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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ROCCO AND NICO

R occo stood on the terrace, leaning against the balustrade and gazing up at the sooty ivory stone of the Berlusconi’s villa, his eye drifting to the top floor and the covered corridor—the loggia adorned with purple bougainvillea.

He turned around and faced the lake, inhaling the heady, sultry scent of jasmine, wisteria, and freesia that ornamented the villa in the multi-tiered gardens below.

The sky had slipped from a violet twilight to a deep purple, and the lake’s surface shimmered in the moonlight.

To the north lay the Tremezzina Bay, to the south the Isola Comacina. Farther in the distance were the verdant mountains, and farther still the snowy alpine peaks and Mount Bianco, where the story Nico had begun telling him took place.

He felt a hand on his back and turned around to see Dario.

“Well,” Rocco said, “if it isn’t Sir Lancelot. You know I’ll have to leave in a bit for Carnival. My nieces are expecting me.”

Dario nodded. “Too bad it turned out to be on the same night. You’ll have to go back to the hotel and change.”

“Why?”

Dario blinked. “You’re not going to go like that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the laced-up tunic, suede vest, and boots might not be so bad. But that wig and moustache? If you were wearing a snug T-shirt and jeans, you’d look like a seventies porn star.”

Rocco took a step back and pulled out his sword. “‘Thinking of using Bonetti’s Defense against me, are you?’”

Dario rolled his eyes. “I never know how to respond when you quote that stupid movie.”

“Stupid?” Rocco took a couple more steps back and began swiping the sword through the air.

“You do realize you’re taking on a knight.” Dario tapped his own sword hanging from his hip.

“And you, sir, are taking on a Spanish fencer and henchman to the Sicilian criminal Vizzini. Prepare to die!” Rocco cried as he lunged forward.

Dario staggered back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he gripped the stone balustrade but then immediately righted himself. “I can’t go down any farther. Celeste will be pissed if I do any damage to this costume.”

Rocco laughed. “So, Lancelot is afraid of Guinevere.”

“He is.”

Both stood looking out at the placid, silent lake with the sounds of laughter, music, and tinkling ice in cocktail-filled glasses drifting out onto the terrace.

Finally, Dario spoke. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about last night. You drank pretty heavily after …”

Rocco placed his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I’m okay. We both know Carolyn was trying to rattle me. Don’t worry. She didn’t.”

Dario nodded. “You know, I think she might be the one who’s rattled. Her precious Anker might be atop the leaderboard now, but if you can keep performing like you did at Monza, I think you can take him—even win the whole thing. Monaco’s next.”

Rocco sighed. “Monaco.”

“You know you can win it. You’ve done it before. Carolyn knows it too.”

“Did you notice how rude she was to Nico?”

“Nico’s probably used to it. She hasn’t exactly been welcomed with open arms by everyone on the circuit.”

Dario gave Rocco a significant look.

“Do you mean me?” Rocco asked. “That was in the beginning. I know I was an ass. Anyway, Nico paid her back. She poured some of her drink in Carolyn’s purse when she wasn’t looking.”

Dario’s eyes ballooned. “She didn’t.”

Rocco grinned. “She did.”

Dario bent over and the two of them roared with laughter.

After the laughter subsided, Rocco exhaled. “She’s an odd character, don’t you think?”

“Nico? She’s not bad. Celeste really likes her.”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“Well, I didn’t either.”

“Okay, but you said she was odd .”

“She is. But I meant that in a good way. She’s … interesting. Different.”

Dario peered at Rocco. “Last night—”

“What?”

“Things are going so well now.”

“Yeah?”

“I just want to be sure last night didn’t change things.”

Rocco frowned. “Why would they?”

Dario shrugged.

“Nothing’s changed,” Rocco insisted. “Not for me.”

Dario nodded. “Good. And not for her. I think. I hope.”

“What are you getting at?” Rocco demanded.

“Just, you were pretty drunk, and you left together.”

“We’re staying in the same hotel, and I needed someone to help me home, drunk as I was.”

Dario nodded. “Okay.”

“We didn’t sleep together if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Dario sighed. “I figured as much.”

Not that it’s any of your business , Rocco thought, feeling annoyed by Dario’s obvious relief.

“It’s just those magazine photos and the one on social media and some of Celeste’s comments. I mean, I can see what she’s saying. It seems like there might be an attraction there.”

“There’s no attraction!”

Dario blinked. “Okay. Okay.”

Why did I say it like that?

Rocco drew a deep breath. “Look, I told you what happened with that one on social media. It wasn’t at all the way it looks. And as for that photoshoot. I would look at any woman like I looked at Nico in those photos if the woman looked like Nico did in that dress.”

Dario sighed. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

But in some of those photos, she was wearing her racing suit.

Dario seemed to have forgotten that fact, and Rocco wasn’t about to remind him.

He looked down at his hands and thought of hers. How small and delicate they were.

Would it really be so bad if we did? Well, yes, if things didn’t go well. I mean, we’re teammates. But what if they did go well? Would it be so bad then?

Thinking about her hands made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her.

Would her kisses be like her hands or more like her dark eyes and that hair?

What would she be like in bed? When he thought of the things he’d discovered about her during that drinking game, he thought she must be wild in bed.

Rocco blinked when he saw Dario with an uneasy look, staring at him.

Laughing, he shoved him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m not stupid enough to start something with her. We’re teammates. It would be a big mistake.”

“Huge,” Dario added.

“Besides, even if I tried, she wouldn’t go for it. My nieces told her I called her a cockroach.”

Dario burst out laughing. “What? When did—”

“Dario! Rocco!” Celeste cried, waving them over.

Nico entered the grand ballroom. The ivory and pale blue walls looked like works of art themselves.

Every doorway and window was framed by swirling stucco delicate as lace and frescoes that looked as though they’d been carved from the walls rather than painted on them.

A series of windows framed the lake, and in the center were French doors leading out onto a terrace.

She scanned the crowd of colorful characters—women dressed in flowing scarves, rich tapestries, and velvet.

Nico eyed one dressed as Scheherazade, another Queen Anne Boleyn joined by a man dressed as King Henry VIII.

There were men dressed in suits of armor, as pirates, and even a couple in suits looking very much like the characters from Men in Black .

But no Guinevere and Lancelot. She didn’t know what Rocco was dressed as.

Perhaps she was looking at him right now and didn’t know it.

Do I want to see him?

No. Not exactly.

That was in part true. And in part false.

She did want to see him—but so badly, it was unsettling. The result being that she wanted very much not to want to see him.

Adjusting her wig of dark rakish curls and making certain the moustache she was sporting was secure, she turned around. She spotted a hallway on her right, approached it, walked up a couple steps, and stopped almost immediately when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Seen the cockroach yet?” Dario said with a laugh.

Nico froze. He was standing directly behind her.

“By the way, don’t go asking any questions about the stuff she revealed last night during that drinking game. Celeste told me to tell you that. Not that you would—but, don’t. You said it yourself, she’s a bit odd, and who knows what the rest of the story is.”

He must think I’m Rocco.

She and Rocco must be wearing a similar costume—at least similar enough from the back. She was wearing padding in her shoulders, and her platform boots made her appear taller. She’d also walked up a couple steps to enter the hallway up ahead. Dario must not have noticed.

“Hey, look, I’m still a little worried. Not about you. But about her. I mean, what if Nico gets ideas—you know, the wrong ideas? That could make things awkward. Maybe even get in the way of your performance.”

Nico stiffened. She wished she’d turned around immediately when he’d come up to her. Even if there would have been an embarrassing moment because of that cockroach comment, Nico could have explained that she knew about it and Rocco had apologized.

Too late now. There’s no way I can turn around now.

“I’m just glad nothing happened last night,” Dario went on.

“Like you said, it would have been a real boneheaded move. I never even thought it until Celeste mentioned it. But you know Celeste gets these ideas into her head. She’s closer to Nico, and I’m guessing she got the idea from her.

Just know, the girl might have a crush on you; she probably does.

Nothing serious, mind you. She’ll get past it.

As long as you don’t encourage her. And definitely don’t act on it.

“Now as for that blonde you were just introduced to, Tiffany Bright, you’d be a fool to let that one slip through your fingers.

You’re not the only one whose jaw dropped to the floor when she entered the room.

She’s one fine mermaid. And she’s definitely interested.

I would hit that if I were you. You have the perfect getaway to keep it from developing into anything serious. We leave for Monaco in a few days.”

Nico could feel him turn as he removed his hand from her shoulder.

He’s probably looking for that blonde.

“Dario!”

He patted her shoulder. “There’s my dad. Better move quick if you want a chance with Tiffany. She’s got a crowd of guys chatting her up now.”