Page 49 of The Wanted Prince

“You really do love it.” I chuckled as he licked chocolate powder off his lip. “You know, I’ve never seen you eat it before.”

“Because Father hates it. He’s banned it from his table.”

“Banned tiramisu?”

“Sacrilege, right?”

We ate our dessert and finished our wine, and it hit me, I was slightly buzzed. Alessandro was, too, flushed from the wine. It felt like a date, almost, dinner and drinks. Laughter, conversation, a little flirtation. Our feet bumped under the table, and we both jumped. I giggled.

“We need music,” said Alessandro, and fished out his phone. He picked out a track for us, some old, mellow jazz. The familiar swing brought a smile to my lips.

“I know this from somewhere.”

“Carlo’s fourteenth birthday, when we snuck away.” Alessandro’s smile turned rueful. “I was trying so hard, so hard, to impress you.”

“To impress me?”

“I’d just realized I had such a crush. I thought, I don’t know, if I played you some jazz, you’d think I was worldly. Sophisticated.”

I laughed. “I kept thinking, is he going to kiss me? Or hold my hand? I was getting so nervous, thinking someone might see.”

“Would you have let me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Would you let me now?”

I pretended to consider the question. Would I let him kiss me? Maybe a little bit, then a little bit more. Then, when my pulse raced and his breathing got heavy?—

He jerked back. “What was that?”

I yelped. “What?”

“A flash!” Alessandro jumped up and lunged at the window. I spied a shape in the garden, streaking into the night.

“Hey! Hey, get back here!” Alessandro thumped the glass.

“Who is it? Did they?—”

“He’s got a phone!” Alessandro raced back through the dining room and down the front hall, and I ran after him, shaky with fright.

“Don’t! He’ll take more shots!”

Alessandro didn’t hear me, or he ignored my advice. He charged out the front door and down to the street, and I chased him blindly, stumbling in the dark. Down the street, headlights flickered, then blazed to life. A car door flew open and the photographer piled in. I heard voices — was it him? I think so, I think — and then the door slammed. Alessandro plowed into it. He banged on the window.

“Hey! Open up!”

The engine sputtered, then roared. Alessandro roared louder. He ran around to the front of the car, blocking its exit, arms outstretched.

“I’ll sue you! I’ll pay you! Let’s talk, let’s?—”

The car reversed out and swerved, laying rubber. Alessandro ran after it, then dropped to his knees. An arm poked out of the passenger window, and a camera flashed, then flashed again. Alessandro flung his arm up to cover his face. I jogged up behind him and knelt at his side.

“It’s over,” he groaned.

“Let’s get inside.”

“What’s the point now? We’re about to go viral.”

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