"Okay." She perks up at that. I'm not sure if it's the prospect of a party or the shopping trip that has her smiling.
"I've arranged for someone to go with you. Anna is the wife of one of my men. She knows about fashion and I think you'll get on."
Katya rolls her eyes. "Sure, because all it takes is a mutual love of pretty dresses for women to bond, right?"
Honestly, I have no idea what women forge friendships over but the sarcasm in her voice tells me it's more than shopping.
"If you don't like her, chop her to pieces and throw her in the river. I don't care. I just thought you'd like a companion."
Katya nods. "Okay. I'm sure it will be fun. Where should I shop?"
"Try the Via Condotti. You'll find whatever you need there."
She nods slowly. "Yes, I've heard of this street. It's like Rome's answer to Nevsky Prospekt, yes?"
I bristle at the comparison. "It's better."
Katya laughs. "Of course it is. All Italian things are better." Her eyes glisten with mischief. "The Spanish Steps are near there."
"They are."
"Can I go? And the Colosseum — is that far? And the Circus Maximus and…"
I hold up a hand to stop her. As much as I love her enthusiasm, it's too late in the evening for this. "You can see the Spanish Steps, certainly, but the other things — it's too much for one day. Your guards have other duties to attend to."
"You're right," Katya agrees easily. "I'll save the sightseeing for another day, when you can take me."
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her no, I won't be playing tour guide, but the hopeful expression on her face does something to me. I find myself nodding.
"Yes, one day soon we'll play tourist."
Before she can launch herself off the bed and hug me again, I step back.
"Now, get some sleep, Katya."
"Sì, Signore Volante." She settles onto her pillows. "Whatever you say."
As I turn and leave the room, I shake my head. Whatever I say. Why do I get the feeling it's not going to be as simple as that? There's more to this woman than meets the eye and suddenly I can't wait to find out what it is. For the first time in recent memory, I'm excited about something, and it's the feisty Russian brunette I married to keep safe. How the hell did this happen?
EIGHT
Katya
Apparently beingin my presence is an honor. Santo said it when he greeted me in the hallway at ten o'clock on the dot to drive me into the city. Anna repeated the sentiment when she let me know how thrilled she is to have been chosen as a companion for the boss's wife. I'm sure she meant well, but she made it sound as if she's been tasked with chaperoning Gabriele's maiden aunt. Now I'm having to listen to someone gushing over me for the twentieth time today as we step into yet another designer boutique on the Via Condotti.
Growing up as a Bratva princess, I'm used to having people fawning over me, especially when it looks as if I'm about to spend money. I've never liked it. I may be spoiled when it comes to material things but this deference I've done nothing to earn doesn't sit easily with me. The thought makes me shake my head. Poor little rich girl, always finding some reason to be dissatisfied.
"Signora Volante needs a dress for the St. Pietro Gala," Anna tells the sales assistant because it's not the done thing for me to address the staff directly.
"Certainly. Please take a seat while we gather a few options."
The young blonde ushers us over to a plush chaise longue. It's uncomfortable, designed to keep its user sitting upright rather than slouching.
"Can I fetch you anything? Champagne, perhaps?"
If we'd accepted champagne in half of the stores where we've been offered it, I would be blind drunk by now. But since we've refused on every occasion until now, I decide it's time to indulge.
"Champagne would be lovely," I say.
