Page 1 of Royal Valentine

CHAPTER ONE

Anne, my PR assistant, and I stood in front of the full-length mirror, gazing at our reflections.

“I’m telling you this won’t work,” she said. “No one is going to believe that I’m Her Royal Highness, Princess Ilaria of Monterra.”

She was right. If anyone looked at us too closely, they would be able to immediately tell. But people tended to see what they expected to see.

“It will,” I tried to reassure her. Our physical similarities—the same dark hair, same height—were part of the reason why she’d been hired. We often switched places to throw off the paparazzi. Anne would walk through the front door and I would sneak out the exit. But that was always short-term.

I’d never asked her to give me this kind of time before—two whole days all to myself.

Just a few minutes earlier, I’d been standing on the balcony of my suite at the hotel next to the Trinità dei Monti, the cathedral at the top of the Spanish Steps in Rome. I had been watching the sunset over the skyline when I’d noticed a man setting up a camera at the top of the Steps.

Something about him drew my eye—the way the setting sun made his hair look almost red. He had broad shouldersand seemed to be tall—but I couldn’t make out anything beyond that. I wondered if he was handsome.

Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day and I didn’t have anyone in my life to celebrate with. I wondered what it would be like to be able to walk down there and ask the man about what he was photographing. To engage in a conversation with someone who didn’t know my name or my family or about my overly exaggerated past.

To be just like every other tourist out there, taking in the sights.

I had been overcome with a desperate urge to escape. Just for a couple of days.

That’s when I’d concocted this scheme, asking Anne to switch places with me for a weekend.

“We’re supposed to drive back tonight, and then on Monday you have that ball at the Monterran royal palace,” she had reminded me.

The ball was for the Monterran royal family’s favorite charity—the Fiorelli Foundation for a Cure. I had studied art history at university, but there wasn’t a great need for an art historian within the foundation. Given the constant attention I received from the paparazzi, it had been decided that it would be best for me to fundraise.

I’d just finished up another stuffy, boring party here in Rome, where I’d had to smile and nod and hope that my mere presence would help raise enough money to meet our yearly goals.

“I know. I’ll be there. I’m asking for two days where no one’s looking over my shoulder or taking my picture. You get in the car and go back to Monterra and stay in my apartment.”

“Your bodyguard is going to notice when you’re not in the car.”

I waved my hand, dismissing her statement. “You know as well as I do that Luigi desperately needs glasses and refuses to wear them. As long as you stay quiet, he won’t notice.” Her accent would immediately give her away.

She seemed to be wavering.

“Please, Anne. I promise to be back before the ball. No one will even know.”

“What if Lemon finds out?” Lemon was my cousin-in-law, married to Prince Dante. She handled all the PR for the royal family and tended to hire American interns like Anne.

“I will tell her everything was my idea. You won’t lose your job. I promise. Please.”

She let out a long breath and said, “Okay. Let’s switch. But I think Luigi is going to figure it out as soon as I leave the suite.”

Giddy that she’d finally agreed, I called the front desk and told them I was extending my stay for two more days and then we spent the next hour packing up and exchanging clothing. I gave Anne my cell phone and promised her that I would pick up a burner. The security office tracked my phone, and they would notice if it was still in Rome while I was supposed to be in Monterra. I did her hair and makeup so that she’d look like me. We switched passports and purses.

Luigi knocked at the door. “Time to go.”

“I’m coming, but Anne is going to stay behind and sightsee for a few days,” I called back. Then I turned to whisper to her, “There. It’s done. Keep your sunglasses on and walk with confidence.”

“Like I’m a princess,” she muttered. “This is what I get for spending my entire childhood wishing I could be a princess when I grew up.” She put on the Chanel sunglasses that covered half of her face and let out a deep sigh.

“I owe you for this,” I said.

“Enjoy yourself. And get back home safely. Please don’t cause an international incident, because my boss really will murder me.”

I hugged her goodbye and watched as she walked out into the living room. My heart beat hard in my chest and I waited for Luigi to say something, but I heard the front door shut.

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