by Teri Wilson
When she walked back into the living area of the flat, Nico’s gaze lingered on her mouth just long enough to make her forget all about the suspicious fact that he traveled with his secretary.
“You look beautiful,” he said and looked at her in a way that made her chest hurt.
Don’t, she wanted to say. Don’t be nice all of a sudden. Not now.
“Thank you.” She smoothed down the front of her dress and pretended his sudden seriousness hadn’t caused a lump to form in her throat. Because that was just silly. She shouldn’t be getting emotional over saying good-bye to a man who still hadn’t even told her his last name. Or where he was from. Or what he did for a living.
All told, she knew nothing about him. Other than that he never carried money, didn’t like having his picture taken, and had a weird sympathy for members of the ruling class.
He’s also possibly the best kisser to ever set foot in Italy. Don’t forget that little tidbit.
She swallowed. “I’ll be pounding the pavement later looking for a new job, so it seemed like a good idea to look presentable.”
“Ah, I see.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The walls of the flat felt like they were closing in all of a sudden. Julia needed him out of her home, out of her life. She was starting to wonder if two hundred fifty euros was really worth this entire mess.
“Shall we?” She grabbed her backpack, tossed it onto her shoulder, and flung the door open.
He waited a beat, glanced around, and finally nodded. “I’m ready if you are.”
Julia released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as he brushed past her. Of course she was ready.
She didn’t even manage to catch up with Nico, though, before the door of the flat across the hall swung open.
“Oh, hello.” Chiara, Julia’s best friend looked her up and down. “Wow, you’re home. I thought you’d be off on another tour by now. Where are you off to, all dressed up?”
Julia forced her lips into something resembling a smile. I’m just headed to a ransom exchange. No big deal. “Um . . .”
Before she could think of something halfway believable, Chiara’s gaze snagged on Nico walking ahead of Julia. He hadn’t bothered to turn around. Thank goodness. Introducing her best friend to her hostage wasn’t a scenario she’d anticipated.
Chiara’s eyes widened in brazen astonishment. “Who’s your friend?”
Oh God.
“No one,” Julia blurted. “I’m actually in a hurry, but I’ll chat with you later, okay?”
Head bowed, she darted after Nico while Chiara called out, “You’d better.”
Nico lifted a brow as they turned the corner toward the stairwell. “A friend of yours?”
“Yes. Sorry I didn’t introduce you, but you’re kind of hard to explain.”
Must they have this conversation? It only seemed to emphasize the fact that a man coming out of her flat was such a rare occurrence that it warranted an analysis.
“No apology necessary.” His lips quirked into a half-grin.
They walked wordlessly down the winding staircase that spilled them out to the narrow cobblestone walkway where Julia’s Vespa was parked in its usual spot.
Nico narrowed his gaze at it. Honestly, what was his giant problem with her scooter? “I don’t suppose you’d let me drive this time?”
“Not a chance.” She shoved the tacky spare helmet at his chest.
“But we’re no longer bound by the rules of your employer, as you keep pointing out.” He slid the helmet in place, and once again, Julia couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that it actually looked good on him. “Over and over and over again.”
Ah, so he found it annoying, did he? Good. She’d certainly find it annoying when payday rolled around and her bank account was still sitting at zero. “You got me sacked. It’s kind of a problem.”
“I know.” He gave her that look again—the one that made her chest hurt. She wanted to close her eyes, but every time she did, she remembered the things she’d done the night before. The things she’d said. Show me.
“I’ll make it up to you, Julia. You have my word.”
He reached out to cup her face, and by god if she didn’t feel like throwing herself at him again. One touch, one moment of tender sincerity, was all it took to weaken her defenses. It was so confusing.
She clutched her helmet to her chest like it was a lifeline. “I believe you.”
What was she saying? Paying her back was one thing, but fixing her employment situation was another matter entirely. How could a person make up for something like that?
He couldn’t.
“I’m glad.” He smiled a lovely smile that made his eyes go all crinkly in the corners, and brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek.
Julia took a protective step out of reach. She couldn’t do this anymore. She could feel herself slipping, just as she had with Elio. She’d come too far to make the same mistake. “We should get doing.”
“Very well.” He swung his leg over the seat of the scooter and gave the space in front of him a little pat.
Here we go.
She pulled on her helmet and slid in place in front of him, whispering a prayer to every Roman god she’d ever heard of that the Vespa would start quickly for once. By some miracle, it did. Before she could fully process the sensation of Nico’s solid warmth nestled behind her, they were zipping through ancient alleyways, bouncing over cobblestones.
Speeding toward good-bye.
Café Rocha was situated four blocks from the Spanish Steps. Close enough to have a fashionable address, but just far enough away to avoid the crowds that liked to linger on the piazza. Julia wove the Vespa through the winding lanes of taxi cabs and Fiats and turned onto the café’s side street, but the area was blocked by a row of tents with white awnings.
Today was Sunday. Of course.
She’d completely forgotten about the open-air market. They popped up in various spots in Rome on different days of the week. Julia knew the schedule by heart so she could avoid them when she was taking a client on a tour. But she’d forgotten all about it this morning, which was just further evidence that Nico’s presence had turned her life upside down. She was lucky she could still manage to remember her name.
She pulled the scooter to a stop against a beige-stuccoed building and glanced over her shoulder at him—the Great Distraction. “The open-air market is today. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
“Sounds charming,” he said, climbing off the back of the Vespa and pulling off his helmet.
Charming? This wasn’t a date. It was a shakedown.
She locked the scooter and led him past the flower vendors into the zigzag maze of white tents and awnings. Every so often she glanced over her shoulder to find him trailing six feet behind her, seemingly mesmerized by piles of radishes or rows of shiny purple eggplant.
She shook her head, tapped her foot, and waited until he caught up. The man had the attention span of a squirrel. Honestly, it was as though he’d never set eyes on a farmer’s market before.
Just as they neared the exit, she turned to find him missing. Her heart leaped to her throat, and for an agonizing second she thought he’d given her the slip. But no. There he was, two booths behind her, examining a display of ripe plum tomatoes.
She jammed her hands on her hips. “Do you really want to keep your secretary waiting?”
He glanced up and ignored her question. “Look at these tomatoes. Aren’t they spectacular?”
He pronounced tomato with an ahh sound, rather than the hard American a. Where had he said he was from again?
Julia marveled again about how little she actually knew about him. She was glad she hadn’t slept with him. It was a stroke of luck that he’d turned her down. She should be thanking her lucky stars r
ight now.
The aproned farmer manning the booth grinned at Nico. “Ti piace?” You like?
Nico nodded and aimed his devastating smile at the farmer, who promptly plucked two huge tomatoes off a vine and offered them to him. “Per te. Prendere.” For you. Take.
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Nico shook his head.
The burly man in the apron grinned and nodded furiously, shoving the tomatoes toward them. “Per favore.”
No wonder Nico never carried money. He didn’t need to, apparently.
She watched as he took the precious fruit, and the farmer beamed as if Nico had done him a favor.
“Grazie,” Nico said.
“You’re not really going to eat that, are you?” she asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “Those tomatoes are stolen.”
“I beg your pardon.” He looked at her in mock horror. “They were a gift.”
“You manipulated that farmer.” Did he not realize how persuasive that smile of his could be? Julia wasn’t buying it for a minute.
“I was being nice.”
She crossed her arms. “How do you sleep at night?”
“I manage.” He bit into one of the tomatoes with as much gusto as if it were an apple. Juice ran down his chin and onto his hand, dampening the perfect white cuff of his shirt.
He looked so silly that she laughed, despite herself. With a wink, Nico handed her the other tomato. Their fingertips brushed as she took it. Nico’s gaze softened, and his smile suddenly turned bittersweet around the edges.
Julia cradled the tomato in both hands and clutched it to her heart. She had the horrible feeling he was about to say good-bye while they had one last moment alone before they reached Café Rocha. It wasn’t until she stood there, looking him in the eyes and holding that silly tomato, that she realized how very much she dreaded hearing it.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say it. Please.”
She compressed her lips together to stop them from trembling as Nico reached to cup her face.
Why was this so hard? It shouldn’t be. She should be doing backflips at the thought of ridding herself of him, once and for all.
“Not everyone is out to hurt you, Julia. Present company included, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary,” he said softly. “I hope you remember that.”
He let her go and took a backward step. Just a small one, but it was enough for her to appreciate the moment for what it was—a return to normal. For both of them. Their strange, sweet time together was coming to a close.
She had to stop herself from reaching for him and pressing a parting kiss to the corner of his lying mouth. She wasn’t about to go down that humiliating road again. Besides, how dare he tell her such things? He didn’t know the first thing about the hurt she’d endured. He couldn’t possibly.
Not everyone is out to hurt you, Julia. Present company included.
They were pretty words, nothing more.
She wasn’t even sure she could believe them, much less commit them to memory.
* * *
“THAT’S YOUR SECRETARY?”
Niccolo could have sworn he detected the faintest note of relief in Julia’s tone as they approached the patio of Café Rocha, where Piero waved at him discreetly from a table partially hidden beneath a huge yellow umbrella.
“Yes.” He slid her a sideways glance. “Pray tell, what exactly were you expecting?”
Her cheeks blazed crimson. “I haven’t given it any thought whatsoever, actually.”
He bit back a smile. “The look on your face says otherwise.”
“That’s exactly the sort of presumptuous thing Caligula would probably say.”
Again with the wicked emperor comparisons.
It occurred to Niccolo that he should probably be relieved to tell the impetuous Miss Costa arrivederci. She might be beautiful . . . and challenging . . . and real, but she had no clue to whom she was speaking. If she knew the truth—especially now that he’d been lying to her for the better part of twenty-four hours—she’d be furious. His actions had only confirmed everything she suspected about people in his position.
He should be thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to keep his identity a secret.
For numerous reasons.
He should also probably be leaping over café tables right now in an attempt to get to Piero, pay Julia what he owed her, and get his own life back on the proper track. It would take him days, if not weeks, to undo the damage his disappearing act had done.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t in any hurry whatsoever.
“Right.” He slowed to a stop and pulled out a chair at a small table on the outskirts of the café. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a moment.”
“What? No.” Julia stared at the empty seat and shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you aren’t.” This time she would do as he said. For once. “You’re to stay right here. Order a glass of champagne if you like. I’ll be just a few feet away.”
“Champagne?”
“Yes. It’s on me.” He motioned for her to sit, and called out to the waiter, “Champagne per la signorina, per favore.”
“Grazie,” she said primly and sat down. “I’ll be watching, so don’t try and make a fast getaway.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He left her there and wove his way through the tightly packed tables toward Piero. Aside from two nondescript men seated close to Julia, the café was empty. The farmer’s market was in full swing just a few feet away, and the air was filled with the scents of freshly cut flowers, Italian herbs and ripe red fruit. When he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit down, he realized his shirt cuff was stained with tomato juice.
Piero stared at the dampened oxford cloth as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Your Highness, it’s such a relief to see you again. Everyone at the palace . . .”
Niccolo held up a hand to stop him. “No formalities, please. Not here.”
Piero nodded. “As you wish.”
“Did you bring the money?”
“About that, sir.” Piero cleared his throat.
Niccolo suddenly had a very bad feeling about where this was going. “Piero, tell me you brought the money.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.”
“I don’t understand. Did I or did I not give you explicit instructions to meet me here with twenty thousand euros in cash?” The lovely Julia Costa might have been immune from following his orders, but Niccolo’s secretary sure as hell wasn’t.
“I was unable to make a withdrawal, sir. Today is Sunday. The banks are closed.”
“Closed,” Niccolo echoed.
How could it be this difficult to get his hands on a large sum of cash? His family was worth billions, for crying out loud.
You’re not in Lazaretto, remember? You’re in Rome.
Rome . . . as if he could forget.
A series of images passed through his consciousness like a slow-motion picture show. Julia smiling at him over her shoulder, her generous lips painted bright red. Her dark hair blowing in the wind with the crumbling pillars of the Roman Forum towering behind her. Her damp polka-dot blouse clinging to her curves as the sun dipped below the Palatine Hill in fiery splendor.
His chest tightened a bit.
“Yes. Closed.” Piero nodded. “The hotel can accommodate your request today, however that will require your signature.”
Niccolo released a tense exhale. A signature. He could do that. He’d just sign the necessary paperwork, and in an hour or two, this would all be over.
For a panicked moment, he’d thought Piero wouldn’t have the money today. He couldn’t leave Rome without making things right. He’d couldn’t do that to Julia. Wouldn’t do it.
He let his gaze wander to the corner table where she sat watching him. She
looked so pretty in her cherry red dress with her upswept hair, all dressed up for her search for employment. He felt almost sick to his stomach thinking about her going on job interviews and trying to talk her way into a position without the benefit of a good reference from the touring company. All because of him.
He directed his attention back to Piero.
“Give me the papers. I presume you’ve also brought a pen?” He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Piero shifted in his chair. “What papers, sir?”
What the hell was going on? “The papers you just mentioned. The ones from the hotel.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have them with me, sir. If you’d just accompany me back to the hotel, I’m sure they’ll be able to accommodate your request.” Piero was all but begging now.
Niccolo looked at him sitting across the table. Really looked. Now that he’d focused all his attention on his employee rather than stealing glances at Julia, Niccolo realized Piero had a rather panicked air about him. There was a fine layer of perspiration on his upper lip, and his complexion was a good deal paler than usual. Niccolo’s disappearance had obviously taken a toll.
“Relax, I’m not going to fire you.” The last thing he wanted right now was to be responsible for another firing. “I just need to get my hands on the cash.”
Piero cleared his throat. “As I said, once you’re back at the hotel, we can get the money quite easily.”
“Impossible.” Niccolo shook his head.
Last night had taken an interesting turn back at Julia’s apartment, but she was still taking her role as his captor with the utmost seriousness. She’d barely allowed him to sit at a separate café table. If he left for the Hotel de Russie right now, with or without Piero, she’d surely insist on accompanying him. That couldn’t happen under any circumstances.