A Night of Royal Consequences

It was certainly a warmer greeting than the stained sheet of lined paper pinned up on the noticeboard outside the pub, which warned staff to use the back door not the front, on pain of immediate dismissal.

The pickers had waited for her and were all in high spirits. She blended right in with denim shorts and a loose cotton top, teamed with a pair of market-find trainers. She was ready and excited for whatever lay ahead. This was an adventure. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was something to tell the Browns.

It was good news to hear she could start right away and be paid in cash if she wanted. That suited Callie. She planned to check out of the posh hotel and move to a small bed and breakfast in town to extend her stay. She’d already called to confirm the B & B had rooms. She wanted to get to know the real Italy, and, with her father’s example behind her, she knew better than to fritter her money away. She’d tasted the high life, and was glad to have done so, but had come away feeling slightly let down. This was so much better, she concluded as she trooped out of the barn with the other pickers. There were no airs and graces here, and, more significantly, no need to wear those excruciatingly painful high-heeled shoes.

The Prince’s estate was like a small town. She hadn’t guessed how big it was from the road. There were dozens of gangs of pickers working throughout the spectacular lemon groves. This was heaven, Callie thought as she straightened up and paused for breath. Yes, the work was hard, but the sun was warm, the scent of lemons was intoxicating. She had thick gloves to protect her hands and a tool to pick the lemons that were out of reach. The camaraderie was incredible. Everyone wanted to help the newcomers. The party Maria had told her about at the hotel was definitely on tonight, and all the pickers were invited. What could possibly be better than this?

She soon returned to the rhythm of picking. With a lightweight bucket tied around her waist, dropping fruit into it as she went, she loaded the lemon gold into crates that were taken away on gleaming tractors. By the time the blazing sun had mellowed into the amber glow of early evening, she felt as if she’d been working there all her life.

She’d even made a new friend called Anita, a big, bonnie woman, as Ma Brown would have called her, with a ready smile as big as Texas. Anita came from the north of England each year to pick lemons, to feel the sun on her face, to prepare her for the long, cold winter, Anita said. ‘I’m on my own,’ she’d explained to Callie, ‘but when I come here, I have a ready-made family.’

That was when Callie told Anita about the Browns. ‘It’s people that make things special, isn’t it?’ she’d asked.

This wasn’t just a great way to extend her stay in Italy, Callie concluded as Anita offered to show her the way to the cookhouse, this was an entirely new slant on life, if she had the courage to seize it.

Seize it she would, Callie determined. Her limbs might be aching from all the unaccustomed exercise, but she felt exhilarated for the first time in years. This, this was freedom.

CHAPTER THREE

HER ADVENTURE HAD only just begun, Callie realised as excitement for the upcoming party built inside her. Anita had shown her to one of the many well-groomed courtyards surrounding the palace where the celebration was to be held. She couldn’t help glancing through the brilliantly lit windows of the palace, to see if she could spot the Prince. Of course, there was no one who looked remotely like a prince, and there was no special buzz in the crowd, so he probably wasn’t here. Anita and she accepted a small glass of iced Limoncello from a passing waiter and started to chat. They hadn’t been talking long before Callie felt compelled to turn around. She gasped. ‘Luca?’

‘Someone you know?’ Anita asked with surprise.

‘Sort of,’ Callie admitted. She’d just caught a glimpse of him, but now there was a crowd clustering round, so she could only see the top of his head. She wasn’t surprised by all the interest. It was his magnetism that had first gripped her. ‘He didn’t tell me he worked here,’ she told Anita.

‘He’s a regular—are you all right?’ Anita had been abo

ut to say something else about Luca, but was responding to the look on Callie’s face.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Callie insisted on a dry mouth. Which was an absolute lie. She had to put her glass down and cross her arms over her chest to hide her arousal as Luca looked at her. And he didn’t just glance her way. Their stares locked and held.

‘Uh-oh. He’s coming over,’ Anita warned. ‘I predict things are about to change for you,’ Anita commented sagely. She had to nudge Callie, who was as good as in a trance. ‘Better make myself scarce...’

‘No, Anita! Stay—’ Too late. Anita had already disappeared into the crowd.

Luca saluted Callie with a bottle of beer, and his slanting smile of recognition was infectious and made her smile too. Her heart raced out of control. It was so exciting to see him again. Too exciting. She should follow Anita. What was she thinking of, standing here, waiting for a man who looked as if he ate brass tacks for breakfast with a virgin on the side?

Quite simple, Callie concluded, lifting her chin. She didn’t run away from anything, and she wasn’t about to start now.

And he was quite a magnet. Luca looked better than ever in his banged-up work clothes. Swarthy-faced, with an unruly mop of thick black hair and an indecent amount of sharp black stubble, he was everything better avoided for those in search of a quiet life. But I’m here in search of adventure, Callie reminded herself with a secret inner grin. Tousled and rugged, with scratches on his powerful forearms and hard-muscled calves, he even looked sexy when he wiped smudges of dirt from his face with the back of his arm. The bonfire behind him was throwing off flames that provided the perfect showcase for a man who looked like a dark angel from hell come to wreak havoc on novice flirters.

‘Luca,’ she said pleasantly as he came over, acting as if her senses weren’t reeling.

‘Signorina Callista Smith,’ he countered with a slanting grin. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

‘You know my name?’ He must have been talking to Marco the barman, Callie realised. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being discussed by the two men.

‘You can’t expect to be ignored, signorina.’

As Luca made a mock bow, she tried not to notice they’d become the centre of attention. She didn’t flatter herself that he’d picked her out for any particular reason. If he was a regular as Anita had suggested, she was fresh meat.

His top was tight and skimmed the waistband of his low-slung shorts. It was impossible not to notice the arrow of dark hair that swooped beneath his zipper, or indeed the quite preposterous bulge that lay beneath. To say he looked amazing was an understatement. Even when she tried to focus on something harmless, like his tanned feet in simple thonged sandals, she realised they were sexy too. Her interest travelled up his legs to powerful calves, and on again to where she definitely shouldn’t be looking. She had to stop this right now, and concentrate!

No! Not there!

She was about to meet a very challenging man for the second time, and she’d better be ready for it, Callie warned herself firmly. Fixing her gaze on Luca’s darkly amused face, she determined not to let her gaze wander, but then thought, why not stare? Luca had never been shy about staring at her, and interest wasn’t a one-way street. His bronzed and muscular torso, barely covered by the ripped and faded top, invited attention. He was an outstanding specimen. A statue should be raised in the town square for everyone to admire.

‘Nice to see you at the party,’ he said, smiling in that faint way he had that made her body burn. ‘I hope they’re serving nuts tonight.’