Royal Chase

My throat felt too tight. A couple of girls? This was worse than I thought. I had to act now. Fortunately, I’d always been quick on my feet. Lipstick in hand, I brushed past her as she dried her hands with a paper towel and managed to get a good streak on her light turquoise evening gown.

“Good heavens, I am so, so sorry,” I said. She stared at me, confused. I tried to look apologetic. “I got lipstick on your dress.”

“What? No, no, no.” She rushed back to the mirror to look at her hip. “Do you know how much this cost?”

“Here, give it to me. I get lipstick on my clothes all the time. I can get it off.”

“You want me to take off my dress?”

I took off my blazer and held it out. “You can put this on. I’ll go get this stain out and bring it right back. No one will ever know.” I turned her around and pulled down her zipper, hoping she wouldn’t stop me. I needed to keep her in this room and away from all the other hopefuls.

She stepped out of her dress and put on the blazer. She crossed her arms and glared at me. “You’d better bring that thing back to me in perfect condition. It’s worth more than your life.”

I nodded as I arranged the dress over my arm. I had the momentary urge to play the “my daddy owns an oil company” card but refrained. I tried to stay calm.

“Bless your heart,” I said. That got out some of my frustration, as people who weren’t from the South never quite understood the true implication of that phrase and took it at face value. “I will take care of everything. I’ll be back right quick. Stay here.”

She wasn’t going anywhere. She let out a loud sound of disgust and sat on the small couch, still glaring at me.

I pushed the bathroom door closed behind me, wondering if I could lock it. There were production assistants and grips and lighting guys all over the place, and I pushed my way through them to get to the production hub. I had to find Taylor. She would know what to do.

As I turned down an empty hallway, I felt him before I saw him. The air around me became charged, and every single one of my nerve endings snapped to attention. I knew he was behind me. Then he put his hand on the small of my back and walked around me when I stopped short. I cursed my wobbly knees. Someday, somehow, I would learn to control my attraction to him. Keep him from physically affecting me. It was beyond ridiculous that I still acted like a debutante at her first ball whenever he was near me.

It didn’t help that he happened to be ridiculously gorgeous. His Italian ancestry was obvious—black hair, olive skin, and light brown eyes that literally sparkled. I’d never seen anything like his eyes before, and they had a sort of mesmerizing effect whenever he looked at me. And he seemed to look at me a lot. He was tall and built and always had a clean, crisp scent from an obviously expensive cologne that I could never quite identify and refused to ask about.

Dante stood too close to me. I resisted the urge to shut my eyes as I ordered my nerve endings to behave.

“There you are, Limone.” His voice was silky and laced with humor and an undeniable charm. He only called me limone, Italian for lemon, when we were alone, which made it unbearably intimate and personal. So whenever he said “Limone,” it weakened all my defenses and gave me the shivers.

And I was pretty sure he knew exactly the effect it had on me.

“No kiss hello for your dear friend?” he teased.

“You wish,” I retorted.

“You’re right, I do wish,” he practically purred, like some giant predatory cat, and my heart thumped painfully in response. Goose bumps broke out on my arms, and I accidentally swayed toward him.

Desperate to retain control, I ran through my list of reasons I could never be with him. That usually helped to calm my racing pulse. He was unserious, lazy, unambitious, flaky, a womanizing flirt, and would, without a doubt, cheat on me if I was ever stupid enough to hook up with him.

Unfortunately, every time I reminded myself why Dante and I could never work out, another annoying voice popped up to point out everything I liked about him. His sense of humor. His intelligence and wit. His loyalty and affection for his family. How he would sacrifice for the people he loved—he was only on this show for Nico’s sake. Then my brain happily skipped to the things we had in common, like how we both loved to ski. How he had always been a good friend to me; how even after the incident at the New Year’s Eve costume ball in Monterra he continued to text me funny and sweet things on a daily basis.