by Susan Stoker
The lump in Bella’s throat was so big she could do little more than nod miserably as her godmother left her in peace.
This is rock bottom, she thought, her eyes swimming with tears. No money. No freedom. No love. Fighting back her tears as best she could, Bella took off the rubber gloves, her heart heavy as she walked from the hair-wash stations toward the front of the salon.
“Your Serene Hiiiiiighness! We are closed today! I am sooooo—”
“Stop talking,” barked an annoyed voice in heavily accented English.
Bella paused in her steps when she heard her godmother welcome Valentina. Reaching up, she swiped at her eyes, an unexpected chuckle making her shoulders shake when Valentina essentially told Madame to shut up.
“Go get zee girl. Bella. I am so bored. I need her.”
“Oh, your—your grace,” sighed Madame, “I am terribly soooooorry, but she is not here.”
“What do you talk about? Where ees she?”
“B-Bella? Oh, well. She is…um, s-sick today. Yes. So sick. Not at all well. A cough. Bless her sweet, simple heart. Her health is very delica—”
“She ees not here?” demanded Valentina. “You are for certain?”
“N-No. She is not here,” said Madame, her voice slightly less certain as she continued lying. “Perhaps the hotel concierge could arrange an amusement for you? I could call down—”
The part of her that was still good, dutiful Bella, a pet in velvet chains, honestly considered staying silent around the corner, because she knew that was what was expected of her. But since meeting Nico, her eyes had been opened to the degrading, eroding awfulness of her life, and though she had no alternate plan devised yet, she certainly wasn’t going to let Madame keep her from what small happiness she had.
“Madame?” she chirped, walking purposely into the reception area. “The sinks are finishe—oh, Princess Valentina. Buongiorno.”
Valentina took one look at her, then slid her withering, unblinking gaze to Madame Gothel. “You say she ees…sick?” She turned to Bella. “Sei malato?” Are you sick?
“No, non sto male, non ho mai sentito meglio,” she said, pressing her palm to her T-shirt as though surprised by the question. I don’t feel bad. Not at all.
Valentina’s dark, hawkish eyes skated back to Madame, her lip turning up in a sneer as she stepped toward the older woman, fury written across her aristocratic features. “You lie to me?”
“Signorina, per favore—” Miss, please—
“Principessa!” shrieked Valentina, stomping her foot.
“Sí! Sí! S-Sua Alta S-Serenitá!” sputtered Madame. Your Serene Highness! “I—I am so—!”
“Stop talking,” said Valentina, waving her hand dismissively at Madame Gothel. “You are…liar. Don’t speak.” She turned to Bella. “Pranzo con me?” Have lunch with me?
“I would love to,” said Bella, flicking a glance at her boss. “But I have to work.”
“Bella is…my helper, your highness, and I don’t know if I can spare—”
Valentina’s eyes blazed as she advanced on Madame, issuing a scathing tirade in Italian: “Sei pazzo? Chi sei tu? Un bugiardo! Dirò ai miei amici di non venire—” Are you crazy? Who are you? A liar! I’m going to tell all my friends not to come to this—
“Va bene! Va bene! Per piacere, principessa!” exclaimed Madame Gothel, raising her hands palms up in supplication. “She can go. She can go. Of course. I will find someone else to…to clean…” Madame turned to Bella, her expression a mixture of frustrated and furious. “Go, Bella! Why are you standing there?”
“Whatever you say, Madrina,” said Bella, offering her guardian a syrupy-sweet smile as she followed Valentina into the elevator.
As the chrome doors closed, Valentina pressed the button for the nineteenth floor and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a…washerwoman.”
“I was cleaning.”
“You can borrow my clothes to meet Nico,” she said, staring straight ahead. “Your godmother is…una strega.” …a witch.
“Sí,” agreed Bella, though it hurt her a little to admit it.
For several years, Madame Gothel had been Bella’s only mother figure. Only now, when she could see Madame’s true colors, did she realize that there wasn’t a maternal bone in her godmother’s body. She was selfish and self-centered, a shameless user.
The elevator doors opened, and Valentina led the way down the hallway, swiping her keycard at the door reader and preceding Bella into the suite. She turned to face Bella once the door had closed.
“He cares for you,” she said.
Bella gulped. “I care for him.”
“You know—you know he plans to marry la Principessa Elena?”
“Yes.”
“It ees a mistake,” said Valentina, placing her hand over her flat stomach. “I have no choice. He does.”
Bella’s eyes flicked to Valentina’s hand. “You are marrying for love…even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
She nodded. “Steven Trainor ees not a bad man. He ees a gay man. So we will marry for a while, then we will divorce. But my child will be…como se dice…ah! Legittimo. Carina or Giuseppe Trainor. Ees not so bad.”
“Can you be happy?” asked Bella.
“For now? Sí. Il romanza rosa will come later in life for me,” said Valentina pragmatically. “Come now. Andiamo.”
Bella nodded, following Valentina into her bedroom. The princess opened the closet doors and withdrew a stunning white-lace sundress, handing it to Bella. “Maybe a leettle big. Nico won’t care.”
“Thank you,” said Bella, turning her back to the princess as she took off her soiled T-shirt and jeans.
“Understand, Bella: Nico ees my brother, my twin, and twins, we have a special bond, yes?”
Bella nodded. “From what I understand.”
“He doesn’t love Elena. He won’t love her. He has no—como se dice—uh, passion for thees girl. But he has passion for you.”
“Will you zip me?” asked Bella, briefly making eye contact with Valentina over her shoulder. “Nico is doing what he thinks is right for your family.”
Valentina zipped up the dress, placed her hands on Bella’s shoulders, and turned her around so the women were facing each other. “But eet ees wrong for his heart.”
Feeling helpless, Bella looked up into eyes so similar to Nico’s, it made her heart pinch. But what could she do? She’d only known the prince for a handful of days. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was barely his friend. And yet…she felt things with Nico, and for Nico, that she’d never felt before in her life. And the thought of him marrying Princess Elena was like a knife through her heart.
Suddenly Valentina brightened. “You look okay now.” She withdrew a card from the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans and handed it to Bella. “He ees waiting for you, Bella. Andiamo.”
***
Nico had received a text from his sister five minutes ago saying that Bella was in a taxi on her way to meet him. And if he’d had any doubt about what the girl from Ticino was starting to mean to him, it was abundantly clear by the way his heart took flight reading Tina’s words.
Standing on West Street, at the corner of Vesey, he couldn’t wait to introduce Bella to her next New York adventure: lunch at One, on the 101st floor of the Freedom Tower at One World Observatory. Not only was the view one of the best in New York, but they’d have a peek at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island before boarding a ferry at 3:00 p.m. to visit the gateway to America in person. He couldn’t think of a more appropriate way for two visitors on U.S. soil to spend the day, and besides, as Bella’s self-appointed Manhattan tour guide, it was his duty to be sure she saw as many of the sights as he could fit in by Friday.
Friday, he thought with a sigh.
His mother, who was back at home in Italy packing for her trip to New York, had called him today. Nico’s father had spoken to Elena’s father, Prince Phillip of Greece and Denmark, on the phone this morning, reconfirming his
permission for Nico to propose to Elena.
“Nico!” said his mother, Her Serene Highness Caterina De’Medici, breathless with excitement, “We’re all so excited!”
“Vero?” he’d muttered. Is that right?
“Sí!” his mother had crowed. “Elena is coming straight to New York from Ethiopia, where she’s…she’s…well, honestly, darling, I have no idea what she’s doing there, but she’s coming directly to Manhattan from Africa, so Phillip won’t have much time to discuss the proposal with her in advance. Perhaps that’s for the best. You have what you need, Nico: his permission to ask her.”
He’d sighed, trying to picture himself approaching the perennially-tanned, tall, muscular princess and asking her if she was interested in a royal union. There was no sense in trying to make it romantic. It wasn’t. It was—for all intents and purposes—an arranged marriage between two royal families.
He was silent for so long, his mother spoke again, her voice softer this time: “She’s a good person, Elena. Very kind. Very rich.”
Not-so-subtle reminders that he should make the best of things, since the De’Medici clan could certainly use an infusion of wealth.
“I know, Mother,” he said. “I always liked Elena.”
“Love can grow from like,” said his mother. “And with time.”
But can passion? wondered Nico, already knowing the answer in his heart.
Yes, love—true affection—could grow with time, of course, But attraction—and passion, for that matter—wasn’t a quality that could reliably develop. You were either attracted to someone, or you weren’t. And if you weren’t, no amount of trying could force your heart to lift when you saw someone. And if you were, no amount of trying could persuade your heart not to lift when you did.
“Mother, I’ve so much to do,” he said, feeling uncomfortable discussing the matter any further. “You’ll forgive me?”
“Of course, darling! See you on Friday! And keep Tina in line, por Dio! We’ve almost saved her from disaster!”
And you, mother, and your greediness.
“Safe travels.”
“Ciao, Nico.”
“Ciao, mia madre.”
Now, as he scanned the street for unlit cabs, he felt—yet again—the same discomfort he’d felt talking to his mother. Was it possible he was making a mistake? Was it possible that by dutifully marrying well for the sake of his family, that he’d be giving up his chance for passion? For true love? For true happiness?
He frowned at the notion.
Last week, before he’d set eyes on Bella, it was something that hadn’t really occurred to him. He’d been carefully conditioned his entire life to put family and duty first, above all else. But now? Having met someone special who lit a fire of longing within him, it was impossible not to wonder.
A cab pulled up to the curb, and he glimpsed her smiling face through the open back window even before the cab stopped. As he opened the door and handed the driver twenty dollars, all thoughts about Elena were whisked away as the object of his most fervent passion was suddenly in his arms again.
***
“Buongiorno, Bella,” he said, his voice husky, his arms around her strong and familiar.
“Ciao, Nico,” she said, closing her eyes and inhaling the wonderful smell of Acqua Nobile and warm cotton.
He drew away from her just long enough to place a finger under her chin and tip her head back. She smiled up at him but kept her eyes closed as his soft lips landed on hers, coaxing them apart. He kissed her gently, holding her tightly in his arms, and she wound hers around his neck, brushing the bristles on the back of his neck with her fingers and sighing with pleasure.
“I won’t be able to stop if I kiss you anymore,” he sighed by her ear. “Plus, we’re in public.”
She finally opened her eyes, squinting as she looked up at him. “Then what do you suggest?”
He cocked his head to the side and shrugged in a gesture that was so macho Italian, she almost giggled.
“What I want and what’s allowed are two different things, cara.”
“Do we have rules about what’s allowed?” she asked as he released her, exchanging an embrace for hand-holding as he pulled her into the building.
“We should,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t make you any promises.”
“I haven’t asked for any,” she said, stepping on the escalator in front of him.
“Okay…because I’m a gentleman. And you’re…sei ingenuo.” Naïve.
Hmm. She asked over her shoulder, “How do you know that?”
He leaned closer, because she felt his breath on her throat as he whispered, “I just know, mi tesoro.”
My darling.
Her breath caught and her heart squeezed with the soft, sensual sound of his lips near her ear. As the escalator ended, she was so distracted, she would have slipped were it not for his hand under her elbow.
“Careful, cara,” he said, laughter plain in his voice.
“Maybe you should be careful,” she advised tartly, pulling her arm away. “I may not be as innocent as you think.”
“Believe me, cara mia,” he said, grinning at her, “there are moments I wish that was the case.” His eyes, soft and tender, scanned hers. “But it’s not, is it?”
She pursed her lips, refusing to answer, because really and truly, what grown woman wants to be outed as a virgin when she’s on a hot date with a handsome prince?
Her silence answered his questions, and Nico chuckled softly beside her as he gave their tickets to an attendant, and they boarded what appeared to be a glass elevator. But as the doors closed and they started rising, she realized that the elevator was covered with movie screens that were showing the development of Manhattan Island from the 1500s to today. She watched as Indian dwellings magically turned into colonial buildings, and then streets appeared and suddenly skyscrapers. There’s a bridge being built! There’s the Statue of Liberty! And soon—way too soon!—the doors opened at the 102nd-floor observatory.
Her stomach was full of butterflies.
“Wasn’t that amazing?”
He nodded. “It was! I’ve never seen anything like it!”
She looked ahead at the windows, showcasing a clear, dramatic 360-degree view of Manhattan before and beneath them. “Nico! Look!”
She dragged him over to the windows, and they stood side by side, admiring the view of the Hudson River and New York Harbor.
“We’re on top of the world,” she breathed.
“Do you remember what happened here in 2001?” he asked, his eyes tracking an airplane in the distance.
She gulped. “Of course. I was only seven years old, but I remember my mother crying for the people killed here.”
He nodded. “My parents had friends who died.”
“It was a terrible thing,” she said, leaning back against him, “for the whole world.”
From behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, and they stood like that for a few minutes, looking at the glorious view, quiet but for their breathing, which quickly synchronized—in and out, in and out—in long, comfortable draws of air.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“Always,” she said, turning slightly to grin at him.
He kissed her quickly. “Then let’s go have lunch! Our cruise leaves in ninety minutes.”
They spoke of Italy and Switzerland over lunch, gleefully swapping stories of their favorite childhood memories, and all the while Bella felt herself falling for him—deeper and more certainly every second. He was self-deprecating and smart, gallant and unbelievably gorgeous, and though she knew she was spoiling things for herself by anticipating their farewell, she couldn’t totally ignore the fact that today was Monday, which meant that they only had four days left together. There was no getting out of work tomorrow. Madame had made it clear time and again—if Bella dated a hotel guest, she would be thrown out. She couldn’t a
fford to raise Madame’s suspicions.
As he stood behind her on the windy boat deck, with tendrils of her hair surely whipping him in the nose, what was he thinking? Was he beginning to feel desperate, as she was, for more time?
But that wasn’t the deal, was it?
They’d agreed: a week.
A week and no more.
***
Nico sensed a sadness in Bella as they toured the Statue of Liberty, then got back on the boat for their transfer to Ellis Island. She’d become more subdued as the day wore on, and perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed like her smiles were more forced, her sighs deeper.
“Is everything okay?” he finally asked, taking her hand as they disembarked, stepping onto a sidewalk that led to the Ellis Island visitor center.
“I’m afraid you were right about me,” she said. Her hair was back in a long braid, but flyaway hairs had escaped around her face, and she pushed one behind her ear. “I am naïve.”
“I was only teasing,” he said. “I love that about you—how fresh and honest you are. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I thought I could do this,” she continued. “Be your—your…I don’t know—your sort-of ragazza for a week,” she said, using the word for girlfriend. “But now I wonder…”
His chest tightened. “What? What do you wonder?”
She sighed. “Remember last night? When I said that we shouldn’t get greedy for more when we have now?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You’re not the only one feeling greedy now,” she confessed.
“Want to stop?” he asked, holding his breath.
“You mean…stop seeing you?” she asked.
“Yeah. We can, uh…” He gestured to the boat. “We can get back on the boat. I’ll take you home. We can…”
She shook her head, entwining her fingers through his and squeezing. “No. We can’t.”
“I don’t want you to be sad.”
“But sad’s part of it,” she said, facing him and tenderly cupping his cheek, “isn’t it? Falling for someone isn’t safe. It’s…exhilarating and wonderful. And yes, I’d rather have it than not. But you must allow me these moments of sadness. Of knowing that what I have now is so perfect yet so finite.”