fuming. If Nicco thought he’d out-maneuvered her, he had another think coming. Little did he know there wasn’t going to be a honeymoon. As soon as she could be alone with the prince, she’d figure out a scheme to get away.
For the moment, she was still Nicco’s prisoner.
He introduced her to the next couple, explaining they were close friends of the family. The four of them shook hands before he ushered her out the side door of the palace where his motorcycle stood parked between the two limousines.
Evidently not a single word was going to pass between her and the prince until Nicco had her well secured back at the apartment.
Bride Fit for a Prince (Harlequin Romance) Page 6
