Page 63 of Royally Roma
“Look at me. I’m a mess.” Julia glanced down at the sodden front of her dress. She only seemed to realize they’d been holding hands when her gaze landed on their interlocked fingers.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said before he could stop himself.
And why should he? It was the truth. And despite a lifetime of practiced diplomacy, of keeping things close to the vest, secrets were beginning to spill out of him.
He looked at her, and he could feel himself coming unraveled.
Her wet hair shone dark and glossy in the pastel glow of the windows. With her long skirt clinging to her willowy legs and the swell of her breasts so clearly visible beneath a thin layer of cherry red cotton, she looked like a vintage movie queen who’d just gone for a dip in the Trevi Fountain. A Fellini heroine. A raven-haired Anita Ekberg inLa Dolce Vita.
Surely there was no crime in stating the obvious.
“I’m soaked to the bone.” Her red-ribbon lips spread into a wide grin but at the same time, she released his fingertips.
Niccolo’s arms hung at his sides. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. They felt uncomfortably empty, which was the only excuse he could fathom for reaching to peel a lock of wet hair from her eyes. “You’re lovely.”
She peered up at him through dampened lashes, but didn’t respond. The rain pounding against the cobblestones echoed all around them in the tiny portico, drowning out the sound of their breath, wrapping them in surreal silence. Silence so loud it seemed to hum in Niccolo’s bones.
No kissing.
It was the one condition she’d placed on him, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He told himself the fact that he absolutely couldn’t kiss her again was the only reason he couldn’t shake the desire to do just that, but even he knew that was a lie. Forbidden or not, he’d want to kiss her. Tonight, tomorrow, and for as many days afterward as he could imagine.
“That’s a problem,” he muttered.
“What?” She blinked. Hair slicked back with rainwater, her eyes looked huge in her porcelain face.
No kissing.
“Nothing.” He inhaled a steadying breath, raked a hand through his wet hair, and searched for something safe to talk about. “Where are we, exactly?”
“The Basilica di Santa Maria. It still has its medieval façade, which dates back to the eighth century. Too bad it’s too dark and stormy to appreciate it at the moment.” Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she talked about history and her beloved relics.
It was adorable beyond reason. Niccolo could have listened to her rattle off facts until his ears bled. “I like dark and stormy.”
“Do you?” Mischief shone in the glittering depths of her eyes, along with centuries of obscure facts. “Then you’ll love this. Come here.”
She beckoned him toward the far wall and the eerie stone face. “This is theBocca della Verità.”
He took in the carving’s wide round eyes and its gaping mouth. “The Mouth of Truth. Interesting name.”
“It an ancient lie detector.”
“Sure it is.”
“I’m not joking. Legend says if you put your hand inside its mouth and tell a lie, your hand will be bitten clear off.” She wove her fingers through his and lifted their interlocked hands toward the face’s stony lips. “Try it. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to be afraid of, Mano. Oh, wait. That’s not your name, is it? You lied about that.”
Their fingertips hovered at the opening. If Niccolo was going to risk life and limb, he wasn’t doing it alone. “We’ll both try it. One question each.”
“Fine. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Was that a tremble he felt in her fingertips?
Niccolo smiled and slid their linked hands into the yawning mouth. “Ladies first. Ask me a question.”
She took a deep breath and leaned toward him, eyes shining bright. “Are you on the run from the police?”
“No,” he said without hesitation.
Her gaze flitted to the wall, then back at him. Nothing happened. No magical dismemberment. No screams of agony. Nothing.
