by Dani Collins
“Don’t bother. I can’t make lunch, either. Neville—You remember him? He’s the chargé d’affaires to Belgium. He’s taking me to Australia for a few weeks.”
“Ah. Lovely. Enjoy the beach.”
“Mmm.” Her mother sniffed disdainfully. She was more vampire than woman, eschewing sunshine in favor of large-brimmed hats and absorbing her vitamin D through high-priced supplements. “Behave yourself while I’m gone. Neville is ready to propose. I wouldn’t want to put him off.”
Seriously, Mom? It’s been ten years. But her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her.
Amy’s stomach roiled with suppressed outrage, but she only said through her teeth, “You know me, all work and no play. Can’t get into trouble doing that.”
“You wear short skirts to nightclubs, Amy. That sort of work is—Well, I’m sure I can persuade Neville to introduce you to someone if you manage not to mess this up for me.”
Could Luca hear what her mother was saying? He’d finished his own call and pocketed his phone. This town car was the sort that made the drive feel like a lazy canal ride inside a noise-canceling bubble.
“I have to go, Mom. Travel safe.” Amy cut off the call, which would result in a stinging text, but she wasn’t sorry. She was hurt and angry. Bea and Clare always told her she didn’t have to talk to her mother if it only upset her, but Amy lived in eternal hope that something would change.
“Everything all right?” Luca was watching her with a look that gave away nothing.
She realized she had huffed out a beleaguered sigh.
“Fine,” she lied sunnily. “Mom’s off to Australia.”
“You didn’t mention any siblings earlier. Are you an only child?”
“The proverbial spoiled kind. I had one of everything except a brother or sister, which is why my friends are so special to me. Will I meet your sister?”
There was a brief pause that made her think he knew she was deliberately turning the question around to avoid delving into her own past.
“She’s traveling, due home later this week,” he replied evenly.
They were driving past the shell of the castle. As they came even with a courtyard bracketed by two levels of arches in various states of disintegration, she glimpsed a young woman in a uniform leading what looked like a group of tourists. They all turned to point their phones at the car’s tinted windows as it passed.
Seconds later, when they halted to wait for golden gates to crawl open, Amy glanced back, curious.
“The castle is a heritage site,” Luca explained. “Open for booked tours. The island of Vallia was a favorite summer destination for Roman aristocracy. The palace is built on the remains of an emperor’s villa. You’ll see what’s left in one of the gardens.” He nodded as the palace came into view.
“Wow.”
At first glance, the imposing monument to baroque architecture, ripe with columns and domes and naves, was almost too much. Amy could hardly take in everything from the serpentine balcony to the elaborate cornices to the multitude of decorative details like seashells and ribbons. Stone angels held aloft what she presumed to be Vallia’s motto, carved into the facade.
“This is amazing.”
“You can accomplish a lot when you don’t pay for labor,” Luca said, mouth twisting with resigned disgust. “Vallia was a slave trading post through the Byzantine era. Then the Normans used them to build the fortress while they were taking over southern Italy.” He nodded back to the castle. “They sent the slaves into the fields to grow food, and the first king of Vallia used them again to build this palace in the late 1600s, when the Holy Roman Emperor established the kingdom of Vallia.”
Despite its dark history, she was in awe. The white stone of the palace was immaculately tended and blindingly beautiful. The gardens were lush, the windows reflecting the blue skies and colorful blooms.
“It’s not showing its age at all.”
“My father had it fully restored and modernized.”
“The workers were paid this time, I hope?” It was out before she thought better of it.
Luca’s expression hardened. “A livable wage for honest employment, thanks to efforts by my sister and I, because he couldn’t be dissuaded from doing it. Hardly the best use of Vallia’s taxes, though.”
Amy managed to bite back her observation that he didn’t sound as though he had been super close with his dad.
They stepped from the car, and the comforting warmth of sunbaked stones radiated into her while a soft, salt-scented breeze rolled over her skin. The palace was set into terraced grounds facing the sea, but the view stretched east and west on either side. Flowers were bursting forth in splashes of red and yellow, his country’s colors, in the gardens and in terra-cotta pots that sat on the wide steps. New leaves on the trees ruffled a subtle applause as they climbed toward the entrance.
A young man hurried to open a door for him.
Entering the palace was a step into a sumptuous garden of white marble streaked with pinks and blues, oranges and browns. Ornate plasterwork and gold filigree climbed the walls like vines, sweeping in curves and curls up to the sparkling crystal chandeliers. The fresco painted on the dome above had her catching at Luca’s arm, it made her so dizzy. Amid the cerulean skies and puffy clouds and beams of sunlight, the angels seemed rather...sexual.
They weren’t angels, she realized with a lurch of her heart. That satyr definitely had his hand between the legs of a nymph.
A man cleared his throat.
Amy jerked her gaze down to see a palace sage of some type, middle-aged, in a dark suit. His gaze was on her hand, which still clutched Luca’s sleeve.
She let it fall to her side.
“Amy, this is Guillermo Bianchi, my private secretary. Guillermo, Amy Miller. She’s with London Connection, a public relations firm. She’ll assist with the foundation’s gala.”
“I received the email, signor.” Guillermo nodded as both greeting and acknowledgment of her role. “Welcome. Rooms have been prepared and appointments arranged with the team.”
“Thank you. Er...grazie, I mean.”
“Amy will join me for dinner in my dining room while she’s here.”
Guillermo gave an obsequious bow of his head that still managed to convey disapproval. He asked Amy to accompany him up a wide staircase beneath a massive window that allowed sunlight to pour in and shoot rainbows through the dangling chandelier.
She looked back, but Luca was already disappearing in another direction toward a handful of people waiting with tablets, folders and anxious expressions.
Amy went back to gawking at the opulence of the palace. She’d grown up with enough wealth to recognize hand-woven silk rugs and antiques that were actually priceless historical artifacts. She lifted her feet into a slight tiptoe when they reached a parquet floor, fearful of damaging the intricate artistry of the polished wood mosaic with her sharp heels. She could have stood upon it for hours, admiring the geometric designs.
This whole place was a monument to ancient wealth and abundance that stood on the line of gaudy without quite crossing it.
After a long walk through a gallery and down a flight of stairs, she was guided into a lounge that was a perfect mix of modern and period pieces. It had a wide gas fireplace, tall windows looking onto a garden with a pond, and Victorian furniture that she suspected were loving restorations. Everything in the room was the height of class—except the pornographic scene above the sofa. Amy blinked.
“The previous king commissioned a number of reproductions from Pompeii,” Guillermo informed her in bland, barely accented English. “I’ve ordered tea and sandwiches. They’ll be here shortly. Please let the maid know if you require anything else.”
Amy almost asked whether the sofa was a pullout, but he was already gone.
She poked around and discovered this was a s
elf-contained flat with a full kitchen, a comfortable office with a view to the garden, and two bedrooms, each with more examples of Pompeii’s salacious artwork.
Her meager luggage was waiting to be unpacked in the bigger room alongside a handful of clothes that were unfamiliar, but were in her size. There was a luxurious bath with a tempting, freestanding tub, but she only washed her hands.
A three-tiered plate arrived full of sandwiches, savory pastries and chocolate truffles, and was accompanied by coffee, tea and a cordial that turned out to be a tangy sweet liquor meant to be served with the soda water that accompanied it.
She did her best not to reveal she was completely bowled over, but she was only around wealth these days. London Connection was doing well, but they were reinvesting profits and using them to hire more staff. Amy had conditioned herself to live on a shoestring after being expelled from school. She’d been unable to take her A-levels and had had to sell what possessions she’d had at the time—mostly designer clothes and a few electronics—to set herself up in a low-end flat. She’d come a long way since then, but the maid probably had a higher net worth than she did.
Amy asked her to set the meal on the table outside her lounge. The patio overlooked a man-made pond full of water lilies where a weathered Neptune rose from the middle, trident aloft. Columns that were buckling with age surrounded the water. This must be the ruins of the Roman villa that Luca had mentioned, she thought.
Between the columns stood statues that looked new, though. Huh. The gladiator had a bare backside that rivaled Luca’s, and the mermaid seemed very chesty.
After the maid left, Amy gave in to curiosity. She set aside her tea to walk out for a closer look.
“My father’s taste was questionable,” Luca said behind her. “To say the least.”
She swung around, but had to look up to find him. He stood on a terrace off to the right that she surmised was the best vantage point to admire the pond. He wore the clothes he’d had on earlier, but his jacket was off again and his sleeves were rolled back. His expression was shuttered, but once again she heard the denigration of his father’s waste of taxpayers’ money.
“I thought I wouldn’t see you until dinner.” She had been looking forward to reflecting, putting today’s events into some sort of order in her mind. Now she was back to a state of heightened awareness, watching his long strides make for a set of stairs off to the left. He loped down them and came toward her in an unhurried stride that ate up the ground easily.
“I don’t want any delay on your work.”
“Oh, um.” Her throat had gone dry, and she looked longingly back at her tea. “I was about to sit down and brainstorm ideas, but I’m having trouble understanding why you’d willingly give up all of this.” She waved at her small flat. His private quarters were likely ten times more luxurious and grand. Looking up, she suspected his was that second-level terrace that looked out to the sea unobstructed.
“Allow me to enlighten you.” He jerked his head at the pebbled path that wove through the columns around the pond, indicating they should walk it.
She started along and immediately came upon a soldier performing a lewd act with a nymph, one that made her cheeks sting with embarrassment. It grew worse when she darted a glance at Luca and discovered him watching her reaction.
Her heart lurched, but he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfiture. If anything, his grim expression darkened.
“Oh, those Romans,” she joked weakly.
“My father commissioned them. He could have used the funds in a thousand better ways. My first act once I was crowned was tax relief, but I couldn’t offer as much as was needed. Our economy is a mess.”
Their footsteps crunched as they wound between the columns and wisteria vines that formed a bower, filling the air with their potent fragrance.
The statues grew increasingly graphic. Luca seemed immune, but Amy was as titillated as she was mortified. She was mortified because she was titillated.
Even more embarrassing was a stray curiosity about whether Luca would have the strength to have freestanding sex like that, arms straining as his fingertips pressed into her bottom cheeks. His shoulders would feel like marble beneath her arms where she clasped them tightly around his neck, breasts mashed to his flexing chest as her legs gripped around his waist. They would hold each other so tightly, they would barely be able to move, but—
“Do you know why Vallia needs a queen, Amy?”
“No,” she squeaked, yanking her mind from fornication.
“Because the king of Vallia is this.” He nodded toward the statuary. “A sex addict who never sought help. In fact, he used his position to take advantage of those over whom he had power.”
The butterflies in her stomach turned to slithering snakes that crept up to constrict her lungs and tighten her throat.
Amy knew all about men who took advantage of their position of power. It was adding a razor edge of caution to every step as they walked among these erotic statues.
Luca was a client, which made her feel as though she had to defer to him, but he wasn’t forcing her into an awkward situation for his own amusement. She might be blushing so hard the soles of her feet hurt, but he was radiating furious disgust. He was trying to explain why he was so committed to her doing this odd job for him.
Not that kind of job, Amy! She dragged her gaze off the woman whose hands were braced on a naked gladiator’s sandals as he sat proudly feeding his erection to her.
“You’re not like him,” she managed to say. “Your father, I mean.”
“No, I’m not,” he agreed, jaw clenched. “But I have to make at least a few people believe I could be. Briefly.” He glanced from the narrow shadow of the trident on a stepping-stone to his watch.
She followed his gaze and said with delight, “It’s a sundial! Half-past oral sex and a quarter till—” She slapped her hand over her mouth, cheeks flaring so hotly, she thought she’d burn her palm. “I’m sorry.” She was. “I use humor to defuse tension, but I shouldn’t have said that. This is a professional relationship. I’ll do better, I promise.”
She was still stinging with a flush of embarrassment that boiled up from too many sources to count—the situation, the blatant thing she’d just said, the lack of propriety on her part and, deep down, a pang of anguish that she was giving him such a terrible impression of herself when she wished he would like her a little.
His mouth twisted. “You’ll have to say a lot worse than that to shock me. The Romans themselves couldn’t hold a candle to some of the obscene things my father did.”
He veered down a path to a small lookout that was mostly overgrown. A wooden bench faced a low, stone wall, but they had to stand at the wall to see the blue-green water beyond.
Compassion squeezed Amy’s insides as she sensed the frustration rolling off him.
“I’ve worked with a lot of people trying to keep scandals under wraps. It’s very stressful. I can only imagine the pressure you’ve been under since you took the throne.”
Luca made a noise that was the most blatantly cynical sound Amy had ever heard.
“For my whole life,” he corrected her grimly. “As long as I can remember I’ve been trying to hide it, fix it, compensate for it. I’ve had to be completely different from him despite looking exactly like him while training for his job. A position he made seem so vile, there is absolutely no desire in me to hold it.”
At his own words, he swore under his breath and ran a hand down his face.
“That sounds treasonous. Forget I said it,” he muttered.
“This is a safe space. It has to be.” Amy had long ago trained herself not to judge what people revealed when they were in crisis. “Are you still under pressure to hide his behavior? If there are things you’re worried could come out, I might be able to help manage that, too.” She looked to where the array of erotic statues
was shielded by shrubbery. “I could put out confidential feelers for a private collector to buy those, for a start.”
“That’s well-known.” He dismissed the statues with a flick of his hand. “There’s no point trying to hide them now.”
His jaw worked as though he was debating something. When he looked at her, a cold hand seemed to leap out of his bleak gaze and close over her heart.
“The way he died may yet come out,” he admitted in a voice that held a scraped hollow ring, one that held so much pain, she suspected he was completely divorcing himself from reality to cope with it.
“Do you want to tell me about it? You don’t have to,” she assured him while her heart stuttered in an uneven rhythm. “But you can if you want to.”
His father’s death had been reported as a cardiac arrest, but there’d been countless rumors about the circumstances.
“My sister doesn’t even know the full truth.”
It was all on him and the secret weighed heavily. Amy could tell.
She wanted to touch him, comfort him in some way. She also sensed he needed to be self-contained right now. It was the only way he was holding on to his control.
“If you’re worried there are people who might reveal something, we could approach them with a settlement and a binding nondisclosure,” she suggested gently.
“That’s already been done. And the handful of people who knew where he was that night were happy to take a stack of cash and get away without a charge of contributing to manslaughter, but they’re not the most reliable sort.” He searched her gaze with his intense one. “Frankly, I wish he’d hired prostitutes. They would have acted like professionals. This was a party gone wrong. There were drugs at the scene. Nasty ones.”
“Here? In the palace?” That was bad, but she’d cleaned up similar messes.
“In the dungeon.”
She didn’t school her expression fast enough.
“Yes. That kind of dungeon.” His lips were snarled tight against his teeth. His nostrils flared. “I wouldn’t normally judge how people spend their spare time, but if you rule a country, perhaps don’t allow yourself to be tied up and flogged by a pair of women who get so stoned they don’t know how to free you when your heart stops. Or who to call.”