Chapter One

      At eight-thirty on Thanksgiving morning, Damien Bravo-Calabretti, Prince of Montedoro, heard a knock on the outer door of his palace apartment.

      Damien had given his man, Edgar, the holiday off. That left the prince to ignore his uninvited, way-too-early visitor—or get out of bed and answer the door himself.

      He was quite comfortable in his bed, thank you. Paying no attention to the continued tapping seemed the most attractive option.

      But the knocking continued.

      And then he thought, Vesuvia?

      And that had him glaring at the coffered ceiling far above his bed. Not V. Please. It was much too early to have to deal with V.

      Besides, it was over between them. She knew that as well as he did.

      Not to mention she was supposed to be in Italy, wasn’t she? And there were guards at every entrance. She couldn’t just stroll in uninvited. How could she have gained access to his rooms, anyway?

      Who knew? A man never did when it came to V.

      And if it was V, he could forget drifting back to sleep. She would keep right on knocking until he gave in and answered. The woman was nothing short of relentless.

      Muttering a few choice expletives under his breath, Dami shoved back the covers and grabbed his robe. He shrugged it on and belted it as he strode down the hall.

      By the time he reached the door that led out into the palace corridor, he was angrier than he should have allowed himself to be. He yanked the door wide with a scowl on his face, prepared to tell the impossible woman on the other side exactly what