In the novella NOT ANOTHER ROMAN HOLIDAY, an American blogger meets a European Prince in Italy. She needs a story. He needs an escape from the paparazzi. Neither thought love would hit them in the eye like a grande pizza pie – but that’s Rome for ya. (And, okay, it might also be amore.)
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A modern, role-reversing twist on the classic film Roman Holiday by New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Marilyn Brant!
American entertainment blogger and aspiring poet, Jenna Bradley, is spending the summer in Rome, visiting her grandparents and working remotely for the online magazine/ezine WORLD VIBE. She’s assigned to write a feature on the latest Goodwill Tour of an Eastern European royal – handsome and wealthy, perhaps, but aloof and surely dull. Definitely not her type.
The night before the big meet and greet, however, she comes face to face with an incredibly attractive man who surprises her and quickly wins her over with his wittiness, depth, and charm. He couldn’t be more different from the royal stiff she’s supposed to interview…or could he?
On the eve of his 26th birthday, Prince Andrei of Saragovia has had a long day of official duties followed by a little too much Grappa and some unexpected paparazzi stalking him at his hotel. While making his escape, the Prince inadvertently crosses paths with a cute American named Jenna and her friends, and he finds himself caught up in an action-packed 36-hour spree through the Italian capital.
Adventurous, fun, and romantic, Andrei is given a birthday celebration he never would have imagined, and Jenna gets the scoop of a lifetime. But the clock is ticking… What if they could spend more than just a day and two nights together in Rome?
Twelfth Night Publishing
Ebook & Print
Romantic Comedy
November 26, 2023
ISBN: 979-8-2801-2334-2 (paperback – May 2025 – direct link HERE)
Scene Excerpt:
“Did I not tell you we’d be waiting here longer than necessary?” I leaned against the car’s passenger door from the outside and pointed at my phone, which said the time was 9:12.
My friend Eddie sighed, stretching his legs outside and pacing a bit before finally turning off the car and pocketing the keys. “I know, Jenna. I know. It’s not Sofia’s fault – delays happen – but she texted me over twenty minutes ago and said she was just waiting on her luggage. Pretty sure that’s the hold up. My baby doesn’t travel light.”
I fought against an urge to roll my eyes. We were in the pickup lane at Arrivals, and we’d already circled through a half dozen times to avoid being in violation of idling in one space for too long. I was about to suggest that, perhaps, it would’ve been wiser for Eddie’s “baby” to have taken a taxi, rather than have us pick her up, when Sofia emerged through the airport doors with a huge smile…and an equally huge set of suitcases.
Waves (for me) and hugs and kisses (for Eddie) followed in quick succession, as we popped open the tiny trunk and tried to figure out how to wedge Sofia’s bags into it.
Or, rather, I tried to puzzle a way to fit in the luggage, much like a game of Tetris. Eddie and Sofia quickly lost interest in the suitcases and were too busy “reconnecting” with each other. A wildly over-the-top public display of affection that made their reunion look like the final scene in a Golden Age of Hollywood romance classic, complete with a liplock worthy of long-lost lovers who’d been separated for two movie hours by a world war, evil dictators, and a handful of rogue aliens.
It was as if I hadn’t specifically told Eddie to knock off the PDAs in my presence. On the one hand, it was grating. On the other, I found myself smiling at the beauty of their joy. The pair of them were lucky. And it seemed the momentary awkwardness my friend had been so worried about was unfounded. Eddie and Sofia were clearly meant to be together, and anyone who saw them knew it.
People around us were staring, of course, but this was Italy. Passion was a form of national pride. A currency everyone in the vicinity approved of and admired.
So, I wasn’t entirely surprised when this one guy standing near a shuttle bus, his dark hair spiked like porcupine quills, took a few steps closer to us. Probably to get a better look at the lovebirds in action. I’d just managed to stuff the last of Sofia’s bags into the back and had slammed the trunk door closed when I caught the stranger’s eye.
Funny thing, he wasn’t looking at Eddie and his girlfriend, but at me. Most likely feeling sorry for me, being the third wheel and makeshift baggage handler. Hell, I was feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could be back at my grandparents’ place or, better yet, become invisible.
But Porcupine Quill Guy held my gaze – no doubt, he saw me – one side of his mouth rising slowly into a sad and twisted half smile. It was less a sign of pity than, perhaps, of recognition. We seemed to share a similar longing for a relationship like Eddie and Sofia’s. For that elusive happily ever after.
The guy stepped nearer still, shot a look at the couple in question, who were now making out like drunk teens on prom night. He raised an eyebrow in their direction, and then he full-on grinned at me. “Amore, eh?”
I couldn’t help it. I grinned back. “Sì. When the moon hits your eye, and all that crap.”
Porcupine Quill Guy actually laughed. Ah. He must know some English.
Eddie abruptly took a break, mid-smooch, probably because he finally realized occasional breathing was a necessity, and he noticed me and the stranger on the sidelines. “Uh, ciao.”
“Ciao.” The dark-haired dude looked between Eddie, Sofia, and me, as if trying to make a decision. “Mi scusi, sta andando in citta’?” he asked Eddie. Then to me, in English, he said, “Are you going into the city? If so, may I hitch a ride with you?”
Eddie turned instantly suspicious. “Too low on cash for public transport or an Uber?” he guessed.
“No money on me,” the stranger confessed. “It’s a long story.” He shrugged, and I couldn’t miss the bemused expression that crossed his face. “But I would be happy to repay you. My hotel’s near the Forum and–”
Eddie waved off his explanation and turned to me. “What thinks you, Jenna?” he said in a faux posh accent. “Should we trust this ruffian?”
Truth be told, I hadn’t yet made up my mind about the new guy, so I stalled. “It’ll look like a clown car with all four of us and Sofia’s luggage stuffed in this tiny Fiat,” I said. “We’d have to squeeze together.”
“I don’t mind squeezing,” Sofia enthused, playfully distracting Eddie with another round of kisses, this time on his neck. Without a doubt, Eddie’s attention was otherwise engaged and the final decision would be left to me.
My big brother Joe would ring my neck for even entertaining the idea of hanging around with a stranger in a strange land – let alone letting him get into our car. But Joe was across the world in the Northern Minnesotan wilds of Bemidji, and I was here in Rome. And maybe I was delusional, but this guy looked displaced, not dangerous. I’d have been stunned if he was hiding any weapons on him. He looked like he’d been about to go to bed and, unwittingly, ended up at the airport instead. Sleepwalking into a bad dream or something.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. “And where are you from?”
He nodded, as if he knew (correctly) that this was a serious interview. “My friends call me Andy, and I’m from, uh…out East.” He pointed vaguely away from the terminal. He could have meant Tivoli or Turkey or Taipei, for all I knew, but I wasn’t getting the sense that he was lying. “Where are you three from?”
Eddie and Sofia were too busy making out again to respond, but I pointed to them, introduced each of us by name, and explained that Eddie lived in London, Sofia in Barcelona, and I was from Minnesota.
“Ah!” Andy brightened suddenly. “The Gopher State!”
I laughed in surprise. Not many people outside of the American Midwest knew my home state’s nickname. “Yeah. I was born in LaCrescent, Minnesota, just across the mighty Mississippi River from LaCrosse, Wisconsin.”
Apparently, this dude was really into geography because he didn’t miss a beat. “The Badger State,” he chimed in with his mysteriously accented but perfectly precise English. “Wisconsin is also known for its delicious dairy products. Ice cream. Yogurt. Cheese.”
Again, not something I suspected would be part of the curriculum for most Europeans, but who knew? Clearly, he was well educated and fairly intelligent.
Maybe that was why I (probably inadvisably) trusted him.
Or maybe it was because he was cute, had deep blue eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses, and had adorably spiky black hair with sporadic blond highlights that I was (definitely inadvisably) interested in touching.
No doubt, I was flirting just a little when I told the guy that his hair reminded me of porcupine quills. That his friends might call him Andy, but I was going to call him Quill, which he seemed to find amusing. And that, okay, he could ride with us. “But don’t make me regret it,” I warned him.
“I won’t. Thank you, Jenna!” he gushed. “Grazie mille,” he added in Italian, seemingly for good measure, and to further show off his linguistic proficiency.
I snapped my fingers at Eddie and Sofia. “Let’s go, lovebirds.”
Eddie responded by tossing me the car keys. “You drive. The ruffian can be up front with you. Sofia and I will sit in the back…and squeeze.”
Sofia grinned, everyone piled into the car, and we were off.