Royal Date (14 page)

Being here with him like this did something to me I didn’t quite understand. I felt happy. Settled. Like everything would work out.

He made me feel safe.

There was no way I could ever betray him by taking pictures of him or his family.

Halfway through the song, Johann was there, interrupting. “My apologies, Your Highness, but the Russian grand duke and duchess would like to speak to you personally before making their contribution.”

Nico apologized to me and walked me back to our table. He promised to return as soon as he could. I thought I’d take this chance to get to the ladies’ room.

I’d only made it a few steps when Claire-the-tart stopped me, digging her talon nails into my upper arm. “Ow. What is wrong with you? Let go of me!”

I tried to shake her off, but she just dug in. “You seem a little slow, so I thought we should have a conversation. Nico is mine. Our families have planned our marriage since we were infants. He’s having his fun now. You’re just the latest in a long line of many. But you will go away and I will still be here because he’s a prince. He needs to marry somebody of quality. Not some pathetic, social climbing commoner like you.”

“You think you have an arranged marriage? Do you know what century this is?” Nico was not the sort of man who would flirt with me if he were truly engaged. She had to be bluffing.

That only seemed to make her angrier. “We have an understanding. You’re nothing but a passing fancy.”

I yanked my arm away. “For someone with an ‘understanding,’ you seem awfully threatened by me, given all your stupid little pranks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I leaned in close, towering over her. She backed up a step. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,
Claire
. And Nico sees right through you. Even if your fake boobs are obscuring the view.”

She gasped and turned a wicked shade of purple. Tossing my head, I went into the bathroom and locked myself inside a stall. I had no idea whether or not what I’d said was true, but I hoped it was. I hoped Nico was smart enough to see her for what she was.

I hoped he wouldn’t be forced to marry someone that evil.

When I returned, it was to see Nico standing by the table, holding my purse in his hands. A wave of sheer panic washed over me, and I walked back on unsteady legs.

“I found this on the floor,” he said, handing it back to me. The fact that he was smiling meant he hadn’t looked inside, as my frenzied imagination feared he would. I put the purse back on the table, not wanting to check the contents while he watched me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Are you engaged to Lady Claire?” It chapped my hide to have to use the word
lady
, because she was the least ladylike person I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

He laughed. “Not even a little.”

“No arranged marriage?”

“No arranged marriage.” Ha. I knew it. She was a liar, liar with her too-tight ball gown on fire.

“Good.”

“Now that that’s settled, I’ve come to dance with you.”

We danced again, with Nico showing me all different types of dances. So often he had to step away to speak or dance with someone, all in the name of his charity. But every chance he got, we were back on the dance floor together, where we danced and I laughed harder and more often than I had in a very long time. And while we danced we talked. It wasn’t like a nightclub where we’d have to scream at each other to be heard—the music here was just loud enough to dance to, but also allowed conversations to be easily heard. Talking to him was easy, natural. Comfortable. Which was funny considering that everything else about him set me on edge.

His brothers would fill in, and it surprised me how much I enjoyed being with them. Rafe tried to teach me a complicated dance, which I could never quite get because it seemed like the steps kept changing. He finally admitted that he was making the whole thing up on the spot and wanted to see how long I’d be a good sport about it. I smacked on him the shoulder while we both laughed.

Nico didn’t dance with Hobbit Claire for the rest of the night. Which made me a lot happier than it should have.

Finally things started winding down, and it was time for us to leave. Back through the press line with Nico holding my hand, into the limo, and back to the hotel.

Since we were in a group, our goodnights were to everyone at once. I felt Nico’s gaze linger on me as Lemon and I returned to our room.

She reported on her progress with Salvatore, which actually seemed to go somewhere tonight. He’d asked her to dance several times, and she told me every detail while we undressed, washed our faces, and took down our hair.

Her phone dinged, and she picked it up. “I set up a Google alert.” Lemon started clicking links. “Look, pictures!” There on some tabloid site were pictures of all of us. Although I hadn’t realized it at the time, when Nico and I were talking to Amelie dozens of pictures had been taken. It upset me—it had been such a private moment that I didn’t want to share it with the world.

They had my name and my college, but that was about it. No mention of my mother or my upbringing, which caused a dart of relief to shoot through me. “Scroll down to the comments.”

Which I never should have done, because there was comment after comment speculating about me. People claimed to know me and to have the real scoop, while they spouted off a bunch of lies. I was called every name imaginable, and every part of my appearance was criticized. “I have never seen people so desperate to seem like an expert on a subject they know absolutely nothing about.”

“So, this is your first time on the Internet, then? Forget about it. They don’t matter.” She shut off her phone and climbed into her bed. I did the same.

Once we’d lain down, Lemon passed out pretty quickly. I forced myself to not think about the comments on that website. I tried to sleep, but I kept recalling the awful things people had said. So instead I chose to relive the night and the memories of dancing with Nico in my head over and over again.

I marveled at how different I’d felt in these last twenty-four hours. How so much of my fear had just . . . dissipated. I was still scared of my feelings and still didn’t want things to go further than they had, but there was just something about Nico that made me feel less afraid.

Turning over, I noticed that it was early in the morning. And I was, predictably enough, starving. Remembering the kitchenette next to the living room, I hoped that it was stocked like the royal kitchen had been.

I pushed off my covers, moving slowly so as to not wake Lemon. I tiptoed over to the door, eased it open, and closed it behind me again. The room was dark, with moonlight filtering in through the large glass windows. I walked quietly to the kitchen and opened up the mini-fridge. Score! Gelato in the tiny freezer.

“Again?”

I let out a yelp and nearly dropped my food. Nico stood against the window, watching me.

“You scared me to death!”

“
Scusa
.” Sometimes I swore he spoke Italian but thought he was speaking English.

I came into the living room with my spoon and sat down on one of the couches. “What is it they say? We have to stop meeting like this.”

“I have no objection at all to meeting you like this.” His silky smooth voice gave me goose bumps, but I ignored them. He sat down on the couch across from me, watching me. I noticed he was shirtless. Again. Did this guy ever wear clothes?

“More insomnia?” I asked. He nodded and looked back toward the windows. I followed his gaze and saw the snow falling thick and fast, piling up on our balcony.

“I was wondering whether we’d made enough money for the foundation tonight. I worried that we hadn’t.”

“What is the name of your foundation? What does it do?” I popped open my gelato and took a bite. Good gravy. He’d been right. Gelato was like a thousand times better than ice cream. I wondered if I could just eat this three times a day instead of regular food.

“The Fiorelli Foundation for a Cure. We’re set up to fund leukemia and other childhood cancer research, and to provide financial aid to families dealing with it.”

Was it wrong that I liked him even more now that I knew his charity was specifically for kids? “Fiorelli? Is that your last name?”

His lips quirked up at the corners. “Technically I don’t have one, but yes, the extended members of my family use the name Fiorelli. Our earliest ancestors were Fiorellis.”

It shouldn’t have made me this happy just knowing his last name.

“I was also thinking about you.”

My spoon was halfway to my mouth; I paused and put it back down. “Me?” I actually squeaked. Like a crazy mouse. Like Serafina’s crazy tooth mouse.

“Does it upset you to know that I think about you?”

Upset me? No. Make my stomach bottom out and my heart beat about twenty times faster than normal? Yes.

“Why?”

“I feel as if you’re a puzzle I’m trying to figure out. As if I’m just one step behind understanding what you’re thinking.” He shifted on the couch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Like this morning you seemed so sad. But you wouldn’t tell me why.”

“’Cause your friend Francesco’s a douche. He said you’re only interested in me because I was convenient. And that I wasn’t pretty.”

Even in the pale moonlight, I could see the anger flash in his eyes. “He said that to you?”

“He said it near me.”

Nico got up and stalked toward the door. I jumped up to follow him.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

He stopped. “I’m going to go get him out of bed and—what is it you Americans say for fighting? Kick him?”

“You mean kick his butt?”

“It will be more punching of his face, but yes, I’m going to kick his butt. No one is allowed to insult you.”

Part of me was giddy at having someone who would literally fight for my honor, but I didn’t want him to get into an actual fight. I put both of my hands on Nico’s shoulders. His bare, very muscular shoulders. “Please don’t. He’s not worth it. I’m fine. As long as it isn’t true.”

He grabbed my upper arms, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You know that you are beautiful, don’t you? Especially like this?”

I laughed. “Like this? In my PJs? What was it you said to me tonight when I was all done up?” I pretended to remember, even though every word was etched on my heart. “You said I was breathtaking. You’ve never said that to me before when I look normal.”

“Every time I see you, you take my breath away. When you dressed up I could finally say it to you without sounding ridiculous.”

“Oh,” was my breathy, masterful reply.

“You are a true, natural beauty.” He loosened his grip and somehow managed to pull me even closer to him at the same time.

“Okay then.”

“What are you scared of?”

“S-scared? I’m not scared,” I said, while sounding exactly like a scared, silly girl.

He was doing that touching thing again where he stroked and petted and soothed and made my bones feel like Jell-O. “You are. Tell me why.”

“Because I’m a unicorn.” I hadn’t meant to admit it, but his fingertips must have exuded some kind of truth serum.

“A unicorn?”

“That’s what Lemon’s sorority sisters call me.” I took a deep breath. I’d been terrified of what a man would do when he uncovered my secret, but Nico didn’t strike me as the run-away-screaming type. Still, my heart pounded loudly in protest at what I was about to confess.

“Because you don’t often see a twenty-four-year-old virgin in the wild. I’m like a mythological creature.”

A look I couldn’t identify crossed his features. “Last night, was that your first kiss?”

Had it only been last night? It felt like it had happened weeks ago. “Uh-huh.”

A look of sheer male pride settled on his features. “I’m glad it was with me.”

I’d never, ever admit this to him, but so was I.

“Come.” He took me by the hand and led me back to the couch. Where my gelato had spilled.

“Oh, frak!” I said and went to grab some dishtowels.

Nico stopped me. “You watch
Battlestar Galactica
?”