by Susan Stoker
I promise not to kiss you, or fall in love with you, or try to make you mine…
His promise returned to her, but she found little comfort in it. She was discovering, minute by minute, that it wasn’t his love for her that would hurt her in the long run. No. It would be her love for him that could destroy her, that could leave a lasting and agonizing mark on her soul.
So don’t fall in love with him, she told herself, chancing another glance at him through lowered lashes.
But how does a simple girl from a small town spend a week with a prince and say farewell with her wits and will intact?
She took a breath and sighed, looking ahead at the Bow Bridge just over Nico’s shoulder.
“Tell me,” he said gently.
“Tell you what?”
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
She slid her eyes from the bridge to his face. “I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea to see you again.”
He stopped rowing, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. “But Broadway…tomorrow…”
She tried to smile, but couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, Nico,” she said, “but after a week of wonderful, I’ll go back to my unwonderful life. And you…”
“I’ll have to marry someone I don’t love.”
Bella gulped, her voice soft and uncertain as she stared at his throat, unable to look into his eyes. “If I spend any more time with you, I’ll begin caring for you. I won’t be able to help it.”
“We could be friends,” he said.
“No,” she said, raising her gaze. “We couldn’t.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I think you’d better take me home.”
***
Nico clenched his jaw as she dropped his eyes and turned away from him, feeling frustrated beyond belief. All he wanted was her company. All he wanted was to spend a little time with her. Was that so wrong?
Deep inside, he knew it was, because the moment he’d laid eyes on her last night, something had happened to his heart, and it didn’t fall under the heading of “Friends.” Not by a mile.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” he bit out, his voice sounding rough and a little haughty.
“Please understand,” she said as her bottom lip slipped between her teeth and held there for a moment. “I’m just trying to protect myself.”
Huffing softly, he put some muscle into his erstwhile leisurely rowing, steering them back to the boathouse quickly.
“I’ll walk you back to the hotel.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Nico stepped easily from the boat as a dockhand secured the bow line to a waiting cleat, then Nico offered his hand to Bella. She stared at it for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing, and he was just about to pull it away when she reached for it, clasping it to hers. Forcing himself not to smile or whoop with gladness, he pulled her up and onto the dock, then laced their fingers together, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. And to his surprise and relief, she didn’t.
The New York Metro Tower Hotel was about ten blocks south, so Nico set a strolling pace north toward the Shakespeare Garden, reluctant to hasten their farewell.
“I’ve already seen more today than I’ve seen in years,” said Bella, and he had the feeling she was trying to lighten the mood between them. “I didn’t know New York could feel so much like the country.”
“Tell me what you miss the most about home,” he said.
“My parents,” she sighed. “But also the mountains and lakes. The air is so much fresher there. Have you been to Ticino?”
“Yes,” he said. “A good friend of mine has a place on Lake Lugano.”
“Mmm. That’s the most popular spot of all. But you’re missing out if you’ve never seen Lake Maggiore. Lesser known. Just as lovely.”
“What else?” he asked, savoring the feel of her small hand nestled within his, her delicate fingers threaded through his.
She continued on about places she loved that he’d visited at some time or another, all of them fading in contrast to her loveliness, to the gentle cadence of her accented English. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? How welcome she was in his lonely life?
Glancing to his left, where she walked beside him, he drank in the sight of her. She was dressed in a slim pink-and-white skirt and white blouse, with her long, thick hair braided and wound into a bun on the back of her neck. But some dark tendrils escaped, curling beside her ear, framing her face. He didn’t miss the envious glances of the men who passed them, the lusty looks at her trim waist and small, rounded breasts, though Bella seemed oblivious to the attention.
As the only son of a royal family, there had always been high expectations on him. To make his family and Italy proud, to marry well, to have sons who would ensure the De’Medici line, to augment the family’s dwindling fortune either by trade or by marriage…all of which would be handily met by marrying Princess Elena.
And yet, if he were just a regular man—a businessman in New York closing a deal or a tradesman attending a conference—how he would like to consider Bella more seriously. What he wouldn’t give to be able to woo her…if that’s what he wanted. Alas, it wasn’t even something that he could consider if his position meant anything to him.
“…and I guess the wines too. Oh! And the polenta! It’s better in Ticino than anywhere else in the world.”
“Is anything not better in Ticino?” he asked, grinning down at her.
“Hmm. Well, we’re technically part of Switzerland, of course, but sometimes…I mean, culturally speaking, we’re very different. Culturally, we’re Italian. The old men play bocce, and we eat gelato, and we’re so much more relaxed than the rest of Svizzera. It’s almost like a—a, um, a crisi d’identità.”
“An identity crisis.”
“Sí,” she confirmed. “An identity crisis. Am I Swiss? Yes. Am I Italian? Yes, again.”
“Is it bad to be two things?” asked Nico, pulling her up the roughhewn steps into the garden, which was an explosion of color: red and blue tulips, pink magnolia blossoms, hot-pink and white impatiens, and yellow daffodils.
“Niiiiiico,” she breathed, pausing at the top of the steps and squeezing his hand. “Dio. How beautiful!”
He turned to face her, watching her dark eyes widen with pleasure, her pink lips parting softly as she looked down the stone path that snaked through the verdant heaven in the middle of a thrumming city. And suddenly the sting of her rejection and her insistence that they not meet again, felt too terrible to bear. He turned to face her, pulling her into his arms, and parting his lips as he dropped them to meet hers.
She gasped in surprise and he let her breathe him in, moving his lips gently, tenderly, longingly over hers, his arm tightening around her as she whimpered softly and melted against him. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, and his body reacted instinctually to the soft pressure, tightening with want. Her hands, which had fallen loosely to her sides, now met behind his neck, lacing together to draw his face closer to hers.
He inhaled the scent of her—clean linen and fresh air and a slight taste of the wine they’d shared at lunch—and he knew that if heaven had a fragrance, he was smelling it now on earth. And he never wanted it to be farther than arm’s reach from him again.
But Bella pulled away suddenly, unlocking her fingers with a gasp and staring up at Nico with a mixture of surprise and betrayal. Her chest heaved up and down with her shallow breathing, and she raised her hand to brush two fingers over her lips.
“Bella,” he started, the look on her face making him reach for her, but she stepped back, out of his grasp.
“You promised. No kissing. No falling in love,” she said softly, tears brightening her eyes. “And now…and now, you’ve gone and…”
“I’m not sorry,” he said evenly, his only regret that the sweetest kiss he’d ever known would be the only one they’d ever share.
She gulped, looking down at her feet. “I have to go.”
And just like that, he recanted. “Bella, I’m sorry. I promise…I won’t touch you again. I won’t—”
Her head snapped up, and she seized his eyes with hers. “But I want you to. Don’t you see? That’s the problem. Now that I know…Nico, I want you to touch me like that over and over again.” She bit her lip, averting her eyes in misery. “Don’t follow me.”
She turned and started back down the stairs, and Nico felt panic grip him. Was this the end? Was their solitary day already over?
“Bella!” he cried. “Wait!”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek. “Addio. Addio, Nico.”
Farewell.
She hurried down the rest of the steps, and Nico—who would ask Elena to be his wife at the end of the week—could do nothing but watch her go.
Chapter Four
“Well, I certainly hope she doesn’t expect for you to entertain her every day!” complained Madame Gothel on Sunday afternoon. “We got so busy that I had to step in!”
God forbid you actually work at the business you own.
Careful that her madrina wouldn’t see her eyes roll, Bella made certain her face was neutral before looking up. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, Madame.”
“Oh, Bellllla, darling. It’s not your fault. It’s flattering, I suppose, that the princess would seek out your company,” sniffed Madame. “Though I can’t imagine whyyyyyy.”
Bella looked up at her godmother, on her guard. “What do you mean?”
“Well, my dear,” she said, holding out her hands palms up as she leaned her head to the side, “you’re a simple country girl. Of what interest could you possibly beeeeeee to her?”
“We spoke about Ticino…about wine…about my parents—”
Madame Gothel sighed heavily, adding under her breath, “Stimulating conversation for a royal.”
“She seemed to like me,” murmured Bella, wondering if Nico had been faking his interest in her. Had she been boring to him? Provincial? Simple?
“Of course she did.” Her godmother cupped her cheek. “You are a…pleasant sort of girl.”
Bella stepped back, out of her godmother’s reach.
“Madame,” she started, then cleared her throat, mustering her courage. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You are—I mean, you do intend to let me take over here someday, don’t you?”
Madame Gothel’s eyes widened, and she straightened her head, pursing her lips with displeasure as she stared at her goddaughter in surprise. “What a bold, inelegant question.”
“I don’t mean to offend you. I just assumed. The classes. The training. But we’ve never actually discussed it.”
Her madrina chortled softly. “All that is so that you can be my helper, dearest.”
Chattel in velvet chains.
“But my parents…” She was about to say, But my parents always intended that I inherit and run the grotto and vineyard, which is why she had assumed that Madame, who had no children, had planned to do the same with her business.
“Your parents…what?” Madame’s expression grew instantly icy. “Were you about to refer to your parents’ money? What little they gave me to care for you?”
“No,” said Bella, though Nico’s words returned to her: Surely your parents left you something? “But now that you mention it…did my parents leave me anything?”
“Yes.” Madame raised her chin. “Pennies.”
Bella thought back to her parents’ business: to the wine bottles that they boxed and loaded onto a truck for distribution each year, to the seemingly endless crowds of tourists who kept the grotto busy all spring and summer long. Had they been in debt? Less successful than Bella remembered?
“Are you certain?” she dared to press.
“This is outrageous! You have lived under my roof, enjoying my hospitality, dear Bella, for five years now. Even if there had been anything when you arrived, it has certainly been spent by now.”
“But, Madrina—”
“Enough!” shouted Madame Gothel, her eyes blazing. “One afternoon with a princess, and you return ungrateful and—and entitled. Well, I’ll tell you what you’re entitled to, pet: nothing. You’re twenty-two years old now. When you’re ready to move on, I certainly won’t stand in your way.”
Move on? thought Bella, a wave of panic making her chest tighten. With what? All she had was the cash tips that clients slipped into her hands without Madame’s notice. It was barely enough for a week’s stay at a seedy hotel, let alone enough to set up an independent life.
“No, Madame,” she said, realizing how trapped she was. “I’m so grateful to you for—for everything. I didn’t mean to sound entitled or ungrateful. You’ve been very good to me.”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you, Madrina,” she said softly.
“Well, now you’ve upset me,” said her godmother, sniffing as she pulled her black cardigan sweater more snugly around her bony shoulders. “After everything I’ve done for you…” She whimpered softly, looking at Bella with eyes that were much more angry than hurt. “I think I’d better go and rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Close up at three. Clean up here. And be quiet when you come home. I need time to recover from this—this…unpleasantness.”
“Yes, Madame,” she said, watching her madrina turn and head for the glass doors.
At the last moment, Madame Gothel turned. “Out of respect for your mother, dear Karin, I took you in. But lest you have forgotten, you are not, in fact, my daughter or my blood. What I do for you, I do out of pity. Don’t ever take me for granted again, Bella…or question my intentions.”
“No, Madame,” Bella whispered, tears biting at her eyes at the mention of her mother’s name.
“Should it ever happen again, I fear we will need to say farewell, dearest,” she said sharply. “Am I understood?”
“Yes,” murmured Bella, lowering her head as her godmother entered the elevator and disappeared from view.
Oh, Mama. I miss you.
Bella took a deep, unsatisfying breath and shook her head.
There’s no future here, she thought, reaching up to swipe at her eyes. I’m trapped—just like Nico said. A slave. A…pet. Is this what you want, Bella? Is this the life you want? The future you want? If not, do something to change your fate.
She thought about Nico—about his assertion that they were both trapped. But for the first time, she understood that she was not actually trapped in the same desperate way that he was. She could, in fact, if she planned carefully, choose to leave this life behind and create a different one. Nico, on the other hand, would be a prince from cradle to grave, with all the pressures and expectations of that birthright.
She sighed, sitting behind the reception desk as the unexpectedly quiet afternoon wore on, distracting herself by reviewing every precious detail of her date with Nico yesterday: the surprise that he was a prince, the lovely lunch at the boathouse, the way he looked in the sunlight as he rowed her around the lake, the profusion of color in the gorgeous garden, and the way it felt to be kissed—really kissed—for the first time in her life.
Leaving him standing at the top of the stairs, his face remorseful, his voice desperate, had carved a hole in Bella’s heart, and it ached now, throbbing as she traced the lines of his face in her mind. It hurt to know that he was here in the hotel for several more days but that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see him. She’d fallen hard for him yesterday, and subsequent dates would only make their final farewell unbearable.
Looking up, she found Greg, the Sunday concierge, exiting the elevator and opening the glass doors of the salon. Bella fixed a smile on her face, glancing down at the reservation book. No doubt Greg had some appointments to make.
“Hey, Bella,” he said.
“Hi, Greg,” she answered brightly. “Do you have some new clients for me?”
“Uh, no, actually.” He placed an envelope on the shiny chrome surface between them. “This is fo
r you.”
“For me?”
Greg nodded. “For you. And I’m meant to say that if you require something to wear, you’re to give your name at Maxime’s and Renata will take care of you, all expenses paid.”
“Take care of me?”
“Close the store. So you’ll have privacy to shop.”
Bella’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Greg, trying to understand what was going on. Maxime’s was one of the hotel boutiques that sold top-of-the-line ladies fashions at exorbitant prices, and Renata was the store manager.
“I don’t understand.” She glanced down. “What’s in the envelope?”
“I have no idea,” said Greg. “It came to me via messenger with the express instruction that I personally deliver it to you, creating a distraction, if necessary, to be sure it was given to you in private.”
“I…”
A small walkie-talkie on Greg’s belt loop beeped twice, and he looked down at it. “Duty calls. See you around, Bella.”
He turned and left the salon, pressing the elevator call button and stepping into the lift as soon as it arrived. Picking up the envelope, Bella stared at it for a moment before opening it.
The first thing she withdrew was a ticket to the eight o’clock performance of Wicked. Gasping with surprise, she giggled softly with delight as she stared at it pinched between her fingers, noting the seat was ORCH D-102. She knew enough about Broadway theaters to know that the ticket she held in her hands was for a seat somewhere in the front/middle of the theater—a perfect and very expensive seat.
The second thing she withdrew was a note. It had no signature, nor a greeting. It read simply, Please.
Nico.
Her heart soared as she held the ticket in one hand and the note in the other.
Whatever willpower she’d mustered yesterday disappeared like a puff of smoke, and she sighed with happiness. She would choose wonderful with him, and suffer unwonderful without him later.