The Italian's Runaway Princess. Andrea Bolter

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      Which she had never inhaled before.

      As if the panorama of all these people and their doings and their businesses and their architecture and their dogs wasn’t enough, Luciana stood witnessing it in the company of a chivalrous, and she had to acknowledge gorgeous, Italian man.

      For the first time she took notice of what Giovanni Grassi was wearing. A tweed blazer with a pink button-down shirt and tan tie, jeans with a brown belt and brown oxford shoes. All of impeccable quality. He looked perhaps like a young professor, the type schoolgirls would giggle around but loved to gape at as he explained the important trigonometry equation on a chalkboard behind him. Reluctant hottie. That was the moniker the celebrity websites used for his type.

      Hottie, for sure. Reluctant, she didn’t know yet.

      “Ah yes, Firenze,” Gio chimed in. “There’s nowhere like it in the world. Some things change, others remain the same as they have for centuries.”

      Nothing ever changed in Izerote, Luciana reflected. It lagged far behind the rest of the world in technology and culture and commerce. Her father, King Mario, and his father before him were not forward-thinking rulers like some royal families were. The price they’d paid for the lack of progress was steep, as many residents or their adult children were leaving the island.

      However, Princess Luciana was not in Florence to solve the issues of her island, although she didn’t doubt that in this great city of thought and industry many dilemmas of the world had been debated.

      “Here’s my situation, Gio,” Luciana started, not knowing what to do about her predicament. One way or another, this trip would come to an end. Either she’d have her three weeks here before she returned to Izerote to marry King Agustin and produce his heirs. Or her father would send someone to hunt after her and her visit would be cut short. Either way, now was all there was, so she had better make every second count. “I have no money. That’s why I need to sell some of my jewels, in order to pay for a hotel room.”

      “Sell your jewels. That sounds so positively archaic. You may have noticed this is modern day where people pay for goods and services with credit cards or through apps on their phone,” he said with a cute chuckle that sent a tingle down her spine. What a strange reaction she was having to this total stranger.

      She couldn’t explain to him that while she did carry credit cards, she couldn’t use them because they were traceable. That’s why she needed to obtain cash for the trip. “I know, it does sound rather medieval.”

      “Have you traveled forward in time? What era are you from?”

      “You have no idea how right you are.”

      “Are you running from something?”

      “You could say that.”

      “A mystery woman.”

      “You could say that, too.”

      “All right, Signorina Luci, if that’s really your name. For how long do you need a hotel room?”

      “Three weeks,” she answered with ease. Because it was exactly three weeks and one day until she was to marry. Three weeks. That’s how long she hoped to stay in Florence. If she had her druthers, she’d stay until the last possible minute and arrive back in Izerote just in time to be pinned into her wedding gown. The gown that had already been chosen for her, a chaste lacy puffball with a high neck and long sleeves that was as tight and confining as her impending marriage. Nothing like what she’d wear if the choice was up to her. If, for example, she was to be getting married of her own volition to a tall attractive man with sparkling blue eyes and golden curly hair.

      “Three weeks,” he repeated. “And how much do you expect to garner from the sale of those jewels?”

      Nowhere near what she thought she might, Luciana mused. So, realistically, considering the price she’d fetched in Barcelona, she quoted Gio a figure. Still unsure if she should be confiding her financial woes to him.

      “Twenty-one nights...”

      “Twenty-one,” she confirmed knowing that she wouldn’t need a hotel room in Florence on the twenty-second, after her wedding. She winced at the thought of her wedding night and what would be expected of her from King Agustin, a widower who presumably had more experience in the matrimonial bed than she did. Hopefully he’d be patient and compassionate toward her when the time came.

      “Then here is how much you’d have to spend each day.” Gio performed a mental calculation and gave her a number that was far less than the rate of the hotels she had been looking at online.

      “Do you think I could get a hotel room for that price? It doesn’t need to be fancy, only clean.”

      “Luci, for that money I don’t think you could find anything suitable, clean or safe.”

      He glanced at his watch.

      It wasn’t right to detain this man any longer, despite the fear that was returning in her.

      “I’ll figure something out. Thank you again for your assistance.”

      “You’re quite welcome. Enjoy Florence,” Gio said and then turned to walk away.

      Prompted by his departure, a couple of tears smarted Luciana’s eyes as she blinked them back. Which was ridiculous. She’d come to experience Florence alone. Gio had simply lent a hand to a damsel in distress. He was a stranger, now on his merry way as was appropriate.

      After a few steps, he stopped and pivoted back.

      “What are you planning to do?”

      “I don’t know. If you could point me in the direction of the train station, I’ll go back there.”

      “I can try to find you a hotel. Let’s get off the street. Come with me.”

      “Oh. No. I’ll be fine.”

      He furrowed his brow. “Very well, then. Goodbye, Luci.”

      “Goodbye.”

      But when he walked away again, anxiety gripped Luciana’s chest. Those boys had really scared her. And not having the cash she needed was a huge problem. She hadn’t pictured herself alone and lost on the street.

      “Gio,” she blurted out, quickly catching up with him. “Thank you. I would appreciate your help.”

      * * *

      Gio stopped in front of a large building with double doors made of oak, each bearing a brass doorknob. Although the structure was hundreds of years old, the fob entry system was proof it had been updated. When the tiny red light on the mechanism turned to green, Gio opened the door and held it wide for Luci to enter. Pulling her suitcase in with him, he then closed the door behind him. He led her through the stone tunnel passageway that kept the inner property well secluded from the busy streets of Florence.

      The tunnel was a short distance, allowing Gio to see the sunshine that met it at the other end. He and his brother, Dante, used to play all sorts of games in this tunnel when they were kids.

      “Where are we?” Luci asked with understandable trepidation.

      “My home,” Gio said as they came into the light of the central courtyard.

      “Your home?” Luci began to take in the surroundings.

      “My family’s home. No one is here right now, but yes, this is where I grew up.”

      Up until a few days ago, Gio hadn’t been home in many months. As the president of research, development and project management for his family’s company, Grasstech, the world’s largest manufacturer of computer components, Gio spent his life traveling among the company’s operations centers all over the world. He touched down in Florence for crucial in-person meetings or for family occasions, but was then soon boarding a plane to his next destination.

      “This is so beautiful,” Luci exclaimed as she did a slow 360-degree