Rome in Love (20 page)

Amelia studied the picture and her heart raced. She scanned the headline and felt like she couldn’t breathe. She read:

European Princess Hiding in Rome.

An anonymous source revealed that Princess Sophia de Grasse of Lentz has been masquerading as a tour guide in Rome. Princess Sophia is the heir apparent to one of Europe’s oldest monarchies. The twenty-five-year-old princess is set to marry Prince Leopold of Bulgaria later this year at an elaborate ceremony in Lentz’s eight-hundred-year-old Cathedral.

A spokesman for the palace vehemently denied the report and insisted Princess Sophia is recovering from a bout of measles on the royal yacht in Portofino. The beautiful blond princess graduated from St. George’s Ecole in Switzerland and has led a scandal-free life. But like many young royals, she may have found her schedule confining. Perhaps she is sowing her wild oats before she takes the throne.

Amelia put the newspaper down and looked wildly around the piazza. She remembered Sophie telling Philip at the restaurant in Trastevere she was a tour guide. She pictured strolling through the alley after dinner and ending up in the Piazza de Santa Cecilia. She remembered sitting on the cobblestones and falling asleep on Philip’s shoulder.

Philip assured her she hadn’t said anything unusual but maybe he was lying. Would he really betray her confidence and print the story without telling her?

She threw a wad of euros on the table and grabbed her purse. She ran across the piazza to the Via del Corso. She raced up the stairs to Philip’s apartment and knocked on the door.

“This is a lovely surprise.” Philip opened the door. He wore a yellow collared shirt and tan slacks. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. “I was just proofing this article and coming to join you.”

“How could you do this to Sophie?” Amelia demanded, spreading the newspaper on the glass dining room table.

“What are you talking about?” Philip asked.

“The night we had dinner in Trastevere with Sophie and Theo.” Amelia’s cheeks were white. “I got drunk and didn’t remember anything I said.”

“You were very beautiful with your sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.” Philip grinned. “But you didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

“How else would it end up in
Inside Rome
?” Amelia exclaimed. “Nobody knows that Sophie is a princess.”

Philip picked up the newspaper. He read it quickly and looked at Amelia.

“I don’t know anything about this.” Philip frowned. “Maybe Theo discovered the truth.”

“Theo knew nothing about Sophie’s true identity.” Amelia shook her head. “He is a doctor, he’s hardly going to spend his time writing exposés.”

“There’s no byline or photo credit,” Philip mused.

“I don’t care if you didn’t put your name on it.” Amelia started shaking. “You’re the only person who could have written it.”

“You may have mumbled something about Sophie being a princess but I thought you were drunk.” Philip shrugged. “I gave it as much thought as if you were telling me the story of the Little Mermaid.”

“I don’t believe you.” Amelia’s eyes filled with tears.

“Why don’t you splash water on your face and I’ll get some biscuits from Signora Griselda,” Philip said softly. “We’ll solve this together.”

Amelia walked into the bathroom and gazed in the mirror. Her lips were white and her cheeks were smudged with mascara. She thought about Philip sharing his taxi and bringing her to his apartment. She pictured him drying her clothes and feeding her scrambled eggs and bacon. She remembered the concert at Hadrian’s Villa and their first kiss in the Piazza Navona.

There had to be another explanation. She splashed water on her cheeks and tucked her hair behind her ears. She entered the living room and saw the room was empty. She walked to the desk and glanced at a photo. It was a picture of Amelia and Sophie sitting outside Caffé Greco. They were drinking iced coffees and sharing a bowl of gelato.

Amelia heard Philip climb the stairs and felt her heart pound. She ran out the door and hurried down the steps.

“Where are you going?” Philip leaned over the railing.

She raced through the Piazza di Spagna and up the Spanish Steps. She strode through the gold revolving doors and pressed the button on the elevator. She entered the Villa Medici Suite and collapsed on a royal blue love seat. She put her head in her hands and burst into tears.

*   *   *

Amelia stood in front of her closet and selected a floral cotton dress. She brushed her hair and slipped on silver Gucci sandals. She spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely and walked to the marble entry.

She stayed awake all night thinking about the article in
Inside Rome
. She pictured Sophie in her white lace dress and felt her stomach turn. She couldn’t believe she broke Sophie’s trust and wondered if Sophie would ever forgive her.

She remembered the photo on Philip’s desk and frowned. If Philip discovered Amelia was an actress, he would have printed her photo in the newspaper. He must think she met Sophie when she was cleaning her room at the Hassler.

She knocked on Sophie’s door last night but there was no answer. She called the suite in the morning but the line kept ringing. Now she took the elevator to the lobby and approached the concierge desk.

“Good morning, Ernesto,” she called. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

“Miss Tate, it is wonderful to see you.” Ernesto nodded. “Can I get you a bottle of limoncello?”

“No thank you,” Amelia replied. “I tried calling suite 607 and got no answer.”

“Let me try for you.” Ernesto picked up the phone. He waited while it rang and placed it on the receiver. “I am sorry, Signorita Sophie is not in.”

“I wonder if you could lend me the key.” Amelia bit her lip. “I want to make sure she’s all right.”

“I cannot allow a guest to enter another guest’s room.” Ernesto shook his head. “I will have one of the housekeepers check the suite.”

“I’m afraid the maid might miss something.” Amelia leaned over the marble counter. “Have you ever heard of Nancy Drew, Ernesto?”

“I have not, Miss Tate.”

“She is the most famous detective in American literature,” Amelia mused. “Nancy Drew never missed a clue.”

“I don’t understand.” Ernesto frowned.

“If I could borrow the key for a few minutes, I promise to return it,” Amelia suggested.

“That is out of the question,” Ernesto insisted.

“It would be our secret, you know I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

Ernesto inhaled Amelia’s perfume and glanced around the lobby. He took a gold key from the desk and handed it to Amelia.

“You are the best.” She smiled, clutching the key to her chest.

Amelia took the elevator to the sixth floor and slipped the key in the door. She entered the living room and gazed at the oriental rugs and the crystal vases and the Rembrandt sketch over the fireplace. She saw a stack of magazines on the glass coffee table and a pitcher of lemonade. There was a silk scarf draped over an armchair and a pair of Prada loafers tucked under the sofa.

She walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. She saw silk dresses by Armani and Fendi. There were boxes of Bottega Veneta pumps and a quilted Chanel purse. She thought about how much Sophie loved the boutiques on the Via Condotti and smiled.

She glanced around the bedroom and saw the canopied bed with its gold brocade bedspread. The pillows were plumped and there was a silver tray of Baci chocolates. She wondered if Sophie spent the night at Theo’s but she remembered how upset Sophie had been about their kiss.

She looked in the corner and noticed a set of Louis Vuitton luggage. She remembered when Sophie bought them and Amelia asked if she really needed two steamer trunks and a couple of carry-ons. Sophie laughed and said how else was she going to carry her new clothes to Portofino.

She studied the luggage and realized the Louis Vuitton duffel bag was missing. She ran out of the suite and pressed the button on the elevator. She crossed the lobby and approached the concierge desk.

“You are back, Miss Tate.” Ernesto sighed. “I have good news. Marco saw Signorita Sophie leave the hotel last night.”

“Did he say where she was going?” Amelia asked.

“He is in front of the hotel.” Ernesto shrugged. “You can ask him.”

Amelia walked through the glass revolving doors and saw a valet in a white uniform with gold buttons.

“Good morning, Marco, it’s lovely to see you.”

“Good morning, Miss Tate,” Marco beamed. “Today you won’t need an umbrella, there is nothing but blue sky and sunshine.”

“Ernesto said you saw Sophie leaving last night,” Amelia continued.

“Signorita Sophie is an admirer of Renaissance art.” Marco nodded. “We discussed Donatello and Raphael.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Amelia asked.

“We stood for a while waiting for a taxi,” Marco replied. “Then she changed her mind.”

“Changed her mind?” she raised her eyebrow.

“She decided to walk.” Marco slipped his hands in his pockets.

“She walked through Rome in the middle of the night carrying a Louis Vuitton duffel bag?” Amelia felt her heart pound.

“It is my fault.” Marco lowered his head. “I tell Mr. Black we must always have a line of taxis. One must not keep guests of the Hassler waiting.”

“Thank you, Marco.” She said, striding along the cobblestones.

“Wait, Miss Tate,” Marco called. “Would you like me to call a taxi?”

*   *   *

Amelia squeezed through the afternoon crowds on the Via Condotti. She had checked Hermès and Armani and Dolce & Gabbana. She looked inside Caffé Greco and asked the salesgirls at Prada and Burberry. She thought about asking Theo, but if he hadn’t seen the article in
Inside Rome
she didn’t want to tell him Sophie was a princess.

She stood in front of the Gucci boutique and gazed at the window display. The mannequin wore a two-piece metallic bathing suit and a visor that said Portofino. There was a quilted beach towel and gold sandals.

Amelia flashed on Sophie’s lady-in-waiting and the royal yacht in Portofino. She was the only other person who knew Sophie was in Rome. Amelia hurried back to the Hassler and strode through the glass revolving doors. She took the elevator to the Villa Medici Suite and entered the living room. She picked up the phone and called the front desk.

chapter twenty-one

Philip shielded his eyes from the sun and glanced around the Piazza del Popolo. He saw a man with blond hair sitting outside Canova. He wore blue jeans and white sneakers and was eating a chocolate croissant.

Philip clutched his newspaper and hurried across the piazza. He stayed up all night, hoping Amelia would return. This morning he scribbled a note and delivered it to Ernesto. He had to find Amelia and make her believe he was telling the truth.

“Where were you last night?” Philip approached the wrought iron table. “I called you for hours.”

“The countess and I attended a cooking class.” Max added sugar to a cup of espresso.

“You and the countess?” Philip raised his eyebrow.

“I gave her the box of Baci chocolates and we realized how much we missed each other,” Max replied. “We’re going to learn how to make ricotta cheesecake.”

“How could you print this without telling me?” Philip flung the newspaper on the table.

“And I thought Sophie was just Amelia’s friend.” Max whistled, studying the photo. “No wonder she has eyes like cornflowers and skin like alabaster. She’s European royalty.”

“Amelia is furious.” Philip sunk into a chair. “You ruined everything.”

“If I discovered Sophie was Princess Sophia de Grasse of Lentz I would have sold it to
People
and
Us
.” Max folded the newspaper.

“You didn’t do this?” Philip asked.

“I snapped a few photos of Amelia and Sophie together.” Max shrugged. “I thought we’d use them in the articles about Amelia.”

“There aren’t going to be any articles.” Philip sighed. His throat was parched and he realized he was starving. “Amelia ran out of my apartment, I don’t know where she is.”

“You better find her.” Max sipped his coffee. “I paid for six cooking classes in advance.”

“I thought the countess paid for everything.” Philip ate a piece of Max’s croissant.

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” Max said. “I don’t want to be a kept man.”

*   *   *

Philip crossed the Piazza di Trevi and ran up four flights of stairs. He entered the tiny reception area and opened the door of Adam’s office.

“Just because I can’t afford a secretary doesn’t mean you don’t knock.” Adam looked up from a stack of tear sheets. He wore a creased blue shirt and khakis and had a cigarette stuck behind his ear.

“Where did you get this story?” Philip tossed the newspaper on the desk.

Adam glanced at the picture of Sophie and grinned. “Largest circulation we’ve ever had. The paper has already gone back to press three times and it hit newsstands yesterday. If this keeps up I might redecorate the office, get rid of the linoleum and put in an oak floor.”

“Who told you Sophie was a princess?” Philip demanded.

“It says ‘Anonymous’ for a reason.” Adam flicked a cigarette into the metal garbage can. “I don’t reveal my sources.”

“You tell me where you got this or I’ll light the damn cigarette and make you smoke it,” Philip seethed.

Adam stood up and walked to the window. He turned and looked at Philip.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Amelia and I are becoming so close, I think she’s falling in love with me,” Philip persisted. “Now she accused me of planting the article and disappeared.”

“You really think you can get her to marry you?” Adam hesitated.

“I’ll bet you a new espresso maker.” Philip nodded.

Adam sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Philip and ran his hands through his hair.

“She gave it to me.”

“Who?” Philip asked.

“She walked in wearing a white crepe dress and silver sandals. I haven’t seen legs like that since I stopped reading my father’s
Playboy
s.” Adam tapped a cigarette from the box of Lucky Strikes on the desk. “She opened her leather tote and took out a manila envelope. I thought she was a high-priced call girl about to spill dirt on the prime minister.”