Page 3 of Royal Valentine

“Did you find out anything yet?” the woman asked in Italian, and I decided to pretend that I didn’t understand them. I looked away, as if I wasn’t following their conversation closely.

“No,” he replied. “She just woke up. I thought I should feed her first.”

“Somebody will be looking for her. It’s never good when American students go missing.”

Why would they think I was a student? I was twenty-five years old and had graduated from university years ago.

There was a purse on the coffee table in front of me.

Anne’s purse.

They must have looked through it and thought I was Anne, who was young enough to still be a student.

“Where am I?” I asked.

The man switched to English. “In our flat. I found you passed out on the Spanish Steps and, when I couldnae wake you up, brought you here. I wasnae sure what else to do.” He said this sheepishly, as if embarrassed.

Passed out? What?

Then I thought about the fact that this very attractive man had carried me through the streets of Rome, and that created a strange thrill inside me.

He came over with the espresso and put it on the table in front of me, backing up slightly after he’d put it down. Like he was making sure not to crowd me or frighten me.

I found it endearing.

But I was unsettled a little by the fact that this strange man had found me, brought me back to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend, and I had no recollection of any of it.

And admittedly I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be held by him.

“Were you drinking?” the woman asked, also switching to English.

“No. I hadn’t had anything to drink at all yesterday,” I said, reminding myself to be careful with my accent. I liked the idea of being Not Ilaria. “In fact, I only took some aspirin because I had a headache ...”

My voice trailed off as I reached for Anne’s bag. I opened the aspirin bottle and emptied the contents into my hand.

These were not aspirin. I’d been so excited to be on my own that I hadn’t even noticed.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. I couldn’t believe I’d accidentally drugged myself and missed out on ten precious hours of freedom in Rome.

The woman came over and peered into my open hand. “Zolpidem. I believe you call it Ambien. How many did you take?”

“Two.”

She gave me a very disapproving look. “The highest recommended dose is ten milligrams, or one pill.”

No wonder I’d passed out.

“Lucia’s a pharmacist,” the man said approvingly, as if proud of her.

My heart twinged. I wished that I had someone who felt like that about me. My last relationship had ended disastrously, splashed all over the headlines of every tabloid in the world.

Lucia spoke in Italian again. “She shouldn’t be left alone today.”

“Do you have anyone you can call?” he asked me in English. “Are you staying with friends?”

“No, I’m traveling alone.” I hadn’t been, but now I technically was. And I wasn’t going to call anybody and tell them where I was.

“There could be some side effects from taking that dose. Extreme drowsiness, difficulty breathing, confusion, or loss of consciousness. You’ll have to watch her,” Lucia said to him in Italian. “I have to work today.”

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