Page 20 of Royally Roma
CHAPTER
SIX
Niccolo glanced at the Cartier strapped round his wrist. Nine fifteen.
He had to do something.
If he kept ignoring the buzzing phone in his pocket, his security team—and his grandfather—would assume he’d been kidnapped. Not only would that cause everyone an enormous amount of unnecessary worry, but it would also put an abrupt end to his little holiday. His face would be on every television in the city, every newspaper in Europe.
He had to do something. Send a text, anything, before the situation got completely out of control.
He glanced at Julia, talking a mile a minute, pointing at things with those graceful hands of hers. He’d barely heard a word she’d said as they’d navigated through the stony labyrinth of the heart of the Colosseum. Except the part about how sometimes the emperors themselves fought in the gladiatorial battles, but only when the lions or other opponents had been drugged or their weapons blunted, guaranteeing a royal victory. That part had managed to sink in. Cheaters, those royals.
“The gilded royal box was situated at the north end of the arena.” She pointed to an area now marked with a simple wooden cross. “All seating in the Colosseum was arranged by social structure, with the royal household having the most prominent spot, of course.”
“Of course,” he echoed drily.
“The rest of the spectators were seated according to social ranking—the senators, knights, nobility, and so on. Regular citizens sat on the higher tiers. So you and I would have been up there somewhere with the commoners.” She waved a hand toward what remained of the arena’s upper rows.
“So we would.” He cleared his throat before he choked on his own hypocrisy. This was starting to feel wrong somehow, which was absurd. So he’d been less than truthful about his name...
And where he was from. And his identity as a whole.
White lies. That’s all they were. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed being deceitful. It was a necessary evil. And she was his tour guide, not his...his...
My what, exactly?
He didn’t want to think about the direction in which his mind was spinning. Or how many times over the course of the past hour and a half he’d imagined Julia beneath him, with those willowy legs of hers wrapped around his waist.
Impossible.
Someone in the La Torre family had to behave like a respectable member of society, and Niccolo was the one who’d drawn the short straw. A situation that had never bothered him much, up until this morning.
“Julia,” he said, interrupting her before she could say something that would make him feel like an even bigger heel.
“Yes?” She blinked up at him. The rain had cleared, and she’d pushed back the hood of her raincoat. Delicate beads of mist had collected in her dark hair and sparkled like fine diamonds in the soft light of the Roman sunrise.
Fine diamonds.He cringed inwardly. No doubt that was just the sort of thing one of her evil emperors would come up with.
“I need to step away for a moment.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve had a call that needs my immediate attention.”
He glanced at the display.Eighteen calls, technically.
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. Disappointed even.
“The tour was wonderful.Iswonderful.” If it were possible to make an even bigger mess of things, he was succeeding greatly. “This is an urgent matter. I only need a few minutes.”
“I understand.” She nodded and pushed her dampened fringe away from her eyes. Those lovely, lovely doe eyes...
The lie that he’d stumbled into was beginning to get more complicated than he’d anticipated. He didn’t even want to think about how she’d feel if she discovered the truth about who he was, especially after all the royal bashing. He imagined it would feel rather like he’d shot Bambi.
Maybe because you didn’t stumble into anything. You charged into it headfirst.
“Is there somewhere private I can make a phone call?” He looked around. The tourists had thinned out a bit now that they were inside, but there were still far too many people milling about who could possibly overhear.
And despite the fact that even though the rain had stopped and he’d yet to shed his “disguise”—his dapper poncho—he’d still fielded a few lingering glances.Note to self: when endeavoring to disappear, do not run straight to the most populated spot in all of Rome.
He could only hope there was indeed some validity to the theory about hiding in plain sight. One person in an empty piazza was obvious, whereas one person among a thousand could get lost.
