Royal Date (10 page)

“Stay behind me,” he said. He said something in Italian to the security still on the plane. Nico stepped back to allow two men to pass by us. He tugged on my hand to indicate that I should follow him. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, two more men flanked me on either side. We began walking to the car.

I heard the noise before I could understand what was going on. As we stepped off the plane, there were dozens of reporters and photographers. They were all calling out and there were a series of bright, blinding flashes. The cold winter air swirled around us, with snow flurries dancing in and out of the crowd.

We ran to the limo and dove inside. Everybody from the first car ride piled in behind us, plus one man I didn’t recognize. We took off so fast my head hit the back of the seat. “What was that?” I asked.

Nico looked furious. “Paparazzi.” He said it like it was a bad word. “Johann, I don’t understand how they knew we were here. I was very clear in my instruction that our travel plans be kept secret.”

A man with a large, pointed nose and small, beady eyes, topped off by a slicked-up comb-over answered. “Not every hole can be plugged. They are a very resourceful group. Perhaps if you’d let go of the
signorina
’s hand, they wouldn’t have been so interested?”

Johann peered down his nose at me, making me completely uncomfortable. I hadn’t even realized that I was still holding Nico’s hand, gripping it tightly. I relaxed my hold, but that only made him grab on tighter.

We drove quickly, and Nico kept turning around to see if we were followed. But we managed to make our escape, and he finally relaxed.

Johann started outlining an itinerary for Nico that day. It sounded like one appointment right after the other. It was only eight thirty in the morning, and he already looked exhausted. I wanted to smooth the worry lines in his forehead away.

We pulled up in front of a very old and very beautiful white building. Somebody said the name of the hotel, but it was all French to me.

There were more paparazzi waiting by the entrance. Security jumped into the crowd and did their best to clear a pathway. Everyone got out until it was only Johann, Nico, and me left in the limo.

He gave my hand a squeeze. “Enjoy yourself today,
bella
.”

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.

“I wish I could spend the day with you, but I have many responsibilities that I must attend to.”

Nodding, I said goodbye and left him with Johann in the car. Strangely enough, I didn’t want to leave him. I stepped right into the gutter and slush filled my shoes. Lovely. Giacomo appeared at my side to help me through all the crazy people with cameras. I didn’t think they realized that I was American, because not one of them yelled anything in English.

Sometimes it was nice to be oblivious.

A doorman let us inside the hotel. The lobby was done up in shades of red and gold, with a huge chandelier hanging down what seemed every five feet or so. They had decorated for the holidays, and there were large wreaths with ribbons that matched the interior of the lobby, as well as several elegant Christmas trees. We didn’t have to check in, and were instead led to an elevator separate from the others. One of the bodyguards used a keycard before he could press the button. We went all the way to the top floor.

Francesco, Salvatore, and Davide were shown to their rooms, and the rest of us walked to the end of the hall. “The Presidential Suite,” Giacomo announced as he opened the two double doors. A valet followed him in, pushing a trundle that held all of our bags.

Dante and Rafe went in like we weren’t walking into the most luxurious, gorgeous hotel room ever. A large front entryway led us into a living room, decorated with modern furniture. A heavily ornate fireplace dominated one entire wall. More chandeliers. A huge dining table that seated twenty off of a small kitchen. And I saw four bedrooms, grouped in twos on either side of the living room. The windows facing out of the living room were floor-to-ceiling and seemed to overlook all of Paris. “That’s the Eiffel Tower!” I said, pointing out the window. But nobody seemed excited about it but me.

“If you need anything else, you have only to call me,” Giacomo said as he handed all of us our own keycards. “All of the staff is staying on this floor, so we should be readily accessible. The designers’ teams should be here shortly.”

The twins went to claim two of the bedrooms. That left two, so I supposed that Lemon and I would be sharing. We opened the doors of the two empty rooms. One had a huge bed, bigger than a king. The other had two beds. “This is us!” Lemon said. She went back and grabbed her suitcase, pulled out the handle, and rolled her luggage in. It was a pretty room, decorated in pale violets, dark purples, and silver.

I flopped backward onto one of the beds. Not as nice as the bed at the palace, but still better than every bed I’d had growing up. We started exploring. I looked at the fancy leather-bound folder full of information about the hotel, read over the room service menus, and then went into the bathroom when Lemon called for me. The mosaic-tiled shower was big enough for twenty people and had more showerheads and gadgets than a car wash.

“Look at that tub!” Lemon exclaimed, clapping her hands together with glee. Lemon adored a good bath, and I knew she’d make use of that jetted tub before we left.

“Breakfast!” one of the brothers called. We came out of the room and the dining room table had a large assortment of breads and pastries. “Try this one,” Rafe said to me. “It’s called
pain au chocolat
.”

I took what looked like a croissant from his hand and bit into it. There was melted chocolate inside! How had I lived my whole life and never had chocolate inside of bread before? “Are you serious right now?”

Rafe looked confused and adjusted his glasses. “Serious about what?”

Lemon laughed. “That means she likes it. A lot.”

“Oh, we’ve gone past liking. I am ready to marry this thing.”

Dante came out of his room, reminding Rafe about their first appointment of the day. They left and promised to see us later.

Before I had a chance to go back and jump on the bed like I wanted to, there was a knock on the front door. Lemon answered it and let in Giacomo, who was followed by several severely skinny French women dressed all in black, who were pushing racks of clothes and carrying suitcases. They set the racks in the middle of the living room and then started propping up portable tables. They opened their suitcases and took out the contents, arranging them on the tables.

“Some of these gowns have been pulled directly from the rack, some will be couture originals,” Giacomo said. “Any of them will do well for tonight.”

This was Lemon’s grown-up equivalent of a kid in a candy store. I noticed her rack had more dresses than mine, and she started flipping through them. “I’m so excited, I’m shaking. But that could also be from all the coffee I’ve been drinking today.”

I halfheartedly looked through them as well. All different kinds of styles and colors. How was I going to choose? I had no love for fashion. But when I found it, I knew.

This dress was The One.

With reverent hands I lifted the hanger off of the rack. The dress was strapless, the palest pink, and the entire bodice and full, flouncy, floor-length skirt were covered in sparkly crystals.

“Oh.”

By this point Lemon had already disrobed and tried on three different dresses, laying the ones she didn’t want over the back of a chair. Where a pissed-off-looking Frenchwoman was putting them back on hangers while glaring at Lemon.

Lemon caught sight of me holding The Dress. “Did you find one you liked?”

“I think so.” There was a tag attached to the side. I lifted it up and my eyes went wide. “Lemon, this dress is frakking
thirty
thousand
euros.”

“So?”

“So I can’t wear a dress worth more than my student loans.” What if I ripped it? Or stained it? Both of which were highly distinct possibilities. “I can’t afford this.”

“You don’t have to buy it. These designers are lending us these dresses because you’ll be pictured wearing it while you’re with Nico. Those pictures will go in a bunch of magazines. The designer gets publicity, and you get to look gorgeous. Win-win.”

I found it pretty unlikely that anyone would want to take my picture. With a downcast heart, I put the dress back. “I can’t wear it.”

Lemon got that determined look in her eyes. She came over and took the dress off the rack. “Yes, you can. For once in your life, you will wear the dress and go to the ball and dance with the prince. And if you won’t, I will make you.”

Was this third grade? “Make me?”

“Yes, make you. You’ve lived a hard enough life. I won’t let you go on doing things I know you’ll regret later. You deserve at least one night of fun. Try this on. Now.”

Lacking Lemon’s self-confidence, I went into our shared room and closed the door. Before I even stepped into the dress I knew. It was perfect. The sheer, soft lining felt amazing against my skin. I had worried it might be too short because I was so tall, but the hem went all the way to the floor. Like it had been made for me.

I came out of the room holding the bodice, because I couldn’t reach the zipper. Lemon had a delighted expression in her eyes and told me to turn around so that she could zip it up. “You look amazeballs.”

I went back into our bathroom where we had a full-length mirror. I twisted from side to side and puffed the skirt out. I even did a couple of twirls to see the skirt flare out. I caught myself smiling in my reflection. “You’re sure this is okay?”

“Trust me,” Lemon said. “It goes perfectly with my master plan.”

Before I could ask her whether the plan she was referencing was the one to help market Monterra and Nico to the world, or the plan to get me a boyfriend, she had left.

I came out into the living room, and Giacomo stopped what he was doing. He wore an expression of pride. “You look
bellissima
, Signorina Kat.” I thanked him.

Several of the women came over and started poking and prodding me. I gave Lemon a questioning look. “They’re going to tailor it so that thing fits you like a glove.” Once they’d finished, they unzipped me and had me step out of the dress. I hurried back to our room to get redressed, not wanting to stand around in my underwear.

When I came back out Lemon stood in a strapless, deep red, mermaid-style dress. Flounces shot out just above her knee, and it was belted in the middle with what looked like a belt made out of a bunch of cubic zirconia. “What do you think?”

“You look sort of perfect,” I said. “But I think you could show up in a flour sack and every guy there would still want to be with you.”

“Not every guy,” Lemon teased. I rolled my eyes. Could we go five minutes without a Nico mention?

After they finished with getting her measurements, we were directed over to the table. There were undergarments, shoes, and jewelry. Lemon picked up a black, lacy strapless bra and sexy matching panties.

“I thought you were doing the virgin thing with Salvatore.”

“This isn’t for him. This is for me. It makes me feel pretty and confident.” She put her hand on my arm. “And it’s okay to want to feel pretty, Kat.”

As I stood there in front of the table, I got an ache in the pit of my stomach. I knew how right she was. We had discussed it many times in the past. I had avoided anything to make myself look pretty. I never worried about my hair. I never wore makeup. Part of that was laziness, but another part was that I hadn’t wanted to be attractive to anyone. I didn’t want someone to pursue me.

I picked up a sheer white strapless bra. But maybe for just this one night, it would be okay.

After we’d selected everything, and thanked Giacomo for his advice and for arranging the whole thing, we were set loose on the city. Nico’s security escorted us downstairs through a back entrance where they had a cab waiting for us. Lemon turned on her shopping homing beacon, and we arrived at what the cabdriver called the Triangle d’Or. Designer shops ran up and down the street.

“I need to get some presents for my parents. And we should definitely buy some gifts for the royal family. Christmas is only two days away.”

I frowned. “Do you think they’re going to include us in their Christmas?”

“They’ve included us in everything else so far. I can’t imagine they’ll banish us to a tower while they celebrate. We have to buy them gifts. If nothing else, to thank them for their hospitality.” Lemon put both of her hands against Chanel’s display window, fogging up the glass. I was close to asking her if she and the window needed a few minutes alone.

“I don’t have any money to pay for presents.” I chewed on my upper lip, worried.

“This is on me.”

“No, Lemon.”

That made her leave her window alone. “Katerina MacTaggart! You let me do this. Or, so help me, I am calling my mother.”

My shoulders sagged. “Only if you let me pay you back once I get a job.”

She actually stamped her foot. “Stop being so proud. You are
ruining
it for everyone who wants to do something for you. Do you know what it feels like to have stuff constantly thrown back in your face? You want to dedicate your life to helping children. What would happen if every time you tried to help a kid they said, ‘No way,’ or ‘I don’t want your help’?”