Our doorman knocked on my door. He told me my father wanted to speak to me in his office. My heart, the traitor, fell when I walked in and Mariano was not there.
My father stood behind his desk, his face a mask of exasperation, his palms braced against the mahogany wood. My father often braced for me when he was about to dictate howmy life was going to go. Most of the time, I took orders without issue. I worked for the family business, and this was where most of the orders came in. So I did my job. I was a loyal employee to the jewelry business because I truly loved what I did.
However, at home, when I had my head set on doing something, such as the concert, I demanded my freedom.
My eyes and my father’s eyes locked after I took a seat in the chair again.
This was the only similarity between us I could find. The color of my eyes. My sister looked more like our mamma than me, but she had more Capella in her. I resembled… I couldn’t truly find myself in anyone around me. My grandfather told me that I bore a striking resemblance to my great-grandmother, Cecilia, but I had never seen a photo.
After a falling out between my grandfather and one of his brothers, my grandfather claims thebrother stole everything out of my great-grandmother’s palazzo before they could split the inheritance fifty-fifty. He claimed the brother, the brother’s wife, and their children cleaned out the home before he could get there. He was too busy grieving his mamma to worry about material things. The situation left him with no pictures of her.
My grandfather had told me his mamma could be a defiant woman.
My father felt the same about me. Mostly toward the way I acted toward my sister. However, no one took into consideration how she acted toward me first.
I sighed.
“You are going to my sister for the rest of the summer,” my father said bluntly. “We need to deal with the issues you have caused.”
My eyes narrowed against his. “Also, the issue of Capri eating a sour lemon because Mariano Fausti spoke to me.”
“Ah!” the ass-face (my sister) screeched. “Why are you notlistening, you leech? You are a pity case for him. He knows you drool over him and does not want to crush your pitiful spirit. We are sisters, unfortunately. He probably believes we are close.”
We both made a disgusted noise at the same time.
“Enough!” my father roared. “It does not matter what my reasons are. You are going.” He checked his watch. “You have an hour.” He eyed me with a narrow-eyed gaze.
He was waiting for my reaction. I was anticipating his interest in it. As always, I schooled my face and nodded, although something inside of me was panicking. I felt rooted to the soil of Italy suddenly and did not want to be ripped from it.
Capri was still watching the scene unfold, a smirk on her face. My father knew allowing her to stay might temper my reaction, if I was going to have one. However, sometimes, no matter who was around, if I went off, I went off. No one could stop me.
My father was also watching to see how I was going to react to being sent away. Usually, it was the opposite reaction. I demanded to see my aunt, and he demanded I stay. As a child, it would get bad. As an adult, he had learned to let me go for a while. It was considered a vacation from the business.
Or I threatened to quit.
However, this time,hewas sendingmeaway. He was digging for information on Mariano Fausti and whatever was going on between us. I was positive my grandfather had filled him in, but he wanted to see for himself.
Despite the thrill I would have had about leaving Italy and visiting my family in the states, it felt more like dread this time. I did not want to leave.
Leaving made me feel breathless, as if I was losing control of my heart.
My life.
My hands curled around the arms of the baroque style chair, and my eyes stayed locked with his while I slowly rose to my feet. The leg underneath the swinging one was numb, but I ignored it.
My father heaved out a sigh as I locked eyes with my sister and left to pack.
Even if I did not want to leave, it was for the best. There could never be anything between Mariano Fausti and myself, even separating us from the law forbidding a Fausti from wedding any woman in my family. I was not in the habit of entertaining men who had unlimited choices, let alone men who were so charming, they could lull a snake like my sister into believing in forever.
The only reason the Casanova Prince was interested in me was because I had presented him with something no other woman ever had—a challenge.
As I packed only a few things, since I had a place at my aunt’s house and always left things behind during my short trips, I could admit Mariano Leone Fausti was…attractive.
I blew an irreverent hair from my face.
Certo.
Much, much, much more than attractive.
