Page 87 of Royally Roma
“Perhaps that’s for the best. As you’re quite aware, her family is plagued by scandal.”
“As is ours. The Costas’ family business is just more out in the open.” Niccolo shrugged. “Perhaps it’s better that way. I’ve had enough of secrets, haven’t you?”
“You’re playing with fire, Grandson. Even if I agree to this, the people of Lazaretto won’t accept just anyone.”
“I think they will.” And he knew just how to make them.
Within moments, Niccolo would be face-to-face with a swarm of reporters, the very people of whom Julia was so afraid.
And the irony was that Niccolo understood her fear. He understood it all too well. He knew precisely what it was like to have the press poke and pry into your life. They left no stone unturned. And they were ruthless in their assessment of their prey. Nothing sold papers more than a scandal. Years of experience as his father’s son and Cassian’s brother had taught him that much. The press picked a person apart, bit by bit, and only moved onto someone else once the devastation was complete.
Or when another story came along that was more salacious.
Another story that was more salacious. That’s the only way.
He couldn’t erase Julia’s past. He couldn’t undo the damage done by her father and Elio. He couldn’t even take back all the hurtful things he himself had said and done over the past two days.
But he could give her the one gift that would keep her name safe. It would be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but wasn’t it time to shake off the shackles of the past? For everyone? Wasn’t it time to let truth reign?
Deception had ruled long enough. Enough time had passed. Enough tears had been shed. The people would accept what he had to say. So would parliament. Niccolo would bet his crown on it.
It was time to face his future. With or without Julia, he knew what he had to do.
SOMEHOW JULIA MANAGED TOmake it to the lobby of the Hotel de Russie without completely falling apart. By the time she crossed the grand sparkling foyer and made her way to the front entrance on the Via del Babuino, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. When she reached the enormous arched entryway, a gloved valet held the door open for her. Naturally. She was still in Nico’s world, a world where one couldn’t be bothered to do things as mundane as open doors.
She cringed when she thought about her modest little flat as it must have looked through his eyes. Her apartment, her job, her life. All of it. He probably thought she was pathetic.
So pathetic that he asked you to stay.
Well, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d rather die than face his grandfather.
The king.
She squared her shoulders and marched outside. Or at least she tried. The moment she crossed the threshold, tears began streaming down her face. She simply couldn’t hold them back another moment.
“Non piangere, bella.” The parking attendant handed her a pristine, starched handkerchief.
Julia stared at it. She didn’t even realize people used such things anymore, which was one more reason why she wasn’t cut out to be a princess. Princesses probably carried them around wherever they went. They probably cried dainty, princessy tears instead of falling to pieces in an ugly, sobbing mess like she was on the verge of becoming any second now.
“Per favore. Non piangere.”Please. Don’t cry.The valet waved the hankie at her. A tiny white flag.
Surrender.
“Grazie.” She took it and dabbed at her eyes.
“There’s no need to cry, miss. Your...ah...vehicle is safe. It’s just been moved.”
Her scooter? She aimed her gaze toward the spot where she’d left it, and sure enough. It was gone.
Unbelievable. All she wanted to do was get as far away from the Hotel de Russie and its royal guest as quickly as she could, and her Vespa had gone missing.
“Youmovedmy scooter?” She jammed her hands on her hips and pinned the valet with a glare. Now that she got a closer look at him, she realized it was the same man who’d dragged her inside to see Nico. The man whose job she’d supposedly saved by acquiescing. And this was the way he thanked her? By hiding her Vespa?
“Yes, miss. I’m afraid the hotel manager thought it was a, um...”
“By all means, don’t mince words. I assure you that my day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Go ahead and tell me. The manager thought my scooter was what, exactly?”
“An eyesore.” At least the valet had the courtesy to lower his voice. “I’m sorry.”
