Page 5 of The Wanted Prince

“I’ve been well,” I said stiffly. “And Your Highness?”

“Quite well.” He dropped his voice to a murmur. “But I seem to remember you once called me Sandro.”

I glanced about, nervous. “When we were young.”

“We’re still young,” he said, and linked his arm through mine. “Come on. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

I stiffened. “Wait?—”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

A dark thrill raced through me as he led me away. I could’ve pulled free of him, or simply said no, but his firm grip lit a fire in my belly. I felt his warmth and the strength in his arm, and fragments of fantasies flooded my head — those arms around me. His broad chest laid bare. The graze of his stubble on my cheek. On my thigh.

Forbidden fruit.

Mango slices in bed. Beads of sweet juice on taut, tanned skin.

Don’t even think it.

He guided me free of the glittering crowd, behind a low screen inlaid with gold. I blinked in surprise: no one was back here.

“What are we?—”

“Shh.” Next thing I knew, he’d pressed some hidden catch, and a section of wall slid back. A hidden door. He spun me out of the ballroom and the door rattled shut. I caught a sweet whiff of baked goods, then he drew me on.

“No one saw us. Don’t worry.”

“But where are we going?”

“Somewhere more private, where we can catch up.” He paused. “Do you mind?”

I could’ve said I did, but I’d have been lying. What I felt was the rush of illicit excitement, fear, curiosity, delight, all at once.

“I don’t mind,” I said.

Alessandro relaxed, and for a moment, I glimpsed the boy he’d once been. “I saw you and for a second, I forgot it’s been years. If I’ve overstepped?—”

“It’s good to see you again.” I thought about hugging him, but we’d never done that, not even that one time when we’d nearly kissed. Instead, I reached out and patted his arm. It should’ve been awkward, but it felt right; a quick, gentle touch to renew our connection.

“I’ve thought about you,” he said. Somewhere, a door slammed. I jumped, and Alessandro grabbed my hand. “Come on, this way.”

We ran hand in hand through a maze of dim halls, the roar of the party dwindling behind us. I caught glimpses of small rooms through open doors, moonlight slanting in through tiny, arched windows.

“Where are we?” I said.

“The old servants’ wing. No one really comes here since we built the new one.” He pushed through a heavy door, out to the garden, and I tilted my head back to take in the fresh air. Alessandro nudged me. “Remember this place?”

I didn’t at first, then I spotted the fountain. The dark stands of orange trees. The winding stone paths. “It looks different at night, but yeah. I’ve been here. Didn’t I get lost here when we played hide-and-seek?”

“You pushed me in the fountain.” Alessandro laughed. Even his laugh was deeper now, sultry. Gooseflesh pricked my arms, though it wasn’t cold.

“You moved to New York,” he said, almost sadly. “What’s in New York that we haven’t got here?”

I thought about telling him I’d moved for my job, but if I was honest, I could work anywhere. I was a book editor, freelance. I worked from home.

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. You did it for love.”

I laughed — I couldn’t help it — and shook my head no.

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