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Gabby was hers. Johann had left and left Gabriela Grace to Sam.
“So what happens now, Mr. Bartolo?” she asked, knowing this had to change things, knowing he couldn’t possibly take both of them. It made no sense. He wouldn’t want them both. Obviously other plans had to be made.
He shrugged. “We have tea.”
“Now?”
“Then we’ll get you settled at the Hotel de Paris until we make more permanent arrangements.”
“So Gabby goes with me?”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “For now.”
Sam shot Gabby a protective glance but the little girl had left the room, wandering down to her own bedroom. “She’s mine.” Sam’s voice dropped, her inflection hard, flinty. “We stay together. Like it or not.”
They had tea at the Hotel de Paris restaurant, Cote Jardin, a virtual indoor garden and terrace with a spectacular view of the harbor.
The service wasn’t slow, but for Sam every moment felt endless. It didn’t help, either, that their meal was interrupted repeatedly by strangers who stopped at their table to wish Cristiano well.
Although polite, Cristiano didn’t encourage conversation and when the strangers moved on, didn’t explain what he’d done to earn such enthusiastic well wishes. But after the last couple moved on, Sam wanted to know more.
“So you live here in Monaco?” she asked, stirring milk into her tea.
“I have a penthouse here, yes.”
“But this isn’t your primary home?”
The corner of his mouth curled. “I split my time evenly among my different residences.”
She glanced at Gabby who was glued to the window watching the boats enter and leave the harbor. “How many residences?”
His smile deepened. “Enough that I never get bored.”
Sam set her spoon in the saucer with an irritated clink. “Do you enjoy being enigmatic?”
“Not at all. I don’t know what you want to know.”
“I want to know everything.”
“Everything?”
He was smiling again and she didn’t understand it. Everything she said seemed to make him smile. How could she possibly be so amusing? “Yes, everything. I want to know where you live. I want to know what you do. I want to know who you are, how you spend your free time, the kind of friends you have.”
“A character assessment.”
“Yes.”
He shrugged, leaned back in his chair, the sunlight playing across his features, intensifying the green in his hazel eyes. “I can’t do that for you. You’ll have to use your own judgment regarding my character, but I can tell you basic things. I live here and on the Côte d’Azur. I have a home in Brazil on the coast but I don’t go there often anymore. I have my own company. I’m successful and financially solvent. Is that what you want to know?”
No. That wasn’t what she wanted to know. She didn’t care about his things, she wasn’t the least bit materialistic, and it annoyed her how easily people were impressed by money.
Money was useful, bought things, made certain decisions easier—even more convenient—but money as an end to a means? No. Never. Money ruined people. Changed everything. Sam didn’t know if it was greed or a weakness in human nature, but too many people respected—admired—the wealthy simply because they were wealthy and had fatter bank accounts. But fat bank accounts don’t make a person interesting and fat bank accounts don’t make a person kind, considerate—valuable.
Sam glanced at Gabriela who was now talking to the waitress and pointing out something she’d seen in the harbor. “It’s not your bank account that interests me, Mr. Bartolo, it’s your heart. And that’s what worries me. I don’t know if you have one.”
“I don’t know, either,” he agreed mockingly. “But hearts are overrated. Far better to be coldly pragmatic, to do what needs to be done, rather than what one feels like doing.”
Sam’s head shot up. “And what does that mean?”
“You feel attached to Gabby, so you’ve laid claim to her, but think about it: you’ve no legal claim to her, no biological tie—”
“Johann wants me to raise her.”
