Complete privacy.
Rafe puts the car in park outside the garage. “This is Villa Egeria,” he says. “The back of it, at any rate.”
“You live here?”
“I stay here sometimes in the summer,” he says, which is not quite the same thing. “Your rooms are on the second floor. The housekeeper’s name is Antonella. She’ll handle anything you need.”
I push open the door and step out into the hot air. Of course his house isn’t one of the cute, small ones by the road. Of course it’sthis.One of the large palaces that dot the shoreline.
“Will you give me a tour?”
He pauses, lifting a duffel bag from the trunk. He’s wearing a slightly ruffled linen shirt and a pair of navy slacks. He looks no worse for wear, despite an eight-hour flight.
“A tour,” he repeats. There’s something disdainful in that voice, and I take a step closer, smiling.
“Yes. I’d hate to be accused of snooping when I accidentally walk into something I’m not meant to see later.”
He sets the bags on the gravel. “There are house rules.”
“Oh, thank God. We wouldn’t want to live in complete anarchy.”
“Amusing.” He walks past me toward the steps and pulls the front door open. “The gate stays shut at all times.”
“Got it.” I walk into the house. The foyer is surprisingly small. It has a black and white checkered marble on the floor and three open doorways leading into separate rooms.
The house smells like jasmine.
“That’s the living room. That’s the dining room. Over there is the kitchen,” he says. “Car keys are kept in the cabinet here in the foyer. You can use the BMW, none of the others.”
I smile at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Let’s pretend I believe you,” he mutters, and walks through the doorway in the middle. There’s a large dining room table in here with windows facing in the opposite direction of where we came from.
I stop, stunned.
A beautiful green garden unfurls, and beyond it, at the end of the property, the glittering lake.
Of course he has a lakefront villa.
“You have free rein of the garden,” he says. “If you decide to swim, try not to drown. No driving the boat.”
“Got it,” I say.
“No smoking inside, no bringing unauthorized guests here, and absolutely no pets,” he says.
“You are so much fun, aren’t you?”
“So much,” he deadpans. “I don’t trust you.”
I put a hand over my heart. “Oh. The pain. Here I was, trusting you implicitly after almost a decade of underhand maneuvers.”
“Underhanded,” he says, and turns his back to me. “You’re not one to speak. Come on. I’ll show you which room is yours.”
I follow him up the stairs and run my hand along the smooth wooden railing. The whole place seems decorated in soft pastels. Light blue paint, expensive-looking art on the walls and classical furniture.
“You know,” I say, “telling me what house rules to break is basically giving me a blueprint for what to do to annoy you. We do have that little divorce clause.”
“I’m aware. I asked for it.” He walks down a hallway and pushes open an oak door. When he turns back to look at me, there’s seriousness on his handsome face. “Do not,” he says, “think that you can persuade me to bail out of this marriage by annoying me with guests or smoke or dogs. If I play, I play to win, Wilde, and I’m not going to lose on account of my new wife being an annoyance.”
