The Italian's Runaway Princess. Andrea BolterЧитать онлайн книгу.
being alone. She was short of breath from walking too fast away from the encounter at the jewelry store, where she had been unsuccessful in converting a palace ruby into a typical tourist’s spending money. Worse still, three teenage boys seemed to be following her. Swiveling her head enough to take a look at them behind her, she saw they were scruffy and wore shabby T-shirts and track pants. These unexpected companions made her entire escape plan seem not only reckless, but like it was about to become dangerous.
“Bambolina, let us see your necklace,” one of the boys called out as they closed the distance between themselves and the princess. “We’ll buy your jewel.”
Luciana hastened her pace. She’d arrived in Florence to have an adventure before she lived the rest of her life in royal duty. The escapade didn’t include being chased by thugs who might be trying to steal the jewelry she’d brought with her to sell as a way to finance her trip, given that she had no actual money of her own. The princess quickened to almost a run as her hand clutched the ruby pendant that hung from a heavy chain. Her sense of direction turned all around, she didn’t even know where she was headed.
The boys behind her may or may not have seen that she had other pieces of jewelry in the purse that hung from a long leather strap on one of her shoulders, crossing her body and slapping against her at the opposite hip as she rushed away from them. She might have been able to run faster had she not also been toting a wheeled suitcase that contained her belongings for her three weeks as a Florentine tourist. After which time, she’d return to Izerote. And to her obligations, including her arranged marriage to King Agustin de la Isla de Menocita, the widower thirty years her senior from a neighboring island.
Princess Luciana had thought about this getaway for a long time, plotting exactly how she’d make her way to Florence and how she’d finance the travels. What she hadn’t counted on was how problematic it would be to sell jewelry. Having had no experience, she didn’t know that the shops would require paperwork and authentication.
After she’d made it from the island to her first stop in Barcelona, she’d needed the first installment of cash for the train tickets to Florence and to buy some food. One jeweler had directed her to another of less repute, and he to another still, until she’d sold an amethyst cocktail ring for far less than its worth.
She knew little about city streets, having spent most of her life behind the palace walls of Izerote. Leaving only to attend official engagements and social functions accompanied by palace security, she was always safely sequestered in private cars, boats and planes. That was exactly why she’d come to Florence, the place she’d fallen in love with through art, books and movies. To experience being a simple tourist, to wander here and there without an itinerary or bodyguards, was to be a once-in-a-lifetime dream.
Having trouble selling the jewelry and now being followed just after she’d arrived was turning it into a nightmare.
“Bella.” One of the boys hurried even closer to her, his use of the endearment for beautiful sounding like a snake’s hiss that terrified her.
“Signorina. Carina. Tesoro...” Another bounced around to the other side of her, trying every name he could think of to get her to stop and address him directly.
With a yank on her suitcase, she began to run faster, heart racing. She thought about calling out for help to the first person she saw, but she didn’t want to attract attention to herself. Her tiny island country was not well-known to most the world, but nonetheless, if questioned, she was a princess and it would appear odd that she was alone on the streets of central Florence. No one knew she was here, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Turning a corner, the boys chased after her and one pulled on the strap of her purse.
“Stop. Leave me alone,” Luciana cried out and broke free.
A part of her fully expected her father King Mario’s security team to have outwitted her already, to know exactly where she was and to direct unseen bodyguards to arrive at any moment to whisk her back to Izerote without letting her have the grand escapade she’d planned. With these boys harassing her, she almost wished they would.
Thinking quickly, she worked in front of her stomach to block the boys’ view as she removed the rest of the jewels from her purse and held them tightly in her free hand. If they managed to steal her purse, at least they would find it empty.
“You give us that purse, right now,” one of the boys jeered in a threatening tone.
“Get away from me,” Luciana shouted. She looked to see if anyone else was behind her, her suitcase wobbling. As she turned back around, she tripped over something on the ground and crashed right into...
The broad shoulders and chest of a man. Specifically, her face slammed directly into the center of the man’s muscular chest. As she approximated where her nose hit into him, she estimated just how tall a man he was. Six foot three, at least. Her head involuntarily turned a bit sideways so that her cheek could replace her nose as she pressed against him. Because that exact spot was solid, warm, smelled like clean laundry, and she quite liked it. Although she knew she needed to bend her neck back in order to see the face of the man she’d crushed into, something in her resisted the idea and she simply wanted to nuzzle her face into his rock-hard chest for the foreseeable future.
“Hello,” a voice from somewhere inside the man’s body crawled into her. “Do you need help?” His very deep timbre completely enveloped her in muscles and sounds. He could be yet another foe, but it didn’t feel that way.
One thing she knew for sure was that it was not the chest of King Agustin de la Isla de Menocita, the man she was to marry in three weeks. Not only was King Agustin much smaller in stature than the man she pressed into, her fiancé spoke in a voice high and clipped. Nothing like the smooth-as-cappuccino voice of the man her cheek was touching.
“These boys are trying to steal my purse.” Princess Luciana spoke into the good-smelling man’s chest, knowing that he’d be able to hear her even though her mouth was far lower than his ear. She clutched her jewels so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms.
His response was to do what every fiber in her being had actually hoped he would since she bumped into him. He placed both of his long arms around her and pulled her into a tight hold, encircling her in the most complete way. “Mia amata—” he used the words of a lover “—you’re so late. I was running to the train station to find you.”
Realizing that he was pretending to be with her as a way to shake off these would-be criminals, Luciana knew enough to play along. “I stopped at the jewelry store.”
“Can I do something for you gentlemen?” The pretend lover turned his attention to the thugs. The boys seemed to be taking stock of the situation now that the good-smelling man had arrived on the scene. Without answering, they lingered awhile longer. “I repeat, can I do something for you?” the man with the gigantic strong arms around the princess shouted in a voice menacing enough to scare them.
Luciana craned her neck so that she could look up to see the man’s face. As if the mere feel of his chest and tone of his voice wasn’t enough, she now stared at one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
Pale skin served to draw extra attention to the sparkling light blue eyes. He had high cheekbones, a full red mouth and a head full of beautiful golden curls, like a subject in a painting from the Renaissance, an era when Florence was abuzz with intellectual, scientific and creative discovery. A time in history that was one of the reasons Luciana had wanted to explore this important city.
“Oh, no, signore,” said one of the boys behind her.
“We were taking a walk on this lovely day,” another singsonged.
Only after they scattered away did the man with the lavish blond curls let go of Luciana. They looked directly into each other’s eyes for the first time. She thought she might have been struck by a bolt of lightning, but the sunny skies rendered that unlikely.
The blue-eyed man then began to disentangle the long purse strap that had become twisted around Luciana’s