Royal Date by Sariah Wilson Page A

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