Page 7 of Misadventures with a Duke

“Mierde,” Carl spews. “My boy…I am sorry. You must leave her here and come with us. Now!”

Chapter Two

Raegan

Present day…

“Okay, woman. There’s no time like now.”

Before Allie’s done with the command, she’s acting on its implication—and earning herself my instant wrath.

“No!” I lunge off her big leather couch, flailing at a tattered sleeve of the Moulin Rouge! The Musical sweatshirt in her grip. But all I come back with are cotton pills in my palm and a cramp in my thigh. “Seriously?” I bark. “This is how you repay me for watching your place for a week while you and Le Prince Hottie screw your way across the Italian countryside?”

Allie balls up my beloved garment. “Not an accurate statement, missy, and you know it.”

“Désolé, little Raegan,” consoles the handsome guy who’s appeared behind her. “But we both know mon miracle speaks the truth.” As if he needs to kiss up to Allie any further, Maximilian De Leon scoots in and gives the side of her neck a string of sensual nuzzles. “The only prince in this apartment is the one in the Purple Rain film on the magic streaming device.”

An affectionate giggle spills from Allie as her man seems to hit a sensitive spot. “I was referring more to the screwing-our-way-across-Italy part, Hot Stuff—and don’t deny that I haven’t been clear about it. Work trip, remember? Trend reports and fresh footage for the new season? Several hours of content we owe our generous network and their sponsors?” But she gasp-laughs again as he deliberately bites her earlobe. “Maximillian George Jean Valence De Leon! You promised you’d remember!”

The man steps back a little. “Hmm. But I also remembered the exact spot on your neck where you like me to—”

She stops him short with a sharp point toward their bedroom door. “Go. Finish your packing. That’s a decree. Quinn will be here any second, and she said we couldn’t dawdle. Traffic is a mess, so we have to get moving as soon as she gets here.”

I sit up straighter, forgetting my beloved sweatshirt long enough to declare surrender on my hold. It’s fine. Allie doesn’t realize that a relaxed morning walk will get me to the theater district in no time, ensuring I’ll have a fresh version of Satine and Christian across my chest before she and Maximillian go to sleep in Rome. But that’s not my main thought right now.

“Hemline sent Quinn to drive you? On a Saturday?”

Allie waggles her brows. “Oh, yeah. In the Escalade.”

“Ooh la. Someone is definitely a fashion channel’s golden girl these days.”

Her brows descend toward her rolling eyes. “Blink and you’ll miss the moment, babe. Not about to give up my MetroCard yet.” She adds a fast shrug. “I mean, the perks are nice but really just icing on the cake. You know that better than anyone, right?”

“Of course.” I stamp my sincerity into both syllables. This isn’t a new exchange for us: Allie, freaking out about letting her new fame and fortune going to her head, and then me, ensuring her it’s not. But if it did, I’d tell her right away—ergo, her fresh push on the conversation’s repeat button.

“Besides, it’s not going to be forever. Very little in the fashion industry is, yeah?”

I swallow on a new weight in my throat. “You’re talking to the girl who learned that one the hard way, remember?”

Allie’s features widen. Her eyes are dilated in pure mortification. “Oh my God, Rae. Oh my God.”

She plummets next to me on the couch, hauling me in for a fervent hug. It’s weird. I’m usually the hugger, not the huggee. The moment affords me a second to study the framed photos across the apartment. Most of the images display Maximillian and her with hefty hitters in the fashion world’s elite. Surprisingly, my ex-jerk isn’t in a single one of them.

“I’m so sorry,” Allie rasps with the subtlety of corn syrup. “I wasn’t thinking. Not one damn bit. I’m so sorry.”

I give her back a halfhearted pat. “It’s all right, honey.”

Except that it’s not. But not for all the reasons that swim in her gaze when she pulls back to examine my face. “Mmmph,” she grumbles. “What kind of guy in his right mind changes his name from Justin to Genesis, anyway?”

What she really means to ask is what kind of a guy, becoming such a formidable force in the fashion industry, would dump his adorable and outgoing girlfriend for a couple who call themselves Nefertiti and Akhenaten?

I force out a chuckle so Allie feels useful before having to leave. It beats me having to talk her out of canceling the trip altogether, which she was ready to do this time three weeks ago—nearly to the minute. I’d shown up in the lobby below as a blubbering mess after deciding to leave work early and surprise Just—errr, Genesis—with some Saturday sexy times. Instead, I’d found my boyfriend in our bedroom on his knees with his face between Nefertiti’s thighs and his hand working Akhenaten’s cock.

The second Allie buzzed me into the apartment, I’d raced to their guest bathroom and thrown up everything in my stomach. Now, even a prolonged glance at that door doesn’t do a thing to my gut. Progress. One step at a time…

Despite how the entry buzzer makes me want to skitter all the way back to square one. The place where all the ugly questions wouldn’t leave me alone…

Why didn’t I know from the start?