Rebecca Winters - Bride Fit for a Prince

It looked as if Callie had no choice now but to meet his royal wretchedness himself, and set him straight about the farcical situation he’d brought on due to his own greed.

Once she could prove he was a has-been with nothing to show for it but an empty title, no court of law on either side of the Atlantic would require Callie’s sister to hold up her end of that absurd contract. Talk about flawed…

In order not to make a scene, Callie allowed herself to be escorted by the two policemen. They entered a nearby elevator and descended to the next floor.

To her chagrin, thoughts of the prince’s black-haired, slick-tongued envoy prevented her from concentrating fully over the impending confrontation. Undoubtedly Nicco had orchestrated the entire plot for the prince with the latter’s promise of a healthy cut of Ann’s film profits down the road.

Callie had been right all along. Nicco had Machiavellian blood running through his veins. Little did he know she had the fierce blood of her Norse ancestry running through hers…

When the elevator reached ground level, Callie’s clover-green eyes narrowed as she prepared to do battle.

The police directed her to a door down the corridor which they unlocked. It opened onto the tarmac where their police van awaited. They helped her into the back where she sat on a bench. There were no windows to see out.

After being shut in, she had to endure a twenty-minute drive without knowing where on earth they were taking her. Finally she felt the van slow down and come to a stop.

When they opened the doors to let her out, she discovered they’d driven to the rear of a medium-size apartment building somewhere in the heart of Torino.

In one of the nearby covered parking stalls she caught sight of a helmeted man getting off a motorcycle. Her eyes widened to discover it was a brand-new Danelli! That wasn’t possible unless…

But when had the company started manufacturing them again?

To her shock, one of the police officers walked over to the driver of the fire-engine-red racing bike and handed him her passport. After a short conversation, he returned to the van. It backed out of the alley, leaving her standing there in a daze.

So this was the prince.

It appeared he had a little more money than she’d thought. Unless he was in debt up to his eyeballs and hoping his benefit bride would bail him out. To own such a fabulous machine would have set him back at least a hundred thousand dollars, maybe much more.

The man removed his helmet without bothering to smooth his black hair which had become disheveled.

“Buongiorno, signorina.”

At the sound of the deep, seductive male voice she’d heard before, she let out a shocked gasp.

Nicco!

She hated it that he looked even more attractive than ever.

“Don’t tell me—” she spoke first, anxious to quell the frantic beating of her heart. “I presume this is where the prince lives because he lost all his land and properties a long time ago.”

“How very astute of you.”

Callie ignored his sarcasm. “I thought so. Thank you for being honest with me about that anyway. It’s too bad my sister’s not a famous, fabulously wealthy Hollywood actress yet. This whole thing might have had a different ending if she’d been ready to turn her back on the limelight and devote herself to a down-and-out prince.”

He gave a careless, elegant shrug of his broad shoulders. “You can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I suppose not. Unfortunately he risked everything on the wrong woman. But as she’s my sister, I can vouch for her. Ann may be a little foolish at times, but she’s a totally nice person who wants to make up to the prince for what has happened.

“After having met him, it’s her belief he’s a charming, civilized man who will understand the circumstances and be willing to work out any further financial arrangements with her attorney. I hope that’s true so this thing can be cleared up right away. I have to fly home to the States tonight.”

“Let’s go inside and find out, shall we?”

He led her through a back entrance and up a half flight of stairs to the second floor. Two doors down on the left he stopped and put a key in the lock. She heard barking.

“Basta, Valentino!”

The second the door opened, a gorgeous fawn-colored male boxer dog greeted him with such joy, it warmed Callie’s heart. The first real smile she’d seen lit Nicco’s eyes as he put his helmet on the foyer table and played around with the dog.

He spoke to it in Italian. She could just make out the words Signorina Lassiter before he turned his head toward Callie. “The dog will give you five if you’ll put out your hand.”

“Give you five” was slang for two people slapping their palms together. Nicco’s command of English was excellent. Obviously the prince had hired a modern-day Renaissance man to act for him at times like this.

She lifted her palm in the air. Valentino raised his paw and slapped hers with the right degree of strength so he didn’t knock her down. Enchanted, she bent over and hugged him around the neck, scratching the sensitive spot behind his pointed ears.

“Oh, you’re beautiful!” she cried softly.

For a reward he licked her mouth.

Callie burst into laughter. “I love you, too.” She kissed his face. “Yes I do, you magnificent creature.” Unable to help herself, she got down on her knees to inspect his white stocking feet. He had perfect coloring.

“You have the markings and bearing of a true champion.” She kissed the top of his head one more time before standing up.

“For a dog and a human who don’t understand each other’s language, the two of you have managed to cross that boundary without problem,” her host muttered in a dry tone.

The boxer walked around her, sniffing and licking her legs and hands. He could detect the scent of the vet hospital where she lived and worked.

“That’s because I’m crazy about animals. How long has the prince had him?”

“Eight years now.”

“The lucky man. Does he let you take Valentino for walks?”

“All the time.”

“If I worked for him, that would be my favorite perk.”

He flashed her a glance she couldn’t decipher. “Come into the other room.”

Anxious to meet the prince and get this over with, she followed Nicco’s tall, rock-hard physique through a doorway to the living room of the apartment.

It was modestly furnished in what appeared to be secondhand furniture, exactly like the decor of her one bedroom apartment behind the clinic.

“Prince Enzo really has fallen on hard times. I feel right at home.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it,” Nicco replied with a hint of mockery. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

She sat down on one of the chairs. Valentino curled up at her feet. A few minutes of silence passed before she was prompted to ask, “What’s taking the prince so long?”

“He’s out for the moment.”

When the meaning of his words sank in, her head reared. “What’s going on here?”

Nicco sat down on the couch opposite her. “With his wedding day tomorrow, the prince is a busy man. He’ll be along shortly.”

“The prince better hurry if he expects the runner-up to arrive here in time.”

He lounged back against the cushion, extending his long, powerful legs in front of him. “Come now, signorina. Surely you’re not still maintaining that fictitious nonsense about a twin?”

Callie was on her feet in an instant. Her action disturbed the dog who instinctively tried to herd her so she wouldn’t move from the room. Under normal circumstances she would have laughed at the endearing trait, but this situation was not amusing.

“Where’s the phone? I’ll get Ann on the line and she’ll explain everything.”