The Heir: A Contemporary Royal Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  “Actually, that does sound very good,” I surprise myself by saying.

  I realize that we are back at the entrance and heading towards an area densely populated with headstones. “I present you the ashes of Percy Bysshe Shelley,” Dante says gravely.

  I walk closer to the plain headstone. “Percy Bysshe Shelley,” I read out the name carved at the top of the headstone. I turn to face him. “How on earth does someone like you become a fan of Shelley?”

  He laughs. “I wasn’t until my uncle brought me a leather-bound collection of his complete works for my sixteenth birthday and told me he would buy me the latest sports car if I got through the collection. As you can imagine, I considered it a particularly vicious form of punishment, but by the second volume I had become a devoted fan.”

  “Are you from a very rich family?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “My Latin is rusty. What does ‘Cor Cordium’ mean?” I ask peering at the letters.

  “Heart of hearts.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Legend has it that only his heart is buried here. While his body was being cremated on the beach, his friend, who lies in that grave next to him, snatched his heart out of the flames, and gave it to his wife who kept it for thirty years,” Dante explains.

  “That’s a very romantic story.” To my surprise, my eyes suddenly fill with tears for the man. “I don’t know why, but ever since I got pregnant I seem to cry for the least thing,” I sniff.

  Dante takes my hand. “I love it when you are emotional. It is so rare for you to show your true self that these little outbursts are precious. Anyway, that is probably just a myth. What really happened is not so pretty. By the time Shelley’s body was washed up it was so badly decomposed they could only identify him by his socks, trousers, and a volume of Keat’s poetry in his pocket. The body was covered in quicklime and temporarily buried in a shallow grave until permission for his cremation could be acquired. Mary did not attend the cremation. Byron was there, but became so nauseous he had to leave. If anything was snatched out of the ashes and given to Mary it was his liver which is the most moisture leaden organ in the human body and so least likely not to burn.”

  For a few seconds, I’m lost in his gorgeous eyes. “Deep down inside you are more than just eye-candy, aren’t you?” I whisper.

  Dante laughs. “Eye candy? Oh, Rosa, there is just no one else like you in the world.”

  I try not to show how pleased I am by that compliment. “Now, how about the bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar you promised me.”

  Chapter 17

  Rosa

  Dante drives us to the market and we walk to a little food stand where he speaks in rapid-fire Italian to a middle-aged woman with braided hair and a blue apron. She wraps up a golden-brown loaf of bread and hands it to him.

  We go to another stall where a wizened little man with a cheeky smile sells him a bottle of green extra-virgin olive oil and a plastic cup three-quarter filled with balsamic vinegar that his wife made.

  We find a bench and tuck into our simple meal. The bread is crusty on the outside and open-textured on the inside, and absolutely delicious with the condiments. We don’t talk much, both of us just content to enjoy the open air and each other’s company. I pop the last piece into my mouth and wipe my hands on a paper napkin. “Thank you. That was really superb.”

  Dante squeezes my knee. “The pleasure was all mine, bella.”

  A little of me melts at that look in his eyes.

  “Wait here while I throw this away,” Dante says gathering all our leftovers in the paper bag the woman gave us.

  I watch him stride away towards a bin. He is taller and broader than everyone else around him. I hear myself sigh. If only this man could be mine. Truly mine.

  “Ciao, bella,” a voice says from my side. I turn my head and a muscular, deeply tanned man in a tight white T-shirt is standing next to me. He lowers his sunglasses and smiles, showing very white teeth. His eyes are sly, though. I know what he wants from the tourist. From the corners of my eyes I can see Dante throw our rubbish away.

  I smile at the guy. What I tell him makes his smile lose its luster. He turns and walks away just as Dante returns.

  “Hey,” I say, beaming at Dante. Just seeing the empty lust in the other man’s face made me realize how sincere and full of care Dante’s eyes are.

  “What did that asshole want?” he asks, his jaw tight.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” I say.

  He sits next to me, his back rigid.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  I stare at his closed profile incredulously. “Are you jealous?”

  He turns to look at me and his eyes are blazing. “Of course I am. I’m a man. I know what goes through men’s heads. You should never flirt with opportunists.”

  “I was not flirting with him.”

  “Encouraging him, then,” he says, his eyebrows meeting.

  “Encouraging him?” I gasp, suddenly furious too. “Where did you see that?”

  “You were smiling at him.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, I am willing to admit that from a distance it could look like I was smiling, but actually it was the curve of my mouth as I told him, ‘Vatte a fa’ ‘u giro, a fessa ‘e mammata.’”

  His eyes widen. Then he scratches his head. “Do you … er … know the meaning of what you just said?”

  “Yes. I told him in perfect idiomatic Italian to piss off back up the orifice of his mother’s vagina.”

  “That’s my girl. You tell every one of those shit bags who have the nerve to come up to you exactly that, in exactly that same tone.”

  I smile up at him. “Okay.”

  He nods and ruffles my hair the way a proud father would.

  “So what now? Home?”

  “No, unless you are tired, of course.”

  “Nope. Not tired at all.”

  “Then I have another creepy place to show you.”

  “What is it?”

  “You will see soon enough.”

  “Today you are full of surprises, Dante, and so far, all of them were good so lead on.” I strap on the simple open-faced helmet and climb onto the back of the bright yellow Vespa.

  I hate to admit it, but I don’t think I will ever get tired of zipping around Rome on the back of Dante’s scooter.

  Dante whirls his hand like a ringmaster at a circus and points at a building with double stairs. “You wanted morbid, I give you morbid. Behold the Capuchin Crypt of the Church of Santa Maria Della Concezione,” he declares dramatically.

  I look at the unremarkable brown chapel in front of us and am not impressed.

  “You judge too quickly, bella. Churches and men,” Dante says softly. “Wait until you discover what’s inside before you make up your mind.”

  “Okay, but I wasn’t making a judgment, just noting a totally warranted observation about the exterior,” I say.

  “Exteriors can be very deceiving,” he says as we enter the chapel. I know he is not referring to the building, but my opinion of him.

  I scan the interior of the church and my eyes light up as I spot the tall stunning painting of the archangel Michael. “Okay, now we are talking. That is quite simply marvelous,” I exclaim, squeezing Dante’s hand.

  “That it is, but I didn’t bring you here to show you Guido Reni’s painting,” Dante says. “Come, follow me into the crypt.”

  “Ooooouuuu, that sounds spooky,” I say smiling as I follow him down into the bowels of the church. It is kind of eerie walking into the dark and very ancient chamber.

  “Close your eyes,” Dante tells me when we reach the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll tell you when you can open them,” he adds taking my hand again.

  “Don’t you dare let me fall. There’s a baby on board.”

  “I will never let you fall,” he whispers in my ear, and his voice startles me with its intensity. I open
my eyes and stare into his. For a second it feels as if the air is too ancient and thick and it is impossible to breathe it in, then Dante says, “Close your eyes, little Rosa.”

  I obey, and feel him take my hand and lead me farther into the crypt. We must have been somewhere near the center of the room when he says. “Okay, you can look now.”

  I open my eyes and see … bones; hundreds, maybe even thousands of bones. Bones nailed into every inch of wall and ceiling, hanging from the ceiling as light fixtures, just piled into heaps, or used as baroque decorative details. There are skeletons dressed as monks. The display is at once, intricate and fantastic.

  “Are … Are they all real?”

  “Every single bone and skull you see belonged to one of the three thousand seven hundred dead Capuchin monks who were used to decorate these crypts,” Dante explains.

  “Were they captured prisoners?”

  “No, all of them were monks themselves.”

  “Whoa, they used their own dead brethren. That is even more fascinating.”

  He looks at me curiously. “So you like it?”

  “I probably should be horrified by all these dead men’s bones, but I’m not. It’s actually pretty amazing how they turned something that most people consider gruesome into décor. I mean, look at that archway made of human skulls!” I exclaim as my eyes explore the room further. “And those. They’re spinal bones, aren’t they? Wow! Check out those leg bones making a pirate cross over the doors,” I say, turning in a circle. “I have never, never seen anything like this in my life, Dante.”

  One by one we explore the other crypts. Each crypt is made with a body part. There is a crypt of shin and thigh bones, a crypt of pelvises, and a crypt of skulls.

  “Do you know that cappuccino is named after the color of the Capuchin monks robes?” Dante murmurs.

  “Really?” I say, filing away the information to use in an article.

  The last chamber is adorned with the full skeletons of two Barberini princelings. Near them is a placard that drives home the point of the entire display. The message is printed in several languages.

  What you are, we used to be.

  What we are, you will become.

  Chapter 18

  Rosa

  “How is your stomach now?” Dante asks as we finally walk out of the church.

  “Strangely enough, it feels almost normal.”

  “Then I have a treat for you,” Dante says.

  He takes me to a small café on a nearby street with tables on the sidewalk.

  “I trust you completely after today, Dante.”

  Dante choses a table under a small shady tree and holds the chair out for me.

  “Thank you,” I say with a big smile as I take my seat.

  Almost immediately a waiter with white hair and a stare that seems to say he has seen and heard it all, approaches our table. He has a white towel draped over his forearm. He glances at me and nods politely. “Signorina.”

  “As always,” Dante tells him in Italian.

  He nods politely and goes away.

  “And what did you order?”

  “Carciofi alla Guida, Jewish style artichokes.”

  “What in heaven’s name are Jewish style artichokes?”

  “Fried artichokes.”

  I look at him doubtfully. “I’m not a fan of artichokes at the best of times, but with being pregnant I could throw up in your lap. I hope you’re not going to make me regret trusting you.”

  He looks at me confidently. “I’m not worried. I’ll be very surprised if you don’t love them.”

  The waiter brings us a large bottle of ice cold water and two glasses.

  He starts to say something else but the old waiter appears beside the table and places our plates in front of us.

  I pick up a crispy golden morsel, pop it into my mouth, and savor the lemony taste on my tongue before chewing it. “It’s actually delicious. Consider me officially impressed.”

  “Yes, I thought you would enjoy the dish,” Dante says smugly.

  Ignoring him I begin to devour my food.

  “You have a good appetite,” Dante notes with some astonishment.

  “Eating for two,” I mumble while stuffing my face. “God, I hate to think how fat I’m going to get.”

  “You will only grow more beautiful,” Dante says softly.

  “Ah, the silver-tongued playboy fights his way to the surface again.”

  He puts his fork down, his eyes narrow. “I was being honest. You will benefit with a few extra pounds.”

  “Oh yeah? Don’t tell me, I will also benefit from some stretch marks.”

  He shrugs. “What’s wrong with a few stretch marks?”

  “You say that, but have you ever slept with a girl with stretch marks before?”

  His eyes glitter with something that looks almost like anger. “Does it matter what I did in the past? People can change, Rosa. You have judged me and you hardly know me.”

  The air between us becomes heavy. I so much want to believe him. “Then tell me about Dante,” I say softly.

  “Tomorrow, I will tell you everything.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because you’re tired and it’s a long story.”

  “Swear it.”

  He grins. “I swear upon my sword.”

  “Hmmm, a metal one or the one between your legs?” I astonish myself by saying.

  “I’ll let you know when we get back to your apartment,” Dante shoots back, a wicked look in his eyes as his hand lifts for the bill.

  Just like that all the fears that I have no future with him retreat to a far corner of my mind and all I want to do is make mad, crazy love to him.

  I cheat on the ride home. Instead of wrapping my arms around his waist, I reach down and grab his cock as we zip along on the Vespa. At least, I start out just holding his growing shaft, but long before we reach the pizzeria I am rubbing the crotch of his pants as though it were a bottle with a genie inside. The long and thick genie inside his pants is full-grown by the time Dante parks the Vespa in front of the pizza shop.

  When he gets off the scooter the front of his slacks is in the shape of a tent.

  “Wow,” I whisper, my eyes glued to the big bulge in his pants.

  “You did that, Princess, you made me as horny as fuck.”

  I lick my lips and he snatches my wrist. “That’s right, baby, you need to get on your knees and get that sweet tongue on my dick real quick.”

  I hurry behind him. I can’t wait to get him in my mouth. To taste him. To make him lose control. He pulls me towards my door. I pull my key out of my purse. My fingers feel like butter as I fumble with the lock and drop the key.

  Dante puts his hand briefly over mine before reaching down and picking up the key. “Let me.”

  The lock yields instantly to Dante’s hand. No doubt he has lots of experience opening women’s doors in moments of excitement, I can’t help thinking, but I don’t say anything.

  Chapter 19

  Rosa

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Oo_73SlOwk

  A quiet angel on the sun

  UnAngelo Disteso Al Sole

  He pushes me inside, kicks the door shut, and slams me against a wall as our lips meld. I close my eyes and he presses his hard body against mine. I can feel his cock, hot and hard digging into me.

  Breathlessly, I allow his tongue to probe, sweep, and caress. Pleasure jolts all the way down to my toes. Desire such as I have never felt before makes me drop to my knees and reach out for his beautiful cock. I don’t care that I am suddenly acting like a slut. I want his cock. I want to taste it, to devour it. I moan as my fingers touch his soft, warm skin.

  He pulls away from me, takes his cock out and holds it out to me. To my shock I realize that his hands are shaking with raw need.

  I can feel his eyes on me, wild and hungry. “Open up, Princess,” he groans thickly.

  I slide my fingers down the shaft of his long thick cock and grab
hold of it at the base. Still looking up, I eagerly lick the tip, glistening with a bead of pre-cum. It maddens him, and makes his hands claw into my hair. I open my mouth wide and slip my lips over the big head of his cock.

  As I close my eyes to savor the taste of him, Dante inhales sharply and tenses.

  “Fuck,” he groans as I suck him to the back of my throat. I want to take all of him into my mouth, but I have to be content with just over halfway. I bring my hands up and stroke the length of cock that I can’t get into my mouth, rubbing the satin skin. I lick the underside of his shaft and he groans again.

  “Jesus, baby, you feel so fucking amazing.”

  I feel his excitement and it makes me almost dizzy to think of how much he wants this. His cock throbs in my mouth as I suck him harder and deeper. Holding onto my head he starts to pump in and out. I feel spit running down my chin when he fucks my mouth, but I don’t care. I kneel there and take it. All of a sudden I am so turned on I slip my hand down my skirt. His eyes widen with interest.

  “I want to watch,” he growls.

  I hike my skirt up to my waist and tuck it into my waistband. Then I widen my thighs and let him watch me push aside the material of my panties and touch my pussy. I see that he can hardly hold on as I start swirling my fingers around my clit. My hand speeds up as his thrusts become more and more urgent. When I least expect it, he pulls his cock out of my mouth.

  “Fuck it, I got to eat your pussy. I want to sixty-nine with you, taste your orgasm and watch you swallow my cum.”

  He gets on the floor and pulls me on top of him. His strong hands curl around my ribs. As if I’m nothing more than a doll, he spins me so my head is facing his feet. He tears my panties and spreads my legs open.

  As I slip my lips over his erect cock, I feel his mouth greedily latch on to my pussy. He is first to go over. He swirls his tongue around my clit as he empties his hot seed into my mouth. I swallow every last drop and keep on sucking even as he pulls my orgasm from me. I come in a great rush, gushing into his mouth. He cleans me up with his tongue.