Page 24 of Royally Roma
It was then that Niccolo had remembered the red and white awning of the quaint barbershop across the street from the Colosseum, the one he’d spotted while struggling to keep up with Julia as she’d navigated through the mob of tourists.
“Let me worry about being recognized, Piero. Just call off the dogs. Six hours. That’s all.” He’d hung up before his secretary could get in another word of protest and headed out of the alcove, straight past the detestable Gio, across the street, and through the front door of the barbershop.
He couldn’t do much about his famous eyes or the recognizable Greek nose he’d inherited from his father and his grandfather before him, but he could rid himself of his trademark beard. It wasn’t much, but it beat ducking behind the hood of his poncho for the rest of the afternoon.
Of course if he didn’t hurry up and get back to the Colosseum before Julia came looking for him, the afternoon wouldn’t pan out quite the way he intended, would it?
He glanced at the time on his Cartier. Eight minutes had already passed since Julia had left him in the alcove. Was it even possible to get a shave and return before she came looking for him?
Possibly. If the price was right.
The barber watched with thinly veiled curiosity as Niccolo unfastened the strap of the Cartier.
“Uno scambio?” A trade?He offered the timepiece to the barber. Its worth could have paid for weekly shaves for the entire population of Lazaretto. Surely it would suffice.
The barber took the watch and inspected it in what seemed to Niccolo like agonizing slow motion. He shrugged. “Bene.”
“Grazie.” Niccolo shed his poncho and planted himself in the barber chair before he could change his mind. “Velocemente, per favore.”
A few long minutes later, he was staring back at his clean-shaven reflection in the mirror, satisfied that he could move about for the remainder of the afternoon without being chased by mobs of schoolgirls. With a finalgrazieto the somewhat baffled barber, he dashed out of the shop and made his way back across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a flurry of speeding white taxis.
Niccolo gave Gio a cursory nod and strode straight past him, catching a glimpse of himself—yet again—on the small television in the tiny plexiglass cubicle. This time his image was captioned with the wordsCrown Prince Niccolo La Torre Taken Ill, Cancels Appearances.
So Piero had acquiesced and followed his orders. Good. He was free and clear for the next six hours.
Everything was falling nicely into place. As it should. Niccolo was beginning to feel like himself once again. In control. Commanding. Royal. He’d had enough of the morning’s chaos, enough of feeling out of sorts. Julia Costa was a woman, just like any other. He would not lose his head over her. He was a La Torre. He would be king one day, for God’s sake. She was a complete and total stranger. Even insiders who’d been properly vetted by the palace had ended up selling stories about his family to the press. With the direst of consequences. He didn’t know the first thing about Julia. For all he knew, she could have had press credentials stuffed somewhere in that backpack of hers.
He would not allow a silly American woman to throw him into a tailspin, no matter how charming, quirky, or desirable he found her.
Then why are you still here instead of accepting a tree from a bunch of organic gardeners?
His jaw clenched and something inside him wound into a knot. A dark, raw need. Anticipation. It moved in him with searing ferocity. He hastened his steps until he was once again in the alcove where Julia had left him.
And there she stood.
The relief that flooded his senses at the sight of her vexed him, but the clock was ticking. Across the street, on a barber’s wrist, the minute hand on his Cartier was moving at a continuous, steady pace. He had neither the time nor the inclination to examine the pull he felt whenever he looked into her soft brown eyes. It was a physical force. Gravity, propelling his feet forward when he knew good and well they should be heading in the exact opposite direction.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t be standing between these crumbling walls, surrounded by the ghosts of gladiators and emperors. Centuries of impassioned souls.
Butshewas there. Right there. Delicate, red-lipped, and ethereal, like something carved out of marble by a sculptor’s gifted hands. An alabaster priestess. A muse. Beautiful.
Very beautiful and, by all appearances, very angry.
Her body hummed with it. Words unspoken, thoughts spinning around in that beautiful head. Her dark eyes glittered in the shadows of the cave.
“Where have you been?” She pinned him with a glare and crossed her arms, as though she were trying to hold herself together, or worse, as if she wanted a barrier between them. The gesture also had what Niccolo was certain was the unintentional effect of pushing her full breasts together in a delicious explosion of décolletage.
He made every effort to aim his gaze elsewhere, if only to assure himself that he did in fact still possess a modicum of decorum. “I stepped out for a shave.”
“A shave?” Her mouth dropped open, and he was rewarded with a glimpse of warm, wet tongue. “You decided to up and go for a shave...now...in the middle of a guided tour of the Colosseum?”
No woman had dared speak to him with such derision before. It should have infuriated him. It most definitely shouldn’t have turned him on the way it did. He felt restless, tight. Alert to the point of pain. Every nerve in his body seemed to aim itself in her direction. Something was wrong with him. Clearly.
“I told you I had business to attend to,” he said blithely.
“Urgent shaving business. Naturally.” She bristled, and he enjoyed it immensely. Her eyes were too bright, her cheeks a lovely, blooming shade of pink. She was angry all right. What he didn’t know was why, or why on earth her barely contained fury was affecting him the way it did.
He liked her passion, the acute way in which she felt things. She felt more in the span of three seconds than he’d felt in the past three years. He’d known the instant he’d met her that she was different. She was the complete and polar opposite of the people he interacted with on any ordinary day. Men who bowed, women who curtsied, people who catered to his every whim. He’d never realized how wearying it had all become. Until now.
