Page 67 of Royally Roma
There’s no rush...
It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true at all.
Come morning, Nico would walk right out of her life just as easily as he’d strolled into it.
She dreamed of orange trees, the patter of raindrops, and silver coins beneath a cool blue pool of water. She woke with a start, convinced nothing that had gone on for the past two days had been real.
But Nico was there, in the flesh. As real as he could possibly be.
She slid out of bed and poured herself a glass of Chianti from the third bottle they’d opened the previous night. She sipped, drummed her nails on the kitchen counter, and tried not to stare at the gorgeous man taking up temporary residence in her bed. Emphasis on temporary.
She blew out a sigh. It was hopeless. Her gaze was drawn to him again and again, and the more she looked at him, the more she thought about how it had felt to have his hands on her, his mouth. Although if she was honest with herself, she’d thought of little else since she’d awakened beside him.
She couldn’t allow herself to do this. She was an independent woman with a life of her own. A life that happened to be in shambles at the moment, but a life nonetheless. She couldn’t stand here, watching a man sleep while she waited for him to walk out the door.
She took a big gulp of wine, settled herself on her tiny, two-person sofa and flicked on the television, anxious for a distraction. With the volume on mute, she flipped through the channels, not really paying attention to the images flickering on the screen... until she spotted a familiar, handsome face among those images.
No. It can’t be.
She fumbled with the remote, scrolling backward through the channels in search of what had to be an illusion. An orgasm-induced hallucination. Maybe she was doomed to see his face everywhere for the rest of her life. Haunted by the best climax of her life. That would be just her luck.
It was no hallucination. And she didn’t have to search for his face because it was everywhere. On almost every channel. She sat slack-jawed watching him, the same man who lay sleeping in her bed less than four feet away, climbing into limousines, giving speeches, cutting ribbons, waving from palace balconies. And below every single one of these impossible images, scrolling across her nineteen-inch television, news-ticker style, was the same nonsensical question. Over and over and over again.
Dove è il principe?
Where is the prince?
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Julia beat on Chiara’s door, tapped her foot and waited.Answer. Answer. Answer.
She’d already sent three text messages, to no avail. And this was the type of problem that needed girlfriend input. So instead of alternately staring at the man in her bed and checking her phone for a reply, she’d dashed across the hall.
After what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened.
“Youdoknow it’s the middle of the night, right?” Chiara said, standing with hands on hips, pixie cut askew and feet clad in mismatched socks. “This had better be important.”
“It is. An emergency, in fact.”
Chiara stared at her for a beat and then arched an accusatory eyebrow. “It’s an emergency, and yet you had time to slip into beautiful lingerie?”
Julia glanced down. Sure enough, she’d walked right out of the door in her best nightie. She was losing it. Maybe if they tried to throw her in jail for kidnapping a prince, she could use the insanity defense. “Never mind what I’m wearing.”
“Wait. Does this mean what I think it means?Finally.After all this time.” Chiara let out a little squeal. “I never thought I’d see the day. You’ve got a man in your flat, haven’t you? It’s that man I saw you with earlier, isn’t it? The hot one.”
Julia lifted a brow. “The hot one? You only saw him from behind.”
“And it was a hot behind. Scorching.”
Point taken. There was no denying the hotness of Nico’s backside.
“No.” Julia shook her head. “I mean yes. I mean it’s not like that.” Not exactly.
Who’s the liar now?
“Then what could possibly be so important at four in the morning?”
