Page 71 of Wicked Prince

“It's fine," I mumble. "I'm not hungry, anyway."

ChapterTwenty-Eight

AMELIA

All my attempts to get out of playing tour guide for Stefan over the last month have failed abysmally. Short of pretending like I've suddenly developed some rare, highly contagious disease, I'm out of options.

All I can really do is hope for the best and bank on this guy not being super high maintenance. At least I managed to get one of my coworkers to agree to be flexible about swapping shifts with me once in a while, just in case I can't lose my charge.

Anthony also agreed to keep an eye on him if needed, so I figure it won't be as disastrous as I feared.

Hopefully.

On the plus side, I've managed to get my own car, which has been helping a lot with logistics. It's not much, and I get weird looks in the student parking lot, considering it's one of the only cars that isn't worth as much as a small house, but it's gotten me to work and my first doctor's appointment fine, so I'm already attached.

Now I just have to keep Dad from seeing it, since I'm sure he'll have something to say about me driving a 2001 Corolla. Oh, well. I'd rather drive one of those cars from the Flintstones you have to pedal with your feet than take anything else from him.

That, and when I do leave town, I want to be able to disappear without having to worry he's going to report my getaway car as stolen. I wouldn't put anything past him.

Finding out I really am pregnant has lit a fire under my ass in terms of wanting to leave. I've still not been letting myself think too much about it, outside of the one doctor's appointment I've already had to get prenatal vitamins and a clean bill of health. I haven't even fully committed to going through with the pregnancy, but while the idea of having this baby scares the hell out of me—along with everything that will come with motherhood—I dread the alternative even more.

For the time being, denial and staying busy are my lifelines.

I'm supposed to pick Stefan up after class this afternoon, and while Anthony offered to go with me, I told him I'd be fine. As I find myself standing in a crowded airport, waiting for a complete stranger, I wonder if that was a mistake.

It occurs to me that it probably would've been helpful to ask Dad what flight he's coming in on, but my experience with flying is limited to when I came here. Almost everyone else is holding signs with the name of the people they're picking up, but I didn't think to do that, either.

I walk around to the other end of the escalators, looking around by the baggage claim just to make sure I didn't miss him.

When someone taps me on the shoulder, I nearly jump out of my skin. "Holy shit," I cry, spinning around to find myself face-to-face with what I'm pretty sure is a lost boy band member waiting for his limo driver.

He has light golden-brown hair and eyes the darkest shade of blue I've ever seen. To say they're piercing would be an understatement of comical proportions. With a straight nose, slightly arched brows, and a jawline that could cut glass, he'd be perfectly at home on any Hollywood set.

"Sorry," he says in a silken, lightly accented voice with a smile that makes the frigid airport feel a little bit warmer. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you Amelia Carillo?"

"That depends on who's asking," I say dryly, offering my hand. "You must be Stefan. I just realized I probably should've brought a sign or something."

"Not at all. I found you easily enough."

"How did you know who I was, anyway?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Wishful thinking," he says, flashing me another thousand-watt smile.

It takes a second for his words to sink in, and once they do, my face heats up for some reason.

Good God, this guy is a charmer.

"Come on. Let's get out of here. My car's in the lot."

"Lead the way," he says, following me through the crowded terminal. He only has one bag slung over his shoulder, with a pouch in front for a laptop.

"You don't have any more luggage?"

"I packed light," he answers.

I nod, walking toward the door. Somehow, he ends up in front of me and opens the door.

Typical Italian-American chivalry. Although, from what I've heard, the Romeros only came here recently. That explains why he still has his accent left over from the old country. Despite that, they've certainly managed to amass enough wealth and influence in the States to make even the old families jealous.

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