Princess Australia

Unfortunately, some of what she was thinking must’ve shown on her face for Ella leaned closer and patted her forearm. ‘Okay, spill it. You’ve given me the official lips-zipped version. Now, tell me more about this prince. Is he hot?’

Natasha smiled at Ella, who was an expert at picking up on nuances especially when they had anything to do with the male species.

She could’ve avoided the question, danced around it or made up a whole heap of boring platitudes. Instead, Natasha sat back and fanned her face with a red-and-white checked serviette.

‘He’s hot.’

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in a familiar sassy look that demanded the whole truth and nothing but the truth. ‘How hot?’

Natasha stopped fanning her face, threw the serviette on the table and tapped her lips as if deep in thought when, in reality, she didn’t need time to ascertain how hot Dante was.

She’d known the minute he’d strutted into the lobby, all six-feet-plus of testosterone-filled male with the body of a Greek god and the face of a model.

‘Tash, you’re killing me here,’ Ella said, her tone implicit with warning that, if Natasha didn’t spill soon, she’d drag it out of her.

‘Hang onto your latte, I’m trying to get my adjectives right. After all, how many ways can you say bad-boy babe with a smile that can make your knees wobble at twenty paces, and eyes that could melt a maiden aunt?’

‘He’s that good?’

Natasha nodded, heat seeping into her cheeks at the memory of Dante’s eyes staring at her over their espressos, an unfathomable expression in the true-blue depths. ‘Better.’

Ella squealed and clapped her hands. ‘This is fabulous.’

‘What’s fabulous?’

‘This is the first time I’ve heard you notice a guy in months, let alone sing his praises,’ Ella said, a genuinely pleased smile on her face. ‘You usually pretend guys don’t exist, or criticise my dates to hell and back, which is usually totally accurate by the way. Men can be scum. But this is fabulous. You’re into this guy. Who cares if he’s a prince? Time for you to have a little fun.’

Natasha frowned, dread creeping through her. If she was negative about guys, she had reason to be. Clay had used her, hurt her and left a lasting legacy which still threatened those she loved the most. She couldn’t help the protective barriers she’d erected around her heart, but was she as bad as Ella made her sound?

Usually she would’ve laughed it off, but maybe her friend had a point. Perhaps she’d sounded like a shrew the last few years? As for Ella’s other observation, that she was ‘into’ Dante, nothing could be further from the truth.

‘I’m not planning on having fun with the prince,’ Natasha said, ignoring her dormant devilish side which insisted it would be a blast to try. ‘He has asked me for a favour, that’s it. Once this week is over, I’m going to ask him for one and milk his presence in the hotel for all it’s worth.’

Ella grinned. ‘You don’t think you’re protesting just a tad too hard?’

‘No!’

Okay, so that had come out a bit too defensive. Natasha forced a smile and said, ‘Give it a break, will you? I’ve given you your gossip fix for the day, so lay off. Can’t a girl enjoy her mocha-cappa in peace?’

As if on cue, Luigi bore down on their table bearing a tray filled with steaming mugs.

‘Ciao, bambinas. How are my favourite girls today?’

He grinned broadly and placed the usual skinny latte in front of Ella and Natasha’s mocha-cappuccino directly into her outstretched hands. She needed the creamy blend of chocolate and coffee desperately. The earlier espresso with Dante had barely touched the sides; besides, she’d been too engrossed in listening to His Royal Sneakiness.

Ella batted her eyelashes in the usual semi-flirtation she carried on with most men. ‘We’re fine, Luigi. And you?’

The Italian, old enough to be her father, kissed his fingertips and threw his hand into the air. ‘All the better for seeing you, bella. Now, would you girls like anything else? Maybe some of my best tiramisu? Or better yet, you stay for dinner?’

‘We’re right for now, thanks,’ Ella said, her bold smile sending the old guy into another fit of finger-kissing, hand-throwing and wistful grinning.

After Luigi had left, Natasha shook her head. ‘I swear you must’ve come out flirting with the doctors when you were born.’

Ella shrugged, a self-satisfied smirk playing about her glossed mouth. ‘Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Besides, the old guy loves it. And what better way to ensure we keep getting the best coffees this side of Carlton, huh?’

Natasha chuckled and took another mouth-watering sip of her mocha-coffee blend. ‘You’re a menace.’

‘And you are changing the subject. Is there anything else about this prince I should know?’ Ella took a healthy slurp of her latte and sighed with pleasure.

‘No.’

Though, try as hard as she could, Natasha couldn’t dispel the memory of Dante’s intense gaze as she’d handed over her card and he’d locked stares with her, his holding more than a hint of challenge. ‘The prince will go about his business, I’ll go about mine.’

‘We talking about funny business, here?’ Ella winked, and Natasha rolled her eyes before burying her twitching smile behind her giant mug.

‘No, I’m not interested, and besides he’s a prince,’ Natasha said, amused by Ella’s shenanigans despite herself.

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

Natasha’s response had a hollow ring to it and she knew it. However she wanted to explain it away, however she wanted to dress it up, the bizarre exchange with Dante hadn’t been ‘nothing’.

Dante was something.

Way too much something for her peace of mind.

‘I’ll let you finish your mocha,’ Ella said, smiling at Natasha like a co-conspirator before spoiling the effect with, ‘I’m sure you’ll keep me posted about your stud-muffin prince.’

‘He’s not my prince!’

However, as the words left Natasha’s mouth, she wondered what the stab of disappointment was about.

Natasha had just stepped out of the shower and slipped into a fluffy purple bathrobe when her mobile rang. She considered ignoring it, as she had a date with a thriller DVD and a super-size bowl of her favourite choc-fudge ice-cream.

However, it could be her dad calling from Perth.

Or it could be the prince.

She wavered for a few seconds, hoping for the former, knowing a quick glance at call display would put her out of her misery. The phone continued to shrill its funky tune, and she finally gave up, crossing the room and grabbing it out of her bag.

She didn’t know the number.

Punching the answer button, she put on her best phone voice, the one Ella said could scare an army into battle.

‘Natasha Telford speaking.’

‘Natasha, Dante here. I need your help. Urgently.’