Free Rome in Love by Anita Hughes Page B

She pictured the master bedroom of the Villa Medici Suite with its king-sized four-poster bed. She saw Whit standing on the balcony and gazing at the bright lights of the Colosseum. She remembered him pulling her toward him and kissing her on the lips.
    “You haven’t tried the ravioli.” Sophie turned to Amelia. “It’s a local specialty.”
    Amelia pushed away the plate and gulped her glass of wine. She had to stop thinking about Whit. She took a deep breath and pictured Sheldon and the movie set and the pink Balenciaga ball gown.
    “It’s delicious, I’m just not hungry.”
    Theo dropped them off at the Hassler and Sophie suggested they go to Harry’s Bar or the rooftop restaurant at the St. Regis. Amelia mumbled that she had an early call and had to go to bed. She crossed the lobby and saw a man standing at the reception desk. He had dark brown hair and dark eyes and a slightly crooked nose. He wore a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and carried a black leather briefcase.
    Amelia darted behind a column and watched the man hand the concierge a letter. The concierge shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. The man pressed a gold coin in his hand and turned to leave. Amelia watched him stride across the marble floor and disappear into the street.
    “Excuse me.” Amelia approached the concierge.
    “Miss Tate!” the concierge beamed. “It is a pleasure to see you, how can I help you?”
    “That man.” Amelia frowned. “What was he doing here?”
    “He is not a guest, he wanted me to deliver a letter.”
    “A letter,” Amelia repeated. “To whom?”
    “It is no concern of Miss Tate’s,” the concierge replied. “Can I get you a magazine or a cup of our excellent espresso? Would you like more roses delivered to your room or a selection of soaps and lotions?”
    “I don’t need any of those things, Ernesto.” Amelia glanced at the concierge’s name tag. “But I would love to know who the letter was for.”
    “I cannot divulge that.” Ernesto shook his head, studying his computer screen.
    Amelia’s face broke into a small smile. “Please, I won’t tell a soul.”
    The concierge fiddled with the envelope, breathing in Amelia’s perfume. “He said it was for a maid, but we don’t have a maid named Ann Prentiss.”
    “Could I borrow it for a little while? I promise I’ll bring it back.”
    “Signor Black would not be happy with me.” Ernesto hesitated.
    “It will be our secret.” Amelia leaned forward. “I’m good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?”
    “Very good,” the concierge relented. He pressed the envelope into Amelia’s hand and turned back to his computer.
    “You are so kind,” Amelia beamed, slipping the envelope in her purse.
    She entered the elevator and pressed the button. What if Philip knew she was really Amelia Tate and was going to expose her? What if he wrote an article saying she got drunk and went to his apartment? Amelia imagined the newspaper headline and her cheeks turned pale. She fumbled with her room key and opened the door.
    Amelia entered the living room and glanced at the oval dining room table. She saw the crystal vase of yellow roses and the silver tray of tea and scones and pots of strawberry jam. She glanced at the neat pile of newspapers and shuddered.
    She perched on a blue satin love seat and opened the envelope. She unfolded the white paper and read out loud.
    Dear Miss Prentiss,
    I hope you are well and have not run into any rain showers or fallen into any national monuments. I thought of you this morning while I was making breakfast. I haven’t met anyone in Rome who enjoys bacon as much as you do.
    I have two tickets to an outdoor concert at Hadrian’s Villa and wondered if you might like to take a friend. I received them as payment for an article I wrote and I will be out of town on the date.
    I’m sure the Hassler pays you handsomely and I know the guests like to tip you with vintage champagne, but honestly, I can’t think