by Ana Adams
Niccolo’s massaging got a little bit more intense. “Well, that’s a good point. And one that brings me to my next suggestion.”
Georgia lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“Come to Italy with me.”
Her voice shriveled in her throat. “Are you serious?”
“You can come on the flight this Friday.” He leaned closer to her, his bright eyes swirling and intense. “Come with me to visit my family and share the good news.”
Georgia’s mouth hung open, no words finding their way out.
“It will be our first step,” Niccolo added quickly. “You can meet the family, we’ll announce the pregnancy, and then go from there. No commitments yet. We can take it one step at a time…and see how we feel.”
Georgia blinked back a few tears, all of the words of the past ten minutes colliding into one giant confusing, exciting mess inside her. Italy? The royal family? She sniffed hard, tears clouding her eyes, and she nodded.
“Yeah. Okay.” She wiped away a tear that had fallen. “I guess that sounds like a plan.”
***
“Prepare for landing.”
The voice of the pilot crackled through the small cabin. Georgia peered out the window of the private jet, eyes wide as saucers at the view below. The Italian coast from above was nothing short of a dream, like something in a Renaissance painting. With the fluffy clouds and that glittering sea, she could barely believe it was also their final destination.
Niccolo leaned over to her, smiling like he knew a secret. “What do you think?”
“It’s so gorgeous,” she whispered, unable to rip her gaze away. She’d been dreaming of visiting this dreamy foreign land her entire life. And though she’d always imagined it might come on the heels of a vacation or—more recently—winning the prestigious PA award, she couldn’t find it in her to complain about the current circumstances behind her visit.
“We have a cliff-top mansion right around…” Niccolo leaned farther, pointing toward some inscrutable spot on the coast, “There. The past seven generation of kings, queens, princes, and princesses have lived there.”
Her eyes widened more, suddenly imagining herself as a princess inside a clifftop castle. Unlike most girls, her childhood fantasies had not included being a princess, or marrying the dark, handsome prince. Ironic that she was one of the few ladies in the world actually poised to achieve that goal.
“I can’t wait to see it,” she breathed. “I know it will be lovely. And ancient. And fascinating. And mysterious.”
Niccolo smiled like he secretly loved the attention his royal status garnered him. “And maybe our future home.”
Excitement thrilled through her, and it was all she could do not to squeal. Was this even happening? Just earlier that week she’d confessed to Niccolo the baby was his, and he’d suggested maybe helping her ‘take care of it,’ and now they were on a private jet headed to a goddamn clifftop mansion. To meet the king and queen. Her roommates wouldn’t believe her in a million years when she finally told them where she’d spent the weekend.
At least she’d have pictures and an eventual baby to prove it.
Niccolo squeezed her hand as the landing gear rumbled out of its hiding spot. They shared a private smile, one that made her feel like they’d been together for a lifetime. As the plane descended and her ears popped, Niccolo’s presence at her side felt comforting, reassuring, but also natural.
Initially the idea of their fifteen-year age difference rang as unsavory, like some sort of proof that they might never fully click. But that was a misguided lie, something that only attempted to blind her from someone very real. Niccolo was as young-spirited as her, and at only four days in, already a doting, attentive partner.
Plenty remained to be seen, not the least of all his family. But the years between them barely felt like anything anymore, simply a number on an arbitrary scale.
Niccolo reached out to pinch her cheek, as though he had somehow overheard her favorable thoughts.
“Excited to meet the family?”
She grinned. “Excited, but also terrified.”
“Don’t be. I know you’ll handle it well. You’re my executive assistant, after all.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
Her smile fell a little. They hadn’t quite decided what to do about her position, and it gnawed at her, a distant irritant. “Should we tell them that?”
“I’m sure Bruno already has.” Niccolo shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re unlikely to care what your role is, so long as you uphold the family.”
She nodded, feeling like she should be taking notes. ‘Got it. Anything else I should know before going into the lion’s den?”
He grinned. “Just have fun.”
Georgia settled back into her seat, eyes glued to the coastline growing larger every second through the oval window. Apprehension gnawed at her, and she struggled to calm the whorls of emotions threatening to push her toward nausea.
This was it…her last moments as her former self. The mere executive assistant, unknown to the royal family, a virgin to Italy, a regular girl from Brooklyn.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter Twelve
Niccolo sipped at a flute of champagne, loving the clamor and Italian consonants of home. His family had welcomed Georgia in a big way, complete with a waiting feast and lots of questions. All he’d told them was that he’d be bringing home a special lady; but by this point in his life, they knew to read far deeper into that.
His mother Patrice, elegantly coiffed and with eyeliner that almost made her eyes look like Vogue slits, cornered Georgia first. Her Italian accent was so thick it sometimes made Niccolo smile. “So when is the baby?”
Niccolo laughed a little. They hadn’t even told her about the pregnancy yet; she could merely sniff it out like a shark after blood, desperate for that male heir. “Mother. Let’s have dinner first, then we’ll all get to know each other more.”
His mother and siblings hovered around Georgia like a cloud of mosquitoes, eager for information, conversation, just a little bit of blood. He could empathize—Georgia was merely the third woman he’d ever brought back to the palace in a twenty-year dating history.
“I promise to regale you all with any story you’d like to hear,” Georgia cracked, her face bright and the smile permanently ready. It was like a switch had flipped as soon as she’d stepped inside the palace. He’d seen her eyes go wide, practically dilate at the sight of the sprawling cliffside palace, the shiny marble floors, the Roman columns that sprawled skyward for two stories under heavy arched roofs.
And once the family had descended, the affable remarks and sparkling toothy grins hadn’t stopped. Most women were intimidated simply by the premise of meeting the royal family. One of his past girlfriends had vomited the entire morning leading up to coming for a family dinner.
But Georgia? She was practically made for this, an observation that felt like a final piece of the puzzle finally sliding into place.
Once everyone was settled into place at the large dining room table, a massive walnut monstrosity with floral marquetry lining the edges, everyone glowed over their empty appetizer plates.
“I’d like to welcome our very special guest,” Niccolo’s father Manolo stated, holding up a flute of champagne. “Cheers to Georgia. May you enjoy your stay here, may you please choose to marry my son, and God help us, may you not be scared away by the family.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Between Niccolo’s three sisters, two brothers, parents, and several cousins and uncles in attendance, there was good reason she might be scared away. His family was a brute Italian force, one that could bear down like a vise in the right circumstances. Georgia beamed, holding up her full champagne flute.
“Thank you very much for the warm welcome,” she purred, setting her flute down without drinking it. “I suppose we’ll know some of those results by the end of the weekend.”
More laughter rippled, and Niccolo couldn’t hi
de his pleased grin. She could hold her own here, amid the friendly ribbing and joking. His family was known for their vigilance to traditional customs, but even more so for their self-deprecating and very dry humor.
When the dinner attendants came out to change the plates and silverware for the main course, he saw Georgia’s eyes widen across the table from him—perhaps flummoxed by the sudden arrival of so many fork options.
He cleared his throat, snagging her gaze. He gently fingered the outermost fork, nodding her way. She relaxed into her seat, tossing him a secret grin.
Dinner was a roasted lamb and vegetable medley, simple but delicious, and peppered with plenty of casual questions for Georgia and even more laughter and ribbing. Niccolo’s chest tightened with emotion toward the end of dinner, knowledge resonating deep inside that this was it—Georgia was the one.
Maybe it was the buzz of champagne followed by the sting of red wine, but everything felt exactly in place. Georgia, his family, the pregnancy—he nearly dropped his fork. The pregnancy. They still hadn’t announced it yet.
Niccolo sent a meaningful glance at Georgia through the din of surrounding conversation, jerking his eyes toward her belly. She nodded, and he cleared his throat, raising a hand to attract the attention of his family.
“Dearest loved ones…” He waited until the clamor settled to a murmur. “Georgia and I have an announcement to make.”
Someone gasped. The room became silent.
“Georgia and I…” Niccolo’s gaze swept over the room full of wide eyes and expectant faces. “We’re expecting.”
A cheer broke out, and Niccolo’s mother jumped from her seat and tottered to hug Georgia. Everyone shouted and raised glasses; Niccolo overheard someone say “I knew it all along” in Italian, and his sisters took turns pressing kisses to Georgia’s cheek.
“This is certainly a cause for celebration,” Manolo said, clinking glasses with Bruno at his side.
“Tomorrow, dear, I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” Patrice promised, slinking back to her chair.
In the middle of the din and excited voices, Georgia sat glowing and grinning, looking like she’d never been anywhere but part of the family.
Later that night, once Niccolo and Georgia formally retired from the festivities and eating, he led her by the hand up the grand, winding staircase.
“It’s time to sleep,” she said with a sigh. “I’m whooped.”
“I bet you are.” They stepped onto the landing, the wood floor creaking slightly beneath the hand-stitched rugs as they headed for his bedroom. “Travel is tiring enough. Meeting my family is an entirely different matter.”
“And I’m pregnant.” She laughed a little, following him inside the sprawling bedroom. “The trifecta.” A king-sized four poster greeted them, facing an expansive wall of windows that overlooked the sea. In the dark night, only dots of light twinkled on the horizon, but most days the view was breathtaking, or even haunting, like on Niccolo’s favorite foggy days.
“I hope the day hasn’t been too stressful,” he said, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes. They’d dropped off their luggage after arrival and hadn’t even spoken of sleeping arrangements. Niccolo’s hope was that she’d opt for his bed, in his arms. But they’d barely had time to have the conversation about “them” since her revealing the pregnancy…and he’d not done anything more than hold her hand and press a few kisses to her lips, not wanting to rush or scare her off. The night they’d shared food at his apartment earlier that week, they’d simply talked and spent time together until Georgia decided she wanted to go home for the evening.
“It’s been quite a day, but nothing I couldn’t manage.” She slipped out of her heels, sighing as she did. “Finally. Out of these damn feet traps.”
He laughed, holding out his hands. “Come here. I’ll make you feel better.”
She looked hesitant for a moment, but maybe it was just for show. “I know you will.”
He smoothed his hands over the simple red dress she’d worn, over the round pears of her ass. “I’ll make you feel even better if you share this room with me.”
She lifted a brow. “Was there going to be another arrangement? I thought inside these walls, we’re as good as married. You can’t send your fake wife off to sleep in a different room, Niccolo. That’s not very royal prince of you.”
He laughed, nuzzling her low belly. “Forgive my slip. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I would understand if you wanted your own bedroom.”
She sighed, smoothing her hands over the ridge of his shoulders. “No, I think this room will do just fine. Besides, I can’t give up this view.” She jerked her head behind her, toward the windows. “This promises to be an epic sunrise.”
Niccolo grabbed handfuls of her hips through the dress, growling a little. “I know something else that will be epic.”
She giggled. “Go on.”
He slid his hands up the length her smooth, silky legs, over the tantalizing roundness of her ass, tugging at the line of her underwear. “I’ve been dying to get you alone, bambina.”
“Well, here I am.” Her head lolled back as he gathered her against him, prompting her to straddle him. He groped around for a zipper at the back of her dress and found none. She giggled and tore the dress off over her head, tossing it aside. Her heavy breasts were encased in a red lace bra, one that allowed her pert nipples to show through a sheer part. He growled, nipping at the slippery fabric, dragging his tongue over the top.
“You wore this for me?” He fiddled with the clasp of her bra, grunting once it released, straps sliding down the sides of her arms. He tore it off, nuzzling each breast in turn.
“I thought it might be a nice little surprise,” she purred, fingertips trailing down the side of his arms. She settled on his lap, matching red sheer underwear biting into the cleft of her pussy as she straddled him. He gripped her hips, holding her in place as he rocked beneath her.
“Mmm.” He gritted his teeth, loving the jolts of pleasure as his cock rubbed against her pussy through the fabric. “Feel that?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, Niccolo. I do.”
She whimpered, hooking her arms around his neck. “I want you to take me like this.”
The words traveled through him like lightning. He pushed on her hips lightly, urging her to standing. Fumbling with the clasp of his belt, he didn’t rip his eyes off her sharp curves or spilling breasts as he tugged his pants and briefs down. Once his cock sprang free, she eased herself on top of him, cooing as his cockhead slid along the damp crease of her panties.
“There we go,” she murmured, undoing each button of his shirt in turn. She pushed it off of him, kissing the exposed skin of his shoulder, tenderness searing through him. He gripped her hips, pressing kisses to the soft side of her neck. His chest tightened as her flowery scent overcame him.
“Mmm, Georgia.” He took a soft bite of her neck while she rocked on top of him, the friction of her pussy on top of his rock-hard cock sending electric sparks through him. “Don’t you want to put it in?”
“More than anything.” She used his shoulders to steady herself as she got to her feet, and he pushed her panties down to her ankles, skipping kisses along her mons as he bent. Once she was totally naked in front of him, a luscious goddess, he dragged his thumb over her swollen lips, finding her pussy soaking wet. He swallowed hard, tugging her on top of him, holding her in place while he ground his groin against the wet folds.
She shifted on top of him, reaching behind her to help guide his dick, and then she sank down on top of him, mouth parted and eyes wide as she consumed him, inch by inch, a slippery, sluggish descent that made him groan with pleasure.
“Jesus, Georgia,” he gasped once she was all the way down, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. He flexed against her, the velvety home a mind-numbing delight, one that he absolutely never wanted to stray from. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her tits as she rocked in small circles on to
p of him, knotting her hands in his hair.
“It feels so good baby,” she whispered, her rocking turning into wide, slow rolls. “Soooo good.”
He flexed beneath her, matching her movements, the sharp prickle of pleasure scorching through him a warning signal. Her breath hitched and she moved faster, drawing up higher so that his dick almost slipped out, crashing down around him, a glorious rhythm. He aided her, clutching at her hips, fingers making indents in her skin, mesmerized by the jiggle in her breasts as she rode him, eyes half-closed.
“Don’t stop,” he said, voice gruff. Her pussy flexed and coddled him, pushing him to the precipice in record time.
“Oh, Niccolo.” She rode him harder, her rolls turning into bucking, an unhinged frenzy that made his thighs tense and his fingers dig harder. A whimper escaped her, but it turned into a moan.
“Georgia, I’m close,” he warned, but the second the words flew out of his mouth the climax hit, bursting and hot, coating his limbs and prompting a long, gravelly moan from his lips. He clutched her tighter, vision spotty as she rode him mercilessly, the walls of her pussy slick and contracting as he came. She slammed down on top of him one more time, her body jerking as her own orgasm ravaged her, judging by the pinched-shut eyes and her open mouth.
He smoothed kisses over her lightly sweaty chest, kissing each nipple in turn. She slumped against him, breathing heavily, her voice just a weak murmur.
“I think now I’m ready for bed.”
He grinned into her hair, squeezing her ass cheeks one last time. “Let me tuck you in, bambina mia.”
Chapter Thirteen
Georgia awoke slowly the next morning, warm and cozy in Niccolo’s arms. A smile drifted across her face—there wasn’t anything more divine than this man’s heat and his manly scent wrapped around her. She turned to face him, nuzzling into his bare chest, prompting a grunt from him.
He said something in Italian and pulled her closer, which made her giggle. She sighed softly, letting her gaze wander over the fascinating details of this Italian God—the tiny lines framing his eyes, the dark mussy hair, the rough spirals of hair that dotted the flat planes of his chest, leading in a perfect line down over his belly. She smoothed a hand over the hills of his biceps, tweaking his elbow.
