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be delivered to your room.”

She nodded jerkily and made herself lift her head and turn to face him. She cringed as she saw him, saying remorsefully, “My lipstick is all over your mouth.”

He swore and swiped the back of his hand across his lips, noted the streak of red and swore again, this time with resignation.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” A muscle in his cheek ticked.

Her stomach clenched around the pang his regret caused her.

“I know better, too.” Her voice rasped and the backs of her eyes were hot. “I’ll go.”

“Amy.”

She turned back.

Compunction was still etched across his face, but he held out a handkerchief. He touched her chin, urging her to lift her mouth. In a few gentle swipes, he cleaned the edges of her lips.

He then used the same soft linen to wipe his own mouth. He dropped his hand and let her examine his work. All trace of their kiss was gone as though it had never happened.

She nodded, too empty to feel anything but despondency. She swallowed a dry lump from the back of her throat, turned and left.

CHAPTER FIVE

LUCA TOOK THE CALL regarding a handful of Vallia’s elite military serving overseas on a humanitarian mission. No one had been injured, but there’d been an incident that required he draft a statement and follow up with calls to overseas contacts.

By the time the whole thing was put to bed, it was long past time he should have been asleep himself.

“Take the morning off,” he told Guillermo as he rose from his desk.

“Signor.” Guillermo had an uncanny ability to inject a host of meaning into that single word. This one held appreciation for the sentiment, protest that the extra sleep wasn’t necessary, caution and concern and a waft of smugness that he’d been right to warn Luca against Ms. Miller.

“I’ll speak to the Privy Council in the morning,” Luca said, meeting Guillermo’s gaze with an implacable one. “You needn’t make any reports to them on this evening. At all.”

Guillermo’s mouth tightened. “As you wish. Sleep well.”

Luca didn’t. He got slightly drunk while roundly berating himself even as he stood on the terrace off his bedroom, overlooking the Roman pond surrounded by sexual gymnastics.

If Amy had been wandering around there like a lost ghost, he would have had a reason to go out to see her, but she hadn’t given him one.

Kissing her had been such a stupid thing to do. A mistake. Mistakes were something else he’d never had the appetite for. He’d been so scrutinized all his life, so quickly corrected for the tiniest errors, he had little tolerance for imperfection, especially within himself. He was the Golden Prince, after all.

And Amy was...

The image of her tattoo came into his mind, oddly pretty and feminine despite the jailbreak it depicted. He had wanted to clasp his hand around her warm arm and set his mouth against the ink. Taste her skin and kiss that small, pretty bird that he instinctively knew had been as chirpy inside that cage as she was outside it.

What kind of woman do you like, then?

Not anyone like her—with her cheeky remarks and hair that looked like it had already been mussed by raunchy sex. Not someone who didn’t so much get under his skin as draw him out of his own. One who made him want to shake off his restraints, self-imposed and otherwise.

One with whom he’d already broken a cardinal rule of keeping his hands to himself.

He managed to sleep a few hours, then got an early start on his day. He met with his Privy Council, spoke briefly with his sister who was distracted as she wrapped up a diplomacy conference in North Africa, then made his way to the meeting of the gala committee.

Amy was holding court and faltered when he entered. She was like a tropical bird in pinks and greens and gold. Beautiful, if projecting an air of delicacy that he hadn’t expected. There were hints of shadows beneath her makeup and a wary fragility in her smile.

“Your Highness,” she greeted.

“Continue,” he said, waving everyone to stay seated while he remained on his feet at the back of the room. “I want to hear your pitch on the pajamas.”

“I’m almost there.” She glanced at her slide presentation and finished talking about the recruitment of influencers. She switched to photographs of elegant satin pajamas.

“Sometimes we want to call in sick to life.” Her apprehensive gaze flicked to him and her laser pointer wasn’t quite steady as she circled the pajama shirt. “Sometimes we need to feel safe and cozy as we navigate personal challenges. Asking celebrities to model the foundation’s merchandise isn’t about making mental health struggles seem glamorous. Yes, it’s a fundraiser and some people will be motivated to buy the pajamas because of who wore it best, but we’re also promoting self-care. We’re saying it’s okay to have a pajama day.”

Amy paused for reaction, seeming to hold her breath.

Heads turned to gauge his reaction. One voice said pithily, “There’s no way to have them printed before the gala.”

“No,” Amy agreed. “The campaign would be announced at the gala with an opportunity for those attending to place preorders. People love to be on the ground floor of something new. When they received their pajamas, it would bring the foundation back to their minds. In a few months, you could offer a new color and send out reorder forms. Later in the year, you could host a low-key pajama party.”

“That doesn’t sound very dignified,” someone murmured.

“I like the central message,” Luca stated firmly. “And it offers flexibility moving forward. My vote is to go ahead. Amy, I’d like to meet with you on another matter when you’ve finished here.”

The attitude in the room changed as Luca left. A few old guard on the council were sitting as though perched on a pin, but they were the type who didn’t like change. The rest had been hiding their interest for fear of offending

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