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“Well, I shall endeavor to work on that during the walk from the garden to where your grandmother is waiting for me.”
Her lips twitched, but
she wouldn’t allow them to stretch into a smile. “If you would be so kind as to do just that, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“I live to serve.”
She had no doubt he did not.
She led the way from the palace gardens back through to the estate; as they walked through the halls she kept her eyes on his face, trying to suss out exactly what he was thinking. His expression was neutral, and he wasn’t nearly as impressed as she felt like he should be. The halls of the Aceena estate were filled with beautiful, classic art. Paintings, vases, sculpture. Really, he should be quite impressed.
She supposed that was the hazard with very rich men. It was hard to show them anything they hadn’t seen before.
She had grown up in this luxury and she never took any of it for granted. There was always new beauty in the world to discover. It was why she loved art. Why she loved history. There were centuries of beauty stretching back as far as humanity had been in existence. And the future stretched before them, too. Limitless. Infinite in its possibilities. There was hardly a chance to get bored with anything.
Gabriella didn’t see the point in jaded cynicism, though she knew some people found it a sign of intellectual superiority.
She just found it sad.
He was probably like her parents. Sensory seekers who were never satisfied with what was around them. Things had to be grand, loud, crowded. Otherwise, they could scarcely feel, could scarcely see.
Gabriella on the other hand needed very little to be entertained. A nicely appointed room, a good book. A lovely piece of art.
She appreciated small things. Quiet things.
She felt very sorry for those who didn’t.
“She’s in here,” Gabriella said, pausing at the doorway.
He arched his brows. “Is she? What are you waiting for? Are you going to go in and announce me?”
“Well, very likely I should. I’m very sorry, I know you gave your name to the staff member who greeted you, but I seem to have forgotten it.”
She was lying. Alessandro was his name, she remembered. But she didn’t want him to think that he was so important he had taken up any space in her brain.
“Alex,” he said.
“No last name?” she pressed.
“Di Sione.”
“Should that name mean anything to my grandmother?”
He shrugged. “Unless she follows gossip about American businessmen, I don’t know why it would. My grandfather made quite a name for himself both in the States and abroad, and I haven’t done badly myself, neither have my various and sundry brothers and sisters. But I’m not certain why our names would matter to royalty.”
“What is his interest in the painting?” Gabriella asked.
A brief pause. “He is a collector.”
She didn’t believe him.
Gabriella let out an exasperated breath. “Be cryptic if you must. But I’m sure there’s more to the story than that.”
Alex chuckled. “Oh, I’m certain there is, too, but you make a mistake if you think I know more than I’m letting on. I think you and I might occupy very similar positions in the lives of our grandparents.”
“How do you mean?”
“We are subject to their dictates.”
