Yup. This is a sun glow, clearly.

  Since it’s time for me to get ready, I lower my gaze and head down the steps. I walk across the square then into the hotel so I can freshen up before the signing. When I push open the door, my pulse sprints as Axel steps out of the elevator several feet away.

  He hasn’t noticed me yet.

  But I definitely notice him.

  He’s wearing those black glasses, of course. But today they somehow make him look not only sexy smart, but sexy smarter.

  Then, I check out his clothes—the trim jeans that hug his legs, the black button-down that’s nice and tight in the arms.

  Huh.

  Does Axel have strong biceps I never noticed before? How is it possible I’ve never noticed them? I’m an arms woman. Surely, I’d have checked out the guns before. I’m checking them out now for longer than I probably should. When I realize I’ve been staring—okay, gawking—my gaze snaps to his face.

  I try to rearrange my expression to I was not staring at you while I do just that, taking in that just-the-right-amount of stubble, the soul-deep blue eyes, the full lips.

  That warm, hazy feeling in my chest kicks up a few notches.

  Turns into something hotter.

  When he spots me looking at him, he flashes me a crooked and cocky grin as he stops in front of me. “Sleep well, Valentine?”

  “The best,” I say, trying to school my voice so I don’t sound like I was just purring over his trim, toned physique.

  “Told you so,” he says, a little pointed. Like he has to land a dig.

  But I don’t dig back. “Yeah, you did,” I say simply. I’m too busy trying to figure out what to do with Axel being ultra-sexy today.

  My pulse spikes. Has it spiked with him before?

  My skin buzzes. Is that new too?

  Wait. Just wait.

  I know what this cacophony of foreign sensations in my chest is. This must just be the residual effects of yesterday’s jet lag.

  Whew.

  I’ll be fine. “I’m going to get ready for the signing. I think Amy with Chandler Publicity is taking us together?”

  “Yup. Amy said she’d be here at twelve,” he says, then nods toward the revolving door of the hotel. “I’m going to kick around the Eternal City. Maybe do some book research for a little bit. Catch you in an hour.”

  With a casual chin nod, he’s off. A little swagger in his step. A coolness in his stride. As I watch him go, I study him intensely, the shape of him, the swoop of his hair, the set of his shoulders.

  Yes, I know what this shivery feeling in my body is. It has to be the jet lag burning off.

  It just has to be.

  A twenty-something brunette with an eager smile hands me a paperback of The I Do Redo.

  “Who should I sign this to?” I ask in my best attempt at Italian.

  “Very good,” she says in that language, then she shifts to English. “To Andrea, please. I just love Brayden and Kelsey so much,” she says as I flip open the copy. I’m at a table in the back of the bookstore, next to Axel, who’s chatting with another reader.

  “Aww, thank you. I’m so happy to hear that,” I say to Andrea, then I grab my purple Sharpie and sign the book.

  As I hand it to her, Axel reaches for a pen, brushing my wrist as he stretches his arm to grab it.

  A tingle sweeps down my chest.

  What the hell?

  I jerk my gaze to him, like I can find the answer in Axel. In his playful eyes.

  But the only answer he gives is a wink. “Pen ran dry.”

  My mouth has run dry.

  My breath catches as I look at him again, but I try to shake off these sensations. It’s hard, though. With him only a foot away, my nostrils get in on the action, sniffing Axel like he’s a fine wine. Wine with top notes of sage fading into the afternoon and something deeper, woodsy and dark like a forest at night.

  Oh, god. No. This can’t be happening.

  I’ll just ignore this blooming feeling.

  Surely I can do that.

  Right? Of course I can. I’m an expert at avoidance. That’s what writing is, after all. Avoiding reality.

  Tra la la la. I’ll spend some time in my imagination.

  Except…what did the blonde now standing in front of me just say?

  When did she show up in line? Her friendly eyes crinkle at the corners, her hair is looped into a swingy ponytail, and she’s wearing a Book Besties shirt, dark blue against her pale skin. She’s standing next to a woman with glasses, who’s sporting a matching Book Besties shirt.

  “I’m Jackie. I make dog bandanas and I love romance novels more than I love potato chips,” the blonde says, sounding like she’s straight out of Jersey.

  “And Jackie—we call her Jersey Jackie—loves her chips,” the woman in glasses adds. She taps her heart. “I’m Alecia. I don’t do anything nearly as interesting as making dog clothes. I’m in data analysis.” She shudders. “But who cares about that? We’re here for the swoony men, the fabulous women, and the escape. Your books are pure five Calgon Take Me Aways.”

  I beam. “That’s all I can ask for.”

  “That’s our book rating system. Five Calgon Take Me Aways is the highest for our reviews. We’re the Book Besties! And we won the trip with you and Axel,” Jackie says.

  “But no Kennedy,” Alecia says with a frown. She sounds like she’s from Minnesota perhaps.

  “But we’ll have the best time anyway. We won the trip in a publisher giveaway. We entered a gazillion times. We loved Ten Park Avenue,” Alecia says.

  Uh-oh. They’re going to pepper us with questions about Lacey’s story the whole time.

  But I can handle that. I’ve been answering and evading Ten Park Avenue questions for more than a year. “I’m so glad you won the trip,” I say honestly. They seem enthusiastic, and enthusiasm is the best reward from readers.

  Plus, I want to hug them in gratitude for saving me from the spate of zingy feelings taking over my bloodstream.

  Maybe those feelings won’t dare to reappear.

  Maybe I’ll just immerse myself in readers, and travel, and imagination, and I’ll somehow survive this trip like that.

  Sounds doable.

  “And,” I add, “I want to hear all about the dog bandanas, and the data.”

  We chat for a few minutes about how their friend Maria is going to join them on the train ride tonight, how the three of them run a blog, a social media feed, and a TikTok channel, and how they love all our books.

  But especially Ten Park Avenue.

  I hate disappointing them. I wish I could give them more of what they want.

  “Can we take a picture of the two of you?” Alecia asks, her voice pitching up. “You and Axel. I want to use it for a cookie design. I’m learning how to make cookies.”

  I frown in confusion. “You want a picture of Axel and me for a cookie?”

  That gets his attention. “Did someone say cookie?”

  The ladies laugh then shoo us up next to the table, with Jackie scooting in the middle between us.

  I’m so thankful for her.

  “Jackie, you go on the side. We’re bookends. They’re the books,” Alecia chides.

  Nooooo! Don’t put us next to each other!

  “Right, right,” Jackie says, scurrying over, then gently nudging Axel so he’s closer to me.

  He wraps an arm around me.

  Oh god.

  His hand on my shoulder feels good.

  So good that I steal a glance out of the corner of my eye. That zing wiggles down my chest. I’m dying to turn my face toward his neck and catch the fading scent of the forest at night.

  Alecia snaps a selfie, then shows it to us.

  As I stare at it, I privately whimper.

  There it is in Technicolor.

  Me, with flutters in my stomach.

  Yup. My sister cursed me. The diagnosis is official—I’ve got all the symptoms of a romance heroine.

  15

  TAKE THE PILL

  Hazel

  Six more nights. I only have to make it through six more nights with this…infection. It’ll pass. It always does.

  I’ll take antibiotics in the form of this group of super readers surrounding us.

  They’re the cure.

  That afternoon, as Axel takes the dozen VIP readers on a tour of five key locations from his books in the center of the city, I make it my mission to own the sidekick role like no one ever has.

  I’m the tour guide wing woman, hanging by the back of the group as Axel tells a middle-aged couple with matching Nikons slung around their necks, and some college girls by the front, about the scene in A Lovely Alibi where the hero sneaks into the Pantheon at night to solve a riddle that’ll help him retrieve a lost artifact.

  As Axel then guides the group past the famous landmark, I make small talk with Jackie and Alecia. “How did you two meet?” I ask.

  “In an online fan group,” Jackie says.

  “Then we became book besties,” Alecia adds.

  And after five years of recommending books as a team, they finally met when they landed in Rome yesterday.

  “That’s so great that this trip brought you together,” I say.

  “Book friends are the best friends,” Jackie says.

  Alecia slings an arm around her buddy. “Love you, hon.”

  It’s heartwarming to see, and it’s good medicine. I’m far away from Axel and fighting off the fever of desire with chitchat. If I can just keep this up, I will survive. The early days of illness are always the hardest.

  We visit a few more sites, then finish at the Trevi Fountain. Axel walks them through the climactic scene. “And here is where Jett leapt into the water, jumping over the crowds of tourists.” He gives a sheepish shrug, acknowledging the fiction physics as he adds, “As one does.”

  Like he knows you sometimes have to go all Jason Bourne with a thriller hero no matter how unlikely leaping over heads is.

  I smile back, feeling a little dopey, a little woozy. I understand him so well. I get him. I truly do.

  Stop!

  That’s just the infection talking.

  I force myself to think about the stone in the fountain, the coins on the floor of it, the water. Anything external instead of these internal hummingbirds.

  The reader questions begin, and the Nikon Man shoots up a hand. “But you can’t actually go in the fountain,” he points out.

  “That’s true, Steven,” Axel says, and that’s familiar, the way he uses people’s names once he learns them. Because of his first signing, when he forgot the bookstore owner’s name and felt foolish. Now, he repeats names as he speaks to people, to remember them better.

  “So how do you deal with that? When Jett jumped in the fountain. Because it’s against the rules,” Steven adds.

  Axel nods like he’s considering this quandary for the first time. “Sometimes you have to break the rules,” he says.

  His eyes roam the crowd and find mine like he’s searching for a kindred spirit. Or maybe he just needs a little help. He doesn’t always love being the center of attention.

  “Catching the hacker was worth the risk,” I add from the back.

  “Hmm,” the man says doubtfully and scratches his jaw. “I guess I just wonder why he didn’t go to jail.”

  Axel shudders. “Jett would have hated jail.”

  Steven the Nikon Man is relentless. “But…why didn’t he take off his boots before he ran through the fountain? He wouldn’t have tripped if he’d just used some common sense. This happens in so many thrillers.”

  One of the college gals near me rolls her eyes. “It’s called a trope,” the redhead mutters. “Like how all billionaires magically have huge cocks.”

  Jackie and Alecia crack up.

  I laugh too.

  I don’t look at Axel. I can’t risk another fluttery feeling.

  By the time I get back to my room after the tour, I have twenty minutes before I have to check out of the hotel and head to the train station. Rushing around, I gather my things, but I barely unpacked since I was here only one night. Once I zip up my suitcase, I FaceTime my sister for some emergency girl talk.

  Veronica answers right away. She’s on the balcony of her Greenwich Village apartment, and I spot her big Siamese walking behind her, sniffing the potted plants as she waters them. “Ciao,” she says as she tips her watering can.

  “You cursed me!”

  She knits her brow. “Sounds cool. Tell me more about this new skill of mine. Because there are others I might like to curse.”

  “Axel,” I mutter, annoyed. Then I’m double-annoyed when my stomach flips at the mere mention of him. “You and your sex talk.”

  A satisfied grin spreads on her cute face. “You finally admit I’m right.”

  “Undo the curse. Now.” I stomp my foot to get my point across.

  “Aww. Lust hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s the worst,” I whine, effectively admitting she’s right. Or right-ish. “What do I do with this…attraction?”

  “Bang it out,” she says, too cheery.

  “You are such an enabler. Help me for real, V.”

  She sets down the watering can and strokes her big cat. “Look, he’s sexy, and he’s working that whole cocky thing that you love.”

  “I don’t love cocky men,” I hiss.

  She snort-laughs. “You so do. He’s like a jackass cat. And you love jackass cats. You always put them in your books.”

  I stare at her like she’s gone mad. “I do not always put them in my books.”

  Except, hold on. I did have a jackass cat in Sweet Spot. And in Plays Well With Others. Dammit. Axel was right about that too, when he said I like quirky pets in my stories. But, to be fair, all cats are kind of jackasses. It’s endemic.

  “Axel is also intensely verbal, and so are you,” Veronica adds. “And the two of you talk like it’s foreplay. So, um, good luck.”

  “You were supposed to be helping me,” I say.

  “I’m dissecting why you’re attracted to him. Maybe if you understand it, you won’t be so captivated by it. He’s all the things you think you don’t like but you do. Plus, he’s smart. So, just know that’s your downfall and focus on other things, like the trip.”

  She makes a good point. I can’t give in to this lust. I can’t act on it. I’m here for work. Not to act out a sex scene. “Right. Focus on the trip, the readers, the purpose,” I say, reinforcing her very good advice. “Thank you.”

  “You can do it, Hazel,” she says, then swings her gaze to the door. “Milo’s home. I love you. And my jackass cat loves you too.”

  “Have fun with your guy,” I say. “And your jackass cat. And thanks. That was helpful.”

  “Anytime.”

  I say goodbye then leave the hotel, thinking about books and work—the reasons why I’m here.

  They really should do the trick.

  The Roma Termini railway station is like a pill, and I swallow it dry that evening because I’m damn eager for the medicine. This station is not romantic at all.

  The city’s largest train station is like a space hub.

  Digital signs flash arrivals and departures in bright orange overhead, while silver columns and sleek walls scream modern.

  Thank the goddess.

  Plus, there are crowds. Oh yes, the massive crowds. No one can feel flutters when they’re surrounded by scurrying passengers and harried travelers.

  At least, I’m trying not to.

  Amy, the PR professional organizing the tour, escorts Axel and me through the station. “The platform we’re departing from is less busy. It’s everything JHB envisioned when he designed this luxury train. A hearkening back to another era of travel,” she says.

  No. That’s bad.

  Early train travel is romantic.

  But how romantic can a reclusive billionaire train mogul really be?

  I decide the train won’t be that romantic after all.

  I listen intently as Amy shares more about the tour’s agenda. Amy Chandler is outgoing, welcoming, and capable. We met her at the hotel earlier today—she runs her own PR firm in Los Angeles and one of her specialties is book tours. But I already know of her. Through TJ, I met and became close friends with some of his friends who play for the San Francisco Hawks, including the receiver, Nate Chandler. Amy’s his sister and Nate adores her. As one should do with big sisters.

  “We’ll meet up with your readers in the dining car once you’re all settled on the train. You’ll have some time to freshen up, put your things away, and all that good stuff,” she says, guiding us to a quieter section of the station, around the corner and back in time.

  This platform is quaint. The crowds have thinned. Classical music plays overhead, mingling with the sound effect of an old-time steam engine. The train itself sits proudly on the tracks. It’s modern, I’m told, but the outside of it is straight out of an Agatha Christie novel, with an old-fashioned blue and cream facade and JHB Travel in calligraphy along the side of the cars.

  “That’s a helluva train,” Axel says with a low whistle of admiration.

  Amy smiles and gestures to the platform-edge doors. “We have two cars reserved for our group. And we have dinner tonight with everyone, a little on the late side, but that’s what makes it fun. We’ll do the nine o’clock seating. We have a stop in Florence after that to pick up some more passengers, and then the trip to Nice should be peaceful overnight. Perfect for sleeping,” Amy says, then checks her watch. “We’ll arrive early in the morning, but you don’t have to rush off the train. Take your time.”

  As we board, Amy says, “You two will be all the way at the end of this car with me, so there’s a little buffer between you and the readers. I’ll show you,” she says, but then a train attendant in a blue suit flags her.

  “Ms. Chandler. A minute, please?”

  “Of course,” she says, joining the Italian man. “I’ll be right back,” she says to us.

  As she chats with him, Axel shoots me a daring look, then whispers, “Let’s be scofflaws and check out the sleeper compartments. My heroes never get to enjoy a sleeper compartment.”