Page 91 of Royally Matched
“Two rooms?” she questions, as though we’ve asked for something quite outlandish.
This is a hotel, isn’t it?
“That’s right. One for me and one for the lady.” Marco gestures at me.
“I’m sorry, but we only have one room left and that’sonly because we had a cancellation at the last minute, so you’re actually really, really lucky.”
“Only one room?” I ask, worry gripping my belly.
“That’s right,” she says with a pleasant smile, as though it’s not a problem at all.
I pull my eyebrows together. “But we need two rooms.”
“Well, you could try Castlemaine,” she offers.
Relief washes through me. The idea of having to share a room with Marco? Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing we don’t have to.
“Castlemaine sounds fantastic. How do we get there?” I ask.
“Well, you drive for about three hours north before you turn off onto a stretch of road where there’s a big old oak tree, and then you?—”
Marco raises his hand. “Thanks for that, but I don’t think we’ll be going to Castlemaine.”
“It might be faster if the roads are clear. You see there are herds of goats around here. It’s one of the main businesses of the area. Goat’s milk. Goat’s cheese. Goat soap. Goat everything really. My boyfriend says we’re goat mad around here, but that’s because he’s from Villadorata originally, but he’s lived here for a long time now, so really, he should be used to all the goats.”
I lift my lips into a smile. “Goats. Lots of them.”
“Yup. Lots of them,” she repeats.
I flick my gaze to Marco and wonder whether he’s feeling this odd mixture of emotions that seem to be swirling around me at the thought of sharing a room—sharing abed—with a man I have feelings for, feelings that have only grown stronger as we’ve meandered through the festival together this afternoon without a care in the world.
“Is there anywhere else a little closer and less… goat-infested?” he asks.
The girl shakes her head. “Not unless you want to drive the other way.”
“The other way?” Marco asks.
“The closest village is about a couple of hours south of here, toward Villadorata.”
“Got it.” Marco places a hand under my elbow and leads me gently a few steps away. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but we can make this work. You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor or a sofa or something.”
I swallow. The idea of being alone in a bedroom with this man, who has plagued my thoughts since the moment I laid eyes on him, is doing things to my belly, so much so it wouldn’t matter whether he was sleeping on the floor or right next to me in the bed. He would be there, in the room, sleeping beside me.
“We really don’t have any other choice if we want to be up in time to meet the professor for breakfast,” he says.
I nod rapidly, like one of those bobble heads. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure. We’ve come this far. We don’t want to miss out on having the scroll translated tomorrow. Let’s take the room.”
His lips pull into a smile, and I choose to study the intricate pattern of the wallpaper.
A short while later, we climb the creaky wooden staircase to the very top of the building, where the receptionist slides a large key into the door and pushes it open.
“You’re lucky. This is our best bedroom,” she says as I look around. The room is small but utterly picturesque, from the chiffon drapes framing the French doors that lead out to one of those small balconies, to the four-poster bed with deep burgundy bedding, to the hardwood floors, and floral wallpaper. Naturally.
“We certainly are. It’s a lovely room,” I say brightly, scanning the room for a sofa and finding none.
“This room has its own bathroom while all the other rooms have to share. It was reserved for a couple on their honeymoon, but they cancelled at the last minute, which is why it’s free. If you ask me, someone forgot to go to the church, if you know what I mean.”
“I think we do know what you mean,” Marco replies, smiling as though he hasn’t noticed the one rather large omission in this room: a sofa. Or much floor space, for that matter.