Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (22 page)

“So you can do what?”
 
It came out sounding more astonished than he wanted.
 
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t let her go anywhere on the island alone.
 
Not until he determined what the press—and his family—did or didn’t know about her.

“I’ll think of something.
 
There are hostels, bed and breakfasts, any number of places I can try.”

He moved the Jeep to the inside lane, away from the curb.
 
“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No.
 
You can’t just get out of the car and wander.”

“I’m not your problem, Massimo, but I could be if I stay in the Jeep.
 
You don’t need that.”
 
She reached for the door handle as they stopped at the light, but another car pulled to a stop in the lane beside them, blocking her exit.
 
She shot him an exasperated look.
 
“Come on.
 
Pull over at the next intersection.
 
I’ll be perfectly fine.
 
Tell you what, I can call you later and let you know where I am, just so you feel you’ve done your job.”

The trees lining the road sent dappled sunlight across Kelly’s face, casting shadows in such a way that a tiny brown dot near her mouth caught his attention.
 
Without thinking, he reached out to wipe it away.
 
It didn’t move.
 
At her baffled expression, he said, “Sorry.
 
Thought you had chocolate on your face.”

“Freckle.”
 
Her fingers reached to the spot he’d just touched.
 
“Wish it were chocolate.”

The car beside them began to move.
 
He tore his attention from Kelly to drive through the intersection and then the next, ignoring her requests to stop.
 
“I have a better idea.”

 
The image of what he’d been doing the last time he uttered that sentence leaped full-force into his mind’s eye.
 
She’d been about to roll on top of him, but he’d wanted desperately to explore her most intimate places, to taste her, to see her come apart at his touch.
 
He’d held her fast, then slowly worked his way down her body—
 

Stop stop stop stop stop.

“How better?”

He forced his attention to the situation at hand.
 
“We’ll both think more clearly on full stomachs.
 
I’m starving, and I bet you haven’t eaten since last night, either.”
 
At her confirmation, he said, “That settles that.
 
I know a place where we can eat in private.”

“Giulia might have questions if we show up twice in a row, and every restaurant we’ve passed is jam-packed with tourists.”

“More private than Giulia's.
 
My apartment.”

Chapter Thirteen

“This is not what we call an apartment in the States.”

Kelly froze inside the doorway of Massimo’s suite of rooms, unsure where to sit.
 
When he’d turned away from the waterfront and its grand hotels to nose his Jeep through Cateri’s twisted streets, she assumed he had a place in the old part of town, near the palace.
 
She hadn’t equated the word
apartment
with the palace itself.
 
It wasn’t until after he turned the Jeep into a gated alley, past a guardhouse, then down a ramp into an underground garage that she realized she was going underneath the country’s most famous residence.
 
And that Massimo lived here.

What in the world was she doing?

Digging yourself a deeper hole, idiot
.
 
But there was nothing to do about it now.
 
Massimo had used a pass card to bring them up in a private elevator from the garage, and she doubted she could simply make her apologies and walk out of the palace without running a gauntlet of security.
 

And frankly, she wanted to eat first.

“It’s not a typical apartment for Sarcaccia, either, but it’s what I have.
 
Make yourself at home.
 
If you need a restroom, there’s one down there, second door, past the library,” he said, indicating a wide hallway off to her right.
 
“Assuming Gaspare will let you go.
 
Here he comes.”

Sure enough, the dog approached from Kelly’s left.
 
He pressed his furry body into the side of her leg, anxious for attention.

She decided her bladder could wait as she scratched the dog’s head and took in the main living area of Massimo’s so-called apartment.
 
The most notable thing about the room in which she now found herself was its sheer size.
 
Richly-papered walls rose at least twenty feet from the floor and decorative squares of carved wood—was it walnut? mahogany?—covered the vast ceiling.
 
Beneath her feet, elegant rugs in shades of red and navy spread out over immaculately polished hardwood floors.
 
Detailed inlays wrapped around the floor’s perimeter.
 
She’d thought the marble floors and carpeting in the gallery they’d just walked through were impressive.
 
This was…unbelievable.
 
Museumlike.
 
And dark.

It wasn’t the type of place she expected Massimo to live, palace or not.
 
He didn’t strike her as the dark type, especially given his affinity for the outdoors.
 
Even the furniture was heavy.
 
Muddy brown sofas devoid of pillows faced each other on either side of a thick coffee table.
 
Beyond that, a stone fireplace almost tall enough for her to stand inside anchored the room.
 
A mahogany bureau topped with an antique clock dominated the wall to her right, opposite a set of drawn curtains in a brocaded navy fabric.
 
A writing desk she guessed to be an expensive antique occupied a corner not far from where she lingered near the door.

The entire place struck her as the type of spot dour, gouty old men came to brood.

“Staff shut the drapes again.
 
They claim it’s to protect the furniture and rugs when I’m not here, but it drives me crazy.”
 
He strode across the expansive room and reached behind one large panel.
 
Within seconds, the fabric was withdrawn to expose a massive floor to ceiling window and she was gifted with a first-rate view of the palace’s famous gardens.
 
As he moved to open the curtains over the second and third windows, Kelly approached the glass for a better look.
 
Now she could understand the appeal of living here.
 
The view was even more breathtaking than that of the flowers fronting the marina road.

“Massimo, this is spectacular.”
 

“The roses are in bloom now.
 
Makes the place less of a villain’s lair, more of a residence.”

She let her fingers drift along the substantial window frame as she stared outside.
 
A massive fountain surrounded by low, perfectly-trimmed hedges and hundreds upon hundreds of flowers filled her sight.
 
Pink, white, red, and yellow roses ran as far as she could see.
 
The grass surrounding the flowerbeds was bright green and thick.
 
She could only imagine how soft it would be under her bare feet.
 
At the edge of her vision, near the wall that marked the end of the gardens, a colossal tent had been erected.
 
A party appeared to be taking place.
 
“Can you get out there from here?”

“There’s a back exit from my bedroom.
 
I don’t use it during the day unless I need to let Gaspare out for a quick break.
 
Public events are often held in the garden so it’s kept locked for security purposes.
 
But at night, when the place is quiet, I’ve gone to sit on the benches and stargaze.”
 
He let out a little laugh and admitted, “Well, I’ve done it twice since I returned from Africa.
 
But I hope to do it more often.”

“The stars must’ve been brilliant there, where they didn’t have to compete with Cateri’s city lights.”
 
She couldn’t imagine having access to such a beautiful place as this garden.
 
At night, when the breezes blew and no one was about, it would be particularly restful.
 
The scent of the flowers then would be heavenly.
 
“Still, if I lived in these rooms, I think I’d be out in the garden all the time.
 
Not that there’s anything wrong with the rooms.
 
I mean, they’re amazing—”
 

“No, you can say it.
 
The place resembles Batman’s Batcave.”
 
He grinned, glad to talk about the rooms instead of what the sky looked like in the jungle, with the smoke of burned-out villages stinging his nostrils.
 
“I’ve only been in this place a few weeks.
 
The rooms sat empty while I was away at college and in the military.
 
While I was growing up, I lived in my parents’ apartment.
 
It’s at the opposite end of this wing.”
 

Before she could make another comment about the space not meeting the definition of an apartment—or the high-tech Batcave—he said, “Their apartment is significantly bigger than this one.
 
A veritable palace.”

This time, his attempt at humor did work.
 
She couldn’t stop the smile that crept over her face.

“So would you rather stare at the flowers or eat?”
 

“Oh, food.
 
Definitely.”
 
As if on cue, her stomach let out a long, bubbly rumble.
 
“You said you have a kitchen?”

“I do, but it’s small.”

“Compared to what?”
 
She swung a hand to encompass the massive room.
 
A few minutes later, once he led her through the hall opposite the one where he’d pointed out the bathroom, he proved he was being honest about the kitchen.

“It used to be a storage closet,” he explained as she took in the cramped space.
 
Barely big enough for its European-sized fridge, a two-burner cooktop, and a sink, it held only the bare essentials.
 
Even the tiny counter was useless, given that his coffee maker took up much of the real estate.
 
“It was added in the seventies so these rooms could be used as a living space separate from the rest of the palace.”

She lingered outside the door, apparently not trusting herself to stand as close to him as necessary to fit inside the room.
 
“Where do you keep the food?”

“Well, there’s the refrigerator.
 
And here.”
 
He opened the lone cabinet to reveal three boxes of cereal, two boxes of pasta, and a few cans of soup alongside a stack of plates, bowls, and coffee mugs.

“I’m hungry enough to eat anything, so I won’t complain.”

He pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet and set it in front of the coffee maker.
 
“Help yourself.
 
Or if you can wait another fifteen minutes, we can have sandwiches with all the fixings.”

She eyeballed the tiny fridge, not bothering to hide her doubt.
 
“Really?”

A slow smile spread across his face, one he hoped would put her at ease in his presence once more.
 
“I’ll call the palace kitchen and have them sent up.
 
Unless you’d rather have breakfast.
 
For some reason, I could really go for pancakes.
 
Haven’t had them in ages, but I woke up craving them today.”

“Pancakes?”

He shook the cereal box.
 
“Unless you’d rather—”

“No, I’d love pancakes.”
 

“I figured.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, so he explained, “You were mumbling about pancakes as you woke up.
 
I’ve been craving them ever since.
 
They might not be brain food, but I think a full stack each will help us see the situation more clearly, don’t you?”

She leaned against the door frame.
 
“Massimo, I was feeling awkward before.
 
First, I discover you’re a prince.
 
Then you bail me out of jail and hear my tale of woe about my bank account and how my ex screwed me over—and believe me, that’s a subject I prefer not to discuss—and now you’re telling me I was talking pancakes.
 
While I remember thinking it, I don’t remember saying it.
 
I’m feeling doubly awkward now.”

“Do you want pancakes or not?”

“Yes.”
 
It came out as a plea.
 
She realized it too, and flushed.

“Then I’ll call in an order.
 
Feel free to take your suitcase to the bathroom and freshen up.
 
I’ll go to my bedroom and do the same.
 
Meet you in the living room in fifteen.
 
We’ll discuss how to un-awkward our relationship then.
 
Deal?”