“I know this is distressing, father,” Giaco said, so pleasantly he should have been smiling ear to ear. He wasn’t. “But I am, despite all protestations to the contrary, a fully grown adult. And will use whatever vocabulary I please.”
“I’m going to take this opportunity to make it clear that I don’t care who or what you fuck,” Ivy announced in that British accent of hers that made her vowels gleam like polished glass. “That has nothing to do with me. If this is the only way that I can receive my inheritance, I suppose I will have to find a way to channel my mother’s gifts and pretend that when I look at you I feel nothing but adoration. Instead of the more natural revulsion.”
“Revulsion?” Giaco smirked at her. “Are we certain that’s what it is?”
And he was more pleased than he probably should have been to see the hint of color on her cheeks.
His father stood in a rush then, likely because this was no longer about him.
“I want to read about the two of you in the papers as soon as possible and I don’t care how you do it.” Umberto glared at his only son and heir. “I know perfectly well that you have contacts among the paparazzi. Sell the story I want to read, Giaco. Your total redemption at the hands of the sort of saintly female you would normally take such pleasure in befouling, etcetera, etcetera. Or you will wish you had.”
“Dearest Papà, I have never experienced a moment of regret in my life,” Giaco murmured. “I wouldn’t recognize it if I did.”
His father sneered. “You will recognize it, Giaco. This I promise you.”
And then Umberto stormed on out of the room, no doubt off to smite down some enemies and ruin more lives. It was his favorite pastime. And possibly his only pastime.
Giaco did not move. He did not allow himself to think too deeply about what was actually happening here, beneath the surface, because there was no point in it at this stage. He watched Ivy instead.
“I’m surprised that you allow him to threaten you,” she said after a moment. “It doesn’t really seem to go with your whole…” She waved a hand. “Aesthetic.”
That interested him against his will. He actually sat up and let the robe fall open as he did. He watched her jolt a little bit, hide it, and then release a breath when she saw that he was covered after all.
Most people did not pay enough attention to Giaco. Oh, they paid attention to the stories. To the spotlight that followed him wherever he went. To all the smoke and mirrors and the outrageousness he threw about like so much confetti.
But if there was tension between how he behaved and how he wasthoughtto behave, or any question of aesthetics or intentions or anything else that didn’t match—well, that wasn’t the sort of thing people thought about when it came to him. No one thought Umberto’s useless son was bright enough to know what he was doing.
He counted on that.
“And have you studied my aesthetic at great length, then?” he asked Ivy. “I am fascinating, it is true. There are many who have engaged in a doctoral level of research into the topic. Is that why you came back?”
“You know why I came back.” She blew out a breath. “Or maybe you don’t. My mother left me money. It’s my money. A normal person would have given it me according to her wishes five years ago, but, of course, we’re talking about your father.”
“Your first impulse was the better one,” he told her, making sure to sound idle and bored. His specialty. Even though he meant it. Maybe especially because he meant it. “Nothing good ever comes of succumbing to my father’s wishes.”
Ivy laughed. “Who do you think you’re telling? I watched him catch my mother in his nasty little net, pull off her wings, and pin her down. She was never the same. He took everything that was good and sure about her and destroyed it. Because he could.” She shook her head, her mouth firming. “That’s the part that I keep coming back to. It would have been one thing if he had actually had malicious intent toward her. But I don’t think he did, and that’s worse.”
“The only things my father cares about are money and power,” Giaco said. “He’s like a dragon with a horde.”
Ivy nodded. “I always called him the Lizard King. Sadly not to his face.”
He laughed at that, surprising himself. “Just so.”
Ivy stood up from her chair and he watched, fascinated, as she…paced across the stone floor. She even fidgeted, using her thumb and forefinger to pull at her bottom lip—quite absently, he was sure. He could tell.
Giaco had a sudden, perfectly formed image in his head—almost as if it was a memory, when it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t—of nipping the place her fingers touched as he lifted her up and then lowered her onto his cock—
Settle down, he told himself sharply. This was business.
“How does this work?” she asked abruptly, frowning at him as if he was a clerk who was holding on to information he required. Or a secretary of some kind. All efficient practicality.
It was true that this was business, but Giaco was not used to beautiful women behaving this way in his presence. They tended to…flutter. Melt. There was a lot of helpless giggling, melting gazes, sultry smiles.
A lot like the way she’d looked when she’d seen him by the pool.
But then, he was quite certain she hadn’t realized it was him at first.
That would be a lowering thought, but it was difficult for Giaco to achieve a lower place than the one he inhabited. So he shrugged it off.
