The Royals of Monterra: Royal Rivals (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Salvatore smiled, making a hum of amusement. “It means ‘that was good’.”

  I bit my lip, but a laugh escaped anyway. “No, it doesn’t.”

  He shrugged and slid his hands down to lace our fingers. “Well, it was.” He winked and tugged me along, heading for the cars.

  “You really are an idiot,” I muttered, pretending I wasn’t loving the feeling of our fingers together.

  “I know. And that really did hurt.”

  “I’m not tending to your wounds.”

  “You kissed me. I feel better already.”

  I nudged him hard in the ribs and he wheezed a laugh.

  And I may have smiled.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It smelled of leather. That was the best way I could describe it. Everything smelled of leather.

  And cologne. And sweat.

  Which shouldn’t have surprised me, as we were on a street near some leather shops and there were Italian men everywhere trying to convince the unsuspecting female tourists to spend more than they should for cheap imitations of brand name bags. They were all ridiculously attractive men, which could only work in their favor, as they could probably have convinced any red-blooded woman to walk a tightrope for a plate of cheese.

  I loved the smell of leather. It was absolutely divine. I didn’t enjoy the other smells that were polluting the fragrance and making it smell cheap and dirty.

  “How are we supposed to find an old Italian missing at least one tooth?” Salvatore grumbled from beside me, his hand protectively on my low back. “Italians love their teeth, and in broad daylight, we only have the model parade.”

  I looked up at him as I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “You sound bitter.”

  “Not bitter,” he clipped, his jaw tight. “Possessive.”

  Possessive? That made less sense than the Italian rambling he had been muttering under his breath all morning. “How’s that?” I asked.

  He looked down at me with a raised brow. “Handsome Italians teeming the streets for the sole purpose of flirting with women? Why do you think I’m possessive?”

  I rolled my eyes, but let him pull me tighter against him.

  “And if you were paying more attention, fatina,” he murmured against my ear, “you would see how they stare at you. How they watch. They can’t help it. Sei una donna meravigliosa, bella mia.”

  I craned my neck as a shiver raced down to my toes and my stomach clenched in unanticipated delight. I turned and brushed my lips across his cheek almost breathlessly. “Don’t say Italian things I can’t understand.”

  Salvatore sneered and returned the favor. “I thought you knew that one, bella.”

  I groaned and shook my head. He was a shameless flirt, and heaven help me, I was just as keen as any of these other women with their Italians. Except mine was a ridiculously attractive and very warm-blooded Monterran.

  So much the better.

  “Wait,” I said slowly, replaying his earlier words, “did you say an older Italian without teeth?”

  He looked surprised at the change in subject. “Si.”

  I snapped my fingers. “I know that one! Val took us, remember? That old man who runs the flower shop near the graffiti wall.”

  His smile was swift and blinding. “Si! Brava, Claire.” He picked up my hand and kissed it quickly, then pulled me along behind him as we wound through the crowded streets.

  We’d been at this scavenger hunt for two hours now, and while some of the other groups or pairings were racing in the hopes of winning a prize, we were more of the opinion that completion at our own pace was more enjoyable. We were only about halfway through the list, and neither of us minded a bit. Florence was a gorgeous city and its smaller villages and towns around it were even more enchanting.

  But if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I was more thrilled to be spending more time with Salvatore alone.

  Yesterday had been a turning point for us. I wasn’t going to pretend that he meant nothing to me, or that I was indifferent to him in some way. He wasn’t going to pretend that we were just friends and only out of necessity. There was something between us, and we’d decided to embrace it. I wanted to hold his hand, I wanted to let him kiss me whenever he wanted, within reason, and I wanted to let my guard down with him.

  That was where I still struggled.

  Having known him for as long as I did, I knew how he was with women. I knew how effective he was at charming them and had seen so many ways that he had done that. I wanted to believe that this was real and sincere. I hoped it was, and I thought it was, but I needed time and proof.

  I still doubted.

  I hadn’t told him this, though. I was sure he could tell when I smiled too slowly or hesitated in my responses. Last night I had still sparred with Davide and Francisco, bringing up the image of myself that I always fell back on and they had fought back, just as they always had. In the back of my mind, I’d registered the thought that this might make me more unappealing to Salvatore, or that he might judge me and disapprove. Not that I necessarily needed his approval, but if I didn’t get along with his friends, how could I hope for anything with him, short-term or long?

  But he’d seemed delighted by the exchange. Afterwards, he’d said something about enjoying how I could lance two puffed up pigeons like them in so few words and so little time, and then take their criticisms in turn without showing even the slightest bit of distress. He’d said it was just proof that I was a singular woman.

  I liked the sound of that, but I knew it was a polite way of saying that I was strange.

  Apparently, he didn’t mind that so much.

  “There he is!” Salvatore announced, calling out to the man in Italian. He remembered us and welcomed us warmly, allowing a picture with my phone for our proof, and then giving me a small sprig of white flowers to put in my hair.

  I wasn’t normally touched by little gestures like that. I would have sneered at it once, but not this time. This time I tucked the flowers in my hair and curtseyed playfully to him, which made him laugh and clap in delight.

  Glancing at Salvatore proved to be a mistake, as he looked at me with a pride and warmth that was completely unprotected and open. There was something to be said for being looked at like that, and my heart danced within me. I could have found a dozen witnesses in any country that would testify to my not having a heart, but in the last few days, it had come alive with a startling amount of energy and acrobatics.

  All because of this man.

  That wasn’t at all terrifying.

  He came over to me, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in to kiss my brow, then thanking our friend for his kindness.

  I sighed and held the hand that was draped across me. “So what next?”

  “I hope it’s something good,” he muttered good-naturedly. “I’m getting tired of the needles in haystacks.”

  “I don’t know,” I mused, smiling at one of the beautiful Italian men holding out a purse. “There are plenty of sights to see.”

  The Italian man winked at me. “Bella rosa Inglese,” he purred, reaching out as if he could stroke my cheek.

  Salvatore growled and barked something in Italian that sounded quite fierce, which prompted a similar response, and before long the entire street was shouting at each other.

  I looked over my shoulder and blew a kiss at the man, who caught it and clasped it to his heart.

  “Don’t do that, Claire,” Salvatore warned, his hold tightening. “I already told you I’m feeling possessive, and you stirring things up is only going to make it worse.”

  I had to look away and exhale slowly. There was something about a passionate, possessive man that just thrilled me. “You could always ignore it, you know. There’s nothing that says you have to respond.”

  “I’m a Monterran man, cara,” he replied in a very low tone. “The blood runs hot and the passion hotter. And you know very well why I am possessive.”

  Whew! I had to fight
with all I had to avoid fanning myself, though anyone would have assumed it was the warmth of the day rather than the man beside me. Then again, I saw the gazes he was drawing himself, and I felt a bit possessive myself, and proud that his arm was around me, of all people.

  No one would have blamed me for fanning myself, considering.

  But still. There was a principle to uphold, and a reputation to live up to.

  “Not really,” I told him with a light shrug. I peered up at the tops of the buildings as if looking for something.

  Salvatore didn’t like that very much, I could tell. He pulled me closer to him until his lips were at my ear. “Sei mia, fatina. E io sono tuo. Siamo anime gemelle.”

  That was truly an unfair advantage he had, being fluent in such a poetic and soulful language. It was captivating and magical, and my knees were in the process of melting as I walked along beside him. I wanted nothing more than to collapse against him and let him hold me while he murmured all sorts of lovely Italian words in my ears.

  I didn’t even care if he was calling me a tasty crumpet with jam, I would have thanked him and asked for more.

  “I hate when you do that,” I told him for what had to be the twenty-seventh time. “You could be telling me you want Chinese takeout for all I know.”

  He pulled back and took my hand, chuckling. “And would it make you blush the way you are blushing now, fatina?”

  I gave him a mock glare as we moved out of the crowded streets into less busy areas, the roads heading back into the countryside, eventually. “The way you say it, I would probably blush from my roots to my toes.”

  Salvatore winked at me, smiling with a mischievous light. “That probably wouldn’t take very long. But I will accept it.” He tugged me into his chest and leaned down to kiss me, tilting my chin up to slowly dismantle every one of my defenses in the sweetest, most thorough of kisses.

  My sigh made him laugh and he stroked my cheek as he pulled back. “I love the sounds you make,” he praised, making me blush all over again.

  “Well, at least you said that one in English,” I muttered, lifting the back of my hand to my face once we started moving again.

  He strolled along the street easily, rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand. “I thought you deserved to know exactly what I was saying.” He chuckled to himself. “And for your information, if I wanted Chinese takeout, I would say ‘Voglio cibo Cinese da portar via.’ But I don’t want that, so you’re safe.”

  I shook my head, laughing in spite of myself. “What are we supposed to be looking for next?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” he replied easily. “I’m forfeiting. I’d rather not find things other people tell me to right now. I just want to explore and experience, and I want to be with you. Other than that, I have no preferences.”

  “I don’t forfeit!” I protested, reaching for the paper in his hand. “I finish what I start, and we are going to do this!”

  “If you like.” He handed it over without any sort of struggle. “As I said, I just want to be with you and explore. We can do anything.”

  I tried to glare at him. “Don’t flirt me out of my competitive spirit.”

  “Competitive?” he repeated with a snort. “You were not so competitive yesterday. You sneered at competition.”

  I ignored that and scanned the list. “We must find a view beyond compare. Ridiculous. We’re in Florence, those are everywhere.”

  “Beyond compare? No, there are only a few of those.”

  He didn’t explain that at all and just led me along the road until we were away from the city itself and going uphill.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked, glancing behind us. I didn’t mind walking a distance, but the house was in the opposite direction, and we were supposed to be back in the midafternoon to hear who the winners were, and to have yet another wine tasting.

  Why they needed more than one, I would never claim to understand.

  “Una vista panoramica senza paragone!” he told me, as if that should make perfect sense.

  “Salvatore…”

  “Just wait, Claire, all right? Trust me.”

  I tried not to stiffen, I truly did. But that phrase… Trust him? That was the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do. Not to take me somewhere spectacular, that was easy enough. But in anything else, in his words in his actions… I could only trust his kisses because there was no hiding the passion he felt. But he was the Duca di Brista. He had found passion in dozens of women over the years, none of them lasting or meaning anything at all.

  I didn’t want to be one of those women.

  I couldn’t be.

  I didn’t have many romantic notions for myself. I had always viewed marriage and relationships in terms of alliances and power. Sentimentality had nothing to do with it. I barely took feelings into consideration most of the time. I’d grown used to that.

  But being here with him… Suddenly all I had were emotions and no way to navigate them.

  What could I trust? What was real?

  Salvatore suddenly pulled me off the road to a stand of Cyprus trees. “Here,” he told me softly. He gestured to an opening and I came to stand beside him.

  It was a breathtaking view, with fields and fields before us, and more Cyprus trees as far as the eye could see. I could make out the city of Florence proper off to one side, and small ponds and streams were scattered amidst it all. The Arno River reflected the sky and clouds, as well as the buildings and nature on either side with precision, except for where boats and currents flowed on.

  “Beautiful,” I breathed, closing my eyes and inhaling the sweet smelling air. It was the fragrance of sunshine and warm grass, with the barest hint of wildflowers on the breeze. It was refreshing and cleansing, with just enough of the thickness humidity brought to give it all weight.

  “Bella,” Salvatore murmured gently. “Beautiful.”

  I smiled and glanced over at him. “I know that one.”

  He was already smiling at me then stepped back a few paces.

  I turned around to face him fully. “What are you doing?”

  He gestured again, this time including me. “Una vista panoramica senza paragone!” His smile spread just. “A view beyond compare.” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture quickly, then tucked it back in his pocket. “There. That one is done.”

  I couldn’t handle much more of this. It was too much. He was too much.

  I tucked some hair behind my ear, looking down. “Could we sit here for a while? And maybe talk?”

  He sobered at once and looked concerned. “Those are not words I like to hear, Claire. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” I assured him, coming to where he was. “I just…” I sighed heavily and looked up into his handsome face. “It’s just all so much. I’m so confused, and I think I need my friend Salvatore for a little bit, and not the one that makes my kneecaps shake with his charm and his kisses.”

  “I had no idea I had that effect,” he told me, moving to sit beneath a tree and patting the ground next to him.

  I snorted as I took it. “Yes, you did. You know exactly what you do to me. What you do to every woman you’ve ever been with.”

  I heard his short exhale and winced silently to myself.

  “Is that what is causing you the trouble?” he asked me, his voice low and controlled, but missing the warmth.

  “No,” I said at once, maybe too quickly. “No, I’m sorry. I just…” I groaned, leaning my head back against the tree. “Before you were bored with yourself and your life, everybody knew what kind of man you were, and yet they all remained friends with you. Most of them are still friends with you. How did you do it?”

  “Charm,” he said simply. “It’s something I’ve always had, I’m afraid; the ability to make people like me, even if they didn’t approve of me. It has its uses, but when everybody thinks they know you, they expect nothing else from you.”

  “They assume you’re nothing more and
nothing less.” My voice wasn’t nearly as steady as I would have hoped it would be, but I didn’t care. What he was describing was too raw and too real to me to worry about appearances.

  Salvatore nodded, looking out over the view again. “I was all show and no substance. No purpose. Is it any wonder I became bored with myself?”

  “I had purpose,” I admitted quietly, looking down at my perfect nails. “The same as my family. Make profitable connections, live up to the name, and further our influence. I managed to inherit the same tenacity as my family, but without their likability. I’ve never managed the charm that you speak of. Most of my friends were only that because of families or connections. Not for me, personally. Never for myself as I was.”

  “I apologize for being one in that category,” Salvatore murmured, stroking my hand with one of his knuckles.

  I shook my head, smiling sadly. “It wasn’t your fault. I was so used to being that way, thinking if I worked hard enough and kept at it, somehow it would all work out. I had my walls to protect me, and it would serve me well.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It only served to be a fortress that kept everyone out, and all I had was myself. You were right. I was lonely. I am lonely.”

  My voice broke on the last word, and he took my hand, pressing it against his chest, but not saying anything.

  “I don’t know why I’ve always failed at everything I’ve tried,” I confessed, tears rising, but not falling. “I disappoint my family, and am destined to become an outcast from them, too. And there will be no one but myself to blame.”

  “Basta!” he scolded, moving closer and putting his arm around me, pulling me into his side. “If you are a disappointment, then I don’t want to know what is a success.”

  I scoffed loudly. “Please, Salvatore. Everybody knows what sort of person I am, even you. There is a reason why I am disliked, and I know exactly what it is. I daresay I could even change that about myself if I worked hard enough, but I haven’t found the motivation to do that yet.”

  He pressed his lips to my hair and exhaled. “I didn’t see you. The real you. I never looked hard enough.”