Chapter 6
EVERY QUIET MINUTE on Tuesday felt like an hour as Bella kept glancing at the clock, waiting, waiting, waiting for the day to end.
Luckily, most of the day was actually very busy.
At ten o’clock, she saw ancient New York socialite Mrs. Madeline Winters, who needed a wash, blow-dry, and roller set in her white hair.
At one o’clock, frequent hotel guest and pop singer Samara Silvestry required a touch-up on her ombré with Joaquin, followed by a wash and braided updo with Bella.
And at four thirty, twin sisters and heiresses Veronica and Victoria Van Dussel came in for identical updos, which took a good bit of time, because the twelve-year-olds insisted that no one be able to tell them apart, which essentially meant that not a wisp of hair could be out of place.
By six o’clock, Bella was tired, sitting at the reception desk, answering messages, and booking appointments, but as the staff bid their good-byes at seven, her heart, and mood, lifted. Madame Gothel had shot Bella several dirty looks but otherwise avoided her for most of the day.
“Bella, I need to speak with you,” said Madame, stopping by the reception desk, her face pinched. “We simply cannot allow what happened yesterday to happen again.”
“Madame?”
“The Princess Valentina has no respect for your position here, and I fear you encourage her behavior. I’m afraid if you accept her invitation again and skip out of work like it doesn’t matter to you, I will have no choice but to fire you.”
“Fire me?”
“From your position here.”
She kept an indignant scoff to herself. “But I don’t even make a salary, Madame.”
“Your room and board is your salary, Bella.”
Bella stared at her godmother in shock. “You mean that if the princess asks me to lunch again and I go with her, you will force me out on the street?”
“That’s an awfully dire way to look at it.”
“How else can I look at it?”
“As a way to politely assert yourself, dearest,” she said, grinning at Bella, though the gesture didn’t crinkle her eyes with any affection. “As an opportunity to refuse the princess while still preserving the relationship.”
“But, Madame, you are the one who told me to go.”
“Yes. But next time, I won’t be here. If I see her coming, I will excuse myself and let you manage it.”
“And I’m meant to say no to her?”
“You are. Politely, of course, so she isn’t offended.”
“You’ve met her!” insisted Bella. “She’s not the type of woman you say no to.”
Madame steeled her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Nor am I.”
Bella gulped, finally understanding that had she continued on as Madame’s grateful workhorse indefinitely, things may have stayed amicable between them. But by questioning her godmother and winning Valentina’s favor, she had upset the apple cart, and things would never go back to the way they were.
“I’m so glad we chatted,” said Madame. “I’m going to have a nice, long bath. Clean up in here, and be quiet when you come home just in case I’m already asleep.” She turned away and headed for the glass doors.
“Why did you take me in?” Bella asked her back. “You don’t want me here. I’m not sure you ever did.”
Madame turned to look at Bella, cocking her head to the side as she stared at her young ward. “Your mother...Karin...looked more German than Italian. Blonde. Blue-eyed. But your father...” She paused, a hint of real emotion tracking across her face, her eyes briefly shuttering in pain before opening again. “Giorgio was dark like you. Jet-black hair. Olive skin. Eyes that could reach into your very...” Her voice faded away, and she snapped her lips shut, clenching her jaw. Finally, she said, “To be frank, I had no idea you’d look so much like him.”
Bella was almost trembling, trying to follow all the spoken—and unspoken—things Madame was saying. “Why—why does it matter that I look like my father?”
Madame’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t. Stop asking me these stupid questions.”
Jerking around, she pushed through the glass doors and didn’t turn to look at Bella again as she waited for the elevator to arrive.
It took Bella a full minute to move from where she stood frozen behind the reception desk.
What in the world did it mean? Had Madame Gothel—Helga—had feelings for her father? Bella searched her mind, but she could never remember her godmother visiting them in Bellinzona. Though she did recall a framed photo on the little piano—three young teenagers, arm in arm: beautiful, blonde Karin, who smiled at the camera; tall, handsome, dark-haired Giorgio in the middle, who stared at Karin; and plainer Helga, who faced forward but didn’t smile at all.
Had Helga been in love with Giorgio? And had he been so firmly in love with Karin that he hadn’t noticed? Had her mother known?
Bella thought back to the picture of the three teenagers.
No, she decided. Her mother hadn’t known of Helga’s feelings. Neither, she guessed, had her father.
When Bella arrived in the United States, had Helga Gothel hoped against hope that Bella would resemble her mother, Karin? Blonde and blue-eyed? Instead, she’d stepped off the plane, the spitting image and same age as the teenaged boy in the picture. A boy who had broken her heart.
Bella felt a wave of sadness for Madame Gothel, who’d married a man for money in her thirties and likely never known true, requited love. Did it hurt every time she looked at Bella? Did it ache to remember the way Giorgio looked at Karin?
Walking in a daze to the supply closet, Bella took out the Windex and spritzed the counter, wiping it distractedly.
“L’amore è un campo di battaglia,” she said softly as she rolled up her sleeves to tidy the rest of the salon before racing up to the roof to see her forbidden prince.
Love is a battlefield.
NICO HAD THOUGHT OF everything: a soft blanket, votive candles, a basket full of gourmet Italian treats that the hotel concierge had tracked down in Little Italy, plus plates, napkins, utensils, wineglasses, and a bottle of Ticino Merlot that hadn’t been easy to find. He’d thought about asking the concierge to rope white lights around the roof but recalled Bella’s warning that they weren’t actually permitted up there, so he made do with the moon, stars, and candlelight, which cast a warm glow onto the blanket. It was a stunning sight—their cozy picnic with the lights of Manhattan beyond.
But it all paled in comparison to her.
It was the look on Bella’s face when she came around the corner and found him that he would always remember.
She was wearing the same denim skirt she’d been wearing last Friday night when he’d first met her, this time with a white T-shirt that accentuated her small, round breasts and tiny waist. Her hair, held back with a simple black hairband, fell down her back, tumbling in glorious waves past her hips. And on her feet she wore tiny black shoes that looked a little like ballet slippers.
As she ran to him, her eyes sparkling with happiness, he opened his arms wide for her, catching her against his chest and urgently finding her lips with his. He wound his arms around her slight body, holding her close, feeling the panting breaths that forced her breasts against his chest. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the intoxicating sound, committing it to memory so that once he was married and his bride was far from home in Africa, he could recall the sweet murmurs of the lovely girl he’d met in Manhattan.
“Merda,” he cursed softly, leaning away from her, knowing that such a memory shouldn’t be captured and held for such purposes. He hadn’t even proposed to Elena yet, and he was already planning ways to cheat on her with his mind and his heart.
“What?” asked Bella, her smile glorious in her upturned face.
“Nothing, cara,” he said, smiling back at her. “You. Just you. You make me lose my mind.”
She arched her back, teasing him a little by rubbing against him. “Today was so long.”
“For me too.”
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Thought of you. Planned a picnic. Thought of you some more.”
She looked around his arm at the piccola festa he’d laid out on the blanket and gasped. “Is that a Rosso della Piana Merlot?”
He nodded, smiling at her delight. “It is.”
“I know the Vitivinicola San Mateo,” she exclaimed, pushing out of his arms to kneel down on the blanket and reach lovingly for the open, breathing bottle. “It’s in Cagiallo!”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared down at her, his heart throbbing with affection for her.
“They have a lovely little tasting room,” she continued. “And...and a white dog. Named Flo.”
“Flo?”
Her grin didn’t waver as she looked up at him and nodded. “Sí. My parents knew the owners. Before they...”
“Died,” he said gently.
“Yes,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “You know, I think I figured something out tonight.”
He kicked off his flip-flops and lowered his body to the blanket as she poured two glasses of wine for them. Lying on his side, he looked up at her. “What?”
“I think my madrina was in love with my father.”
Nico’s brow furrowed. “You mean he cheated on your mother?”
Bella looked up from her work. “No! Never!”
“Then...?”
“They were childhood friends, but two girls and one boy...you can imagine how much it must have hurt her that he loved my mother. She came here when she was eighteen, just after my father proposed. I think—I mean, I wonder if she left, partially, because it was hard to see her best friend marry the man she loved.” She handed Nico a glass of wine. “Here. Try it.”
Nico swirled the wine around the glass before taking a small sip. It was rich and full-bodied, but not too overbearing. “It’s good.”
“It’s a Carminoir grape,” said Bella after taking a sip. She sighed with pleasure. “Thank you for this.”
“For you, Bella cara? Anything.” He reached for a piece of cured meat, popping it between his lips. “So you think your madrina was in love with your father?”
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I think that’s why she treats me so badly...because I remind her of him—of the man who didn’t love her back.”
Nico swallowed the salumi and reached for a small wedge of cheese. “It doesn’t make her behavior okay.”
“But it does explain it,” said Bella, placing her wineglass on the paved roof, then repositioning herself so she was lying on her back, looking up at the stars. “And there’s comfort in understanding. I didn’t do anything wrong. It isn’t me. It’s her...or him, I guess.”
Nico shifted a little closer to her, staring at her profile. “Did you think it was you?”
She turned her neck to catch his eyes. “Of course.”
He took another sip of wine, then placed his glass on top of the closed basket, leaning closer to her. “You thought you did something wrong?”
“I thought, perhaps, that I wasn’t very likeable.”
“Bella,” he breathed, unable to bear her words. He lay on his back beside her, staring into her eyes. “You are an angel. You are sweet and kind, gentle and honest. How could you ever think you were unlikeable?”
With a small smile on her lovely face, she stared at him for what felt like a long, long time before whispering, “Nico.”
“Cosa, mia cara?” What, my love?
“Baciami,” she murmured. Kiss me.
He held his breath as his eyes flicked to her sweet pink lips. Reaching out to rest his hand on her hip and pull her to him, his nose nuzzled hers gently, and he heard her gasp. Just a swift intake of breath that stole the last of his self-control. His lips sought and captured hers as she reached up to cup his jaw. He nipped at her lips, testing the softness of the top between his, and then the bottom, inhaling the mix of fragrances that was Bella after a day around shampoos and sprays. She was still on her back, and Nico changed position slightly, slanting his body over hers, his chest resting lightly on hers, his elbows bracketing her head.
She pulled his head down to hers, and he swept his tongue into her mouth, groaning softly as she curled her fingernails into his scalp and exhaled a sexy whimper. Spreading her legs with his knee, he nestled between them, still kissing her, sliding his palm under her T-shirt, beneath her bra, to cover the soft fullness of her breast.
As she dragged in a ragged breath, he skimmed his lips to her throat, rubbing her nipple with his thumb as he licked and kissed the soft skin of her neck. She tilted her head back, and he glanced up at her face—eyes closed, pillowed lips parted—and all the blood in his body raced to his cock, which hardened to steel. He thrust lightly against her as his lips slid to her chest. As he pulled his hand from her breast, he pushed her bra and T-shirt to the side and took the hard bud of her nipple between his lips.
Arching her back, Bella moaned softly as he sucked on her flesh, her breath shallow and ragged as he slid his lips across her chest and bared her other breast to his kiss. Rolling one nipple gently between his fingers, he laved the other with his tongue, listening to the sounds of her moans and whimpers, reveling in the instinctual way her hips rose to meet his again and again in a rocking rhythm of their own making.
“Bella,” he whispered, blowing softly on the slick nub of distended flesh.
“Hmmm?” she murmured.
“I care about you,” he said, using the bare remnants of his self-control to cover her beautiful breasts with her bra, then smoothing her T-shirt back over the satiny cups. “I’ve never wanted a woman as badly as I want you. But...” He braced himself over her, looking down at her, staring into her eyes. “You mean something to me. Something real.”
“Nico,” she murmured, her voice thick with need as she slid her hands from his hair to his cheeks and pulled his lips down to hers. She kissed him passionately, fiercely, their teeth clashing and tongues dancing as he let his weight fall against her, plunging his hands into her mane of hair and holding on.
He pushed against her, his throbbing cock sliding into the valley of her legs through his pants and her skirt, hard as stone and aching for more. More that he couldn’t have. More that he shouldn’t have.
He leaned away from her, panting, staring down at her in agony, part of him wishing that he was the kind of man who would take what he wanted and deal with the consequences later. But he wasn’t that man. And Bella, far less experienced than most of the women he’d been with, wasn’t a woman to be used and left behind.
Heaving himself to the side, he rolled off of her onto his back, staring up at the pinkish-blue sky, lit up by the millions of city lights below. His chest rose swiftly up and down as his lungs inflated and compressed, and he ran a hand over his brow, sighing because of the things he wanted, because of the things he wouldn’t let himself have.
Twisting his neck, he looked over at her to find her tongue wetting her lips, one arm thrown over her eyes. Ribbons of heat, of yearning, emanated from her body like electricity. He felt them. He recognized them because they unfurled from his too.
“We can’t,” he said softly.
“I want it so badly too,” she murmured, as though she could feel his eyes on her.
“But I would be your first,” he said, leaning up on his side to face her.
“Yes.”
“And then we would say good-bye.”
She clenched her jaw and swallowed. “Yes.”
“I can’t do that to you, cara.”
She moved her arm, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. She wasn’t crying, which made him feel relieved, but there was such sadness in her expression that it wasn’t much comfort.
“My madrina...how she must have suffered wanting what she couldn’t have. Watching her best friend fall in love and get engaged. Knowing that the boy she loved—the man she loved—would never love her the way she wanted him to.”
“It hardened her,” said Nico, sitting up and grabbing his wineglass. “I don’t want the same for you.”
Bella folded her hands on her stomach, just under her breasts, still staring up at the sky.
“We don’t have to...make love,” she said finally, looking over at him with a hopeful expression. A slight, shy smile curled her lips, and her dark eyes twinkled. “But that still leaves a lot, doesn’t it?”
He smiled at her because he couldn’t help it. “It does.”
“So lie down beside me, handsome prince,” she sighed, “and kiss me some more.”
THEY HAD STAYED ON the roof together until almost midnight, making out, finishing the bottle of wine, and sampling the Italian treats. Nico had kissed and caressed her breasts again, and Bella had delighted in the wicked feeling of her sensitive skin bared to the cool night air. She had felt that part of him—that manly part of him that she’d never seen or touched before—grinding against her, and it had made her feel weak and wanton, desperate for things that would break her heart later.
She had agreed to see him again tonight—she had an accounting class at City College from six until eight, but Nico said he’d pick her up after class and take her out to dinner.
As she leaned her cheek against her palm, sitting at the reception desk, she tried to muster some gratitude for the way he’d stopped them from going any further, but it was hard, so very hard, to feel grateful when she wanted so much more than she could have.
Looking up, she saw Greg step off the elevator and through the glass doors at the same time Madame Gothel swept into the reception area.
“For meeeeee, Gregory?” she asked, gesturing to the bouquet of red roses he held in his arms.
“Uh, no, ma’am. For Bella, actually.”
Madame’s eyes shot to Bella, who wiped the bursting smile off her face and tried to look shocked instead. “What?”
“For, uh...for Bella. They were dropped off at the reception desk by the Princess Valentina.”
“Oh,” said Bella, flicking a glance at her godmother, whose eyebrows were bunched together in confusion and anger.
“The princess sent flowers for Bella?”
“She dropped them off with me. Yes, ma’am.” Greg nodded at each of them, depositing the enormous bouquet on the reception desk and then turning and heading back toward the elevator.
Madame Gothel’s eyes lingered on the roses for a long moment before she raised her glare to Bella. “Why is the princess sending you roses, Bella?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps there’s a card that explains?”
Madam took the bouquet of flowers before Bella could collect them and inspected them for a card. “No. None.”
Bella gulped nervously. “Maybe they’re to thank me for having lunch with her?”
With narrowed eyes, Madame slowly placed the flowers back on the counter. “I am not a fool, Bella Capelli. Play me for one, and you will lose.”
“I’m not playing games,” she said.
“I heard you come in at midnight last night. Were you with the princess?” Madame leaned closer to Bella. “The rumor around the hotel is that the princess’s wedding to the Trainor billionaire is a sham. Perhaps she’s not interested in him. Or men at all, for that matter. Perhaps she’s interested...in you.”
Bella couldn’t help it: she chortled at the thought of Valentina hitting on her. “I highly doubt it.”
“Just remember, Bella, dating any hotel guest, of any sex, would break our agreement. Yes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Bella.
“A hotel employee who dates the guests is little better than a prostitute,” she reminded Bella in hushed tones. “And sluts who fuck guests certainly don’t live under my roof.”
Bella’s cheeks flared with heat as she stared back at Madame.
“Understood,” she whispered.
“Wonderful,” said Madame Gothel, backing away from the reception desk and turning back into the salon.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of here.
As soon as Nico is gone, I will figure out a plan.
“SO TELL ME,” SAID NICO, offering her his arm as he picked her up after class, “how was Excel for the Masses?”
“Dull,” said Bella with a sigh. “Madame insisted that I take the class, and honestly? I like being here at college once a week. But the class itself? Ugh.”
“She wanted you to learn Excel for work?”
Bella nodded. “I split my time between styling hair, answering phones, and helping her with the books.”
“And cooking and cleaning.”
“And cooking and cleaning,” she agreed with a heavy sigh.
“Tell me this...what would you study if you could choose any subject?” he asked.
“Hmm.” She paused. “I’d be a sommelier, maybe. Or a chef.”
“So you’d go to culinary school.”
“Yes! Definitely!” she exclaimed, holding his arm tighter as he led them over to Fifth Avenue, then turned left to head downtown. “You went to college.”
“Of course,” he said. “And law school.”
“You’re far better educated than I am. I only have a secondary-school diploma.”
“You can go back and get a degree whenever you’re ready.”
“It’s very expensive here,” she said.
“But not at home,” he reminded her. “There are many public universities in Switzerland.”
“That’s true,” she said, nodding her head as though it hadn’t occurred to her before. “I guess I don’t think of myself as Swiss anymore...Well, I mean, I do! Of course I do. It’s my home...where I grew up. Italian is my first language, but I’m fluent in German and French, of course, too.”
“And English.”
“Everyone in Switzerland speaks English,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “I guess I just mean that I don’t think of myself as a Swiss-living person anymore.”
“Because your life is here.”
She stopped walking and faced him. “My life? What kind of life is this? Chattel in velvet chains to a woman who can’t stand the sight of me. She hates me, and I...well, I don’t like her very much either.” She giggled suddenly, as though shocked by the confession. “Whatever my mother once loved about her friend Helga is long gone now. I don’t like her one bit!”
Nico chuckled with her, then leaned forward to cup her face and kiss her tenderly.
“Then change your fate,” he whispered against her lips, stopping in front of a little bistro where they had a reservation for dinner, and desperately wishing he could do the same. Before he turned melancholy, he looked down, into her beautiful brown eyes. “Meet me up on the roof after dinner?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And tomorrow night too, Bella? It’s...our last night together?”
He saw the hesitation flare in her eyes, the moment of concern for herself and maybe even a little bit for him. Because the feelings between them were real, and saying good-bye or forgetting each other seemed almost as impossible as an Italian prince changing his destiny for a hair stylist from Switzerland.
But she was brave, his Bella.
She lifted her little chin and nodded.