Page 49 of The Prince's Green Card Scheme

There’s no way such desperate passion could have been fake. Could it?

I don’t comment on it. Right now I want to be happy in the delusion that this still means something. Right now, I don’t have the space in my head to start processing why his first response in a panic was to kiss me like that.

I don’t know what to do aboutanyof this.

We head out of the city, weaving through the streets and past the traffic. As the signs start to point towards the highway, suddenly he turns left onto a tiny road.

“Isn’t the house in the other direction?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go home yet. Do you?”

“I don’t know. Not really.”

“Okay, then.”

He doesn’t offer any further explanation, and I don’t push him for one. Instead I pull out my phone to text my mother. I send her a couple of photos of the museums, of the landscape, of the pizza.Having a great time,I write.Miss you loads. Wish you could be here too.

Me too, honey,she replies quickly.Looks beautiful.I remember why I fell in love there ha ha! Have fun x

I smile to myself, then look at Paolo. He’s staring straight at the road, both hands gripping the wheel tightly. The tension in his body makes him sit up straight; it looks like he’s in pain. Every so often he changes gear, and I can’t help but look down at his hands.

I have to stop thinking about his fingers. But there’s a fire burning inside me that he lit with that kiss, something that’s going to be so hard to put out.

“This is the second-oldest cathedral in the country,” he says as we turn down a street buried in the city suburbs. “Everyone always goes to visit the big one. But personally I think this one’s a lot nicer.”

We drive by it and I see what he means. It’s built of the same gray stone as the other one, but the stained glass seems more impressive, the turrets cleaner. It stands proudly there, somehow more imposing, set away from the tall buildings and old, cobblestone streets.

“Are we stopping?” I ask.

“We can if you want to,” he says, glancing at me, “But I thought we could just do a driving tour.”

“Right. No problem.”

“It’s safer this way. But we can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m happy just to see it.”

I’m happy to see it with you,I think, but keep the thought to myself. Things are already complicated enough right now without talking about our feelings on top of everything else.

He points out a couple more things, statues and streets and historical sites, then finally he says, “Are you ready to go home?”

“I wouldn’t mind. Are you?”

“I think I am. Unless there’s anything else you want to do.”

“No, not really.”

“Okay.”

He turns back onto the main road towards the highway.

And then, without thinking, I say, “Why don’t you do this more often?”

“I can’t,” he says, his face crumpling in confusion. “I have my duties.”

“No, I mean, why don’t you act like this more often?”

“What?”

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