“Wow, what, Christina Newhart?”
I swallowed. Surely he could hear my dry gulp. “I’m surprised that you don’t sleep on your back, like a king.”
His restless groan sounded agonizing. “Sometimes I do not want to be a king.”
I nearly fell back into the fountain but tightened my grip on the stone ridge. “Now, that’s amazing.”
“Why?” The wind kicked up. My hair blew everywhere. He captured strands in his fingers studying them as if my hair were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “I’m glad you do not fix your hair like those girls in the movie.”
I chuckled. At the end ofGrease, Olivia Newton John had her hair shaped into a bushy hairdo, probably plastered with hair spray. “I’m glad too.”
Wearing a bemused smile, Marco let the strands slip through his fingers. “No, your hair is so soft.” With that he angled his body, one shoulder slipping behind mine.
“Is it?” That was all I could say?
But I was caught by his eyes. Mesmerized by the feelings rushing though me.
“I liked dancing with you at the party.” Marco closed his eyes as if he were remembering. And he hummed a line or two.
“I think you’re off tune.”
“What?” He pretended to be irritated. “You dare to question a king?”
Dipping his head, he was so very close. The words were whispered against my lips. They plumped. Oh, I wanted him to kiss me, but that would be very wrong. That playful glint in his eyes told me he knew that too.
Not that it stopped him.
The first kiss was soft and questioning.
“This is so…inappropriate,” I murmured.
He smiled before kissing me again. “Nothing that a king does can be inappropriate. You use that word a lot.”
“What word?” My vocal cords felt paralyzed. He kept kissing me, each kiss stronger, deeper.
“Inappropriate.” His arms went around me. Were the stars making me dizzy or was it Marco? “What does that mean?”
“It means something you shouldn’t be doing.”
This might be wrong but it felt very right––something I’d waited for all my life. The kiss went on, along with chuckles and sighs. We tried different angles, laughed when our noses bumped.
But what was I doing? Pulling away, I struggled to my feet. The path was uneven and not well lit.
“Christina, no. Please.” Marco reached for my hand.
“I can’t. We shouldn’t.” And I backed away. If I stayed, another kiss could be my undoing. One kiss. That’s all it took. Because I had never been kissed like that before. And these feelings? Totally new to me. New and dangerous.
* * *
In the daysthat followed I had my head in the clouds. And I smiled at how puzzled Marco would be at that expression. No way would I let myself think or feel. If I did, I would be lost. Lost in the arms of a man who’d opened my world to another life with one kiss. Other possibilities. Me. A woman of forty-two, I was in love for the first time.
Hopelessly in love with King Marco Giovanni Pietro di Napolitano.
After that night at the fountain, I avoided Marco. In the mornings, I dashed down to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Then it was off to the stable for a ride with Tesoro. To my relief and disappointment, Marco didn’t show up. As Tesoro and I rode freely over the field and through the forest, I emptied my heart. The mare nickered in agreement. By the time I brushed her down, I was exhausted physically and emotionally.
As July ground by, one breathlessly hot day after another, I pushed through the classes with Gregorio. He’d finished many of the American classics and we started on British literature, including Shakespeare. Lexi and Gregorio had a spirited discussion ofRomeo and Juliet,which made me start to wonder.
“Nothing is going on between the two of you, right?” I asked my daughter later that evening.
