Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (desktop ebook reader txt) 📗

ignored midmorning, the focaccia she’d snubbed at lunch and the afternoon tea of crustless sandwiches and pastries she’d disregarded a few hours ago.

There was only room in her stomach for nausea. Her whole world was imploding, and she couldn’t even reach out to the best friends who had got her through a similar crisis in the past. Her Wi-Fi connection had been cut off while she’d still been reeling in shock.

Then an ultra-calm middle-aged woman had appeared and identified herself as the senior Human Resources manager for the palace. She was genuinely concerned and had urged Amy to “be honest” if her night with Luca had been coerced in any way.

Amy had insisted it was consensual, but she now wondered if she’d strengthened Luca’s position and hindered her own.

She was cold all over, sickened that she’d let this happen and angry with herself because she knew better. She had been fully aware of the potential dangers in sleeping with him, and she had gone ahead and put herself in this awful position anyway.

“My instructions are to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible,” Fabiana was saying. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”

“Hiking boots,” Amy muttered peevishly. She had already asked a million times to speak to Luca. She’d been assured he would see her as soon as he was available.

Fabiana dropped her gaze to the bedroom slippers Amy was wearing with yellow pajama pants and a silk T-shirt. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to leave on foot. Paparazzi are stalking the perimeter. Security is very tight at the moment.”

Amy hugged the raw silk shawl she’d found in the closet and wrapped around her shoulders. “Restore my Wi-Fi.” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked for that, either.

“I’ve passed along your request. I’ll mention it again.” Fabiana gave her yet another pained smile and hurried out.

Amy was so frustrated, she stomped out the doors of her lounge to the garden patio.

A security guard materialized from the shrubbery. He’d been there all day and once again held up a staying hand. “I’m sorry—”

She whirled back inside.

She needed to get back to London. She needed to know exactly how bad this was. How could she control the damage to London Connection if she was cut off like this?

She ached to talk to Bea and Clare. What must they be thinking of her? She’d told them she was dropping everything for a big fish client with a substantial budget and an “unusual request.” Would they question her tactics in getting Luca’s business? They had stood by her last time, but they would be fully entitled to skepticism of her motives, especially since her actions were jeopardizing their livelihood along with her own.

Amy’s mother was likely having fits, too. Even without a call or text, Amy knew what Deborah Miller was thinking. Again, Amy? Again?

She felt so helpless! Crisis management was her bread and butter. She ought to be able to do something. As she paced off her tension, she took some comfort in methodically thinking through her response.

In any emergency, there were three potential threats to consider. The first was physical safety. This wasn’t a chemical spill. Innocent bystanders weren’t being harmed. She forced herself to release a cleansing breath and absorb that tiny blessing.

The second threat was financial loss. She sobered as she accepted that she would take a hard hit from this. There was no way she was taking Luca’s money now. That meant all of the expenses for this trip along with the travel home were hers. She had reassigned several of her contracts to other agents at London Connection so she had lost a substantial amount of income. There would be costs to salvaging London Connection’s reputation and, since this was her mistake, she would bear that, as well.

How would she pay for it all?

Here was where panic edged in each time she went through this exercise. She was standing hip deep in the third type of threat. Her credibility was in tatters.

She looked like a woman who slept her way into contracts and had no means to spin that impression. In fact, somewhere in this palace, a team of professionals exactly like her was deciding how to rescue Luca from this crisis, and Amy knew exactly the approaches they were taking—deflect the attacks on him. Blame her. Claim she had seduced him. Say she had set him up for that photo to raise the profile of London Connection.

Heck, the headlines she’d glimpsed before losing her connection had already been suggesting she’d had something to gain. They only had to build on what was already there.

What if they found out she had a history of inappropriate relationships?

Her stomach wrenched so violently, she folded her arms across it, moaning and nearly doubling over.

Luca wouldn’t hang her out to dry like that. Would he?

Of course, he would. The teacher, Avery Mason, had. The headmistress and her own parents had.

In a fit of near hysteria, she barged out of her suite to the hall.

She surprised the guard so badly, he took on a posture of attack, making her stumble back into her doorway, heart pounding.

She was so light-headed, she had to cling to the doorjamb. She sounded like a harridan when she blurted, “Tell the king I’ll set my room on fire if he doesn’t speak to me in the next ten minutes. Punch me unconscious or call the fire brigade because I will do it.”

The guard caught the door before she could slam it in his face. He spoke Italian into his wrist. After the briefest of pauses, he nodded. “Come with me.”

Now she’d done it. He was taking her to a padded cell. Or the dungeon.

Yes, that kind of dungeon.

She sniffed back a semihysterical laugh-sob.

He escorted her through halls that were familiar. She was being taken to Luca’s office. The scene of their first criminal kiss. And their second.

People filed out as she arrived, but she didn’t make eye contact. She stared at the floor until she was told to go