Sarah & Vittorio

by Marianne Knightly

  She licked her dry lips. “Do…do you know who I am?”

  Adrienne pushed them both inside the room and closed the door. “Ma’am, may I?”

  “Oh, sure.” She glanced at the mystery man. “Um, this is my Royal Protection agent, Adrienne. Joseph—Agent Callaway—was my agent last night.”

  His brows furrowed. “Why do you need security? I don’t recall seeing them last night.”

  “They’re very discreet.”

  He blinked. “Did you say…Royal Protection agent?”

  Adrienne cleared her throat. “Sir, in case you were not aware of her full title may I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Sarah Victoria Santoro di Valleria?”

  His eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

  He got that right. “Exactly. So, you see why I can’t have anything posted online.”

  “Ma’am,” Adrienne continued. “May I present his full title, Prince Vittorio dei Principi Mapoli, eighth prince of Baziano.”

  “Prince?” she breathed.

  “Princess,” he muttered.

  Oh shit.

  They both just stared at each other, their eyes locked in a shared disbelief.

  He was Italian royalty.

  She was Vallerian royalty.

  She broke his gaze and pursed her lips as her fuzzy brain combed through the recesses of Italian history she’d memorized before starting her post as Valleria’s ambassador to Italy. Baziano, Baziano…the title went back centuries. They didn’t rule anything anymore. It was really just a defunct title, but they could use their titles as long as the family line was intact. The other Italian royal family line was known for its alliance with fascism during World War II, but his line was descended separately and initially granted by a pope.

  So, he wasn’t likely to be a fascist, racist bastard. This was good.

  And not that it was a contest or anything, but she was much closer to a ruling throne than he was, as she was currently fifth in line. She would have been sixth, but her older sister Arianna married a ruling prince of another country, forfeiting her Vallerian claim in the process.

  Not that Sarah wanted the throne. She loved her job as ambassador and wanted to keep it, which was why she wanted to ensure the trade deal was intact and any potential gossip could be avoided.

  She nodded. At least part of this entire situation was much more under control. “This is good. No, great. We both understand the ramifications if this gets out.” She took a deep breath and smiled wide.

  He sucked in a breath. “Jesus.”

  Her smile faded. “What?”

  He shook his head, muttering. “Nothing.”

  “Okaaay. Well, let’s get dressed and confirm we both didn’t take any pictures last night or post anything. Are you agreeable with that?”

  His gaze was even now, assessing. “Yes.”

  Time to make a plan of action. They needed to get out of the castle and back home without anyone seeing them. Her security could help with that. “Good. Adrienne can arrange for us to sneak out of here. Oh, do you need to sneak out of here? Or do you live here?”

  “I don’t live at this castle, though this is my room.”

  “Okay.” She turned to Adrienne. “Is anyone in the castle up yet?”

  Adrienne nodded. “Staff, for the most part. Several guests ended up staying overnight, as the castle is two hours outside of Rome, but many are still asleep. Shall we arrange a tray for you? We can bring up a hangover cure while we’re at it.”

  She gripped Adrienne’s hand. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. Yes, that would be great. Something simple to eat and coffee, and definitely that cure. I couldn’t handle anything else right now.” Not with her stomach doing somersaults until everything else was under control.

  She turned to Vittorio. “Would you like anything?”

  He glanced at Adrienne. “Coffee’s fine. Thank you.”

  “Do you need something for a hangover?”

  He shook his head.

  “Try it anyway. It’s actually very refreshing. Will you need a lift back to, er…” She trailed off as she realized she didn’t know where he lived.

  “Rome. If you’re offering, I’ll accept. I had my driver take some friends back to Rome last night, and I haven’t arranged my return trip yet. It would save me some time if you’re headed in that direction.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ma’am? A word.”

  “Oh, sure.” She tugged at the bedsheet and Adrienne led her to a corner of the room. She noticed Vittorio had started to pick up their clothes and he was throwing them into two piles on the bed.

  “May I?” Adrienne gestured to the bra.

  She blushed but nodded and turned. Why, after the situation she was in, she’d blush at her agent hooking her bra closed was beyond her.

  Adrienne’s voice was low and straight to the point. “Ma’am, there were a lot of people taking pictures at the charity ball last night. From what Agent Callaway saw last night, most of your…activities…occurred outside the ballroom.”

  Activities. What a vague word that seemed to be threatening her. She had to know what she was dealing with, she had to get this situation under control. “Joseph would have told you if I was acting particularly bad. We weren’t making out on the dance floor, or anything, were we?”

  “No, Ma’am, but you were dancing and there was some kissing on a balcony. Though it’s not guaranteed that someone saw the kissing, several saw the dancing. We’re expecting photos to appear at any moment. We have briefed Prince Marcello.”

  Damn it. Her older brother was technically their boss—or their boss’s boss’s boss’s boss—since he held the post of Valleria’s Minister of Security and Defense, but it meant this wouldn’t stay quiet.

  She’d have to face her family.

  She’d have to face her father.

  “Damn it.”

  “Ma’am, you know we had—”

  Bra now intact, she turned and grasped Adrienne’s hand again. “I know. I’m not upset at you. I just…I wanted some time to figure out exactly what happened before I faced the family. Do you have any more details about last night?”

  “Agent Callaway mentioned some things, Ma’am. You did have several glasses of wine last night, the last few with Prince Vittorio.”

  She shouldn’t have celebrated the trade deal so early. She could hold her alcohol, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t gotten a little impaired last night. Had she said or done anything that could get her in trouble? Besides the potential kissing pictures, if she’d said something while drunk, it wouldn’t be good depending upon what she’d said and who might have overheard.

  She shouldn’t have…well, it didn’t matter now. She couldn’t change last night, she could only control this morning.

  “I didn’t say anything compromising?”

  “No, Ma’am. You two came up together and you were here all night. At least one agent was always nearby, so you were always protected.”

  Protected.

  Protection.

  Shit!

  Had they used protection last night? She didn’t feel as though she’d had sex without a condom, but she had to ask him, had to be sure.

  She sighed. “Thanks.”

  Adrienne nodded. “Anything you need, Ma’am. We’ll get a tray sorted and I’ve got your bag just outside the door. We already packed up your things.” She turned, nodded to Vittorio once, and walked out. She came back a few moments later with a suitcase, nodded again, and left the room.

  He was half-dressed now. His shirt was on but unbuttoned, his pants on but unzipped. A tie hung loose around his neck. He was watching her.

  “There’s a washroom through there.” He pointed a thumb behind him.

  She nodded and walked to the bed. Her gorgeous Vallerian-purple-and-gold silk dress, designed by her older sister, was wrinkled. Thank God she’d had other clothes and wouldn’t have to wear it out.

  The ‘walk of shame’ had a whole new meaning if you were a roy
al, and she had no desire to relive that nightmare. It had only happened to her once, but, really, once was enough.

  She secured the bedsheet tighter around her, then kneeled on the floor and unzipped her suitcase. She smiled again at how efficiently their agents worked. The perfect outfit was on the top, along with fresh underwear and a bag of toiletries. When she stood, items in hand, he was still watching her.

  “What?”

  He turned away, muttering. “Nothing.”

  She looked down at her clothes, then back up at him. She had to face him, talk to him. She could do this. She handled delicate political negotiations all the time. She could handle a one-night stand.

  She’d done it before. Not with a prince, of course, but still.

  She stepped towards him. “Listen. I don’t remember a lot about last night. We’re both adults, we’re both royalty, we should just discuss this calmly and rationally.”

  He’d paused in the act of buttoning up his shirt. “You don’t remember anything?”

  She looked to the side, then back. “It’s pretty vague. My security has told me some of what’s gone on, but that’s it at the moment. I’m not saying this to hurt you, but I don’t remember you. And I think it’s fair to say you don’t remember me, either?”

  He glanced down at her bedsheet then met her eyes again. “I don’t remember everything, either, that’s true, but I very clearly remember you.”

  Shit. Now she felt terrible.

  Wait, why did she feel terrible? He clearly remembered the sex but not her name. That wasn’t very nice.

  She squared her shoulders. “This may seem like an obvious question, but did we have sex last night?”

  His gaze was incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You really don’t remember…anything?” He threw an arm towards the bed. “Nothing?”

  She started to feel uneasy. Why wouldn’t he just tell her? “Please, will you just answer my question?”

  His arm fell to his side and he frowned. “Yes, we had sex last night.”

  She let out a short breath. “Okay. Did we, er, use protection?”

  His eyes went guarded. “Are you…I mean…you’re not on birth control?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I am on birth control, but we are both sexually active adults. Birth control doesn’t prevent sexually transmitted diseases.”

  He pointed to his chest. “Are you accusing me of having an STD?”

  “No, I am trying to be a responsible adult and confirm some things about our sexual histories that we should have discussed before we slept together. Not to mention, birth control is not one-hundred-percent effective. Now, did we use protection last night?”

  He grimaced. “I don’t remember.”

  Shit!

  “Okay. Well. Let’s see if we can find a condom or wrapper on the floor or in the trash. I’m going to request a recent STD check from your doctor. Should you require it, I will provide the same.”

  He just stared at her. “You want me to provide you with STD results?”

  She kept her chin tilted up. “Yes.”

  “And you’ll provide the same for me?”

  “Yes.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and muttered. “Do this a lot, do you? Surprised you don’t keep a copy of the results in your purse for situations like this.”

  Wow. That. Hurt. She was trying to be smart and considerate, making sure they were both safe, and he was, he was…judging her for having sex last night, or having sex at all.

  Why was a woman’s sexuality considered dirty and disgusting but a man’s revered?

  She took a deep breath and wished she was properly dressed. She could really kick his ass verbally if she was dressed in an amazing outfit and heels. “Do not ever speak that way to me again.”

  His head jerked back. “Princess—”

  “Not. Ever. I do not owe you any explanations, and you don’t owe me any either. Do not dare judge me for a one-night stand in which you also participated. I am trying to do the honorable thing by telling you that you’re safe and that my doctor can confirm. That is what two sexually active people do when they have sex. You don’t give a shit about my history, I don’t care. It’s your body.”

  “Princess—”

  “I, however, do give a shit about mine. It’s not asking a lot, but if it’s difficult for you to provide me with this information, you’ll just need to get over it and do it anyway.”

  He was practically growling now. “Princess—”

  “And another thing. It takes two to tango. There were two of us in that bed last night.” She pointed at the rumpled bedcovers and indented pillows. “Two of us. Do not presume to pin this situation on me as if I’m the bad guy here. There is no bad guy. You blaming me, or vice versa, will get us nowhere.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out, sagging a little. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Princess.”

  She waved away his use of the title. “Please, I think we can skip the formal titles at this point, don’t you?”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Yes, I think so.”

  She stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “Sarah. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took her hand in a mild shake. “Vittorio. Rio, if you prefer.”

  Rio. It suited him.

  She yelped, suddenly tugged against his chest. “What—”

  His eyes locked with hers and she was suddenly in a trance, unable to look away.

  “Are you sure you don’t remember anything from last night? Perhaps I could remind you.”

  She felt the low, purring murmur of his voice in three places in her body.

  No, four. Definitely four places. “I, uh, don’t think there’s time for that.”

  “And if there was time for it?”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  His eyes stayed locked on her, and his arm banded around her waist, holding her to him. “You didn’t answer me.”

  “The, uh, door.”

  “It’s not going anywhere.”

  She still couldn’t look away. She could have pushed back, but his body was so warm, the scent of his musk light in the air.

  Another series of knocks.

  She swallowed, and his eyes drifted to her throat. “They’ll, um, break in if I don’t answer or if we don’t open the door. I don’t think we need that kind of attention.”

  He waited a long beat, his eyes searching hers. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  Now she pushed back. “You get the door. I’m going to get dressed.”

  She scurried to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Leaning her back against it, she now knew what had likely drawn her to Rio in the first place.

  If she wasn’t careful, he might draw her in once more. Or twice more. Or a lot of times more.

  However, she wasn’t going to lose control like that again. No. way.

  * * *

  Rio watched her bedsheet-clad form disappear behind the closed door and raked a hand through his hair.

  Shit.

  A princess. An honest-to-God fucking princess. Vallerian royalty.

  Double shit.

  He sat down on the bed, the firm mattress barely giving any leeway for his long, toned body. Head in hands, elbows on knees, he sat and willed the lingering fog of his hangover to disappear.

  He knew about Valleria’s royalty; how could he not? They were as much in the news, if not more, as England’s royalty was, and that was saying something.

  He was a prince, but it was really only a title, given more for tradition than meaning. Few even knew that Italy still had royalty and, those who did, confused his royal line with that of the racist fascists who sided with Mussolini during World War II. He was nothing like those assholes. His ancestors were nothing like those assholes.

  His immediate family, however, were assholes, though in another way.

  Her title was completely different. She held true power and had the ability to actually cha
nge lives, even if she wasn’t next in line to the throne. She could make a real difference in the world.

  He had his own business interests, but often wondered how much good he was doing. His family would he say that he mostly just fucked around and made things worse.

  It was the last part, the fucking around, that had gotten him into trouble last night.

  He sighed and threw himself back onto the bed. Sarah’s soft citrus scent lingered in the air and on the sheets. Staring up at the velvet canopy above, he thought back to the party. She’d been so fucking sexy.

  Though, she’d been sexier this morning, telling him off while wearing a bedsheet.

  Last night, she’d been vivacious and bright, and she’d had scores of men swirling around her, like planets orbiting the sun.

  Fuck. When she smiled, it was like the sun. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  Bella. Beautiful.

  Rio had waited for his moment and had found it when she’d slipped alone onto a balcony. He’d introduced himself as Vittorio; not a prince, just Vittorio. She’d introduced herself as Sarah; not a princess, just Sarah.

  Last night it had been Sarah and Vittorio.

  This morning it was Prince and Princess, duty and responsibility, and crisis management.

  Shit.

  The knock came again.

  “Shit.” He had to focus.

  He got up and opened the door, and the agent walked in with a tray. “Would you like fresh clothes, Prince Vittorio?”

  He eyed her from the top of her bun-shaped hair to the stiffness of her plain black suit, white shirt, and sensible black shoes. Though this was his room, he hadn’t initially planned to stay at the castle after the ball was over, so he hadn’t packed a change of clothes. “You can do that?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You would do that? For me?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Something niggled uncomfortably in the back of his mind. How many times had Sarah’s agents gotten clothes for her previous lovers? He usually wasn’t the jealous type, but he recognized the symptoms now.

  Irritated with feelings he couldn’t control, his words came out with a bite. “I’m all right, thank you. The tray was more than enough.”