Page 23 of Royally Roma
Disaster averted. Or so she hoped.
She zipped her phone back into her backpack, dashed out of the ladies’ room, and propelled herself into the crowd. The air trapped between the stony walls was heavy and damp from the morning rain. People pressed in on every side and she was forced to move against the flow, back toward the entrance.
It would take forever to reach him at this rate.
Julia felt as though she could barely breathe. Panic beat its frantic wings inside her rib cage. What if Mano was calling her boss again, right this very moment?
Surely not. He seemed to like her. She’d even thought he’d been flirting with her. God, she was such an idiot.
A tourist stomped on her toe, and it only fueled her indignation. The closer she got to the entrance and the hidden alcove where she’d left Mano, the more annoyed she became. How dare he call and complain when she hadn’t been a second late. And how dare he not even tell her that her boss was furious with her. How dare he!
With the alcove in sight, she forced herself to calm down. Clearly Mano was a loose cannon. Her job could be hanging by a thread now, all because of him. She needed to paste on a smile and get through the rest of the tour the best she could. Like it or not, she would be spending the entire afternoon kissing Mano Romano’s pompous ass so he would give her a good review when it was all over.
You can do this.
She took a deep breath and walked through the narrow arch that lead to the quiet niche where she’d left him. “Tell me you’re ready to get going again, and tell me you’re excited about what’s to come. Because I’ve got a treat in store for...”
Her voice faded to a whisper, echoing against the ancient stones walls. He didn’t tell her he was ready. He didn’t say he was excited for the remainder of the tour. He said nothing at all.
Because Mano was gone.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
“Quanto per una rasatura?”How much for a shave?
Niccolo had never set foot in a barbershop before. His barber in Lazaretto made weekly trips to the palace. Even when he was traveling, he had a staff at his disposal to attend to his grooming needs. But there was a first time for everything. And thus far, the morning had been a veritable laundry list of firsts, starting with the most enigmatic first of all—his spellbinding tour guide. His tour guide who he hoped hadn’t yet made her way back to the alcove.
Just a few minutes. That’s all he needed.
He tapped his foot and waited as the barber peered at him impassively over the top of his newspaper.La Repubblica—one of the more respectable media outlets in Rome, yet Niccolo’s own face gazed back at him from the front page nonetheless.
The barber held up five fingers.“Cinque euro.”
Five euros, a reasonable fee. Unfortunately, it amounted to five euros more than Niccolo had on his person.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror situated above the barber’s chair, which was empty at the moment. Thank God. Niccolo didn’t have time to wait in line. He didn’t have time to fish around in his pockets for his nonexistent five euros. Nor did he have time to beg, borrow, or steal the money.
You must return to the hotel at once.
Piero had sounded uncharacteristically bold on the phone, his sudden bravado no doubt due to the fact that every member of the royal security detail, the office of the monarchy, not to mention the king himself, was breathing down his neck, demanding that he make Niccolo reappear. Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
Niccolo had no intention of playing the part of a rabbit. Not until he’d sated his overwhelming, irrational need for a taste of Miss Costa.
“If you return at once, the driver can get you to the orphanage on schedule.” Piero had been talking so fast that Niccolo could hardly keep track of what he was saying, not that he had any interest in it whatsoever. “I can reschedule the Auto Works and the organic farm for later this evening. We’ll have to postpone your flight...”
Niccolo had cut him off. “Cancel them.”
There had been a tense pause during which Niccolo could practically hear Piero’s eye twitching. “Cancel the Auto Works and the organic farm? Or cancel the orphans?”
He’d experienced a sharp tug of guilt at the thought of the orphans, but what had been set in motion hours before had become unstoppable. It was a force beyond reason, beyond his control, beyond the reach of the throne. “All of them. The whole lot.”
“But sir, canceling the orphans would be a public-relations disaster.”
“Write a check. Send them toys. Send them sporting equipment. Send them whatever they need. Tell them I’ve taken ill, and reschedule my visit for the next available date. Do or say whatever is required, just cancel them. I’ll be back in time for my flight to Helsinki this evening. I’m asking—no, not asking—I’mdemandinga few hours to myself. Surely that’s not so unreasonable.”
“But Your Highness, you cannot simply walk around Rome unaccompanied. It’s a matter of security. You’re too recognizable.”
