Page 8 of Royal Valentine

“Total understatement.” I’d met a famous Hollywood actor in his forties and we’d hit it off. Looking back at it, I suspected that some part of me wanted to irritate my parents. But the end result had been that I had been dubbed the “wild princess” dating a man old enough to be my father. There had been many embarrassing photos of me, wasted, at some party or premiere.

I’d been totally out of control.

My bodyguard had been reassigned, which I still felt guilty about even all these years later, and Luigi had been sent to bring me back home. Monterra had a law against paparazzi, and having my life quiet again had made me realize that I didn’t actually want to become an actress, or to have my life put up for constant scrutiny.

I went to university and tried to get away from my past reputation. But the tabloids weren’t willing to let me go. They continued to follow me and document my every movement.

I’d only dated men who shunned the limelight. My last serious boyfriend had been a French schoolteacher, but when the press got wind of our relationship, all hell broke loose. He lost his job due to the constant publicity and broke up with me.

It had made me scared to fall in love again because I wouldn’t keep letting my heart get broken by men who couldn’t handle my public reputation.

“Did you land any parts while you were in the US?” he asked, and I told him about the two roles I’d had, keeping the details very vague so that he wouldn’t be able to look me up. I also didn’t tell him that I suspected I’d only gotten those parts because of who my family was.

We walked into a tiny bakery and the woman behind the counter greeted Callum by name. Her eyes passed over me. I was just another customer. He ordered two bottles ofwater and cornettos with chocolate, which made my stomach grumble again.

I looked through Anne’s purse, intending to pay for mine, but quickly realized that she had no cash. There were a couple of credit cards, but I couldn’t use them. That wouldn’t be right.

I didn’t have any money with me. Last night I had only intended to go for a short walk, grab some fresh air, before heading back to the hotel. I obviously hadn’t expected to accidentally drug myself, so I hadn’t been able to grab the cash from the safe in my suite. And I couldn’t take Callum back to the hotel without revealing who I really was.

I wanted to keep the ruse going. Given that we hadn’t come across any fleets of black SUVs filled with royal bodyguards intending to return me home, it seemed like I was still safe. I just needed Anne to stay inside my apartment for the rest of the weekend and everything would be fine.

The bakery filled up quickly with tourists, and it made me feel uncomfortable. Like I was on display. “I’ll wait out front,” I told him.

He nodded and I went outside, sucking in a deep breath. A little girl, probably ten or eleven years old, was also waiting in front of the bakery. She was holding the leash of a very large dog. I smiled at her.

She smiled back. “You are very pretty,” she said in Italian.

“Thank you. So are you. Is this your dog?” I asked.

“Yes. You can pet him.”

I crouched down and scratched the dog between the ears and his tongue lolled out.

“You’re a princess,” the girl said. “I’ve seen your picture before.”

It never made me feel bad when a child recognized me. If anything, it made me happy because of how excited it usually made them. “I am.”

Now she was beaming at me. “I always wanted to meet a princess.”

I offered her my hand and she shook it. “It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

This was the part of being royal that I loved the most. I might have needed a small break every now and then, but the delight and joy on her face? Knowing that I was the one who had caused that to happen?

I wouldn’t have traded that for anything.

The little girl’s mother came out of the bakery and took her by the hand. We waved goodbye to each other, and I heard her excitedly telling her mother that she’d just met a real-life princess.

Which was my cue to leave.

Fortunately, Callum stepped outside and handed me my food.

“Thank you. Cornettos are my favorite,” I confessed as he handed me the warm croissant filled with gooey chocolate.

“Mine too,” he said with a grin. Then he took a big bite and let out a groan that made my stomach clench with desire. I wished I’d been the reason he’d made that sound.

To distract myself, I ate my cornetto, trying not to devour it like a ravenous wolf.

“You have some chocolate on your lip,” he said after I finished.

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