Page 52 of Royally Roma
“A change of plans?” She glared at him. Why, oh why hadn’t she listened to all those alarm bells that had been going off in her head when he’d acted so strangely back at the Hotel de Russie?
“Yes. Come with me, and I’ll explain everything.” He stood beside her chair, no doubt waiting for her to obey him. God, he could be infuriating.
She stayed put and lifted a skeptical brow. “Everything?”
“Well, almost everything.” A muscle flexed in his jaw, and much to her dismay, Julia found it unreasonably attractive.
She needed therapy of some kind. Obviously. Too bad she couldn’t afford five minutes on a psychotherapist’s couch, much less the many, many hours it would no doubt take to cure her of her bad taste in men.
This whole situation had really gone on long enough. She obviously wasn’t going to get her money. It was time to stop jumping through all these silly hoops.
“Nico, I...” Her voice drifted off as he pulled a twenty euro note from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and tossed it onto the table. She stared at it in disbelief.
“We should go.” He cleared his throat and glanced briefly at the men at the closest table, who were motioning at the waiter for their check. “Now.”
As relieved as she felt at the sight of actual money coming out of his pocket, she still wasn’t sure she should up and follow him. Couldn’t he fork over her money right here, right now? She worked very hard at keeping her expression even. “I’m not finished with my champagne.”
He stared at her for a beat, then picked up her glass and tossed the rest of her drink down his throat.
Rude much?
He set the glass gingerly back on the tabletop and offered her his hand.
Do not take it. Do. Not.
She did, of course.
He clasped his hand around hers, lifted her out of her chair, and practically sprinted out of the café. She struggled to catch up, all the while wondering why it suddenly felt as though he’d kidnapped her rather than the other way around.
“Nico, what’s going on?” she asked, as he pulled her behind the white awning of the tomato stand.
What onearthwas happening?
He slipped in front of her in the narrow space between the crisp white canvas and the outside wall of the church that stood at the corner of the market. It was a tight squeeze. Her back was pressed against the cool stone wall, and she was vaguely aware of the sounds and smells of the surrounding stalls. Shoppers haggling with the farmers. The tinkling of coins. The earthy fragrance of fresh-cut basil and anise. Garlic and crushed fennel.
Nico’s body was pressed fully against hers, his face just inches away.
“I demand you to tell me what you’re doing,” she said. But it didn’t sound like a demand. She’d never sounded less authoritative in her life. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze.
They were surrounded on every side by Romans, but no one could see them. Being tucked away behind the tomato stand felt oddly intimate. Like a grown-up round of hide-and-seek.
She lifted her chin and forced herself to look him in the eye. “No more games, Nico. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Shhh.” He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “I’m hiring you for another full day. Now if you could keep quiet for just ten seconds, we can discuss the terms.”
“You’re hiring me?” While hiding in a farmer’s market? Of course.
“Ten.” His voice rumbled through her, low and dangerous.
She should scream. Who knew what he planned on doing to her, hidden from view like this? Of course, if he’d wanted to harm her, he’d had plenty of opportunity over the course of the past twenty-four hours.
“Nine,” he whispered.
Had it really only been twenty-four hours since she’d spotted him alone on the Hotel de Russie’s patio? It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Eight.”
He’d seemed so normal. Handsome, obviously. Alarmingly so. But definitely not like a bonkers sociopath, which he sort of seemed like at the moment.
