I Want You for Christmas: The Prince's Lost Princess - a Heartwarming Snow-Capped Holiday Romance (4 page)

SIX

Gaby was dreaming.

She was wearing a beautiful ball gown, and she was dancing with a handsome stranger. The music played on, and she laughed at a joke he was telling when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked.

Gaby turned and looked up—which was unusual for her—into the golden hazel eyes of the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“You may,” she said, ever the graceful one.

She smiled warmly at the man as he placed his hand in hers, and the two of them waltzed around the ballroom, everyone looking on.

“You look stunning,” the man whispered into her ear.

His warm breath made her shiver with awareness, and Gaby fought to remember the steps, lest she embarrass herself.

“As do you,” she murmured, and the man looked down at her with a grin.

“You’re waking up now, Gaby.”

“What?” she asked, unaware that she was dreaming.

“Goodbye,” the man said, kissing her on the cheek before walking away.

“Wait!” Gaby cried. Her ears began to pop, and she pulled at them in frustration. “What on earth…”

Gaby shot upward, almost hitting her head against the low ceiling of the cabin. She took a breath, remembering where she was and what was going on. The plane was beginning its descent, which explained the popping in her ears. As she gazed out the window, Gaby caught her first glimpse of the autumnal Tuscan countryside as rows and rows of vineyards came into view. Looking ahead, she could see the red-bricked rooftops of Florence, and her heart began to flutter with excitement.

All of this had been real! She really was in Italy. It occurred to her then that they hadn’t even checked for her passport. Wasn’t that odd? Did it really matter, since she was landing in Italy any minute?

Her blood raced as she fought to contain her excitement, and, if she were honest, her fear. Gaby hadn’t realized until now just how sheltered she’d always been as the youngest of four children. It was annoying.

The plane cruised towards a small airport, touching down softly on the tarmac. Gaby looked at the time, surprised to see her phone had already updated to Florence’s time zone, and that it was already afternoon.

The plane glided along the runway like a graceful swan, finally coming to a stop near another small terminal. Giacomo peeked back.

“Good afternoon, Miss Galtieri! Welcome to Florence. Or, should I say:
benvenuti a Firenze
!”

Gaby smiled. “
Grazie
,” she said in her best Italian accent.

Giacomo grinned. “Might need a little work on the accent, miss. You’ll get it, though.”

Gaby grinned back. “I’ll certainly try. Thank you for a wonderful flight, Giacomo.”

“
Certo
, miss. Allow me to open up the cabin, and we can get you on your way.”

Gaby watched as Giacomo’s face disappeared only to reappear at the door as it opened.

Grabbing her backpack and a few crackers for the road, Gaby exited the plane and took a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. It smelled of vegetation, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what type. Gaby was a city girl after all, and had never been to the countryside. It was a scent she couldn’t place, but it was wonderful nevertheless.

“This way, miss,” Giacomo said, guiding her toward the terminal.

When they entered, Gaby was greeted by the scent of baking pastries and the sound of fast-paced Italian conversations. The people were dressed to the nines, their clothes seemingly way out of her price range. The women all had perfect makeup and hair, and the men were dressed in sharp, tailored suits. Gaby ran a self-conscious hand along her old pea coat and continued to follow Giacomo. He led her to a line of drivers who were holding up signs.

“Ah, there’s your man, miss,” Giacomo said, gesturing toward a young blond man who was holding a sign with her name on it.

Gaby turned back to Giacomo. “Thanks again for such a smooth flight, Giacomo—and for guiding me toward my next journey.”

“Always happy to help a beautiful young lady,” Giacomo said with a wink. “Have a wonderful time in Italy.”

“I will,” she said, already keeping that promise.

There was an essence, a feeling about Italy that she instantly loved, but couldn’t describe. She would have to work on finding a way to explain it for Rosalie when she got back. She looked at her driver, then.

“Hi. I’m Gabriella Galtieri.”

“Buongiorno,” the driver said, followed by a stream of Italian. Having only ever learned enough to read off a menu, Gaby stared at him with a vacant expression.

The man finally realized she couldn’t understand and laughed before gesturing for her to follow him.

“Do you speak English?” Gaby asked, embarrassed.

She should have brushed up on her Italian, she knew. Then again, when had she had the time? She’d always been a little sad that her grandmother hadn’t spoken Italian to them growing up. Like many immigrant families, she wanted her children to speak English and be American, and so the language had died on her tongue. The driver frowned.

“A little bit. ‘Hamburger.’”

So that was that. Her driver was also a menu reader only, apparently.

Gaby smiled at him and he smiled back as they headed to a long line of limousines, and he opened the door to a shiny black one.

“Please,” he said, the word heavily accented.

Gaby nodded her thanks and ducked into the limo. The seats were black, the ceiling lit with a thousand glittering stars. A small bar was on her right, but she ignored it in favor of her airplane crackers, taking only a small bottle of water. She felt a little woozy from her sleep, and it felt strange to be in the middle of the afternoon already, but she imagined that there was worse jet lag.

Her driver took off down the streets of Florence, and Gaby’s pressed her face up against the window as she took in the sights of the city. The roads were winding and crowded, filled with little markets swarming with vendors and men and women purchasing fresh food for their dinners.

After a few minutes, the limo escaped the bustle of the city, driving out into the countryside, which was a gorgeous combination of yellows and greens and the occasional orange-leaved tree. Stately villas stood tall and proud among the vast and beautiful hilly landscape, and Gaby was almost breathless as the limo pulled into a long, private road that led to another such villa, towering above the countryside.

Gaby took a deep breath. This was it. Probably some sort of hotel or embassy or something.

The driver opened her door for her, and Gaby slid out, stepping onto cream-colored gravel. When she gazed up at the villa, she nearly fainted then and there.

There, standing under a center archway, was the man from her dream.

SEVEN

Gaby stared, bewildered. The house was amazing: three stories tall, and the color of sand. The upstairs section housed a balcony that stretched along the length of the whole mansion, while under that a series of archways looped across the front. Behind the villa, Gaby could see the Tuscan landscape; it was all so perfect, it could have been a painting.

And then there was the man, staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to approach.

Gaby ran another self-conscious hand through her tangled brown hair, wishing again that she’d had time to shower and clean herself up before meeting the most handsome man in the world. She walked up to him and gazed up into his piercing, golden eyes, which perfectly offset his jet-black hair.

“
Buongiorno
,” she said, her accent betraying her instantly.

The man grinned. “
Benvenuti
, Signorina Galtieri. My name is Luca, Prince of Campania. I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

Gaby swallowed. A prince? In Italy? She hadn’t even been aware there was an Italian aristocracy. She should have studied up more.

Not knowing what else to do, she held out her hand for him to shake.

The Prince stared at it for a moment before his grin deepened, revealing an alarmingly attractive dimple, and he placed his warm hand in hers, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m happy to help,” Gaby said as the silence stretched too long.

The two were still holding hands when Gaby realized it and pulled hers away. Luca cleared his throat.

“You must be hungry after such a long journey. Would you care to join me for lunch?”

Gaby’s stomach gurgled at the mention of a proper meal, and her lip twitched as she nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Of course,” Luca said.

His accent was much subtler than Gaby would have assumed for an Italian prince. His English was impeccable. He turned and opened a large, rounded wooden door that was hinged with black iron; it looked like it belonged in a medieval museum. When Gaby stepped inside, she placed a hand to her chest.

The place was stunning. It was large, of course, with wide wooden beams along the ceiling and stucco painted walls, but it still felt extremely…cozy. The colors were warm and welcoming, and the furniture was modern without being too trendy. It was a perfect combination of old and new world.

Some of the walls housed watercolor paintings of the Tuscan countryside. Luca walked past them as though he had no appreciation for the beauty around him, but, Gaby mused, he saw this place every day. How could he know how splendid it was, when he knew no different?

They walked up a marble staircase to the second floor, where a pair of French doors opened up to the balcony, with a small table and chairs. Rolling hills and vineyards dotted the scenery, and Gaby took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. It was so different from city—cleaner, without that subtle undertone of garbage and smog. It was also much milder for November, and she removed her jacket, hanging it on a nearby coatrack.

The table was set for two, with colorful plates and a pair of wine and water glasses. The Prince gallantly pulled out one of the chairs and waited for Gaby to sit, which she did, trying to ignore her increased heartrate. If she had known that U.S. and Italy relations could be improved by her enjoying real Italian food with a prince, she wouldn’t have hesitated so much. She silently thanked Rosalie for making her take a leap into the unknown.

Luca sat down across from her and smiled. “You look a little bewildered, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Gaby chuckled. “This is all a bit much for me. I’ve never left New York City in my life.”

Luca’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at this revelation. “Never? Not even once?”

Gaby shook her head. “Nope. I guess you could call me sheltered.”

“You never felt a desire to leave? A pulling so strong you couldn’t resist it, even if you tried?”

Gaby tilted her head, thinking. “No, not really. My home life is really great.”

Luca leaned in, just as a female server arrived with a bottle of white wine and a bottle of water, which she poured into each of their glasses. “Yes, tell me more about your home life. What is it like, where you live?”

Gaby shrugged. “It’s nothing special. My parents started an Italian restaurant when they got married, and my siblings and I grew up learning about food and service there. I got a degree in business so I could help them move into the twenty-first century, so now we’re on social media and really working on getting the millennial community interested in dining with us.”

“And what is it like, running a restaurant?”

Gaby quirked an eyebrow, but Luca seemed genuinely interested, so she carried on. “It’s difficult, at the best of times. There’s no such thing as a weekend or a day off for us. We get two days off a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. The days are long, and sometimes I feel like I’ll never shake the smell of kitchen cleaner from my hands, but my parents built the place and it’s my job to make sure it stays afloat.”

“Do you ever worry about losing your livelihood?” Luca asked, like he had no idea what that would feel like.

Gaby realized he was trying to see how the other half lived, and she wasn’t so sure she liked the feeling. “Do you?” she countered, and Luca sat back in his seat.

“Do I what?” he asked.

“Worry about losing it all. About not being able to pay the bills on time, or pay for college for your kids someday, or whether or not you’ll be able to put food on the table?”

Gaby knew the answers, of course. Luca had the air of a man who had never struggled once in his life. While he was handsome, she wasn’t convinced of his good character yet, no matter how gallant he was trying to be. There was a wildness about him that she wasn’t sure she liked.

The Prince sighed, then. “You know I have not. I live in a very different world than you, Gabriella. Can I call you Gabriella?” he asked, and Gaby nodded. “I have offended you with my questions. I didn’t mean to; it’s only because I’m interested in you and where you come from.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Gaby asked. She’d been waiting to ask that question since the moment she got the phone call.

Luca glanced away from her—a telltale sign of the falsehood she had smelled about this whole thing from the beginning. “You will have to forgive me, Gabriella, for what I have done. You see, there is no exchange program to improve relations between our two countries.”

“You don’t say,” Gaby said, her tone dry. Her stomach tightened; what was going on?

“The truth is, I set up this entire exchange to meet you, the youngest daughter of the House of Galtieri.”

Gaby laughed. “The House of Galtieri? You make me sound like we’re in a
Game of Thrones
episode.”

Luca ignored that comment, and Gaby realized with a blush that he might have missed the reference entirely.

“Surely you must know some of your family history?”

Gaby hesitated. What was she going to do, tell this prince that her grandmother believed they came from ancient royalty? Well, she thought, why not?

She leaned in conspiratorially. “Rumor has it that I am the youngest descendant of an ancient royal line,” she said, her voice full of intrigue as she played it up.

Luca, however, wasn’t smiling. “You don’t believe that to be true,” he said.

Gaby’s playfulness died down as she sat back against her chair, which was oddly comfortable, considering it was made from hard wood and carved in an elaborate loopy design.

“Of course I don’t. If we were royalty, we wouldn’t be slumming it in New York scraping to get by hawking pasta and tiramisu. We’d be here, living like you.”

Luca leaned back in again. His eyes reflected the colors of the landscape around them, glittering emerald and deep gold. Gaby did her best not to fall into their depths.

“Just because you don’t have claim to your wealth now doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I created this ruse to get you here because I too believe that you might be the descendant of royalty, Gabriella.”

“That’s insane. You’re insane. There’s no way that could be true,” Gaby said, not wanting to hope. She had been let down a lot in her life, and now here was some spoiled prince who had duped her into flying to Florence just so he could see if she might be royal, too? What, was he short on friends or something?

Gaby moved to stand, but Luca placed his hand on hers, his eyes beseeching.

“Gabriella, please,” he said.

Gaby froze as she stared down at him. She, Gabriella Galtieri, was glaring down at a prince. What was her life right now?

“I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew that this was my plan, so I had Giorgio convince you it was for something else. Would you have come otherwise?”

“Of course not,” Gaby said. “I don’t buy into delusions of grandeur. I’m a realist.”

Just then the server returned with two plates of steaming hot food. The warm, aromatic smell was enough to sink Gaby back into her seat as a plate of breaded chicken with capers over a bed of linguini was placed before her. She tried not to drool at the smell of it. She tried not to evaluate the pasta to see how they had made it. Making pasta from scratch was one of Gaby’s specialties, and one she was testing with various new flavors back at Il Lupo.

“Thank you, Adriana,” Luca said, and the server nodded as she left. Luca turned back toward Gaby then, gesturing to their table. “Will you not at least enjoy one meal with me before you rush off?” he asked

Gaby hesitated for only a moment before she nodded, grabbing her napkin back up from the table.

Taking a sip of wine, she smiled. “This is delicious!” she said, swirling the liquid around in her glass and taking another sip.

Luca nodded, taking a sip from his own glass. “You like it? It is from our family’s vineyards, just there,” he said, pointing out towards an expansive plot teeming with grape plants.

Gaby picked up her fork and cut a piece of chicken, eating it with the fresh pasta. The fresh flavors exploded on her tongue, dancing over her palate. It was the best thing she had ever tasted—and that was saying something. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of eating on a balcony in Florence… with a prince.

That reminder had her opening her eyes to find him staring at her. Quickly he looked away.

“My grandmother is convinced that what you say is true,” Gaby said, taking a sip of water.

“She has good reason to be. Gabriella, it is entirely possible that you could be of noble birth, and have never known it all your life. We might have more in common than we realize.”

Gaby frowned, setting her fork down. “What are you trying to say? That where you are now is better than where I am? That you’re better than me just because of the family you were born into?” Her tone was harsh, offended.

Luca put up his hands. “No, not at all…”

“But the thought of associating with someone who has worked hard to put food on the table and pay for an education rather than having it handed to them is just too much for a royal like you, is that it?”

Luca’s expression was a twisted combination of guilt and pensiveness as he clearly tried to find a way to lie himself out of that truth.

That was enough for Gaby. She pulled her cloth napkin from her lap and set it on the table.

“Thank you for the opportunity to see Italy, Mr. Campania—is that what they call you? Anyway, you have a nice life. I’m going home now.”

As Gaby stood to leave, another man walked in wearing a neat suit. He approached Luca after nodding politely to Gaby.