The Italian's Runaway Princess

by Andrea Bolter

  Gio ordered wine and nibbles.

  “You mentioned needing my help,” Luciana said as she tore her eyes away from the river.

  “Yes. I appreciated the suggestion you gave me about writing that press statement. To sandwich the hacking incident in between more positive news about the business. I hope the net effect was to put the matter in perspective.”

  “Do you think it did?”

  “Somewhat. But the tech world is calling for details about the hack. Although fortunately no metadata was leaked, top secret information was breached. As leaders in the field, Grasstech always comes forward with information that could assist the entire industry.”

  “So you want to reveal more about what happened?”

  Even though Luciana was involved in her own kind of deception, he held no ill feelings toward her like he did for Francesca, who’d misled him for her own personal gain.

  Still, he had to remember never to tell Luciana anything truly confidential.

  “Grasstech’s advisers are pushing for this idea that I do an interview with the leading computer industry security magazine and talk about the hack from a strictly technological standpoint.”

  “Getting out in front of it rather than having the press snoop around is probably a good idea.”

  “And I have a live-stream chat scheduled with the computer science department at a local university. As you noted about my daily uniform—” he gestured down the length of his chest and then leg “—sitting bent over a computer all day, I don’t give much thought to what I’m wearing. I put on a tie as a nod to my authority.”

  An appetizing plate of grilled vegetables and another of cheeses was delivered to the table. Both Luciana and Gio reached for a morsel.

  “Are you suggesting we switch roles now? You’ve put me in jeans and now you want my help becoming camera ready?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ironic.”

  She smiled one of her bashful grins, as if she was sharing a joke only with herself. He supposed that the last thing she’d expected to be doing in Florence was giving public relations lessons to a techie billionaire.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “All right, I’ve got an easy one for you. Take the jacket you have on right now, for example.” She pointed to the blazer he wore tonight atop his starched shirt and Milanese tie. “Button it.”

  Gio followed her instructions.

  “Now sit up very straight. Then reach behind you and tug down at the waist so that the shoulders stiffen back farther than they normally would.”

  Again, he did as she suggested.

  Luciana approved.

  “Now you have sharp, crisp lines. Very authoritative. And you can get the photographer or assistant to clip the jacket in back so it stays that way.”

  “I’ll use that. Thank you.”

  This was a competent, and even confident, young woman. What a shame that her position wouldn’t allow her to pursue whatever ambition she had. Gio could hardly imagine being held back intellectually. That might be a fate worse than death. Fortunately with the encouragement of his loving parents, he’d found the calling he loved in the computer sciences. Even if he had to turn to more administrative matters, he would still keep his hand in the product design he was so apt at.

  “Could we have cappuccinos?” Luci asked.

  “Certainly.” Gio chuckled. The princess wanted a cappuccino while most of the women he’d ever known wanted far more. His money. Or his reputation. Or his secrets.

  “What’s funny?”

  For an instant he looked at the woman sitting across from him as Luci, whom he was out with for an ordinary dinner date like many others around them in the restaurant. Where people came to talk about their days, or the tomorrows ahead of them. Where they didn’t just eat a meal, but shared a human experience. They connected.

  Would he ever make space for a personal life? His constant travel had been a deterrent to any long-term liaison. That was how he professed to want it, but was that really true? Or was he hiding from having to learn how to share himself with another, how to meet the demands of a relationship without diminishing his work?

  There had been women here and there. If he was being honest, it was only to satiate bodily desires. Then he met Francesca. And became transfixed by her prowess of tech smarts combined with the looks of a film noir movie star from the 1940s in her dark clothes and red lips. Not unlike those old movies, it turned out she was a spy in disguise.

  Gio had been duped. Perhaps his childhood was too idyllic, with parents who taught him to value honesty and candor. Trust. It was what he expected of others. Which proved to be a mistake he’d never make twice.

  Peering left to right, he knew that no one in the restaurant would have any idea that Luciana was a princess. So while his pretty dinner companion had revealed her true identity to him, she still attempted to fool the city of Florence and Gio would remember a hard-learned lesson. Never let anyone get to him again.

  * * *

  After their delicious dinner, Luciana and Gio took a long walk along the banks of the Arno. He told her the name of each of the bridges that linked the two sides of the city. As they walked over the Ponte alla Carraia, they stopped to lean over the parapet and could make out the outlines of their reflections in the glistening waters.

  They were silent for a spell in the glow of the night, after a dinner filled with interesting conversation. About the possibilities of technology. About the advances in communication, scientific research and the globalization of business. But also about the dangers of piracy and impostors on social media. The sharing of ideas made Luciana think of the great minds that had passed through this city over the centuries.

  Although Her Royal Highness often sat in on meetings where matters such as improving the technology on the island were discussed, she was rarely asked her opinion. Plus, the conferences never motivated her father to take any action, and the island remained hopelessly behind the rest of the world. She wished futilely that she could bring some of Gio’s heightened thinking and know-how back with her when she returned. But she’d be far too busy regrouping from her trip here, begging her father’s forgiveness and marching toward her wedding day.

  Still leaning over the side of the bridge, Luciana judged her image reflected in the water. She was wearing the straight blond shoulder-length wig that disguised her long and thick brown curls. Between the hair and the jeans—and, of course, Gio—her time in Florence couldn’t be more different from what it was on the island. She recalled a cute expression she’d read in a magazine: people referring to a situation with the acronym YOLO. You only live once.

  After listening to the quiet swish of the river in the dark of night, Luciana was ready to talk some more.

  “You’re so lucky that you developed that genuine interest in technology without your parents forcing you to follow into the company if you didn’t want to.”

  “I am at that. My parents told Dante and I that they’d never want to sell the business but that if we decided to pursue something else, they’d let others run Grasstech.”

  “Your parents sound like wise people.”

  “You say you’d like to be a teacher. Why aren’t you allowed any vocation outside of the monarchy? Plenty of members of royal families have careers.”

  “None of the women in my family have, and my father won’t permit it. For heaven’s sake, I’m not even supposed to be wearing jeans!”

  She couldn’t blame everything on her father. Always wanting to please him and not cause him any more pain after her mother died, Luciana had often kept her mouth shut when she should have spoken up. And so outdated customs perpetuated.

  “I couldn’t bear the lack of liberty.”

  “This is the only existence I’ve ever known. I don’t mean to sound critical. Of course, to be royalty is an unparalleled honor and I hav
e many experiences few other people do. It’s just that all we ever do in Izerote, really, is walk in place. I fear the world is passing my people by.”

  “Hence, the tourism that your fiancé will bring.”

  Luciana cringed at hearing Gio say the word fiancé. Somehow it sounded even more undesirable coming out of his mouth.

  The princess had never been allowed to date. If she had, Gio was exactly the type of man she would have gravitated toward. An intellectual. An iconoclast. Someone without walls to his imagination. Who was determined, and knew how to achieve his goals. A man who was receptive, fair, considerate and could have a laugh at the world.

  What was she doing? She didn’t even really know this man and suddenly she was able to list his attributes? While you’re at it, Luci, don’t forget drop-dead sexy!

  In fantasy, she could envision him as the perfect man and even make him hers. But in real life, he could be in a relationship. Married, even. He could have a girlfriend, a wife and even children in Hong Kong or Mumbai or any of the other places he mentioned working from recently. Perhaps they were waiting for him to get everything settled in Florence before he sent for them.

  Somehow, she didn’t think so. It sounded as if he’d come to distrust the people around him. Probably even more so after that hack. As a matter of fact, he could be running some kind of charade of his own and she’d never be the wiser. She’d be smart not to forget that Gio Grassi was merely an unexpected addition to what was already a dream, but definitely one that she would wake up from.

  Once again, she had to remind herself to remain optimistic about her future. Duty had its own rewards even if it was sometimes hard to see it that way.

  Gio gently nudged her arm with his elbow, sensing that sadness was beginning to take her over. She half smiled in return.

  “It won’t be so bad,” he said softly. “It sounds as if you love children. Even if you can’t be a teacher, at least you will soon have some of your own.”

  “Yes, but what will I be birthing them into? The isolation of the palace?”

  “They’ll have you. You’ll teach them to understand a larger world.”

  Luciana’s eyes blinked back tears. Everything Gio said was so supportive. And she was so aware of not wanting to give the impression that she was ungrateful. Yet she burned inside for more to her life. To challenge her brain, to stretch her soul, even to explore her body.

  There was a wedding night to come when her virginity would be taken for the purpose of breeding. Yet she knew that marital relations could involve more than the obligation to her monarchy.

  From reading novels and watching movies, she could fathom carnal longings. She’d had vibrations in her body that hinted at pleasure, that even promised ecstasy. The way her breath had stuttered when Gio had placed his palm on the small of her back as he’d ushered her into the restaurant this evening. The way he always offered the crook of his arm for her to take, which forced her body to brush against his, making her swoon a bit each time.

  She’d implored herself to shut down those reactions to him. They were highly improper.

  However, the battle was being lost.

  Standing on the bridge with him right now, she could hardly contain herself. She wanted him to grab hold of her, to take her into his arms with a male urgency that was savage. That knew her not as a princess but as a woman made of flesh and blood.

  Not willing to settle any longer for only the reflection of him in the river’s water, she turned to face him and he followed suit. She gazed into his eyes that shone like stars in the night.

  As if reading her mind, he bent down toward her face and softly kissed her lips. His touch might have been light but a thousand sensations shimmered down her body, waking every inch of her.

  Not willing to stop there, she stood up on her tiptoes to bring her lips to his a second time. She felt her softness melt against his firm mouth to share another stolen kiss. Knowing that she should back away, she instead opened her mouth slightly, to know the kind of kiss she’d read about in books and seen in movies. A lover’s kiss, only for him. Which joined them and made her wish it was forever.

  Her knees went weak.

  As hard as it was, she finally pulled apart from him.

  He reached to twirl a lock of her hair in his hand. And then abruptly let it drop from his fingers. “I forgot you were wearing a wig.”

  “It looks real but it’s artificial to the touch.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “I wanted you to. I kissed you in return.” They looked at each other in anticipation. Of what? “It can’t happen again.”

  “I know.”

  Their eyes locked for what might have been minutes or it might have been hours.

  Finally, they had to break their gaze and returned to looking down into the river.

  “Do you dislike my wig?”

  “I’ll admit I was shocked when you removed it to show me your natural hair.”

  “It’s as if I’m someone else when I wear it.” Someone who would kiss a man she was so attracted to she might have burst out of her skin if she didn’t. “I like it.”

  “You should keep wearing it, then, Luci. You should do whatever you want to do.”

  Those were words Luciana heard so seldom she could hardly make sense of them. Do what she wanted to do? Right now what she was dying to do was to kiss this amazing man again. In this most romantic of places. Under the dark skies and atop this ancient bridge.

  However, she’d settle for wearing the new clothes and the wig, playing a game of reverse dress-up.

  And she’d savor having heard Gio utter words she never expected to hear.

  You should do whatever you want to do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PRINCESS LUCIANA LINGERED across the street from the hair salon for the longest time. Watching the activity, she observed as women entered through its heavy glass door. Other women exited, and Luciana found herself imagining what their hair might have looked like earlier that morning. How many were just getting a trim of the style they had been wearing for a long time, a hairdo that their family and friends and coworkers were quite used to? Or were some experimenting with entirely new haircuts and colors, reinventing themselves from the hair down? Would they go home to compliments from their partners, or would their kids make fun of Mommy’s new look?

  Were the women leaving the shop happy with their new hair, or would they look in the mirror later in the day and bemoan that they had made a terrible mistake? Would they seek consolation from their sister or best friend, who would convince them that it would grow out soon enough?

  Luciana thought she could stand there all day and contemplate the women of Florence, their lives and their loves. And their hair.

  Luci would dash across the street, bound through the salon door and declare exactly how she wanted her hair done. Luciana wasn’t so bold. When she did finally cross the street, it was slow and tentative, half of her not believing that her arm was actually pulling the handle of the door. In one fell swoop she opened it, hunching over a bit so that no one would see as she quickly yanked the blond wig off her head and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. Her own long curls fell down all around her face.

  “May I help you?” a receptionist at the front desk greeted her. She’d obviously not seen the princess’s slick move to remove her wig. The dark-haired woman, with a pen in one hand and a phone in the arch of her shoulder, juggled many activities.

  “I’d like to get a haircut and color,” Luciana murmured tentatively above the pounding electronic music and echoing chatter in the modern shop. It was designed with beige furnishings and bamboo trees presumably to give it a Zen sort of look that was totally incongruous with the decibel level of noise.

  “Say it again, sweetheart,” the receptionist requested.

  “Cut and co
lor, please,” Luciana said a little louder.

  “I have Gabriel available.”

  The woman pushed a button on a console. Luciana flipped through one of the hairstyle books on the counter and chose a photo of a cut that looked exactly like the wig she’d been wearing. Within a few minutes a slim young man with bleached white hair and many bracelets on one arm approached. Luci thought him very fashionable and excitedly told her inner Luciana not to be frightened. This was a good idea.

  “Carina! Gorgeous face,” Gabriel said as he took Luciana by the hand and brought her to his salon chair, fourth in the line of eight along the long wall. The chairs were white leather with a silver-studded pattern around the edges that, ironically, made them resemble thrones. A bite to the lip helped Luci hold back a giggle. Each throne faced a large mirror and shelves that held combs, scissors and other tools of the trade. “Take a seat. We’ll talk before we cut.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Gabriel lifted her mane of hair and wove it in his fingers. “Healthy. Thick and glossy. But kind of like a child, long without a style, right?”

  “Yes!” Luci exclaimed. “I have had my long hair as it is for my entire life.” Just as her mother had worn her own long hair. Natural, perhaps brushed back from her face with a headband or arranged to complement a tiara.

  “We need something modern,” Gabriel said as he examined all of Luciana’s hair, “and chic, right?”

  “I’ll show you,” she piped up and showed him the photo from the salon book. “This.”

  “Blond. Shoulder length. Yes, this will look splendid on you.” With a quick sweep, he gathered up all Her Royal Highness Princess Luciana’s hair and grasped it in one hand. With the other, he reached for a pair of scissors from his workstation and held them in the air. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Luci answered for Luciana, who was speechless and terrified.

  “I’ll take off some of the length and then we’ll truly begin.”

  “Do it,” Luci eagerly agreed in anticipation. Luciana clenched both her teeth and her fists.