Page 35

Nico waited and then glanced tentatively over her shoulder. Dario was nowhere in sight.

She needed to leave. Now.

You can’t just disappear without saying anything.

I’ll tell Celeste I don’t feel well.

She would catch a taxi to the ferry and pray she hadn’t missed the last one.

Nico looked anxiously around the room.

Where the hell is Celeste?

Maybe she was out on the terrace. She rushed across the room, weaving her way frantically through the crush of bodies until she reached the French doors. Once there, she opened them and stepped out.

The terrace was empty except for one lone figure who had his back to her, gazing out at the lake.

I’ll text Celeste.

She’d have to. She had to get out of here now.

Suddenly the figure turned around, and she was faced with the mirror image of herself.

He took a couple of steps forward and brandished his sword. “‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

Her eyes ballooned. “Rocco?”

He stood up straight. His sword fell with his arm to his side as he cocked his head. “Nico?”

Fuck-a-dilly-dewdrop.

Rocco approached her, looking her up and down. “Are you supposed to be … Inigo Montoya?”

She lifted her chin. “As you can see.”

She sounded, what? Annoyed? Perturbed?

Something.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

Rocco shrugged.

She did likewise, and he wondered if she was mimicking him.

“Maybe,” she hissed, “because you asked like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you were shocked.”

“Well, aren’t you? I mean, what are the odds two people would be wearing the same costume? Especially when it’s a character from a film that’s what, something like thirty-six years old.”

“It was a book first, and the book is something like fifty years old.”

He lowered his brow. “I know that.”

“You aren’t just surprised that you found another person wearing the same costume, you’re surprised that it’s a woman.”

“I didn’t say that,” he insisted.

Although, he had thought it.

“You didn’t have to,” she hissed.

He took a step toward her. Those dark eyes were perfect for Montoya. The kind of eyes he would imagine the character having.

“You’re not exactly difficult to read,” she spat.

“I’m not, am I? Okay, suppose you tell me what I’m doing outside here on the terrace?”

“Well that’s obvious. You’re talking to me, pretending that your surprise that I’m wearing the same costume has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a woman.”

The corner of his lip quivered, and he quickly bit it to keep from grinning.

“All right, then, tell me what I was doing before you came out onto the terrace.”

“I said you were easy to read. That doesn’t mean knowing everything about you like some kind of mystic or fortune teller. But if I had to guess, I would say you were thinking about which of the women in that ballroom you planned to take back to your hotel room.”

Now he did grin. She was wrong.

“If I had to guess,” she said, “I would say you’ve chosen Tiffany Bright.”

His brow wrinkled as he narrowed his eyes. Why had she chosen that particular woman? Had the thought crossed his mind when he’d been introduced to her? Yes. But it had left immediately after.

Nico looked smug. “I thought so.”

What made her so certain? And so angry?

They’d done well in Monza. They were getting along fine. And now. This.

He plastered a smug smile of his own on his face. “Now that would be a good choice. She is very … very …”

“Very,” Nico said.

Rocco grinned and growled, “Indeed.”

“Humph. I told you, you’re easy to read.”

“Ah, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about. Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to me earlier in the evening.”

“Well there you are.”

“And what about you? There are some decent-looking guys in that room. Unless, of course, you prefer women. Please don’t tell me we’re going to need to brandish these swords for real and fight for the heart of one Tiffany Bright.

Perhaps that’s why you mentioned her. Are you, by chance, interested in her … for yourself?”

“No, you needn’t worry. I’m not interested in anyone in that room, man or woman.”

“Why not? Someone at home?”

“No.”

“Well, then, why not? I mean, it’s the perfect opportunity. You can have a pleasant evening, and then you have the perfect excuse not to complicate things. We’ll be leaving for Monaco in a couple days.”

“If I were looking for something like that, I would hardly call the evening I would be embarking on pleasant .”

His breathing halted and then sputtered, sounding hoarse and ragged to his own ears just as a warmth that felt thick like honey began to spread between his legs.

Looking into her dark eyes, he had the sudden thought that she was telling the truth—that a night with her wouldn’t be pleasant because that was much too tame a word.

She tossed her head. “But as I said, I’m not interested in anyone, so you don’t need to worry about any competition from me.”

“Why are you being so combative?”

She held out her arms. “I’m Inigo Montoya.”

He laughed despite himself. But he quickly stopped. He wasn’t about to let her off that easily.

“Costume aside. It’s like you’re looking for a fight.”

“We’ve been fighting for years online. Nothing new. Nothing’s changed.”

But something was new. Something had changed.

He shook his head. “You know that’s not true.

Okay, it was true. But I haven’t given you any reason today, yesterday, frankly since we were locked in that room in Barcelona, to be mad at me.

At least I don’t think so. But you’re coming at me as though I have.

You’re making a point of being nasty and disagreeable. ”

“Nasty and disagreeable? That should hardly surprise you—cockroaches generally are.”

Rocco frowned. “I told you I never called you that.”

“Well, it’s obvious you lied.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Should we ask Dario?”

“Dario?” And then it suddenly occurred to Rocco. “Did Dario just tell you that? Really? I can’t believe he did that!”

“What? Tell me the truth?”

“No. I told him my nieces thought I’d called you a cockroach.”

“Why would you tell him that? To have a good laugh at my expense?”

“No!” He hesitated. He didn’t exactly want to tell her any of the rest of his conversation with Dario. “I only told him about that to explain to him that you would never—”

“Never what?”

“That there was no danger of—”

He huffed. Just say it already.

“I told him so that he would know you’d reject any move I made. If I did make a move. Which I have no intention of doing. So, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“What do you mean, ‘make a move’?”

“You know what I mean. A move. Like the kind you think I want to make on Tiffany Bright.”

“Why would you make a move on me?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Well, then, why were you and Dario talking about it?”

“Because you took me home, and I was drunk. So, he was concerned. That’s all.”

“This wouldn’t even be an issue if I were a man.”

Rocco laughed. “No, it wouldn’t. I’m not interested in men.”

“It’s not just that. I’m”—she placed one finger on her chin, tilted her head, and raised her eyes to the stars as though she were thinking hard—“odd.” She turned back to him, snapping her fingers. “That’s it! Odd!”

Without giving it much thought, he shrugged. “That’s true. You are.”

Her eyes sprung open wide. Maybe they’d grown even darker. Although he couldn’t see how that was possible.

“I mean that in a good way.”

“Odd? In a good way?” she sneered.

“Yes. As in. Unique. Different. Hell, you have a pet rat. Not to mention the fact you’re one of only five women to have ever driven Formula 1.

And in terms of the racing you’re doing, actually more like one of three—you, Maria Teresa de Filippis, and Lella Lombardi.

In fact, now that I think of it, you’re probably really only comparable to Lella. ”

She didn’t say anything and turned her gaze to the lake. But he could feel her anger coming down. It felt as though she’d lowered her sword.

Why had she used that word, odd ? She must have overheard him talking with Dario.

He drew a quick but deep breath.

“Look, cut Dario some slack. I mean, it’s not that difficult to understand why he might go there. Why he might have some concern. I mean, about me, making a move.”

She turned her attention back to him. She was staring at him as though he were speaking a foreign language.

She couldn’t be that clueless. Could she?

He sighed. “You possess certain characteristics that might, you know.”

“That might what?”

“That might. Interest. A man. In that way.”

“Oh really.”

“I said might; I didn’t say they did. And anyway, even if they did, I wouldn’t—and you wouldn’t. It would be stupid. To. Do. That.”

“Right. Stupid. You’re right, of course I would.” She paused. “I mean, I wouldn’t.”

“You would or you wouldn’t?” he heard himself asking as though it were someone else speaking.

Nico glared at him. “I suppose you’re accustomed to women just falling at your feet. I hope you make certain to catch them before they fall completely.”

He chuckled. “They do. And I do.”

The French doors opened, and the sound of laughter floated out onto the terrace as a couple of people stepped out and walked over to the other side of the balcony.

He looked at his watch. “I have to get going,” he muttered. “Carnival.”

Should he? Probably not. But he found himself wanting to. “You want to come?”

She didn’t respond.

He grinned. “Sofia and Beatrice will be there.”

She smiled. “They will?”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her after him.

They ran down the winding staircase and stopped beside a speedboat tethered to the dock. He let go of her hand, undid the rope, and put his foot along the side of the boat to hold it.

“Hop on.”

“I didn’t say I’d go.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Well you didn’t say no .”

“So?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? You aren’t seriously saying my not saying no means I said yes .”

“Look, I saw your face when I mentioned Sofia and Beatrice. You said yes .”

“So, you’re a mind reader now?”

He thought a moment. “Yeah, that’s right. When it comes to you … I suppose I am.”

She was gritting her teeth, which made it difficult to hear what she muttered. But he paid close attention. And he got it.

“Man, that little prince has nothing on you.”

He narrowed his eyes, and she did likewise.

“Is this even your boat?” she demanded.

“No, I’m just going to borrow it.”

“You mean steal it.”

“No, I mean borrow. Now, come on already.” He paused. “Or maybe you’re only daring on the track when you’re behind the wheel.”

She scoffed. “You think using some kind of reverse psychology is going to get me onto that boat?”

“I don’t really think I need to get you on this boat because I think both you and I know you want to get on this boat.”

“Oh, we do, do we? Well in that case, why even bother with talking at all? Why not just channel your inner Neanderthal, haul me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and throw me onto the boat?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

Was that an invitation? Or a challenge? Maybe both.

She doesn’t think I’d dare.

Suddenly, he got the uncomfortable feeling she’d read his thoughts just now.

In one quick move, he picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and jumped on board.

Once he set her down, he turned his back to her with the intention of sitting behind the wheel and taking off.

That was easy. Almost too easy.

She wasn’t saying anything. Not a word.

Probably shouldn’t have done that.

Shit. He’d have to apologize now.

He turned around, prepared to do just that. But before he could utter even one word, her knee made contact with his crotch, and he doubled over.