That meant they had the seeds of a close relationship, didn’t it?
Oh, Amy, she chided herself. She had made the mistake of believing physical infatuation meant genuine caring once before.
Her stomach curdled. She hadn’t shared that part of her story with Luca, had she?
Her affair with Avery Mason wouldn’t come out, would it? Aside from Bea and Clare, who would never betray her, the story had never been confirmed. If any of the catty girls from back then had wanted to take Amy down by repeating that morsel of vague gossip, they would have done it by now. They’d had plenty of opportunities while Amy had been posting photos of herself with movie stars and fashion designers. Even if someone did decide to bring it up, they had no proof. It would be a very watery accusation that would quickly evaporate.
Avery could say something, obviously, as could his mother, but Amy didn’t believe either would. There was no value in destroying their own reputations, and Amy’s parents were equally determined to keep it a private matter. Her mother much preferred to use it as salt in Amy’s wounds, dropping it as an aside to blame Amy for her own tribulations like being dumped by her latest paramour.
That would let up once she realized Amy was still seeing Luca, of course.
There was a bonus! Amy paused the hair dryer to drink in a fantasy of her mother groveling for an invitation to meet Amy’s beau, once she believed her daughter had a real future with royalty.
Which she didn’t. Amy’s soaring heart took a nosedive. Even if they slept together again, their relationship was still about optics. Nothing more.
She ignored the streak of loss that cut through her chest and returned to yanking the brush through her hair as she dried it, ruthlessly scraping the bristles across her scalp as an exercise in staying real.
Luca wasn’t a sociopathic lothario like Avery, but he was a man. The wires between heart and hard-on weren’t directly connected. No matter what she did, she had to protect her own heart so it might be better if she and Luca only pretended to be involved.
She didn’t want to pretend, she acknowledged with a twist of remorse wrapped in wicked anticipation. Despite the fact that sleeping with him had pulled the rug out from under her hard enough to topple her entire life, she wanted to make love with him again. She wanted to run her hands across his flexing back, feel his lips against her skin. Play her tongue against his and lose herself to the grind of his hips—
Whew! Had the AC cut out? She fanned her cheeks and opened the door to let the humidity out of the bathroom.
Fabiana was packing the clothing that didn’t belong to her into a suitcase that was also not hers. “The prince will be ready to travel shortly. He asks that you join him at the helipad in one hour? I’ve set out your lunch.”
A few hours later, Amy was in Milan’s fashion district, enjoying a crisp white wine with bruschetta. Luca was beside her, speaking Italian into his phone.
“That looks like it would suit you,” he said as he ended his call and pocketed his phone. He nodded at the model on the catwalk.
“I like the train, but I prefer the neckline on the blue.” She pointed at the model posing toward the back. “The gala isn’t black tie. Could I wear something like that fade?”
“Wear whatever you want,” Luca assured her, picking up her hand and touching his lips to her knuckles. “I’m indulging the woman who has captured my heart. I want the world to know it.”
Her own heart flipped and twittered like a drunken bird even as she reminded herself it wasn’t real. Nevertheless, she leaned in and cut him a sly look that he would recognize as her rebellious streak coming to the fore if he knew her well enough.
“Anything? Because I would love something very avant-garde.”
Luca’s indulgent nod said, By all means. “Control the narrative. Tell them what to talk about.”
Amy looked to the designer. “What do you have that says, ‘space opera’?”
The woman lit up with excitement and rushed into the back with her models.
Soon Amy was being fitted for a dress that hugged her curves while stiff, saucer-like ruffles gave the impression of a stack of dishes about to fall. The glittering sequins reflected prisms in every direction and a matching hat with a polka dot veil completed the dramatic look.
When she was back in her own clothes, she came upon Luca saying something about Vallia to an attendant. Parcels were being taken to the car.
“That’s casual wear for the island,” he said. “The rest will be sent to Vallia with the gown for our other events.”
“What other events?”
“Cocktail parties. Ribbon cuttings. I’m making an award presentation in Tokyo after the gala.”
Then what? There was a small cloud of anxiety chasing her. She had a career to get back to, and she had never aspired to be any man’s mistress. She’d cleared a block of time to work with Luca so she still had a few days to consider all her options, but no matter if she only pretended or was really his lover, it wouldn’t last.
They left the design house, but word had leaked that they were in Milan. They were chased back to the helicopter, soon landing on a blessedly remote and quiet island.
They disembarked into what could only be described as a fairy-tale setting. A wall of craggy, inhospitable mountains plunged down to the jewel-blue lake. A quaint village sat on the far shoreline. A handful of boats dragged skiers in their wake, keeping their distance.
Luca told her the castle had been built as a monastery in the fifth century. It had a tall, square bell tower
