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The fact he hadn’t locked me in had shocked me more than I wanted to accept. The door had been ajar, the first thing I’d noticed after awakening. Well, the second. The first was that I’d automatically rolled over, extending my arm across the other pillow as if searching for him was a natural thing to do.
“I think you know that answer,” he said, grinning as if I was teasing him. Maybe the real Maria had been used to going everywhere under guarded protection or carried a weapon in her purse at all times. I’d never held a weapon in my hand in my life. “Are you ready to go riding?”
Shuddering, I glanced at the beautiful mare, who hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “I think so.”
“Don’t be scared. Belle won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not scared of Belle. Only of you.”
“Good. You should be scared.” Everything that came out of his mouth today was more of a tease than it had been before. “Come on. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need any help.” I strutted toward Belle, grabbing the reins and planting my tennis-shoed foot in the saddle. Of course, when I tried to pull myself up, I failed miserably.
He laughed from behind me, thoroughly amused at my attempt at arrogance. Without asking a second time, he boosted me onto the massive animal. “You’re very hardheaded.”
“That’s something my mother used to tell me all the time.”
“I’m certain she did.” Only when I was secure did he head to his horse, easily sliding his leg over the stallion’s back.
He walked us from the barn through the open gate, one of the men who worked for him closing it afterward. “I have a few beautiful spots I want to show you.”
“I’m eager to see them through your eyes.”
“They might be jaded.”
“I don’t know about that. I think they’re pretty dynamic.”
The way he threw a glance over his shoulder was far too sexy, giving me another wave of quivers. We rode in silence for several minutes before he started pointing out various aspects of his ranch, including being proud of a barn he’d built years before with his own hands. We chatted about nothing, just food and several locations he’d visited that were his favorite places to go. I found myself enjoying the light banter more than I thought I would, answering his trivial questions about my favorite movies and what I liked on my pizza.
The best part about our hour or so spent together was that I was allowed to be the real me, not hiding behind a façade of a fashionable girl from Italy. When I noticed his face had turned somber, I could tell he had something on his mind.
“Tell me more about your mother. Are you close? Do you have a favorite memory?” The questions seemed odd coming from him, but I didn’t sense he was grilling me, just curious. Maybe there was more anger toward his father than I’d realized.
“Close? Somewhat, although she was forced to be prim and proper around my father, especially in front of his clients.” That part had been told to me specifically and I’d seen it in action during the few times I’d interacted with Giovanni and Maria’s mother, Lucia. They were the perfect, stilted couple, but Lucia’s eyes had been haunted the entire time. I’d initially believed the reason was her daughter’s condition, but by the end of the time I’d spent with them, I’d sensed the reality was much worse. “But we had our times together.” I thought of my real mother and tried to keep the sadness from my voice.
“Tell me more.”
I did, trying to remain on script even though the agony was building. I missed her desperately.
He didn’t say anything, just listened intently.
When I was finished, I felt as if what I’d said was rushed. That’s when I added a personal memory of my own from time spent with my real mother. “My favorite times were when it was just my mother and me in the house. We’d watch television, staying up all night long covered in blankets. It was a rare treat to have her all to myself. We used to giggle together, sharing popcorn. It was a magical time. Sadly, they were too infrequent.”
“You love your mother very much.”
“Yes, I do. She was my rock.” All of it was true. “What about your dad? You acted as if you hate him.”
“Not hate, really. Maybe when I was a kid. I’d been the good one, the kid who made straight A’s while Constantine was the bad boy, something I’d wanted to emulate because he got all the attention.”
“Classical sibling syndrome,” I teased in return.
There was something just as joyous in his laugh as his passionate growls had been the night before. “Perhaps you’re right. I never looked at it that way. I was jealous of the attention he received so I decided to mix things up a bit.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning I challenged my father, telling him I was ready to handle aspects of his business. Up to that point, my sister and I had been completely excluded from a single activity or even a discussion about how he handled business.”
“How old were you?”
