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she had to protect her own heart so it might be better if she and Luca only pretended to be involved.

She didn’t want to pretend, she acknowledged with a twist of remorse wrapped in wicked anticipation. Despite the fact that sleeping with him had pulled the rug out from under her hard enough to topple her entire life, she wanted to make love with him again. She wanted to run her hands across his flexing back, feel his lips against her skin. Play her tongue against his and lose herself to the grind of his hips—

Whew! Had the AC cut out? She fanned her cheeks and opened the door to let the humidity out of the bathroom.

Fabiana was packing the clothing that didn’t belong to her into a suitcase that was also not hers. “The prince will be ready to travel shortly. He asks that you join him at the helipad in one hour? I’ve set out your lunch.”

A few hours later, Amy was in Milan’s fashion district, enjoying a crisp white wine with bruschetta. Luca was beside her, speaking Italian into his phone.

“That looks like it would suit you,” he said as he ended his call and pocketed his phone. He nodded at the model on the catwalk.

“I like the train, but I prefer the neckline on the blue.” She pointed at the model posing toward the back. “The gala isn’t black tie. Could I wear something like that fade?”

“Wear whatever you want,” Luca assured her, picking up her hand and touching his lips to her knuckles. “I’m indulging the woman who has captured my heart. I want the world to know it.”

Her own heart flipped and twittered like a drunken bird even as she reminded herself it wasn’t real. Nevertheless, she leaned in and cut him a sly look that he would recognize as her rebellious streak coming to the fore if he knew her well enough.

“Anything? Because I would love something very avant-garde.”

Luca’s indulgent nod said, By all means. “Control the narrative. Tell them what to talk about.”

Amy looked to the designer. “What do you have that says, ‘space opera’?”

The woman lit up with excitement and rushed into the back with her models.

Soon Amy was being fitted for a dress that hugged her curves while stiff, saucer-like ruffles gave the impression of a stack of dishes about to fall. The glittering sequins reflected prisms in every direction and a matching hat with a polka dot veil completed the dramatic look.

When she was back in her own clothes, she came upon Luca saying something about Vallia to an attendant. Parcels were being taken to the car.

“That’s casual wear for the island,” he said. “The rest will be sent to Vallia with the gown for our other events.”

“What other events?”

“Cocktail parties. Ribbon cuttings. I’m making an award presentation in Tokyo after the gala.”

Then what? There was a small cloud of anxiety chasing her. She had a career to get back to, and she had never aspired to be any man’s mistress. She’d cleared a block of time to work with Luca so she still had a few days to consider all her options, but no matter if she only pretended or was really his lover, it wouldn’t last.

They left the design house, but word had leaked that they were in Milan. They were chased back to the helicopter, soon landing on a blessedly remote and quiet island.

They disembarked into what could only be described as a fairy-tale setting. A wall of craggy, inhospitable mountains plunged down to the jewel-blue lake. A quaint village sat on the far shoreline. A handful of boats dragged skiers in their wake, keeping their distance.

Luca told her the castle had been built as a monastery in the fifth century. It had a tall, square bell tower in the middle of one outer wall, but the rest was only three stories. The ancient stone walls were covered in moss and ivy. A pebbled pathway led them from the helipad, winding beneath boughs that smelled of Christmas pine and fresh earth and summer vacation.

“No vehicles, just a golf cart for the luggage and groceries by boat,” Luca said, pointing into a man-made lagoon surrounded by stone walls as they passed. Two fancy looking speedboats were moored there alongside a utilitarian one that was being unloaded.

They entered through what had once been a scullery room. It was now a very smart if casual entryway with hooks for their jackets and a box bench where they left their shoes.

This was why he called it a cottage, she supposed. It was homey and he exchanged a friendly greeting with the chef as they passed the kitchen, nodding approval for whatever menu was suggested.

“The sun is beginning to set. He asked if we wanted to eat something while we watch it from the terrace or view it from the top of the tower?”

“The tower sounds nice.”

He relayed her preference, and they climbed to the belfry where no bell hung.

“I have no plans to ring it, so why replace it?” he said as he led her up a heart-stoppingly narrow spiral of stairs that took them to the roof. “This has been inspected. We’re safe,” he assured her.

“I forgot my phone,” she said with a pat of her pockets. “I want photos!”

She went to the corners of the roof, more awed by the view each direction she looked. She paused to watch where the sun was sinking behind one peak, leaving a glow of gold across the surrounding mountaintops. The air was clean and cool, the height dizzying enough to make her laugh.

“You must have loved coming here as a child. How long has it been in your family?”

“I bought it for myself when it came on the market a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s beautiful and private.” His tone said, Obviously.

“You didn’t buy it to hide your women here?”

“Like a dragon with a damsel? Yes, I’ve lured you here and you can’t leave until

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