Royally Knocked Up by Pamela DuMond

Chapter 14

Nick and I drove from Taormina, skirted around the bustling metropolis of Messina, and arrived at Milazzo. We stopped at a budget store on the outskirts of town, purchased jeans, a T-shirt and a coat for me as well as backpacks. We drove into the small city and parked the car in a long-term lot, half a kilometer up a hill from the marina.

Nick pulled out his phone and texted while I grabbed our packs from the rear seat. “Cristoph’s arranging private transport for us out of Italy, get us some place secure before the shit hits the fan. But I think you should leave now,” he said.

“We’ve already had this discussion four times. Am I hurting you? Am I ruining your reputation? Have I sullied your name in any way? Did I poke you in the eye?”

“No,” he said.

“I finally got you back. It would take an earthquake to get me to leave you. Stop worrying.”

He placed the car key in a tiny lockbox, leaned against the car, and affixed it underneath. “Apparently the car has evidence. One of Esmeralda’s ladies is picking it up. Hear me out on this one. I want you to leave now. Before the press picks up on this. I’ll walk you to the bus station. You can catch a flight out of Catania. We can meet up back in Sauerhausen.”

“No. I’m staying with you.” I took a pack and slung it over my shoulder.

“Things are about to get messier, Lucy.”

“Might I remind you that we met under messy circumstances?”

He smiled. “I knew the second I saw you on British Air Flight #1509 from Chicago to Heathrow that I was going to get lucky.”

“You remembered the flight number?” My heart flip-flopped in my chest. I gazed into his crystal blue eyes, and broke out in goosebumps from the sheer deliciousness of this man.

“I remember everything about that day. I sat by your side in 3B even though 4A was clearly stamped on my ticket.”

“You thought you were going to get lucky by nailing Lady Elizabeth Billingsley in the mile high club.”

“That too.”

I smirked. “You weren’t planning on meeting a complete stranger. Didn’t dream you’d be starting a new relationship with an impoverished American commoner. Lucky you.”

“Fortune smiled upon me in a better way, Lucy.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him, my hips colliding against his, the heat building between us the way it always did, ever since the day we first met. “I got lucky for a lifetime.” He kissed me and I melted into his strong arms, not wanting to leave them ever again.

“Prendere una stanza!” I swiveled around to see a little old lady frowning up at us. She was carrying groceries up the steep incline, her arms stretched long and thin.

“What did she say?”

“Get a room,” Nick said.

“Everyone tells us that.”

“I know.” Nick smiled and bowed to her. “Sì signora.”

“Stronzo,” she said. She kept walking, her back to us as she flipped him the bird.

“Stop.” I tugged on his coat sleeve. “We’re not supposed to draw attention to ourselves.”

“But she’s right. The polite thing for us to do is to get a room.” He nodded toward the marina down the hill. “I bet there are a few pensiones close to the docks. Lovelorn mariners needing to say goodbye to their special someone before departing on dangerous journeys in turbulent seas.”

“Ha. More like lusty sailors paying harbor hookers for an hour of time.”

“We haven’t role played that one yet, Lucy. I’ll be the harbor hooker and you be the lusty sailor. Serenade me with a dirty sailor shanty.” He put one hand to his ear. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“I don’t know any dirty shanties. How about we compromise on my sexy sea leg… panties.” I raised an eyebrow.

He laughed. “Sold. According to Cristoph we have approximately twelve hours before the news hits the more prominent feeds. Let’s find our love shack and check out your panties.”

But there were no rooms available in the marina, or anyplace else in Milazzo. A yachting convention was in town and everything from the tiniest B&B to the largest luxury suite was booked. Now we stood on the far end of a dock overlooking the boats moored in the harbor. Uniformed mechanics gossiped amongst themselves as they tended to luxury yachts, tuning engines and repairing hulls. Fishermen unloaded their catch from vessels, and sailboats bobbed in the harbor. Several were being scrubbed down by teenage boys who earned meager wages and learned the ropes as apprentices.

“We could always catch a ride to the next town over,” Nick said. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed my tightly against him.

“Where do you think that water taxi’s going?” I pointed to a paint-flaked ferry where passengers were boarding. There were wizened fisherman holding tackle boxes, old women dressed in gray and black hauling bins of vegetables, and people carrying saggy suitcases. There were even people boarding with goats and a pen of chickens. A young mother with a diaper bag slung over her shoulder held onto a toddler’s hand as she talked into her phone.

Nicholas squinted at the sign above the vessel’s slip. “Departing for Isole de Aeolian: Vulcano, Lipari, Salina, and Stromboli.”

“Let’s go.” I tugged on his hand. “We’ll find our love shack on an island in the middle of the sea.”

An hour later we disembarked on Vulcano and walked around the laidback commercial waterfront that doubled as its downtown, winding through narrow, old-world, seaside streets.

We stopped at a café, bought hot chocolates, and Amaretto flavored cannoli, the ricotta cheese sweet on my tongue when I bit into it. Nick asked the proprietor for the nicest place to stay in town and the best restaurant.

“Pensione Giulietta,” she said.

“Grazie. Dove milior ristaurante?”

“Pensione Giulietta.”

We hiked half a kilometer from downtown in the opposite direction of the petite, smoking volcano. The buildings were scattered sparsely throughout the area. The land was dotted with trees that twisted with the winds, adapting their shapes as they survived and grew in the harsher environment.

We turned right onto a lane and spotted the older, rambling, two story building, the weathered “Pensione Giulietta” sign in cursive writing dangling from an exterior beam hanging over a porch. Nick opened the door to the office, walked a few steps to the aged front desk, and slapped his hand on the bell.

A middle-aged woman wearing a simple dress and a warm cardigan pushed aside a curtain and walked briskly to the counter. She stopped, batted her eyes at Nick—most likely taken by his handsomeness—and asked, “Come posso aiutarti?”

“Mi piacerebbe la migliore camera del pensione.” He peeled off a chunk of bills from a wad of Euros and handed them to her. “Solo il maglio per la mia sposa.”

“Si,” she smiled. She stood on tiptoes and reached toward a wooden cubicle on the wall.

“What did you ask her?”

“For the fanciest room in the house.”

She pulled out an old-fashioned key and handed it to Nick. “Tre B.”

“Grazie, Signora.” He bowed his head.

We trod down a narrow hallway, passing vintage framed black and white photographs of the Aeolian Islands. “We’re in Three B,” Nick said.

“That’s weird. You sat next to me in Three B on the airplane when we first met.”

“I know. Spooky, eh?” We rounded a few corners and climbed a narrow flight of stairs to the third floor. Nick turned the key in the lock and looked at me. “Last chance to turn back.”

I shook my head. “Always an adventure with you.”

He opened the door, gesturing for me to go first. I entered the smallest hotel room I’d ever visited with him, and immediately felt at home. A four-poster double bed neatly covered with a white, cotton bedspread sat on the right. An antique nightstand with a matching chest of drawers and a vintage white linen runner squatted on the left. I put down my backpack, and shrugged off my coat. I tossed it on a spindly wooden chair, and made my way to the windows.

I pulled back the white curtains revealing the tiny balcony jutting out over Vulcano’s small, black, sand beach. “I think we’ve landed in heaven.” I unlatched and opened the shutter window, bracing at the blast of chilly air. I crinkled my nose as the pungent scent of sulfur from the small, active, volcano bubbling in the near distance swirled through the air into our room.

“Smells more like fire and brimstone.” Nick said. “Might be hell. It’s a bit eerie.”

“It’s magical. It’s the perfect place for us to be right now. Even if the island is chilly in January.” I shivered, and closed the pane.

“The bed seems sturdy. And warm.” I heard a few squeaks and glanced over at Nick who patted the double sized mattress. He waggled his eyebrows and beckoned to me with his index finger. “It is my royal duty to properly thank you. I summon you, Warrior Princess, defender of true royalty, slayer of all that is false and unjust.”

“I haven’t slayed anyone.”

“Whatever. I summon you to my side.” He patted his thigh. “To accept your Prince’s gratitude.”

I walked the few feet toward him. “If you really want to please your Warrior Princess, take off your shirt.”

“Hot,” he said, stripping and tossing it onto the floor. “What next? Do you demand more garment removal?”

“Soon.” I grasped his muscular shoulders, and pushed him back on the bed. It squeaked. I hoped we hadn’t broken it. “But first there will be kissing. Then caressing.” I leaned in, kissed his beautiful lips, and unzipped his pants. “Followed by all sorts of other pleasurable things that my handsome prince knows and his princess expects as payment for loyalty and services rendered.”

He smiled, pulled me to him, and kissed me thoroughly. “His Highness declares that what’s fair is fair. You need to take off your top.”

I pulled off my long-sleeved T-shirt and tossed it. “Better?”

“Pants would make me even happier.”

I unzipped my jeans, wriggled out of them, and left them on the floor. Wearing only my lace bra and undies, I leaned over him and bit my lip. I stared into his crystal blue eyes, and traced the cleft in his chin, when I was hit with an inexplicable sadness. Something didn’t feel right. The Tower card I drew back at Zia Valentina’s castle predicted my world would come tumbling down—but that hadn’t happened yet. I was hit with an overwhelming urge to run my palm across the stubble on Nick’s chin and feel it grate on my skin. I needed to memorize the pencil-thin scar on his collarbone, touch the small, black curls on his chest that descended into a narrow band on his stomach tapering even further to a sexy V that headed south. I shook my head. Get at grip.

“I love you, Lucy.” Nick clasped one hand behind my head, and cupped my ass with the other.

“I love you too, Nicholas.”

He pulled me to him and flipped me onto my back. “You’re mine, Warrior Princess.”

And then he was on top. Greedy. Hungry. Nibbling my lip, sucking my neck, caressing my arm. He intertwined his fingers with mine, clasped my hands, and held me down as if he were drowning in life’s choppy waters and I was his life preserver.

“I want you, Nick.”

He entered me and I gasped. I closed my eyes, and moved with him, until waves of deliciousness crashed through my body. Afterwards, I lay in his arms, staring as the sun sank into the horizon. The moon climbed into the night sky, taking on an unearthly glow.

“Round two, darling?” Nick propped his head up in his hand and ran his finger down my nose, my throat, and the sensitive skin on my breast bone.

I caught his wandering hand with mine. “Warrior Princess needs to bathe, eat, and drink something first before she will allow you to bestow further gratitude. Scrub her down, give her some carbs, a few glasses of vino, some chocolate, and she’ll be more apt to fall for your charms.”

“Ha!” He stood up. “I’ll draw a bath.”