Kitabı oku: «By Royal Decree», sayfa 5
6
AND THAT WAS HOW Renata Pavoni of Brooklyn, New York, U.S.A., found herself ensconced in a first-class seat on Air Italia flying in to Genoa, Italy. Christopher Columbus’s hometown and the start of her own adventure. From what she’d read online Genoa was still a busy port town, the biggest city on the Italian Riviera. The coastline of the Riviera curved in a half-moon along the blue Ligurian Sea, stretching from France in the east almost two hundred miles to Tuscany on the west.
The plane touched down with barely a blip and Renata stared out at the early-morning skies, the ugly industrial views of the Genovese airport looking like any other modern airport.
Giorgio’s driver-bodyguard, Paolo, stood at the gate as planned. “Buona sera, signorina.” He relieved her of her carry-on bag. After claiming her luggage, he hustled her to a nondescript beige sedan.
So Giorgio didn’t even come along for the ride to the airport. Hmmph. She slid in the back and Paolo got in the driver’s seat, accelerating out of the lot as if he were in a Ferrari Testarossa. How much English did this guy speak, anyway? She decided to try out her American Italian. “Dov’è il principe?” Just where the hell was that prince?
“Ah, nell’ albergo. The hotel,” he pronounced carefully, the h sound foreign to the Italian language. “He wait for you there. At the airport, sometimes paparazzi. Photos.” He made noises like the clicking of a camera.
Oh-kay. Needless to say, Renata had never dated anyone who would have been even remotely interesting to a paparazzo photographer. She did hope they’d be able to go out in public without too much obnoxiousness.
Paolo silently drove through the city to a dock at the waterfront. “We need to take boat. No road to Vernazza—the village where we stay in Cinque Terre. Trains not here until morning.”
“Oh, okay.” Maybe they would have some privacy there if it was only accessible by boat and train.
He carried her luggage down to a medium-size cabin cruiser and nodded to the captain with curly salt-and-pepper hair and a navy blue short-sleeved shirt. After settling her in a lounge-type room, he disappeared upstairs to the bridge. Renata spotted a mini fridge and liberated a water bottle. Flick had warned her about dehydration on long flights and Renata wanted to be dewy-skinned and bright-eyed when she met Giorgio again.
After slugging back a full bottle, she stretched out on the long sofa and covered herself with her travel wrap, a giant pashmina-lookalike shawl she’d spotted at a Brooklyn resale shop. Get the sleep stuff out of the way so they could move directly to the bed part.
It felt as if she had just dozed off when she heard Paolo’s voice rumble through the salon. “Signorina Renata? We are here.” They had stopped at another dock. Paolo helped her off the boat. “Only a little more.” He took off up the hill past several square-looking buildings fastened somehow into a very steep cliff. Well, they hadn’t fallen into the sea yet. Glad she had worn sensible shoes for once, Renata followed him to a three-story house a few blocks from the ocean. Paolo showed her a narrow set of stone steps leading to a dark wooden door. “Up the steps, signorina.”
Renata gripped the handrail as she climbed the stairs. Butterflies hatched in her stomach. What if things had changed between them since their last meeting? Did he still feel the same heat, the same longing she’d fought to keep in check?
Giorgio appeared at the top. She climbed faster but he couldn’t wait and clattered down to meet her. “Renata mia.” My Renata.
He pulled her into his arms and firmly dispelled her worries with his kiss. Her neck was cricked up and the handrail poked her in the butt, but who cared? She grabbed his nape and ground her mouth into his. She eagerly accepted his tongue and sucked him deep.
He groaned and dragged her up the rest of the stairs, kicking the door shut behind him. She kept her mouth locked on his and dropped her purse and tote bag on the floor. His shirt was the next to fall as she shoved it off his shoulders, followed by her cropped travel cardigan and wrinkle-resistant linen-look blouse.
Giorgio paused for a second to gaze reverently at her breasts, this time wearing a white satin bra trimmed with matching lace. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes darkened to jade and his pupils dilated. As if breaking a trance, he leaped back into action and fumbled with the snap to her capri pants, stripping them down her legs in such haste he took her bikini panties with them—no thongs for her on an eleven-hour flight, complete with plane change in Rome.
She kicked off her white sandals and freed her legs until she stood before him in nothing but her bra. Giorgio scooped her up and carried her through a small living room down the narrow hallway leading to a medium-size bedroom. The dark wooden four-poster bed dominated the room, but there was space for a small table and a floral-upholstered chaise longue.
The matching floral bedspread was pulled back, showing snowy-white linens. He set her carefully on the cushiony mattress and stood back. She rested on her elbows, her ankles crossed. His eyes were hungry, his breathing quick.
“Renata, tu sei la donna più bella del mondo.”
That was a promising start. Being called the most beautiful woman in the world was always a plus. Not that she’d ever been called that before, especially in Giorgio’s lustfully raspy Italian voice, so different than his normally smooth tones.
“Grazie.” She sat up and unfastened her bra, letting her heavy breasts dangle freely.
Her complete nudity was too much for him and his pants and bikini briefs hit the floor. So did her jaw.
Giorgio was regally built in every sense of the word. No wonder his ancestors had held power for several hundred years, being fruitful and multiplying successive generations of princes.
He grinned at her, his physique perfect in the morning light. His broad chest was dusted with black hair that narrowed into a sexy trail down his flat belly, widening into a thick patch showcasing his impressive royal assets.
“That’s right—I forgot we did not get this far in the confines of the limo. But now I have plenty of time to make it up to you.”
“Please do.” His cock was long and thick, toasty brown with a plump head. He knelt next to her on the bed and she couldn’t help herself, wrapping her hand around his shaft. He had lovely smooth skin, hot and soft over a core of steel. She moved up and down and he groaned, tossing his head back. A silvery sheen seeped from the tip, and she spread the moisture around with her thumb.
He grabbed her wrist as if to stop her but she cupped his heavy sac with her other hand and he hissed out a sharp breath. “Renata,” he moaned, his hips jerking into her caresses.
“Giorgio,” she replied, an answering warmth between her thighs.
“Stop.” His hand closed over hers. “I have been dreaming about you for days, waking up like this. Give me a second to regain some control so I can properly make love to you.”
“This seems pretty proper to me.” She moved underneath him and let her knees fall open. “You’re not the only one with hot, nasty dreams, Giorgio.”
He shuddered with desire and quickly protected himself. No little illegitimate princes running around for them.
“Are you sure?” He moved between her legs and stared down at her, his green eyes hot but tender.
She hooked her ankles around his calves. “Absolutely.”
He glided into her as if they had been lovers for a thousand years, locking himself to her. She gasped at the feel of him—hot and thick, stretching her very core. She couldn’t help squeezing down on him and he jerked inside her. “Ah, Renata.” He began moving, almost against his will.
She arched her back and raised her hips at him. If she thought the full heft of his cock was heavenly standing still, his thrusting was amazing. Lovely pressure alternating with a sense of emptiness. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close.
He buried his face in her neck, kissing the tender skin and murmuring to her in raw, raunchy Italian exactly how she made him feel and how he was going to make her come like she’d never come before.
Giorgio had that part right, especially when he reached between their legs and thumbed her clit. She dug her short, red nails into his shoulders and nearly bucked him off her.
He lowered more of his weight to settle on her, pinning her firmly to the bed. She was going nuts, gasping and writhing under him as his skilled fingers plucked at her as if she were a fine musical instrument. His body clung and pulled at her, his lovely olive skin glistening with sweat.
Heat roiled up from where they joined, making her shake and burn. “Giorgio.” She gasped out his name, not wanting to climax so quickly.
“Si, cara mia. Let yourself go,” he coaxed. “Let me take you where you long to be.” He hooked her legs over his shoulders and rose up on his knees. He was deep and hard, his hands free to caress her breasts and clitoris.
“Ahh…” She couldn’t help moaning as he pinched her nipples, stroked her clit, all the while pounding into her. It was brash and wild, his domination of her. She couldn’t move her hips back up at him, and to her surprise, she loved it.
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “You like this, don’t you? Oh, wicked, wicked Renata.”
She shook her head, not in denial but in her rising passion. Giorgio was relentless, plundering her body. She sucked in a deep breath as the exquisite pleasure built and shattered her, up from her belly into her breasts and out her mouth in a loud scream of ecstasy. Make that several loud screams of ecstasy. If anyone had wondered what the new guests at the villa were up to, she had thoroughly dispelled any false impressions.
He left her weak and trembling under him as he slowed his pace, lowering her legs to the bed. “More?”
She shook her head. She was absolutely wrung out. “I can’t even think.”
“Good. Just feel.” And there he went again, bending to her breasts as he took her again. His slick mouth sucked and nipped at her breasts, coaxing the throbbing peaks to a rosy pink.
Believe it or not, she wasn’t done. This time she could move her hips and she did with a vengeance, rising up to meet his driving thrusts. He tossed his head back, a matching groan escaping from him. She reached up and fastened her mouth on his shoulder, salty and slick under her tongue.
“I’ll do that to your cock next time,” she promised, tremors building again.
He flinched and jerked inside her, hitting her G-spot. She dug her heels into the mattress and her fingers into his ass. “Do it, now!” She felt her control slipping away and disintegrated into a screaming mass of nerves. He let out a shout and followed her, his neck pulling into cords as every muscle in his body tensed.
Giorgio’s climax was as long and impressive as he was. She held tight to him, kissing the slick skin of his chest and shoulders wherever she could reach. He finally stopped and smiled down at her, sweat making little black curls at his temples and the nape of his neck. “Give me a second to start breathing again.”
“You can have two.”
He laughed and kissed her, his body sliding over hers. They were both sticky and wet, and her hair had to be a fright, but who cared?
After a quick bathroom detour, he collapsed at her side, still gasping for air. She went up on one elbow and looked down at him. “Wow.”
He grinned at her. “Yes, as you say, ‘wow.’” He pulled her down for a quick kiss.
She rolled onto her back. “I mean, geez, I knew it would be something but that was something.”
It was his turn to lean over her. “I knew we would be like this together. I had to hide my desire for you with a suit jacket in the first minutes we met.”
“Really?” Smooth, suave Giorgio had had an unexpected hard-on for the dress designer? “I’m flattered.”
“No, I am flattered that you would be here with me. So beautiful.” He ran a tender hand over her cheek, her breasts and hips. “Give me a little while and I will show you how flattered I am.”
She smiled and touched his face. “We won’t let that one go to waste.”
He kissed her hand and pulled her into a spooning position. Even soft, his cock was impressive against her bottom. She wiggled experimentally and he groaned. “Insatiable woman. I can see I will have my hands full with you.” To emphasize his words, he cupped her breast in his hand.
She giggled. “Your hands, your mouth, your cock…” She giggled again as he snorted in surprise. “What? Do I shock you?”
“Only in the best way possible. I had forgotten how blunt New Yorkers can be.”
The New Yorker yawned. “It’s been about sixteen hours since I left there, but I am perfectly willing to boss you around in bed once I get my second wind.”
“You say that, but I knew what you wanted.” He tongued her earlobe and she shivered. He lowered his voice to a honeyed purr. “You loved it when I pinned you down—your sweet little pussy tightened even more on me. Your body will tell me what you want.”
She swallowed hard. Dammit, he was right. She yawned elaborately again and he immediately pulled a soft cotton sheet over their naked forms. “Rest, mia bella. I do not want to wear you out the first day.”
His breathing quickly fell into the slow, regular pattern of sleep, but to her annoyance, she was still awake and thinking about what he had said. Yes, he had possessed her in the most elemental sense of the world, pinned her down and taken her like the lord of the manor and the local lovely virgin peasant girl.
On the other hand, the lord of the manor wouldn’t have bothered to make the peasant girl come screaming twice in five minutes.
Renata was a modern girl, used to taking charge in her life and in the bedroom, as well, if need be. But what if she didn’t need to take charge? It was an interesting idea. Not that she wanted to bring out any weird leather accoutrements that were ho-hum among certain friends of Flick’s, but if she were going to do the deed with an honest-to-goodness prince, she may as well try new things. The man was born and bred to be bossy.
And if she wanted some turnabout…she smiled in satisfaction, remembering how he’d crumbled like a cracker when she’d grabbed his erection. A well-placed hand—or mouth—and he’d be putty in her hands. Well, not really putty—she wanted him firmer than that.
7
THE NEXT MORNING, GIORGIO stood on the apartment’s terrace and gazed at the bright blue sea dotted with white sails. A fresh breeze ruffled his hair, and he couldn’t stop grinning. So much so, his face was starting to hurt.
So this was what freedom felt like. Freedom to wear a battered football shirt—not that Dieter’s team, of course—and battered cargo shorts and just stare at the water. Freedom to spend time with a wonderful woman without prying eyes wondering who she was, how long they had been dating and whether or not she would be the next Princess of Vinciguerra.
He didn’t have to worry about weddings, deepwater port negotiations or the price of coffee in Vinciguerra. Alessandro was ably manning the fortress and had been providing daily email briefs with strict instructions to call only if absolutely necessary. Even Paolo’d made himself scarce.
He slipped on a pair of sandals, a baseball hat and sunglasses. Once he hid his distinctive green eyes, he pretty much looked like any other young Italian man going to buy coffee and rolls for his sleeping girlfriend.
The café down the street was narrow but fragrant with the scents of coffee beans, cream, vanilla and sugar. He purposely put on a thick Roman accent when ordering, just in case the counter girl enjoyed flipping through People magazine. World’s Most Eligible Bachelor, pah! Jack and Frank had busted a gut laughing, as the Americans said, and he wouldn’t have put it past his sister to have been the person who nominated him. They had had a tiff last winter when she had wanted to drop out of grad school to follow Jack’s merry men of medicine to Ulaan Baator or Timbuktu or Bora Bora.
Fortunately Jack had declined her offer since a background in international politics was of little use in treating infections and parasites. Although several international politicians he’d met somehow brought parasites and infection to mind.
He accepted the caffe lattes and pastries with a smile of anticipation at waking Renata. She’d roll over in bed, smile sweetly up at him—maybe even beckon him to her as the coffee grew cold and the pastries grew stale. Yes, a sweet morning wake-up for both of them.
RENATA SQUINTED AS A BAND of dreaded sunlight crossed her eyelids. She wrapped the sheet tighter around her naked body. After their long, exciting night she hadn’t bothered pulling on a sexy negligee or cotton T-shirt, her normal sleepwear.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” a husky male voice crooned. “I know you have jet lag but it’s almost ten o’clock. Come get some sun and you’ll feel better.”
“No, I won’t.” Renata rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under a pillow.
“I have coffee, cara mia,” Giorgio coaxed. “Lots of cream and sugar and fresh pastries. Just the thing to wake you up.”
She pried open a gritty eye to stare at him. He sounded entirely too perky for her liking. But she did like how the thin soccer T-shirt outlined his chest muscles nicely and his shorts showed strong brown legs. He obviously got more exercise than pushing a pencil across his desk and cracking the whip over peasants. “Giorgio, it’s five o’clock in the morning New York time and I’m achy from that long flight.”
“Okay, Renata.” He set the tray onto the dresser and crossed the room. “Let me loosen you up.”
The mattress dipped as he moved onto the bed next to her. Warm hands moved over her shoulders, massaging and loosening them. She sighed as he found all the knotted muscles. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I took classes as a massage therapist in case the prince thing didn’t work out for me.”
A snort escaped her.
“What? You don’t believe me? Europe can be a very volatile place and it is always good to have a backup plan.”
With that sexy five o’clock shadow, his backup plan ought to be a new career as a male underwear model. Somehow she doubted the massage school. “What’s your degree in?”
“International finance. If you ever have trouble sleeping some night, I will tell you all about the Mundell-Fleming model, the optimal currency area theory and the purchasing power parity theory.”
It made her yawn just to hear their names. “Good Lord, are those for real?”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “The purchasing power parity theory originated in Spain in the sixteenth century and was modernized by Gustav Cassel in the early twentieth.”
“Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she teased him. “Keep talking finance to me, Giorgio.”
He laughed. “Will emerging market economies ever become decoupled from developed market economies?”
“Oooh, coupling. Now that sounds kinky.”
He brushed her hair to the side and rubbed her neck. “Glad to hear that. There are many more theories where those came from.”
He pulled the sheet away and did long strokes down her back to her ass, kneading each cheek with strong hands. She gasped as wetness grew between her thighs. “Oh, so tense here. You will need plenty of massage to loosen such a delicate area.”
Somehow his massage had passed from therapeutic to intimate when he stopped massaging and bent to kiss his handiwork. He murmured in between kisses. She squirmed against his mouth. “Soft and round. I have wanted to do this since I saw you walking away from me in that tight black skirt. I almost drooled right there.”
Oh, yes, Giorgio liked traditional Italian butts.
He circled his tongue around the base of her spine and rubbed his cheek across, well, her cheek. The stubble prickled her skin and she pushed her hips into the bed, futilely trying to ease the ache.
She looked to see why he had stopped and saw him pulling his clothes off and popping on a condom. Sunlight played across his naked body, with nary a flaw to be seen. If he hadn’t literally drooled all over her butt just now, she’d have quite the inferiority complex.
He urged her onto her hands and knees. “Oh, yes,” she breathed as he knelt behind her, his tip brushing her as he nudged her knees wider.
“Open for me, lovely Renata.” He circled her clit with his finger, spreading her folds wide. He slid back and forth between them, his head nudging her clit with every stroke. But she still ached inside for him to fill her.
She arched her back, tipping up for him. He accepted her invitation as he slid inside with a single deep thrust.
She screamed in shocked satisfaction. “Yes, Giorgio, ohh…”
He grunted and kept pushing in and out of her. No more pretty words from him. Her butt ground against his flat belly, his balls swinging into her. His fingers dug into her hips as he pounded her. She clutched the headboard for support and he cupped her breasts with his big hands. She shuddered and tightened on him. “Ah, Renata, si, that’s it.” He was relentless in his ravishing, the headboard knocking the wall with his thrusts. Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck as he sucked on her earlobe. She started to shake and gasp, wanting to pull away from his intensity but loving it at the same time.
He reached between her thighs to massage her hard, swollen clit and that was it for her. She arched backward, resting her head on his shoulder as he ruthlessly dragged her to amazing peaks of pleasure. His arm tightened over her breasts and he nipped at her neck while she screamed his name. He followed her over the edge, coming so hard she thought they’d break the bed.
He moaned in her ear, and she twisted to look at him and he captured her mouth with his, plunging his tongue deep between her lips, mimicking his cock below. He gave one last shudder and wrenched his mouth from hers, gasping for air. “Ah…Dio mio, Renata.”
She dropped her head, amazed at the explosive, raunchy sex. A couple minutes of massage foreplay, a couple minutes of thrusting and she was purring like a kitten.
He eased from her and she gladly collapsed back onto the mattress, covering her eyes with her arm.
“Renata?” he asked cautiously, easing down next to her. “Are you all right?”
She stared up at him. “I want you to be honest with me, Giorgio.”
“Yes?” He raised a black eyebrow.
“I know this is a personal question, but we’re getting pretty personal here so I’ll ask anyway. Is sex always like this with you?”
He made kind of a choking noise but didn’t say anything.
She continued, “I mean, I figured you and I would be hot together after that limo incident, and you’ve got the biggest, best cock I’ve ever seen, but this—” she gestured to their naked, sweaty, sticky bodies “—this is past hot. It’s positively nuclear.”
“Nuclear,” he echoed. “And you say I have the biggest—” Words failed him again.
“Biggest, best, hottest, thickest cock I or any other woman in New York has ever seen. And before Parsons, I went to art school where we drew lots of naked men, so I’ve seen a bunch.”
“And you say I have the best?” He had gotten over his shock and his masculine pride was kicking in, a proud smile spreading over his face.
“Oh, please. Surely some woman already told you that.”
“Not in such detail. And since you want me to be honest, I have never been…nuclear…like this with any other woman.”
“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You’ve probably dated some of the most beautiful women in the world.”
He paused for a second, as if to think back. “I’ve been photographed with many beautiful women. I’ve kissed some of them, but there’s a big difference between publicity and reality. None of them have the same spark, the same joy of living that you bring to everything you do.”
“Everything?” His words thrilled her as much as his body did.
“Oh, definitely. Designing dresses, eating chili dogs, making love to me…”
He rolled her against him so they were breast-to-chest, belly-to-belly and nuclear parts-to-nuclear parts. Even after detonation, his rocket was still in launch position. “I can only give you all the credit. You, with your beautiful ivory face and thick red hair like a beautiful Renaissance painting by Titian. And your ripe, lush body.” He skimmed his hand over her curves. “You have a body made for pleasure. And I am incredibly flattered you would share it with me. There has not been any woman like you before.” He kissed her again, this time softly and sweetly.
“Wow,” she said weakly after the kiss had ended. “Do they teach you all that poetic stuff in prince school?”
“No, I find that you are quite the inspiration.” He kissed the tip of her nose and pushed up out of bed. “Stay there. Our coffee may still be warm.” He grabbed his clothes and hurried into the bathroom. Renata wrapped the sheets around her again. No sense in tempting fate with nudity and hot coffee.
He quickly reappeared in the same casual outfit and brought the tray over to the bed. “Un caffe latte per la Signorina.” He carefully took the lid off the to-go cup and she sipped at the coffee.
“Yep, you’re right—still warm.”
“And a fresh almond pastry.” He handed her a soft square sprinkled with toasted almonds and drizzled with white sugar glazing.
“Mmm, delicious.” Crumbs flaked off the pastry. “Look, I’m making a mess of the bed.”
Giorgio grinned, and Renata took a good look at the bed. Pastry crumbs were the least of it. One pillow was in the hallway, the top sheet was wrapped around her like a toga, and the bottom sheet had been totally wrenched free by their frantic couplings. Even the headboard stood in danger of bashing a hole in the wall. Short of dumping the coffee over the bedding, it was a total wreck.
He cleared his throat delicately. “Did I mention maid service comes with the villa rental?”
“Good thing.” She raised her cup in a toast and they ate a surprisingly companionable breakfast among the cheerful mess. Giorgio was turning out to be lots of fun, and not just in bed. This was going to be a great vacation.
And after? The unwelcome thought popped up. Well, Giorgio would need to come to New York sometime, and maybe she would see him then. A friends-with-benefits thing?
Renata must have grimaced because Giorgio asked if she wanted more sugar in her coffee.
She decided to enjoy the moment and stop worrying about the future. “No, it’s perfect. Everything is just perfect.”
RENATA SMILED AT HER reflection in the compact bath room. Although it had obviously been added after the original construction of the ancient house, it managed to hold all the necessities, plus the ubiquitous European bidet. She stared down at that white porcelain fixture. She’d never tried one before and the sunny Italian Riviera would freeze over before she asked Giorgio how to use it.
Bidets aside, the shower had actually had pretty good water pressure, which was necessary to repair the red wreckage of her hair. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it into a twist, fastening it with a black lacquer clip.
She slipped on a V-neck sapphire silk blouse and a black circle skirt that poufed around her knees thanks to a hidden tulle crinoline. Both were amazingly wrinkle-free despite how she’d seen the baggage handlers treat her luggage.
A matching small sapphire stud went into the side of her nose. She owned an assortment of different studs except for ruby—no sense in looking like she had an acne break-out. Red lips to match her nails completed the look, and she smacked them to set the color. Dressy, but casual enough for a seaside dinner at a local restaurant.
She stopped briefly to grab her pashmina wrap out of the closet, not sure how cool the breeze became, and then swanned out of the bedroom into the living room.
Giorgio was standing in front of one of the tall, narrow windows that lined the living room at the front of the apartment. The sun had set a few minutes ago, and twilight illuminated his profile as he looked out over the sea. His strong but straight nose, his full lips and determined chin. He was so beautiful she felt a painful thump in her chest. But he was hers, at least for now.
Giorgio turned as she approached. Hopefully the dim light hid her face as she mooned over him. “There you are, Renata.” He flipped on a small table lamp and brought her back to reality.
Reaching for her hand, he inspected her from head to toe. “I didn’t want to hurry you, and I see that my wait has been more than worthwhile. You are as lovely as always.”
“Thank you.” She returned the inspection. “You look great, too.” He wore a short-sleeved black silk button-down shirt over loose linen trousers and leather sandals, a summer uniform for many European men, but he made it look like the cover of Italian GQ.
“I’m glad you approve.” He said it seriously, as if there were some miniscule chance in this universe that she wouldn’t. Short of donning a seventies’ leisure suit and fifteen gold chains, Giorgio could never look bad. And even then, the clothing’s ugliness would just highlight his good looks.
“Who picks out your clothes?” she asked.
“My clothes?” He looked confused and then glanced at his pants and shirt.
“Yeah, do you go shopping, or do they bring items for you to try?”
“I have a personal shopped in Rome,” he admitted, as if it were a deep, shameful secret. “Unfortunately I don’t have much time for shopping but have many outings and functions to attend, so Antonio has my measurements and brings me new outfits every month or so.”
