Page 24 of The Wanted Prince

So many to go.

CHAPTER 9

LAURA

“You’re absolutely positive nobody’s here?”

We sat at the foot of the long, winding drive, peering up at the villa in its spill of warm light. To my eye, it looked like somebody was home, up reading late or fixing a snack. Even as I watched, one light winked out, and another came on in the next room.

“They’re on a timer,” said Alessandro. “So it looks like somebody’s home, but they aren’t.”

“Wouldn’t lights on a timer come on all at once?”

“Yeah, because thieves wouldn’t catch onto that, all the lights popping on at precisely nine-thirty.”

I smacked him, half-hearted, stiff from driving. All I wanted to do was get inside and stretch out. Run a bath, maybe. Put my feet up. I took a deep breath and rolled up to the gate, and Alessandro leaned out and tapped in the code. The big gate slid open and we were inside.

“Park here,” said Alessandro, at the top of the drive. “The garage has cameras. And I forgot the code.”

I pulled up under a spreading oak tree. I couldn’t see any other cars, or any sign of habitation, no open windows. No TV-screen flickers. Still, I was nervous sneaking up the front steps. I held my breath as Alessandro shut off the alarm. It beeped and went silent, and he sighed with relief. I glanced behind us, back down the drive.

“You’re sure your aunt won’t come home and catch us?”

Alessandro smiled and unlocked his phone. He pulled up a snapshot of his aunt and two cousins lost in a crowd of milling tourists.

“That’s Sydney,” he said. “See, the opera house. Posted today. Besides, she never comes here in the summer. This is her fall place, so trust me, we’re safe.”

“What about the staff? Someone’s been gardening.”

“I’m more worried about dinner,” said Alessandro. He picked up the groceries I’d grabbed us in town, though “groceries” was perhaps a generous term. We’d only been able to find one place open, a tiny corner shop with well-scavenged shelves. I’d found one lone orange left in the bin, one loaf of bread squashed down at one end. The rest was all cans and snacks in bags, and some sort of cheese you sprayed from a can.

“Crème Brieze,” said Alessandro, holding this last up. “’Brie-flavored cheez product — that’s “cheez” with a Z — gluten free, fat free, dairy free.’ Cheese free.” He popped off the cap and sprayed a dab on his finger. I shuddered.

“Don’t do it.”

Alessandro ran his tongue out and sampled the cheez. His whole face puckered. “That’s… quite a taste.” He held out the can to me. “Your turn.”

“Forget it.”

“What, you would make me suffer alone?”

I rolled my eyes, but I took the can. “Give me a cracker, at least.”

Alessandro set our groceries on the long kitchen island. He dug through the bags till he found some wheat thins. I took one and sprayed the Crème Brieze on top. Even the sound it made was revolting, like spraying whipped cream, only cracklier. Thicker. I closed my eyes and leaned in for a taste, but Alessandro snatched my cracker away.

“No way,” he said. “I can’t let you do it.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.” He tossed the cheez in the trash and pulled out the bread. “Come on, let’s try this with the… tangy bruschetta dip.”

I pulled out the olive oil and the sparkling lemon water, and a packet of pita chips, and our orange. We headed out to the terrace loaded with snacks, and I gasped at the view outspread below us. The villa was built on a high, grassy bluff, and the ground fell away at the edge of the terrace. Beyond land’s end lay nothing but sea, blazing with sunset, orange and red.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said, and strolled up to the railing. When I looked down, I felt my head spin. Far below the waves shattered themselves on the cliffs, flying apart in curtains of foam. I watched till my eyes watered from the hot sunset glare, and then I went back to join Alessandro. He’d laid out our dinner, such as it was, and brought out a blanket which he offered to me.

“In case you get cold,” he said.

I smiled at him. “Thank you.” It wasn’t cold, though, but pleasantly warm, and I stretched out on a lounger beside Alessandro’s. He spooned bruschetta dip onto a cracker, took a cautious bite, and closed his eyes.

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