The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

“My grandfather. He is...the collector. I came to see about purchasing the painting on his behalf. I’m willing to offer a generous sum. I imagine disgraced royals might not be in a position to turn such an offer down.”

“Oh, we do just fine, thank you for your concern. Should you like to make a donation to someone in actual need of your charity, I would be happy to provide you with a list.”

“No, thank you. The charity was only a side effect. I want that painting. I’m willing to pay whatever the cost might be.”

Her mouth was dry. It made it difficult to speak, and yet she found she also couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Well, I’m afraid to disappoint you. While we do have paintings, we do not have that painting. That painting, if you weren’t aware, might not even exist.”

“Oh, I’m well aware that it’s what your family would like the public to think. However, I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

“No,” she said, and this time she did push her glasses up her nose. “I’m just a teenager headed out to the mall. What could I possibly know that you,” she said, sweeping her hand up and down, “in all your infinite and aged wisdom, do not?”

“The appeal of Justin Bieber?”

“I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

“I’m surprised by that. Girls your age love him.”

“In that case, can I offer you a hard candy? I hear men your age love those.”

She was not sure how this had happened. How she had wound up standing in the hallowed entry of her family estate trading insults with a stranger.

“I’ll accept the hard candy if it means you intend to give me a tour while I finish it.”

“No. Sorry. You would be finishing it on the lawn.”

He rubbed his hand over his chin and she shivered, an involuntary response to the soft noise made by the scrape of his hand over his whiskers. She was a sensualist. It was one of her weaknesses. She enjoyed art, and soft cushions, desserts and lush fabrics. The smell of old books and the feel of textured pages beneath her fingertips.

And she noticed fine details. Like the sound skin made when scraping over stubble.

“I’m not entirely certain this is the tactic you want to use. Because if you send me away, then I will only circumvent you. Either by contacting your grandmother directly, or by figuring out who manages the affairs of the royal family. I am certain that I can find someone who might be tempted by what I offer.”

He probably wasn’t wrong. If he managed to find her parents, and offer them a bit of money—or better yet, an illegal substance—for some information on an old painting, they would be more than happy to help him. Fortunately, they probably had no idea what the painting was, much less knew any more about its existence than she did.

But they were wretched. And they were greedy. So there was very little that she would put past them.

Still, she was not going to allow him to harass her grandmother. Tempting as it was to keep him here, to question him. She’d been studying her family history for as long as she’d known how to read. Rumors about this painting had played a large part in it.

Part of her desperately wanted him to stay. Another part needed him gone as quickly as possible. Because of her grandmother. And partly because of the dry mouth and sweaty palms and strange, off-kilter feeling that had arrived along with him.

Those things defeated curiosity. He had to go.

“I’ll chance it. Do feel free to meander about the grounds before you go. The gardens are beautiful. Please consider limitless viewing time on the topiaries a conciliatory gesture on my end.”

The corner of his mouth worked upward. “I assure you, I have no interest in your...topiaries.”

Something about the way he said it made her scalp prickle, made her skin feel hot. She didn’t like it.

“Well, my topiaries are all you’re going to get. Good day to you, sir.”

“And good day to you,” he said, inclining his head.

He sounded perfectly calm, but a dark note wound its way around his words, through his voice, and she had a feeling that somewhere within it was also woven a threat.

However, she didn’t allow him to see that she had picked up on it. Instead, she turned on her heel—ignoring the slight squeak her bare skin made on the marble tile—and walked out of the entry without a backward glance, leaving him there. She fully expected a servant would show him out. Either that or she would have to have him installed in the attic. The idea of collecting a man like him and putting him in the attic like one might do to an old, rusted suit of armor amused her.

She let that little smile linger on her lips as she made her way down the hall, toward the morning room where her grandmother was having her breakfast.

“There was a man here, Gabriella. Who was he?” The queen’s voice, wispy, as thin as a cobweb, greeted Gabriella as soon as she walked into the ornate room.

There was no sense asking how her grandmother knew about the visitor. She was never ignorant about the goings-on in her own household.

“An American businessman,” Gabriella said, walking deeper into the room, feeling somewhat sheepish, yet again, about her bare feet.

Her grandmother was, as ever, impeccably dressed. The older woman made no distinction between her public and private persona. As always, her crystal white hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her makeup expertly done. Her fingernails were painted the same pale coral as the skirt she was wearing, her low, sensible heels the same cream as her blouse.

“I see,” the queen said, setting her teacup down on the table in front of her. “And what did he want?”

“This is not something we’ve ever discussed before, I know, but he was...he was inquiring about a painting. The Lost Love.”

Her grandmother continued to sit there, poised, her hands folded in her lap. Were it not for the subtle paling of her complexion, Gabriella would have thought she had merely been commenting on the weather. There was no mistaking her grandmother’s response to what she had just said.

“But of course,” Gabriella continued, “I told him that it has never been confirmed that there is any such painting. I told him it was nothing more than salacious rumor. And I sent him on his way. Though he may be meandering around the gardens.”

Her grandmother turned her head to the window and Gabriella did the same. Just in time to see a figure in a dark suit pass by quickly before disappearing down the path.

Something in Lucia’s expression shifted. “Call him back.”

“I can’t. I just...I just sent him away. That would be... Well, it would seem fickle. Plus, it’s rather silly.”

“You must call him back, Gabriella.” When Lucia used that tone there really was no point in arguing. Still, Gabriella thought she might try.

“I don’t trust him. I didn’t want him to upset you.”

“I need to know who he is. I need to know why he is asking about the painting. It’s important.” There was a thread of steel woven into her voice now, a command that Gabriella could not deny.

“Of course, Grandmother. I will go after him right away.”

“For heaven’s sake, girl, put some shoes on.”

Gabriella nodded, turning and scampering out of the room, heading down the corridor toward her bedroom. She found a pair of easy slip-on canvas shoes, then continued to head out to the front door. It was firmly closed, the visitor nowhere to be seen.

She opened the door, heading down the paved walk, toward one of the gardens. He didn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who would take her up on the offer of a garden tour, but she had to make sure. He might still be here.

Her grandmother had commanded an audience with him, and she would be darned if she would disappoint the older woman.

Her grandmother meant the world to her. Her parents had preferred a life of partying to that of raising children. Her brothers were so much older than her so she could scarcely remember a time when they had lived in the same household. As soon as Gabriella had been old enough to have a say in her own situation, she had asked to go to Aceena to live with Queen Lucia. The older woman had been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been, and she could deny her nothing.

She looked around, and she didn’t see him. Of course he was gone. And she hadn’t gotten any of his contact information, because she hadn’t wanted it. She was annoyed. At him, at herself. But mostly at him.

She walked farther down the manicured lane, turned left at the first hedge, ran squarely into a broad back covered in very high-quality black fabric. She could tell the fabric was high quality, not just because of how it looked, but because of the way it felt squished up against her face.

She stumbled backward just as he turned to face her. He was even more arresting, even more off-putting, up close. He exuded... Well, he just exuded.

“Well, I see you were making use of my offer to tour the gardens.”

He straightened his tie, the action drawing her eyes to his hands. They were very large. Naturally, as he was quite a large man. So really, they were nothing quite so spectacular. They were proportional. Useful. In possession of the typical number of fingers.

“No. I was skulking. I thought I might hang around long enough that I can try my hand at getting an audience with your grandmother later.”

“That’s quite sneaky.”

“Sneaky is not typically a word I associate with myself, but I’ll take it. Determined, I think sums it up.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be called both.”

“Whatever makes you happy. Why exactly are you looking for me?”

“It turns out...my grandmother wants to speak to you.”

“Oh,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his arrogant face. “I take it you’re not the voice of authority when it came to your grandmother’s desires, then?”

“I was trying to protect her. Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“Sure I can. I can fault you for anything I like.”

She looked hard at him. It was impossible to tell if he was teasing. Impossible to tell if he had the capacity to tease or if he was deadly serious down to his bones. “Which, in a nutshell is exactly why I couldn’t allow you to see her. You’re a strange man. A stranger, I mean. You also don’t seem very...sensitive.”

“Do I not?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“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.”

Shocked laughter threatened to bubble to the surface and she held it in check. She was not going to allow him to amuse her. “Well, regardless. Come with me.”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her grandmother was sitting in the same seat she had been in when Gabriella had left her. But she seemed different somehow. Not quite so tall. Slightly diminished.

“Grandmother, may I present Mr. Alex Di Sione. He is here to talk to you about The Lost Love.”

“Yes,” her grandmother said, gesturing for them to come deeper into the room. She turned her laser sharp focus onto Alex. “My granddaughter tells me you’re interested in the painting.”

“Yes,” he said, not waiting to be invited to sit. He took his position in a chair opposite her grandmother, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his forearms resting on the arms of the chair. He looked exceedingly unconcerned with the entire situation. Almost bored. Her grandmother, on the other hand, was tense.

“What is your interest in it?” she asked.

“I am acting on behalf of my grandfather.” Alex looked out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, at the garden beyond. “He claims the painting has some sentimental value to him.”

“The painting has never been confirmed to exist,” Queen Lucia said.

“I’m well aware. But my grandfather seems to be very confident in its existence. In fact, he claims he once owned it.” His dark focus zeroed in on the queen. “He would like very much to have it back now.”

Silence settled between them. Thick and telling. A fourth presence in the room. Gabriella noticed her grandmother studying Alex’s face. She looked... She looked stricken. As though she was seeing a ghost.

“Your grandfather, you say?” she asked.

“Yes. He is getting on in years and with age has come sentimentality, I’m afraid. He is willing to pay a great deal for this painting.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” the queen said.

“And why is that?” he asked, a dangerous note in his voice.

“I don’t have it. I haven’t possessed it for...years.”

“But the painting exists?” Gabriella asked, her heart thundering in her ears.

This was... Under any other circumstances, this would have been incredibly exciting. But Alex Di Sione was here and that just made it feel fraught.

“Yes,” her grandmother said, her voice thinner, more fragile all of a sudden. “It is very real.”

“Why have you never mentioned that before?”

“Because some things are best left buried in the past. Where they can no longer hurt you,” the queen said.

“Do you have any idea where the painting might be now?” Alex asked, obviously unconcerned with her grandmother’s pain.

“Yes, I know exactly where it is. Unfortunately, it’s on Isolo D’Oro. One of the many reasons I have never been able to reclaim it.”

“Where on the island is it?” he asked, his tone uncompromising.

“You wait outside for a moment, young man,” the queen said, her tone regal, leaving no doubt at all that she had ruled a nation for a great many years and expected her each command to be obeyed without question.

And Alex didn’t question it. Strange, since she imagined he wasn’t a man who bowed to many. But at her grandmother’s request, he stood, brushing the creases from his dress pants and nodded his head before he made his way out the door.

“You must go with him to find the painting,” her grandmother said the moment he was out of earshot.

“Why?” Gabriella asked, her heart pounding in her ears.

“I... I should like to see it again. One last time. And because...because just in case, I shouldn’t like for this man to be in possession of it if he is a fraud.”

“I don’t understand,” Gabriella said, trying to process all of the information being given to her. “If he’s a fraud in what way?”

“It isn’t important.”

“I think it must be quite important. We’ve never discussed the painting, but I’ve long suspected that it was real. I know...I know it was controversial. I know that it concerns you.”

“Yes,” her grandmother said. “At the time it was quite controversial. Evidence that...that the princess had a lover.”

Her grandmother had been the princess then. Young. Unmarried. And it had been a very different time.

It was difficult to imagine her grandmother taking a lover. Difficult to imagine her doing anything quite so passionate or impetuous. She was the incomparable matriarch of the family. The figurehead so established, so steady, she might very well already be carved of marble, as she would now no doubt be in the future.

But if the painting existed, then she was the subject. And if that were the case, then of course it had been commissioned by a lover.

“I see,” Gabriella said. “And...did you?”

Her grandmother let out a long, slow breath, raising her eyes to meet hers. In them, Gabriella could see so much. A wealth of sadness. Deep heartbreak.

Things Gabriella had read about, but never experienced.

“It is very easy when you are young, Gabriella, to lead with your heart instead of your head. You have seen this, time and again, with your parents. And they no longer carry youth as an excuse. This is why I have always told you that you must be in possession of your wits. It does not do well for a woman to lose her mind over passion. It doesn’t end well. Not for us. Men can carry on as they see fit, but it isn’t like that for women.”

Gabriella nodded slowly. “Yes, I know.” She thought of her brothers, who most certainly carried on exactly as they pleased. Of her father, who seemed to escape the most scathing comments. The worst of it was always reserved for her mother. She was a renowned trollop whose every choice, from her wardrobe to which man she chose to make conversation with at a social event, was analyzed, was taken as evidence of her poor character.

Gabriella knew this was true. It was just one of the many reasons that she had chosen to embrace her more bookish nature and keep herself separate from all of that carrying-on.

“Our hearts are not proper guides,” her grandmother continued. “They are fickle, and they are easily led. Mine certainly was. But I learned from my mistakes.”

“Of course,” Gabriella agreed, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Go with him,” Queen Lucia said, her tone stronger now. Decisive. “Fetch the painting. But remember this conversation. Remember what I have told you.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of my heart getting involved on a quest of this nature.”

“He is a handsome man, Gabriella.”

Gabriella laughed. “He’s a stranger! And old enough to be... Not my father, certainly not. But perhaps a young uncle.”

The queen shook her head. “Men like that have their ways.”

“And I have my way of scaring them off. Please, tell me when a man last danced with me more than once at a social function?”

“If you didn’t speak so much of books...”

“And weevils.” She had talked incessantly about weevils and the havoc they played in early English kitchens to her last dance partner. Because they had been the subject of the last book she’d read and she hadn’t been able to think of anything else.

“Certainly don’t speak of that.”

“Suffice it to say I don’t think you have to worry about me tumbling into a romance. The only problem is... Why would he take me with him? Now that he knows the painting exists, and that it is on Isolo D’Oro, he’ll no doubt have an easy enough time figuring out where it is. And I’m sure he’ll have no trouble finding someone to impart what information they might have about it, for the right price.”

“No,” her grandmother said, “he won’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Because. Because you have the key. You’re the only one who has the key.”

Gabriella frowned. “I don’t have a key.”

“Yes, you do. The painting is hidden away in one of the old country estates that used to belong to the royal family. It is in a secret room, behind a false wall, and no one would have found it. So long as the building stands, and I have never heard rumors to the contrary, the painting would have remained there.”

“And the key?”

Her grandmother reached out, her shaking hands touching the necklace that Gabriella wore. “Close to your heart. Always.”

Gabriella looked down at the simple flower pendant that hung from the gold chain she wore around her neck. “My necklace?”

It had been a gift to her when she was a baby. A piece of the family’s crown jewels that her mother had considered beneath her. So simple, but lovely, a piece of art to Gabriella’s mind.

“Yes, your necklace. Did you ever wonder why the bottom of it had such an odd shape? Once you get into this room, you fit this into a slot on the picture frame on the back wall. It swings open and, behind it, you will find The Lost Love.”

CHAPTER THREE

TRULY, HIS GRANDFATHER had a lot to answer for. Alex was not the kind of man accustomed to doing the bidding of anyone but himself. And yet, here he was, cooling his heels in the antechamber of a second-rate country estate inhabited by disgraced royals.

If he were being perfectly honest—and he always was—one royal in particular who looked more like a small, indignant owl than she did a princess.

With her thick framed glasses and rather spiky demeanor it did not seem to him that Princess Gabriella was suited to much in the way of royal functions. Not that he was a very good barometer of exceptional social behavior.

Alex was many things, acceptable was the least among them.

Normally, he would not have excused himself from the room quite so quickly. Normally, he would have sat there and demanded that all the information be disseminated in his presence. Certainly, Queen Lucia was a queen. But in his estimation it was difficult to be at one’s full strength when one did not have a country to rule. In truth, the D’Oro family had not inhabited a throne in any real sense in more years than Princess Gabriella had been alive.

So while the family certainly still had money, and a modicum of power, while they retained their titles, he did not imagine he would bring the wrath of an army down on his head for refusing a direct order.

However, he had sensed then that it was an opportune moment to test the theory of catching more flies with honey than vinegar.