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“I think I can find it,” Max replied with a chuckle. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Is that soon enough?”
“That’s great, thanks.”
“How’s Steph? Is she there?”
“Yep, and doing just fine. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Hey, Max, I just had a thought. Would you mind swinging by her apartment and throwing some clothes in a bag? She doesn’t have anything with her, and I don’t think it’s wise for her to be out in the world just yet. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Max replied, “and I agree. No problem. Figure forty-five minutes.”
“She’ll be grateful, thanks. Make sure you also grab a couple of warm jackets as well. It’s that time of year.”
“Will do. See you shortly, Marco.”
Ending the call, Max stared at the phone.
The tone in Marco’s voice had changed.
Max frowned, then slowly smiled.
Maybe Steph had charmed Marco the way she had charmed so many others. It wouldn’t surprise him. She was unique, and Max adored her.
Steph was like the child he’d never had.
He’d dried her frustrated tears when her brothers and father had shut her out of the business, and listened to her endless complaints about the boys—then the men—who had come and gone in her life.
But he’d known for a long time there was no room for anyone in her heart except Marco Moretti. The day she’d announced her determination to follow him and snap a photograph to sell to the tabloids, Max had known it was to frame and place on her dresser.
He’d reminded her Marco was a player with a revolving door.
She’d just grinned.
* * *
Walking with Marco on their way to breakfast, Steph began to get an idea just how large and impressive his home was. Her brothers and father had often talked about Carlo Moretti’s compound, but their stories paled in comparison to the real thing. Recalling how they’d refused to let her join them even for social occasions, the old fury bubbled up inside her.
Being queen of the Moretti mansion would be sweet revenge.
Entering the kitchen, she found a round table set in a half-moon alcove overlooking the gardens. Covered in a white linen tablecloth, it offered a basket of croissants and pastries, carafes of coffee and tea, along with three covered hot plates.
“Those dishes will have scrambled eggs, tomatoes, and crispy bacon,” Marco declared as they sat down.
“You certainly live well, Mr. Moretti,” she remarked with an impish smile.
“Breakfast isn’t always so grand, but I have an honored guest and she needs to keep her strength up.”
“Why is that?”
“She could be in for some serious physical exercise in a little while,” he replied, lowering his voice and shooting her a wink.
She laughed out loud, then glanced across at the manicured backyard. Surrounded by a high stone wall, it boasted flowerbeds, bushes, and a round natural rock pool.
“Is that for people or fish?”
“Fish, koi, to be precise,” Marco replied. “The recreation area is on the other side of the house.”
“Recreation area?”
“The swimming pool, barbecue, fire pit, and tennis courts,” he said, lifting the lids from the heated silver bowls.
