by Ana Adams
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Don’t.”
“Maybe this will make you happy, but I’ll be staying here for another week.” He gnawed at the inside of his lip, the idea unfurling in his mind just seconds before leaving his mouth. “There are some additional things I need to see to here, so I’ll be returning after the masquerade ball.”
She glared at him, which at least was something. “You can’t miss the ball.”
“Duty calls.” He held up his hands, like surrendering. It didn’t make sense, but if she wanted space, he’d give her space.
“It’s the single most important event of your family’s foundation, and you won’t be there?” Her words rang caustic in the air. “That’s ridiculous. What will you tell the donors?”
“Illnesses happen.”
“I’ve worked like a dog on this damn party. For you.”
He shook his head. “It will be a lovely time. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
She crossed her arms, her mouth a thin line as she studied the far corner of the room. “Great. So you’re making me pay for going home early.”
The comment wounded him, but she was right in a way. And deep inside, he suspected her return was just the first step to mortally wounding him. She’d never be his, she’d never be with him. He turned to the door, tugging it open. “Let’s go downstairs.”
She stormed through the door, not letting him take the suitcase when he reached for it. She stomped down the stairs, heading straight for the main door. Niccolo hurried after her, grateful that none of his family had witnessed their bitter departure.
Outside on the front porch, Georgia turned to him. “Just send me along on my own. You don’t have to come with me.”
Tenderness broke him, forced him to drop the hard ass aspect. “Georgia, I want to see you off.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “It would be better if you didn’t.”
Their eyes locked for a brief second and there was hurt there, confusing streaks of emotion that made no sense to him.
“Please,” she said just as the car rolled up the cobblestone drive. “I’ll be in Manhattan at the office, we can talk there.”
He stifled his gut response, which was to demand she not only let him accompany her to the airport, but also let him back into her heart. Where they’d been residing so peacefully until only a day ago.
“Fine.” He balled his fists, turning away. “I’ll see you in Manhattan.”
She hurried down the steps, pushing her suitcase into the backseat and then sliding in after it. She didn’t glance at him through the window as the car drove away. Niccolo watched the taillights grow smaller on the horizon, winding down the sinuous drive of the estate, until finally it crested the main gates and disappeared from sight.
Nothing would get sorted by forcing her to stay…that much was clear, at least. But the darkest part of him feared this was her quiet, subtle way of saying no to him. To letting him know she wanted no part of this family, nor a life by his side.
Chapter Fifteen
Georgia worked obsessively upon her return to Manhattan. With her early departure, she didn’t miss a day of work, and after the first Monday back under her belt, it felt like Italy was just a distant dream.
She glanced up at Niccolo’s closed door far too often, secretly desperate to see him walk through the doorway. Her promise to think about it had morphed into a plan to ignore it since the entire plane ride home from Naples. She’d stewed over the infuriating contradiction of what his family expected from her and what she was able to provide.
It always came back to the same thing: I can’t give up my choice.
Maybe she’d keep working for Niccolo, or maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, she needed the choice. She had no future if it would only be defined by Niccolo, no matter how dashing and convincing he could be. The entire foundation of her life would crumble if her marriage to Niccolo demanded complete subservience.
Royal throne or not—no man deserved that amount of blind servitude.
She had to come to terms with what she wanted for herself before she could even hope to have a conversation with Niccolo. Which, she would—eventually. But not over the phone, despite his frequent calls, all of which she sent to voicemail. His emails were both work and personal, and she only responded to the work ones.
By Wednesday, she felt more levelheaded, like she might be able to hold a conversation with him about it. Someday.
The only problem was that she’d fallen for him. Big time. So all of her rational decisions were tempered by a painful heartache, the kind she’d never felt before, the kind that made her wonder if maybe she might need to go to the hospital instead.
But no, it was just her heart tearing and callousing. Their options seemed limited—either marry the throne or don’t—and unconventional options like co-parenting while unmarried seemed unlikely. Georgia’s ideal would be that Niccolo be involved as a parent, but without ever running into him or having to look into those damnable blue eyes ever again. Because it was impossible to look at him without falling all over again, but how could she fall if she couldn’t be with him? The rules would never allow it. Her heart couldn’t stand it.
The whole thing was a frustrating cyclone in her head, never letting her go, not even in sleep. Her dreams were peppered with Niccolo and royal galas and the masquerade ball where everyone wore three masks instead of one. And her very first masquerade ball would happen on Friday, without the star of the show, something that still made her curse and shake her head, scowling at the calendar like this might somehow conjure him.
But no. Niccolo respected her distance, she had to respect his. Or something.
The only thing on her agenda then was surviving the final crazy days until the masquerade ball and steeling herself for Niccolo’s return. Because once he was back, she needed to have her head straight and her plan ready.
***
Niccolo’s week in Naples had become a spontaneous vacation. He took such little time off that he was more than due for it, but every passing day allowed his regrets to pile higher. He should have returned with her. He should have demanded an explanation. He should have told her he loved her.
The last one was the most serious. Georgia had the future in her palms—or belly, more like—and she didn’t even know just how strongly Niccolo felt for her.
He’d known it since the first day, but that never sounded sane. Still, something had reacted to her at the first sight, and that knowledge still vibrated alive and loud inside him, even with so many miles between them. He was determined to get an explanation but for now, maybe space really was best.
Over breakfast on Thursday morning, his mother inquired about Georgia as she did every morning. “Any news from my new daughter?”
Niccolo set down the newspaper, weighing his words. He’d been wanting to mention their tiff to at least his mother, but was worried about upsetting her or inspiring doubts. Georgia’s sudden departure was due to a sudden family illness, and everyone had accepted it. But maybe he could let his mother in on a little more.
“Georgia and I spoke last night.” He cleared his throat. “She seems…hesitant.”
“About what, dear?”
“About the marriage…joining the family…the whole thing.”
His mother tutted, creasing a brow. “Why would she be hesitant? There’s no greater family on earth.”
“I agree.” He paused, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. “She even called it ‘signing away her life.’ What do you make of that?”
“So very odd,” Patrice mused, sipping at her coffee. “Is it cold feet? I showed her the family gallery and explained what would be required of her as a royal wife. She seemed very agreeable.”
Niccolo nodded, frowning as he repeated her words in his head. “Required?”
“You know, the rules of wifedom.” She set her coffee down, rubbing at the lipstick stain. “How we do things.”
Niccolo watched her for a
moment, blinking. “What are the rules?”
Patrice lifted a finger. “Proper presentation at all times.” She lifted a second finger. “Four heirs.” She lifted the third. “Absolute support of my son.”
Niccolo’s jaw flexed as he pondered her words. Surely she hadn’t presented the rules that way. If he knew his mother, they would accompany a theatrical trip down the family gallery. “And you used those words?”
“That’s just the gist,” she shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly what I said. But she understood. She seemed to like it. What is the problem?”
He pushed his chair back. “Are four heirs really required?”
“Son, you know the Savoy family is very fertile.”
“But did you tell her she had to give me four heirs or else?”
Patrice blinked. “Well, of course. Every generation has had at least four.”
“What if we don’t want four? What if we want two? Or what if she can’t have any more than one due to complications?”
“Why, that would be fine, but—”
“Mother, you must be careful how you speak to her!” Niccolo sighed tersely, running a hand through his hair. Things were clicking into place now. And he knew exactly how to remedy the situation. “She’s new to the family, and she’s sensitive to all of this tradition. If you want her in my life, we have to accept it on her terms. Okay?”
Patrice bristled. “Fine. I didn’t realize my help would be such a hindrance.”
He let out a frustrated burst of air. “It’s not, it’s…well, Mother. I love you. I really do. Thank you for telling me this.” He stood up, rushing to kiss his mother’s cheek, then bolted for the door. “I’ll be heading back to the States today!”
The plan was clear, and he knew exactly how to make sure Georgia understood what life could be like with him.
Chapter Sixteen
Georgia had never felt so miserable in such an expensive, glittering dress. The gold gown hugged her curves, pairing nicely with her auburn hair. She paid extra attention to her makeup that afternoon and even went to the salon to get a special updo for the event. If Niccolo would miss it, she’d make sure he really missed it. All the pictures he would be forced to review would feature her, front and center, looking bombastic and babealicious, so it would really hurt.
That was her plan, at least.
If only she could stop getting emotional about missing him.
Less than a week apart and she felt like her life was coming apart at the seams. It had to be pregnancy hormones—or maybe she really did love him. That seemed equal parts likely and absurd. And with still three more days ahead of her sans Niccolo, she wondered just how well she’d be able to keep the lines drawn clearly once he came back and asked to speak with her, which of course he would.
Georgia showed up to the large theater and event hall they’d rented for the event, which would run from six to midnight, and featured a slew of famous performers, a traditional ballroom dance, a raffle, and plenty of photo ops and networking. She’d slaved over the details for two months, but now her role at the event was simply as a spectator, to sit back and enjoy the fruits of her donor relations labor.
She stepped inside the grand ballroom, eyes widening at the fantastic scene before her. Guests filled the room, talking in clusters or picking at hors d’oeuvres, everyone dressed to the nines. And per party protocol, everyone wore a mask of some sort, obscuring their faces, making their identities just a little bit harder to pinpoint.
This was the part she loved most about it, which made the networking a little bit of a gamble at the beginning. She might be talking to a well-known congressman, or maybe simply to the guest of an office worker.
Lilting cello music filled the room, and she headed straight for the food, eager to check out the spread. Oysters sat on ice, a little detail she’d included as a funny throwback to her date with Niccolo. But now it just made her sad, made her wish even more he was here at her side to laugh about it.
Since alcohol wasn’t part of her party experience, Georgia made it a point to meet at least five new people before calling it a night. She bumped into a few office colleagues and chatted with them for the first hour, then spent some time snacking while checking out the donor display. By the third hour, she noticed a man across the room who reminded her of Niccolo.
Sadness rippled through her—what a cruel joke from the universe. Send a man who wore the same damn suit as Niccolo, and the same kind of watch. Figured. She wanted to go talk to him, but it had to be because she missed Niccolo. The traditional ballroom dance began, distracting her from the thoughts, and guests cleared the main floor to allow for the sashaying and swooping involved.
“Pick a partner, and go to town!” The announcer led a round of applause, and the orchestral quartet began a Viennese waltz. Couples paired up and began a bright pace across the floor. Georgia drifted closer, smiling as she watched the smiles and quick feet, laughing at some of the people who clearly didn’t know the dance at all.
She wanted to dance, but she wanted it to be with Niccolo. Not with his look-alike, not with a stranger. Just Niccolo.
As she stood watching the couples move, someone appeared at her side. She looked down to see a hand held out in front of her, palm-up. She followed the arm and realized it was the man she’d seen across the room. The Niccolo look-alike. Because apparently the universe wasn’t satisfied just teasing her from afar.
“I don’t think I—”
“Georgia, please dance with me.”
The voice sealed it. She gasped, taking a tentative step back, relief and disbelief crashing through her. “Are you serious?”
He grinned a little, extending his hand. “Shall we dance?”
She took his hand, following him out onto the dance floor, where they merged with the other moving couples. He squeezed her hand in his, his arm tight around her, like telling her he’d never let go.
“Good thing it was you,” she said, relief making tears well up in her eyes. “Otherwise I was about to hit on that incredibly attractive man wearing the same suit and watch as you.”
His laugh rippled through her like honey. “So you almost cheated?”
“I guess so.”
His laughter faded, a serious expression crossing his face. Their dancing slowed. “Georgia, please be with me. I can’t stand this distance.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, emotion making lurching steps across her chest. “Niccolo, I’m not ready for this conversation. Not here.”
“You don’t have to sign your life away to be with me.” His voice came out low and urgent. “You won’t be my slave, you don’t need to provide four heirs. My mother told me about the conversation you had, and I was appalled.”
Her breath hitched. “But aren’t those the rules?”
“Yes, sure. I suppose. But not for us.” He slowed to a stop, gripping her at the waist. “God, you look beautiful tonight. I haven’t even told you that.”
She laughed, but some tears spilled out. “Thanks.”
“I want to be with you however you’re comfortable. On your terms. Exactly how you are.”
“But I can’t work or wear my own clothes,” she protested, voice weak. “I value my freedom too much, Niccolo. I can’t give that up. I’ll be miserable within days.”
“But that’s not how it’ll be. We may have to attend certain functions or present a certain face to the public…but we do that here anyway. It won’t be anything new for you. You can work, you can do whatever you want.” His hands moved to cup her cheeks, his rough thumb wiping away a few tears that had spilled. “Wear leggings every day if you want. I think the tabloids will love it over there.”
She laughed a little, body shaking with quiet sobs.
“Please say you’ll be with me.” His voice cracked.
Georgia hiccupped as she tried to swallow another sob. Damn these pregnancy hormones. Damn this love for this man. “I want to be with you, Niccolo. So much. You have no idea.”
&nbs
p; A grin crossed his face, one that made her heart skip a beat. She could barely see out of her mask though the veil of tears, which meant she had to tear it off her face to make sure she saw Niccolo right when he bent on one knee.
He tore his own mask off, his bright blue eyes shining moist and alive, bringing a small ring box out of his suit pocket.
“Georgia Forrest.” She was dimly aware that the music had quieted around them and some of the dancers had paused in their strides. He opened the box, revealing something enormous and sparkling. “I love you. Will you please do me the honor of being my wife?”
Georgia smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, covering her face with her hands, before squealing and throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes, Niccolo. For God’s sake, yes!”
He held her tightly, coming to his feet, twirling her in the air as the crowd around them cheered. Cameras arrived, snapping pictures, documenting this moment that would, no doubt, create the best donor’s event in history. Niccolo twirled her, lips pressed to her cheek.
“And I love you too,” she murmured, squeezing him tighter. “So much that it doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh, bambina.” His smile seared through her, and he wiped away another tear. “I know exactly what you mean.” He showed her the ring inside the box, popping it out to fit it onto her finger. Upon closer inspection, it looked not only old but perhaps an heirloom—glinting opal framed by diamonds, the band muted gold.
“You’re the only one I want to do this with,” Niccolo whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek. “We’ll do it however you want. Because you’re the only one for me.”
Georgia smiled so hard she thought her cheeks would pop. She hadn’t known such bliss was possible. Maybe this was just the natural byproduct of everything settling into place: the love, the exotic travel, and the prestige. Even if the end result looked a little different than she’d imagined…it sure was a hell of a lot better than even her wildest dreams.
THE END
CLICK HERE