Red Hot Romeo (The Royal Romeos, #1)

by Jenny Gardiner

  Table of Contents

  What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

  Red Hot Romeo

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Thank you so much for reading Red-Hot Romeo! I hope you enjoyed it! If so, please help others find this book:

  Black Sheep Romeo

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Black Sheep Romeo

  About the Author

  Also By Jenny Gardiner

  What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

  "A fun, sassy read! A cross between Erma Bombeck and Candace Bushnell, reading Jenny Gardiner is like sinking your teeth into a chocolate cupcake...you just want more."

  —Meg Cabot, NY Times bestselling author of Princess Diaries, Queen of Babble and more, on Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

  "With a strong yet delightfully vulnerable voice, food critic Abbie Jennings embarks on a soulful journey where her love for banana cream pie and disdain for ill-fitting Spanx clash in hilarious and heartbreaking ways. As her body balloons and her personal life crumbles, Abbie must face the pain and secret fears she's held inside for far too long. I cheered for her the entire way."

  —Beth Hoffman, NY Times bestselling author of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt on Slim to None

  "Jenny Gardiner has done it again—this fun, fast-paced book is a great summer read."

  —Sarah Pekkanen, NY Times bestselling author of The Opposite of Me, on Slim to None

  "As Sweet as a song and sharp as a beak, Bite Me really soars as a memoir about family—children and husbands, feathers and fur—and our capacity to keep loving though life may occasionally bite."

  —Wade Rouse, bestselling author of At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream

  Red Hot Romeo

  (book one of the Royal Romeos series)

  by Jenny Gardiner

  Copyright © 2016 by Jenny Gardiner

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  http://jennygardiner.net/

  Chapter One

  Alessandro Romeo was sipping his Negroni on the rocks, enjoying a beautiful sunset on the terrace of his winery’s palazzo that overlooked his family’s vast estate, when he noticed a fat curl of dark smoke trailing skyward on the other side of the sprawling Tuscan manor home. Quickly setting his drink aside, he raced down the terrace steps, rushed through a gauntlet of tall, narrow cypress trees, and across the Italian garden in front of the palazzo as the acrid smell of smoke grew stronger and black clouds of it enveloped more of the once-melon-colored, late-day sky.

  In the distance, he spotted a tiny white sports car racing down the estate’s long, cypress-lined driveway just as he finally came upon the source of the now-choking smoke: his beloved Lamborghini Aventador Superveloce—a cool half million dollars of premier driving pleasure—sizzling away with the crackle of fire and lick of flames that were embracing his dream car and turning it into a veritable conflagration.

  “Aiuto!” Sandro shouted, calling for the farmhands to help, if not to salvage his burning car, then at least to keep the vehicle from exploding and injuring someone. “Help! Bring water, prontissimo!”

  The Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo was a vineyard with many employees still working into late afternoon in the fields, so within a minute several workers had arrived, directing hoses and buckets of water to douse the fire until all that was left were the charred remains of his beloved sports car. Sandro felt grateful that at least they’d stopped the fire before it spread.

  “Vaffanculo, si strega,” Sandro said, shaking his fist in rage toward the now-long-departed car he’d seen racing away from the scene. Fuck off, you witch. It didn’t take much to deduce who’d torched the thing: he’d just seen the taillights of his hot-tempered, on-again/off-again girlfriend Gia Sandretti’s convertible trailing down the long drive. The woman had already resorted to plenty of other extreme ways to express her irrational jealous rages, including recently impaling him with the heel of one of her Manolo Blahniks—which resulted in five stitches to his arm—so he knew immediately that this bore her telltale fingerprints.

  He’d tried to extricate himself from the relationship more times than he could count at this point; it hadn’t been but a few months into dating her that he knew she had a streak of green running through her like a river of toxic waste. Alessandro couldn’t so much as inadvertently glance at another woman, even in a magazine, without Gia flipping out on him, which meant the usual stream of foul language spewed at him alongside crazed accusations and the occasional hurled glass object or other breakable.

  By nature a genial and fun-loving guy, he’d put up with it, thinking that eventually she’d find her way to another man to harass, but as much as he’d tried to let her go gently so as not to trigger her impetuous fury, she simple wasn’t getting the hint.

  Sure Gia, a stunningly statuesque brunette, was gorgeous, but he hadn’t taken to calling her Crazy Gia for nothing. And the last thing Sandro needed in his life was a drama-queen fashion model with no self-control who acted more like a secret police interrogator than a lover.

  Sandro had met Gia at one of the many social functions he normally attended as principle of the world-famous Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo winemakers. His was an Italian family with a history of six hundred years of wine-making and roots that reached back to the days of Italian nobility and the famed house of Savoy. His family had immediate ties to the royals of neighboring Monaforte as well, as his uncle Enrico, Duke of Santo Miele, was married to that country’s Queen Ariana.

  Officially Alessandro’s title was Marchese Alessandro Romeo, but he tended to downplay that archaic terminology except when necessary at official events where the cachet of the royal title helped with his family business. Or as was more often the case in the past, when it helped him pick up beautiful women.

  No doubt it’s what had drawn Gia to him in the first place, aside from his handsome good looks. He wore his thick, wavy dark hair to near his shoulders, often pulled back in a ponytail, and sported a neatly trimmed goatee and moustache that proved irresistible to many women. His sincere brown eyes caused them to swoon even more. Throw in a royal title, a famous family name, and plenty of wealth, and Sandro was delicious catnip that most women simply couldn’t resist. Except when it came to nutters like Gia, who seemed to want to push him away, all while clinging desperately to him as if he were a gangrenous appendage. But this was the last straw with her; this time he would file a police complaint and ensure that she was no longer allowed anywhe
re near him nor could she have anything to do with him. Enough was enough.

  ~*~

  Six weeks later...

  Sandro dusted off his hands and placed them on his hips, beaming as he gazed at the object of his near-undivided attention for the past six years: the design and building of a massive new headquarters, a place that would house the offices of Marchesi Romeo wines but also become a tourist destination for wine lovers the world over. It had been Sandro’s dream to create this destination venue, something he’d imagined for several years prior to actually implementing the plan.

  He and his family had collaborated with one of the top Italian architects to envision the one-of-a-kind design of the building, constructed with local materials, intended to keep in harmony with the landscape while remaining environmentally friendly, energy efficient, and ultimately to serve as a veritable work of art in the Tuscan countryside. And in a few days, others would finally be able to share in Sandro’s dream come true at the grand-opening gala. Guests who would attend included celebrities, political leaders, prominent local officials, and of course family and friends.

  Sandro had reached out to his favorite cousin, Luca, the youngest of the Monaforte princes, to ensure his attendance. Monaforte was a small European principality on the Mediterranean with strong ties to Italy.

  “You know I’ll disown you if you don’t show up,” Sandro said, teasing his dearest friend. “I’ll cut off your vino supply—hit you where it’ll hurt most.”

  Luca had for a long time been Sandro’s social sidekick but last year had settled into a relationship with a European-based American reporter named Larkin Mallory, and now it was as if he barely left the comfort of his living room. Sandro hated how complacent men became once they got “whipped”: always at the woman’s beck and call, never free to do as they pleased.

  Now that Gia was out of the picture, he was going to make sure he didn’t allow a woman to cloud his judgment and create hassles for him ever again. No thank you. The loss of his expensive sports car was a small price to pay to learn that lesson.

  “I’d be crazy not to show up at this one,” Luca said. “It’s the event of the season, I hear. Even homebodies like me will be there.”

  “Homebodies,” his cousin said with a grumble. “Whatever happened to the man I knew who partied till dawn and couldn’t be bothered with such things as commitment?”

  Luca laughed. “You know that was ninety percent urban legend anyhow. It’s not like I really caroused that much.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes the legend is as true as fact.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with this world.”

  “You’ve become a grumpy old man.”

  “Not grumpy. Happily settled is all,” Luca said. “You should give it a try sometime. No more out on the prowl, hoping to get laid without catching any communicable diseases. It’s a good thing.”

  “Hell no,” Sandro said. “You do know about Gia’s latest—and final—batshit-crazy maneuver?”

  “Of course,” Luca said. “I always suspected there was something off about that one. Even when you first started dating, she was irrationally demanding. Like when you dragged me to that godforsaken fashion show she was in just so she would have an audience.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said. “Yet one more reason I will never cross paths with a fashion model again. Ever. Those women are the worst. I think they get hangry from lack of food and go totally pazzo.”

  “Hangry?”

  “It’s a combination of hungry and angry,” he said. “All the worse for Gia because she’s an Italian girl who can’t eat pasta. Mamma mia, what kind of life is that? Who wouldn’t be crazy-like?”

  “Well, in that case I’d better apologize in advance because Larkin is bringing along her friend Taylor to your gala and, well...” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “She’s a fashion model.”

  Sandro shook his head even though Luca couldn’t see him. “No, thank you. I’ll take a pass. You can have her all to yourself. If that’s your thing.”

  “If what’s my thing?”

  “If you want to hook up with her.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m perfectly happy with Larkin. Not looking to add anyone into the relationship,” he said. “I was thinking maybe you’d like Taylor. She’s beautiful, of course. But she’s really sweet as well. Completely down-to-earth.”

  “No. Models. Ever, dude,” he said. “Ever.”

  “Be my guest. Go ahead and punish yourself,” Luca said. “But I think you’ll regret it. You’d be lucky if she’d have anything to do with you anyhow.”

  “No doubt,” Sandro said. “But do me a favor, just keep her far, far from me. I want no part of any of those crazy women, and this is a night I intend to completely avoid erratic females with bad tempers. So whatever you do, spare me.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll respect your wishes. But don’t get mad at me when I say I told you so.”

  “To the contrary, mio cugino, it’s for the best,” Sandro said even though his curiosity was already getting the best of him as he Googled supermodels named Taylor to see exactly what she looked like. Old habits, after all, were hard to break.

  Chapter Two

  Nothing like a good black-tie party, Taylor McFarland thought, taking a final sip of champagne as her plane made its final approach in Florence. She’d get to dress in yet another amazing designer gown, and hot men in tuxedos would be plentiful. It was so up her alley. It was why she was on her way to Italy, and this one promised to be particularly fabulous—a spectacular venue in an architecturally creative structure built into the hillside at some Italian guy’s vineyard. And the wine would be flowing freely.

  What’s not to love? Plus she was joining her good friend Larkin and Larkin’s boyfriend Luca, and she always had fun with the two of them. Talk about opposites attracting: Larkin had been such a quiet little mouse of a woman when they first met, and Luca, well, he was a prince, a bit of a bon vivant, and used to the limelight. It was lovely that the two of them had found each other, albeit after some struggles. Taylor had helped to spruce up Larkin’s appearance a bit, steering her away from the clothing-as-camouflage manner of dress, and Larkin had taken to it with a vengeance, had now practically achieved Taylor’s level of clothing obsession.

  Luca had invited Taylor to join them and to stay at the palazzo owned by his winemaker cousin whose vineyard supposedly made one of the most famous wines in Tuscany. Luca had promised her he was a lot of fun, but Taylor wasn’t on the prowl anyhow. She was over dealing with men who were nothing but a pain in her butt, thank you. She was perfectly happy to just go and browse the merchandise without making a purchase. Besides, she didn’t have time for dalliances right now; she had much more important things to do than have to tag-team a long-distance relationship.

  Taylor had recently started a charitable organization called Rags to Riches to help children who couldn’t afford to buy clothes piece together outfits that would allow them to not feel like outsiders. Having grown up in a household with a single mother who struggled to pay the bills each month, Taylor knew what it was like to show up to school in the same threadbare outfits all the time: it was demoralizing, and kids loved to taunt the ones who looked like they’d just come in off the streets.

  If she had a dollar for every time kids called her white trash, she’d have had plenty of money to clothe herself as she was able to now that she had become a famous fashionista. So it was particularly gratifying to be able to help out other children. It might seem like a superficial thing, providing decent clothes to a kid, but having come from those very circumstances of lacking, she totally got what it meant to them and knew that even a little bit of window dressing could make a difference.

  She figured a lot of powerful people with money would be in attendance at this event, and they were her favorite type to strong-arm into making fabulous donations. A Christie Brinkley look-alike with gentle, sun-bleached blond waves and soft blue eyes, the American supermodel was n
ot beyond using her looks and stature to get what she wanted if it helped others in need. She knew wealthy men in particular would never turn down a gorgeous woman in a slinky evening gown soliciting them for funds. Which made her happy just as long as they didn’t presume she was soliciting anything else.

  After a smooth landing, Taylor was off the plane quickly and through customs in no time at all. As she exited the security area with her luggage, she saw Larkin and Luca practically entwined on a bench near the entryway, oblivious to her existence while they made out like a couple of horny teenagers.

  She wheeled her bag up to them and cleared her throat. “Ahem,” she said, crossing her arms and tapping her toe, staring at them both, her brow arched.

  Larkin detached quickly and blushed. “Oh, Taylor! So sorry! Luca and I were just, uh, getting reacquainted after being apart for a few minutes while I ran to the restroom.”

  Larkin grinned as her boyfriend swiped his finger along her lips to remove some excess saliva. Gross. Her friend stood up and gave Taylor a warm embrace.

  “Please,” Taylor said, shaking her head as she hugged her friend. “I’m totally used to PDA when I’m around you two. I would have expected nothing less. I’m just impressed you kept your clothes on.”

  Larkin gave her a playful smack.

  It did make her laugh how Larkin had gone from such a wallflower to a bit of a wild child. It was nice to see her come into her own.

  “I was merely expressing my affection for Luca like any true Italian would.”

  “Only you’re not Italian.”

  “When in Rome then?” Larkin grinned.

  “We’re in Florence. Duh,” Taylor said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Luca reached for Larkin’s hand. “Soon she’ll be an official member of the Monaforte royal family. And that means she’ll technically even have some Italian ties, being that my father is one hundred percent hot-blooded Italian. She’ll practically be Italian herself.” He winked.

  “Oh my God!” Taylor said with a squeal, pulling Larkin into a hug. “You two are getting married? What? When? How? And I won’t ask why, because, well, that’s obvious.” She grabbed Larkin’s left hand and lifted it up to inspect the three-stone crown-set ring with a center ruby surrounded by old European-cut diamonds.