21. Chloe

CHAPTER 21

CHLOE

P aolo allows us to sleep in a little the next day, but I don’t feel well rested at all. All night I was tossing and turning, unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get comfortable at all, and nothing I could do was helping.

The first person I see when I leave my room is Maria. I smile at her. “Good morning, ma’am,” she says.

“Good morning. Is Paolo up yet?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him. But if I were you, I would avoid the dining room for a little while. Miguel is down there demanding breakfast from the chef.”

I shudder. “Good idea. Thanks. I’ll just go back to my room then, I guess.”

Maria says goodbye to me, and I sneak off back to my room, passing Paolo’s as I do. I hesitate outside his door and contemplate knocking. It’s probably not a good idea.

But that split second of hesitation is all it takes for him to decide it’s time to open the door. When he sees me, he jumps in surprise. “Chloe!” he says, “What are you doing here?”

“I was just going back to my room,” I say, trying to look casual. “Miguel’s in the dining room.”

“Ah, I see. Wise choice.”

“Have your brothers always been this nasty?”

“The same and worse,” he sighs.

“You must have had a fun childhood.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he says, “Tell you what, let’s get breakfast on the go.”

“Where are we going today?”

“Bellé, the capital city. We’ll definitely find a postcard there. And I want to show you the best gelato you’ll ever have eaten in your life.”

I grin. “That sounds good.”

“Good. But first, come in.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the room. I yelp, stumbling forward as he closes the door behind me. “Technically,” he says, “I’m not supposed to leave the palace at all. Yesterday was okay because news isn’t going to spread from a small village. But if I’m seen in the city and someone takes a photo of me, then I’m absolutely screwed.”

“We don’t have to go,” I say. The last thing I want to do is put him at risk. He doesn’t need to get into any more trouble.

He shakes his head. “No, I want to. But I wasn’t quite sure what to wear. Should I wear this hat?” He puts on a stupid hat with ear flaps. “Or this hat?” He puts on a stupid straw hat with a brim so wide I can barely see his face at all.

“Well, both are bad,” I say, pulling no punches, “But the straw hat’s better. Slightly.”

“Okay, and with sunglasses…” He goes and pulls some sunglasses out of his closet. “And maybe this scarf?” He throws a scarf around his neck for the final touch. “How do I look?”

“You were going for inconspicuous?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah — no. You couldn’t stick out more if you tried. Let me look.”

I fling open his closet. Almost everything he has in there is more expensive than anything I’ve ever owned, all suit jackets and button-up shirts and silk ties. I rummage around, flicking between generic, boring-colored shirts. He has to have something interesting in here. He can’t be all work. I know for a fact he’s not all work.

I’m about to lose hope, but then eventually I find the perfect thing.

I pull it out. “Here we go. This is it.” I give it to him, and he stares down at it in horror, as if he had forgotten that he had ever owned such a hideous Hawaiian shirt at all.

“Really?”

“Yes. And we’ll add in… yeah, here. These shorts, then put on a baseball cap — backwards — sunglasses, and… socks and sandals. Perfect.”

“And you thought the straw hat was ridiculous!” he huffs, arms full of clothes, sticking his nose up at my idea.

“We’re aiming for an American tourist,” I say, “Nobody is going to think twice about a stupid American tourist. Definitely nobody’s going to think that their prince would ever dress like that. It’s the perfect disguise.”

“I take your point.” He frowns, then looks me up and down. “What are you going to wear?”

I shrug. “Let me see if I can get Maria to find me some leggings and a T-shirt, then we’ll both look perfect.” Against my will, Maria did go out and find me an entire new wardrobe. And, worst of all, she got my style spot on, so I love everything in my new closet.

What did I do to deserve this generosity?

“Perfect?” Paolo scoffs. “By whose definition?”

“The perfect disguise ,” I say. “That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

By the time we meet at the side entrance ready to go, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Wow,” I say as Paolo approaches me, looking less than pleased. “Don’t you look the part?”

“Do I?” he asks, perking up. His puppy-dog need for approval should be annoying, but I can’t help but find it cute.

“Unfortunately, yes. Everything about this—” I gesture at him “—could not be further away from royalty.”

“Good. I guess,” he says sadly.

“Cheer up,” I grin. “We’re going to have a great day today.”

He cocks his head at me, giving me distinct puppy-dog vibes again, but doesn’t say anything. He just gives me this look of intrigue, like he wants to ask how I can be sure. I guess I can’t.

But I have a good feeling about it.

Together, we drive into the city. He points more stuff out on the way, tells me his ideas for some things we could do. I have no real agenda. Not having to think about it feels kind of nice.

He pulls into a parking lot, then turns to me and says, “You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Right, then. Gelato time.”

“You can’t have gelato for breakfast!”

“Maybe you can’t, but I definitely can. And anyway, the crepes in this place are to die for. Just trust me, okay? Let’s go.”

I don’t argue with him any more than that — clearly his mind is set on this plan, and I am curious. Everyone likes crepes, after all.

He leads me through the city, taking my hand, a big dopey grin plastered across his face. The way he loves this city fills me with a lightness, a shared joy. It’s infectious.

I can see why he wanted to get home so badly.

And I can’t really argue with him when we get served, because these crepes are damn good.

“Do you come here a lot?” I ask before I eat a strawberry whole.

He shakes his head. “I get them to deliver. I’m not really allowed to come into the city that often. Especially lately.”

“Do you ever just wish you could do what you want?”

“Doing what I wanted got me into this mess to begin with,” he says ruefully, his face falling under a shadow. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all.”

I don’t push it any further. I don’t want to spoil our day.

After we finish our crepes, Paolo drags me back out onto the street to go and see the cathedral. It is a huge, intricate building, very ancient-looking, very impressive. I crane my neck up at it and watch as the light glints off the stained glass.

Tourists buzz around us, and Paolo flinches away from them, turning his face from every camera, every selfie. His parents have got him really scared about this.

How many rules is he breaking again, just for me?

We walk around the cathedral three times, then head to the art museum, where we both do our best impressions of the paintings. He makes me laugh with every dumb expression, every way he shamelessly holds out his arms to make himself look silly.

It’s all to make me laugh. And it does. Spending this time with him here, looking at these beautiful artworks and this ridiculous man… it almost feels like a date. I almost feel like I want it to be.

“Are you sure there’s nowhere you want to go?” Paolo asks as we pass by some statues commissioned by some long-ago royals and rich people to commemorate an event I’ve never heard of.

“No, not really. I’m happy to do whatever you want.”

This isn’t the first time today he’s asked me that, but I really am happy to defer to his better knowledge. He’s already taken me to the one place I wanted to go most of all, and now I’m just enjoying exploring his city with him.

The backwards-baseball-cap look really could not suit him less, but it’s doing its job. Nobody recognizes him at all. Just for now, we’re two normal people, nothing more than two friends exploring a city together, enjoying each other’s company, laughing at each other’s dumb jokes.

This is Paolo in his truest form. This is a Paolo who isn’t a prince and isn’t pretending that he is anything but who he wants to be. This is the kind, funny, ridiculous man that I met months ago. This is the guy I fell for. Not the prince. Not the smooth-talking charmer, but the man who was thoughtful enough to take me to my dad’s village.

That’s what I fell in love with.

His face shines with excitement as he guides me around the city he knows best in the world. If he could always act like this, how could I do anything but love him?

There’s that word again, jumping into my mind against my will. Surely he’s broken my heart too many times now for me to still have feelings for him. Hasn’t he lied and cheated? Hasn’t he made promises? Used me? Isn’t our entire relationship built on a foundation of misunderstandings and lies?

But somehow, here in the city, this feels like a reset button. This feels like it could be the start all over again.

This is the closest I think he’s going to get to taking me out. To getting to know me the right way, and letting me get to know him. I’m still not sure if I like Prince Paolo, but normal-man Paul…

How can I forget him?

As we walk along the river, Paolo looks out and smiles, waving down at one of the boats filled with tourists. The sun catches his face, framing him in gold. It makes his eyes sparkle and his lips seem more kissable than ever.

Damn. I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything except going home and forgetting about all of this craziness.

“Do you want to go on a boat tour?” he asks, turning to me.

“Okay,” I say. “Why not?”

He offers me a hand and, despite knowing I shouldn’t, I take it.

Despite everything, I still want him so badly that when I think about losing him, I forget how to breathe.