I turned at the knock on my door as my father entered. “What do you want?” I grumbled.
“It’s been two weeks, Gianna. I think it’s time for you to start afresh. Start living again, don’t you think? You can’t stay cooped up in here forever.”
While I still didn’t trust him, he was right. It was two weeks since he’d handed me that recording device and my attempted suicide. Although I hated to admit it, my father had been right that day too. He’d broken my trust, but Zayne had shattered it, tore it to pieces that would probably take a genius to rebuild, that was if I’d give them a chance to try. I hated my father, but I hated Zayne more. Both had made a mockery of my life. Still, my father was attempting to earn back my trust, and either I accepted his gesture or floundered in self-pity for the rest of my life.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“Where,” I asked, wariness lending a snap to my tone.
“I’m going on a trip. Maybe getting out of here will do you some good. A change of scenery might help that hurting heart?”
“I’m shocked you care,” I scoffed, shaking my head.
“Gianna,” while censure shone in his eyes, his tone was softer, almost fatherly. “I’m only trying to help. If you’d rather not, then enjoy your own company.”
He turned to leave, and I felt a sudden sense of loneliness. Maybe he was right, I needed to get out, heal my broken heart or at least try to—a feat I didn’t think was possible for a while. “Wait,” I called out. He turned back to look at me. Was it weird that I was reaching out to the one man I’d come to despise, seeking comfort from the loss of my mother and my heartbreak?
I didn’t give myself time to answer, instead said, “give me a few minutes to change.” He nodded. Grabbing a dress from my closet I went into the bathroom.
When I stepped back out, he ran a slow gaze of my attire. “Don’t you have something a little more becoming of a young woman?” The disapproval in his eyes immediately smothering my earlier need to seek comfort from him.
I frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing right now?” I glanced down at the Ditsy floral button-up dress. It was simple but the tiny red and white flowers paired with white flats made me smile. It was my mom’s favorite color. She loved anything red or white.
“You’re not a child anymore, Gianna.”
“Should I stay back then,” I replied, my smile not quite reaching my eyes.
He gave an impatient sigh and glanced at his watch. “No. Let’s go.” He walked out.
Taking a few seconds to wallow in the sea of hatred I felt toward the men in my life, I pushed aside my despondency, lifted my chin, and called on every ounce of strength within me. Then grabbing a book I’d begun reading earlier, I followed him.
When the plane landed, it didn’t even register that we’d been flying for a while. The book left me teary-eyed and my heart heavy. Memories of Zayne flooded my mind whenever I read something endearing and I had to stop reading several times just to breathe. Just to remind me that I’d never see him again. That he’d shattered the love we’d shared. I needed something stronger than a romance novel to distract me, to make me forget the pain. Maybe I should take up drinking—lose my ability to think, to feel. Then I thought of my mother and how she would feel if I just gave up. And Harsh and Bhavna, how they would feel after spending years raising me to respect my body, my mind.
Glancing out the window, I made a mental note to ask the housekeeper on my return to open my mother’s ceramic studio. She’d been a pottery student and some of her pieces were displayed in the house. Maybe I could learn the art.
It was only as the limo neared a rather large estate on the horizon, did I turn to my father and ask, “where are we?”
“Chicago.”
As the vehicle drew closer, I gazed up at the—I wasn’t sure whether mansion, manor, or perhaps castle suited the very large building with its stylish balconies outside each window and ceiling to floor double glass doors custom designed to complement the whitewashed walls. Perfectly manicured gardens stretched for miles in each direction and when the car curved to a stop around the two-headed serpent fountain situated in the center of the roundabout driveway, my awe grew.
“Whose home is this?” I asked, my eyes drinking in the breathtaking home that looked like something out of an elite real estate magazine. When we entered, I had to keep from gasping out loud. Everything was so—I searched my brain for the correct words—beautifully Italian. Our arrival by private jet just made it more believable that we were in the home of either someone famous or given my father’s line of business, whatever that was, someone nefarious.
When my gaze met his once more, he offered me a smile that was nowhere close to being comforting. “A business partner,” his reply was almost hushed, making me frown.
“Then why am I here, if it’s business?”
“Would you have preferred to be locked up at home, sweetheart?”
I cringed at his use of an endearment. He hadn’t earned that right yet. Rolling my eyes, I followed him further into the gorgeous home with its vintage ceramic tiles and sculptured pillars. My intrigue growing by the second. Whoever the owner was, he was seriously rich with an eye for detail. Every new find complemented the next.
“Mr. Mancini.” I glanced away from the large painting of a churning sea as a tall, balding man in a brown pinstriped suit descended the red-carpeted stairs. When he reached the bottom, he shook my father’s hand before his gaze shifted to me. “And this must be her.” Something in his dark eyes had my stomach churning and I tasted the sudden disgust of bile at the back of my throat before his words registered.Must be her.What did that mean?
“My daughter, Gianna,” my father replied before I could ask my question out loud.
“Hello, my dear, I’m Leo.” He extended a hand toward me, running a gaze the length of my body before coming back to my face. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
Every inch of me fought the urge to refuse his hand but I didn’t know who these people were to my father, and I had no intention of upsetting them until I knew better. I accepted his hand and barely managed to keep from gasping at the sweaty palm that gripped mine.Yuck.“Hello,” the greeting squeezed past my lips before I tried to extricate my hand from his hold. I didn’t like him and I didn’t even know the man.
