Five years older than my grandmother, he’s a silver fox, as Rory would say.
Everybody in my small circle is saying that, as they’ve all been charmed by his infectious smile, tanned forearms, and flawless shirts, sleeves rolled up to show off his sinewy physique, always encased in custom-fitted clothes.
Giorgio is still very much a catch, good-looking and contemplation worthy, with his dark eyes, trimmed beard, and black and silver hair, but he is also one of the most ruthless men I know, right there with my late mother’s last husband.
My grandfather has been protective toward his family, but the rest of the people fear him, as they should, or he wouldn’t survive at the top.
His businesses bring in more than a small country’s gross national income, so it comes as no surprise that Giorgio Gallo is an expert in seizing business opportunities, brokering agreements, and blackmailing people in the right direction.
At any rate, I am my grandfather’s weakness, or so I like to think.
“Oh… Look at you,” Sylvia says, moving her eyes over my attire. “Twirl for me, please. Where did you get this?”
She flicks her eyes up.
“Paris?” she suggests.
“Milano.”
“Nice,” she says, touching the sheer fabric, which is silky and delicate like the wings of a butterfly.
She rakes her gaze over my face.
“You look good. Healthy.”
That’s a weird comment.As opposed to what? Did she expect me to wither and die?
“So do you. How’s New York?”
“Great as always,” she says, picking up a flute of bubbling champagne from a server’s tray. You should come visit us sometime. Maybe in the fall. We have two foals now,” she adds with a smile as I give her a cold look.
We both know that it takes more than a half-assed effort to bring me back.
And why would I go back now?
I got used to this place, and I’m fine.
I don’t need to travel to New York to learn what I already know. I won’t find Callum there as much as I can’t see him here.
She slides her hand into her vintage jeweled clutch and fishes out her phone to show the foals’ pictures.
She knows I love horses and horseback riding, something I’m not doing here in Sicily.
Sicily is my exile, a beautiful place with olive trees, rolling hills, rich vineyards, fertile plains, lemon trees, white sand beaches, and rocky coves.
Here I live away from my family and the man I dream about.
I admire the foals before handing her phone back.
“They look great. Sure, I’ll come.”
Lies always work best.
That’s how you make people leave you alone.
“Sounds great. Just let us know when.”
“I will. How do you find everything?” I ask, gesturing around the room.
