Amelia stood in front of her closet and selected a turquoise chiffon dress and silver sandals. She tied a white scarf around her hair and put on oversized sunglasses. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely.
She was meeting Sophie to go shopping on the Via Condotti and have lunch at Caffé Greco. Sophie had called that morning and apologized for standing her up at the concert. The road was closed for hours and she didn’t get home until midnight.
Amelia pictured the plaid picnic blanket with the platters of sandwiches and fruit and chocolate torte. She saw Philip pouring glasses of red wine. She remembered the kiss under the stone arch and shivered.
She lay awake all night thinking about Whit. She remembered his smooth cheeks and Hugo Boss cologne. She could call him and say they couldn’t throw away four years; they should wait until she finished filming Roman Holiday. She imagined drinking Bloody Marys at Clock Bar and talking about his new factory and the pile of scripts on her bedside table. She saw Whit kissing her on the mouth and telling her how much he missed her.
But then she remembered Whit running up the Spanish Steps and her stomach clenched. He made it clear he didn’t want to be with her if she was an actress. Suddenly she thought about Sheldon and what he would say if Philip learned her true identity and leaked the story. Playing Princess Ann was the most important thing in the world and she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize her career.
She grabbed her white leather tote and walked to the door. She was going to spend the afternoon with Sophie browsing in Prada and Fendi. They were going to eat seafood pasta and spumoni in the oldest café in Rome. She was going to forget about Whit and Philip and concentrate on acting.
* * *
Amelia took the elevator to the lobby and found Sophie perched on a gold velvet armchair. She wore a white linen skirt and a yellow silk blouse and white leather sandals. Her hair was scooped into a bun and covered with a yellow scarf. She wore oval sunglasses and carried a red leather purse.
“You look gorgeous.” Amelia smiled. “Is that purse new?”
“I bought one for my lady-in-waiting but it was so soft I had to buy one for myself.” Sophie nodded. “I don’t know what the Italians feed their cows, in Lentz the leather is stiff as a board.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” Amelia asked, glancing around the marble lobby. It was midday and the space was filled with women in sleek linen dresses and wide hats and oversized sunglasses. They wore gold sandals and had bright leather totes slung over their shoulders.
“I told you no one knows what I look like.” Sophie smiled. “As long as we wear our sunglasses we resemble all the other shoppers.”
They stepped into the noon sun and Amelia felt warm and happy. The Via Condotti was flanked by stately palazzos and filled with boutiques with white awnings and tinted windows. They drifted in and out of Valentino and Burberry, admiring silk blouses and geometric scarves and jewel-encrusted sandals.
Amelia had never cared about her wardrobe. She liked her uniform of capris and cotton dresses and flat leather sandals. When she walked the red carpet, the studio sent a stylist and a selection of dresses by Dior and Yves Saint Laurent.
But it was fun to try on sheer cocktail dresses and satin pumps. It was fun to imagine what she would wear to the premiere of Roman Holiday—an ivory ball gown or a silver sheath with a plunging back.
“This would be wonderful to wear to the Villa Medici.” Sophie held up a white linen dress with gold buttons. “Theo is taking me to the opening of the Donatello exhibit.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows. “You’ve seen him every evening this week.”
“It’s lovely to have someone to go to galleries with.” Sophie blushed, taking the dress into the dressing room. “He’s interested in history and he knows all the museums and monuments.”
“You’re lucky.” Amelia sighed, following Sophie into the dressing room. “I go home to a hot bath and an empty bed.”
“I adore Rome.” Sophie slipped the white linen dress over her shoulders. “I love the boutiques and the cafés and the gardens. But in a few weeks I’ll go home and return to my royal duties.” Sophie turned to Amelia. “When I slip on the royal tiara and stand next to my father in a receiving line, I’m exactly where I belong. I’m Princess Sophia de Grasse and I could never be anyone else.”
“What about Theo?” Amelia asked.
“Theo is like this dress.” Sophie sighed, gazing in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled. “It’s lovely but I know I can’t keep it. It’s too short; princesses never wear anything above the knees.”
* * *
They left the boutique and walked toward Caffé Greco. Suddenly Amelia heard footsteps and turned around. She saw a man striding toward them, a silver camera bouncing against his chest.
Amelia grabbed Sophie’s hand and raced across the cobblestones. They ran down the Via del Corso, jostling tourists licking ice-cream cones. They ran through the Piazza del Piccolo, dodging street vendors and musicians. Amelia glanced back and saw the photographer coming closer, his heels thudding on the pavement. She looked around and saw a stone church with tall spires. She pulled Sophie through the iron doors and shut them behind her.
“I took off my sunglasses in the dressing room, one of the salesgirls must have seen me.” Amelia sat on a wooden pew, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, I hope no one recognized you.”
“I haven’t had that much fun since Game Day at St. George’s.” Sophie grinned. “We almost knocked over that cart of roasted chestnuts.”
“It was a bit like a scene in a Mission Impossible movie.” Amelia giggled.
“And we ended up in a six-hundred-year-old church surrounded by priceless art.” Sophie studied a metal plaque. “The Santa Maria del Popolo was built in 1492 and houses paintings by Caravaggio and Raphael.”
Sophie smoothed her scarf and opened the tall doors. “Come on, we’re going to share a caprese salad and a plate of spaghetti calamari. If we’re going to run marathons through the streets of Rome we can’t be hungry.”
* * *
Amelia climbed the steps of the Hassler Hotel and walked through the revolving glass doors. They had a delicious lunch of mozzarella and sliced heirloom tomatoes and spaghetti with clams and porcini mushrooms. They shared a profiterole for dessert and drank glasses of Marsala.
It was lovely sitting with Sophie at Caffé Greco, talking about Raphael and Modigliani. It was lovely gazing at elegant women wearing Bulgari diamond chokers and Gucci belts. It was wonderful not thinking about her lines, just enjoying the afternoon sun and the delicious food and the sweet wine.
“Good afternoon, Miss Tate,” the concierge called. “I hope you are having a wonderful day.”
“Thank you, Ernesto.” Amelia beamed. “I had a delicious lunch and went shopping, I’m enjoying Rome very much.”
“That gentleman was here,” Ernesto continued. “He may have left something of interest to you.”
“What kind of thing?” Amelia asked.
“A letter of some kind.” Ernesto shrugged, turning back to his computer screen.
“Perhaps I could borrow it.” Amelia opened her purse and took out a ten-euro note. “I promise to return it.”
“Miss Tate, I could not take your money.” Ernesto shook his head.
“Then why don’t I leave the note on the counter and you put the letter beside it?” Amelia approached the desk. “Maybe I’ll pick up the wrong one.”
Ernesto inhaled Amelia’s floral perfume. He took the envelope from his pocket and let it fall on the marble counter.
“Excuse me.” He bowed. “I must help another guest.”
Amelia glanced at the words “Ann Prentiss” scrawled on the white envelope. She slipped it in her purse and hurried to the elevator. She pressed the button and waited for the doors to open.
* * *
Amelia dropped her shopping bags on the glass end table and slipped off her sandals. She sat on an ivory silk sofa and opened the envelope. She unfolded the white paper and read out loud.
Dear Ann,
I apologize for my boorish behavior at the concert last night. I blame the red wine and the rain. You are not just a danger to yourself when wet, but to anyone who comes in contact with you.
I would like to show you I am capable of enjoying clever conversation and fine wine without acting like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. I made a reservation at La Pergola for Saturday night. At least five waiters hover around your table at all times, so there is no chance of impropriety.
We can finish our conversation about black market truffles and see if you like duck ravioli with foie gras sauce as much as I do. If you leave a note with Ernesto, he can let me know what time and where to pick you up.
Warmly,
Philip
Amelia put the paper on the glass coffee table and giggled. She imagined Philip drinking from a crystal wineglass and eating off gold inlaid china. She saw them sipping demitasses of coffee and sharing a vanilla crepe and hazelnut ice cream.
She walked to the balcony and gazed at the late afternoon sun dropping behind the Colosseum. Suddenly her cheeks were flushed and she felt a slight chill. She walked back inside and slipped the letter in its envelope. She sat on the ivory silk sofa and pulled the cashmere blanket around her shoulders.