Page 93 of Royally Matched
“Come on in.”
He enters the room, and my heart skips a beat. By the looks of him he’s clearly been shopping for more than just toothpaste. He’s wearing a new white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the flawless skin of his taut forearms,which he’s paired with navy blue pants, and a pair of slip-on shoes on his feet.
“You went shopping,” I say, never one to point out to the obvious.
He ignores my comment and instead stands gaping at me. “You look… Wow, you in that dress.”
I smooth my hands over the skirt, flushing with self-consciousness. “I love it. Thank you.”
His eyes bore into me, more intense than I’ve ever seen them. “You deserve it. You deserve to wear whatever color you want.”
“I like that idea,” I reply.
“In that case, you should escape to the mountains whenever you feel the need.”
As long as you’re with me.
I can’t stop my head from telling me what I want as my heart beats out of my chest, my breath turning ragged. It would be so easy to step across this small room and into his big, strong arms, to show him how much this dress means to me, how muchhemeans to me.
It’s as though somehow, through all my carefully constructed layers, he’s found the real me, and I’m laid bare, right here in front of him, and he’s looking at me as though I mean everything to him.
Everything.
Trembling, I do my best to rein my wild thoughts in. He may be the man who fills my mind, the man I feel the most like my true self with, but he’s also the man who could break my heart, just as Reynold once did, a man so much like Marco it scares me half to death.
I lift my chin and pull my lips into my princess smile. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am if you are?”
“Let’s get out there and enjoy the festival.”
He offers me his hand and I pause for a moment before I take it, the slightest touch of his skin against mine sending heat through me.
I tell myself he’s just being friendly. Holding hands is no big deal.
Only it feels like a big deal here in Monteluce with Marco.
We make our way down the creaking stairs and out onto the street, heading back toward the festival. Walking along, hand in hand, I feel like a different person, and it’s a feeling I want to hold close and never forget.
The atmosphere is just as fun filled and electric as it was earlier in the day, only more so because now, as evening arrives, the string lights are lit overhead, and laughter and music fills the air.
“Look. That’s our receptionist, isn’t it?” Marco says and I look over to see the woman who told us all about the goats dancing to the band along with several other young women. Together, they look so lively and beautiful in their colored dresses, dancing on the cobblestones in their bare feet.
“Do you want to join them?” he asks.
“How about we eat and have a glass of wine first?”
I’ve never been one to dance. I always feel so self-conscious and clumsy while I watch others let themselves go in a way I could never imagine myself being able to do.
“Shall we have some goat cheese pie?” he asks, pointing at one of the stalls selling exactly that. “Or how about goat cheese salad with candied walnuts?”
“Actually, that sounds rather delicious.”
We make our way through the crowds and order our food, complete with crusty bread and a glass of the local wine once more. We find a table under an olive tree, where we sit and eat and watch the festivalgoers enjoying theevening as the sun sets, lighting the sky with vibrant pinks and reds and oranges.
I lean back in my seat, my belly full and the wine dulling the edges of my anxieties, and I allow myself to enjoy the moment, knowing that when I’m back in my real life I can pull the memory out whenever I like.
“Dessert time,” Marco announces, hopping to his feet and offering me his hand.