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The screen upon which he was focused so intently was for Coral Isle, an assisted living facility on the coast. He was copying down the driving directions.
“You can print that screen out, you know. You don’t have to copy it.”
He snapped upright, twisting to face her. His eyes glowed with pleasure as he smiled and held out his hands. She eagerly clasped his fingers in hers, reveling in his heat and strength.
“Mia tesora, you’re early. Did you find your nephew’s gift so quickly?”
“No. Mom felt tired and wanted to go home so I thought I’d come by and see if you wanted to go shopping with me.”
Sam bit her lip and glanced down, only now realizing what a foolish request that was. She’d been so fixated on seeing him again and spending more time with him, she’d forgotten his purpose in coming to the library. He was looking up information on his remaining family. That was far more important than shopping.
“Did you find a relative? Someone staying at Coral Isle?”
“No. This is not for me, it is for you.”
“For me?” She frowned. Coral Isle was one of the premier facilities in the area with a residents-only golf course and private beach as well as a small marina for family members who came to visit by yacht. She didn’t know anyone staying at Coral Isle.
“For your mother. To free you from your obligation to care for her.”
That would teach her to speak in hyperbole. “I was exaggerating. I don’t really feel trapped. I just meant, I couldn’t get out of taking her places today since I’d already promised.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Besides, do you have any idea how much a place like that costs? It’s a fortune.”
He shrugged. “It is taken care of.”
He nodded toward a platinum credit card lying on the table beside the keyboard. The scenic background picture was a black monstrosity of a medieval monastery, crouched and lurking among broken shards of a bleak mountainside. Raised gold letters spelled out Giacomo Bravetti, and that the card had been issued just this month. If Sam had to guess, she’d have bet that the card had b
een issued just this morning, from the same magical source as his change of clothing. God only knew what sort of fairy gold was backing the line of credit.
She stilled, her hands turning to ice in his grasp. “What do you mean, it’s taken care of?”
“I mean that I already gave them a deposit of the first month’s rent, to hold the suite for her.”
“You. Rented. An. Apartment. For. My. Mother.” It was an effort to force each word through numb lips, impossible to draw breath to speak with frozen lungs.
“It was necessary, to convince them of my interest. All of the reviews said that this was the best facility in this county. I knew you would want only the best for your mother.”
“What is best for my mother is staying in her own home with her own family to care for her!” She let her voice’s pitch and emphasis convey her anger, keeping the volume soft in deference to the other library patrons. Even so, the elderly woman in the scooter was now watching them instead of her terminal.
Master Giacomo’s eyes darkened, his eyebrows lowering and his fingers tightened on Sam’s. “You will not even consider it? After all I went through to get it for you?”
Oh God. She didn’t even want to consider how someone who had some seriously spooky ties to the spirit realm knew that there was an opening at a nursing home. She prayed he hadn’t pulled any metaphysical strings to make an opening. But he wasn’t entirely human. She had to remember that. He was dangerous for more than just the obvious reasons.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
He relaxed on his stool, a confident smile teasing his lips as he stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs. “I’ve spent hours on this computer looking at facility reviews, comparing features and benefits then selecting Coral Isle and making a reservation.”
“Hours.”
“Yes. Since the librarian showed me how to use the computer.”
“So you didn’t look up anything about your family. Your…accident.” She glanced at their audience. The old woman was still eavesdropping.
“According to the librarian, the newspapers from 1967 are not online and are on something called microfiche.”
“You didn’t have to read the entire newspaper! An Italian obituary wouldn’t have been carried in a Florida newspaper anyway. But there are genealogical records online. As well as news stories.”
