Page 5 of The Prince's Green Card Scheme

“Yeah, I did,” I sigh.

“For what it’s worth,” Schultz says, “I do think this will work. Is this what I would recommend for a life partner? No. But to get home? This should work.”

“Good,” I say quietly, glancing back down at Chloe again. “That’s all I want.”

CHAPTER 3

PAOLO

Igot to my hotel late last night and slept most of the day away today. Even though I had had this fantasy that the second I landed, I’d go out and hunt Chloe down, sleeping was actually a really good idea.

Really, the second I checked in and lay down on the bed, it was game over. I woke up three hours later, and by the time I’d done that, I was hungry. So I got room service, and by then it was too late to be going out and chatting anyone up.

But it was a good move, because now it’s early evening and I feel well rested and ready to go for my journey through New York.

I came here once, years ago, as a teenager, and we did all the usual tourist stuff like the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. It was pretty exciting back then, but I don’t think I would want to live in a cramped apartment to be serenaded by the traffic all the time.

Chloe’s bar is in some hidden corner of the city, somewhere I’ve never heard of, let alone ever been. It’s on one of the later stops of one of the more obscure subway lines and then down an alley.The whole time I’m on the subway, I stare into my phone, trying not to play with my baseball cap. The more I pull it down over my eyes, the more suspicious I probably look.

Not that I really need to be worried anyway, I think. Bellamare isn’t exactly the biggest, most well-known country, and I doubt my shenanigans have crossed the Atlantic. Still, I don’t want to be recognized and I don’t want to talk to anyone.

And I don’t know where I’m going. So I stare at my map, watching as my blue dot creeps along the screen towards my destination.

I only get lost finding my way from the station through the tiny streets like four times.

When I finally get there, I stand outside for a moment, staring up at it. It’s an unassuming place, the sign peeling, the windows darkened so I can’t see inside. The menu stuck to the wall is faded, but the cocktails look good.

Taking a breath, I steady myself and push open the door.

It’s busy inside so I guess enough people must know about it. It’s definitely one of those dives where you only go if you know it exists, and you only know it exists if you’re a local. Good if you want the culture, I suppose, the real experience, living in places like this. On any other day, that’s what I’d be thinking about.

But today, it’s seven p.m. and I want a drink. And I want to go home.

I saunter over to the bar. Sure enough, the information Schultz gave me was good. There at the bar is a young woman, her light brown hair tied back, her green eyes shining. She’s chatting toa customer while she puts glasses away, smiling and laughing at whatever he’s saying.

An irrational rush of jealousy surges through me. How dare this other man flirt with the woman I’m about to go flirt with? How can she be thinking of anyone else when she’s mine? But she doesn’t know that yet.

I squash down that feeling of possessiveness, shaking my head at myself. I have to play this cool.

I sidle up to the bar, take a seat, and grin at her she hands me a drinks menu. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling. Her smile is even prettier in reality than any of the photos I saw.

Yes, this plan is looking better by the second.

I watch as she goes back to work, not saying anything. I want to see her in action before I start speaking. You’ve got to be careful with people when they’re at work. Most women don’t exactly want random men to be flirting with them when they’re on shift. I’m going to have to play my cards right if I want her to speak to me for more than two seconds.

And she is very pleasant to look at. She’s in her work shirt, so clearly she isn’t trying to look her best right now, but I can still tell she has a great body under there. Her breasts swell under her top, and I get a tantalizing glimpse of her collarbone. It wouldn’t really matter what she looked like, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t help that she’s hot.

“So, what can I get you?” she says, sliding back over to me, leaning on the bar to show me the constellation of freckles scattered across her face.

I purse my lips, not wanting to smile too broadly. “I can’t decide. Give me your favorite.”

“Okay,” she grins, narrowing her eyes like I’ve given her a challenge. I don’t take my eyes off her for a second as she grabs the cocktail shaker, pours from a few different bottles into it, and shakes. Her fingers wrap around the metal and I barely blink, staring at her long, elegant fingers, her neatly manicured nails.

God, she’s perfect.

She slides a glass over to me, sticking an umbrella in it as she does. “House special. The Jet Pilot,” she winks. “We added it to the menu because one of the guys who works here is obsessed with planes. Enjoy.”

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