She smiled warmly, which meant she didn’t know me very well. “I thought so. I’m Thalia Lymond. I believe our fathers are associates.”
That caught my attention. I looked at her again and realized she was the one I had recognized from before. I ran through the catalogue of people in my mind quickly, and tried to recall the connection. My father was a snob when it came to his associates, and that meant she was important.
Which meant I had to treat her like she was important.
Great.
“Oh, yes, Thalia,” I said, though I still couldn’t quite recall her personally. “How are you?”
“Well, thank you,” she replied, shrugging into a jacket. “It’s my first time visiting the famiglia Catalano. I’ve only known them a few months, but Severo sent an invitation, so here I am.” She wrinkled up her nose. “I wasn’t too fond of kissing a stranger last night, were you? I’m so particular about that sort of thing.”
“Mmm,” was all I could think to say, remaining as noncommittal as I could in the hopes of keeping my face from flaming.
“I am excited to see Tuscany, though,” she continued, looking around. “I thought I knew the area, as my mother is Italian, but we always stayed in either Venice or Naples. I’ve been here, of course, but never as a tourist. It’s so gorgeous, isn’t it?”
I tried not to be rude, I truly did, but I had no response and I was embarrassed to not recollect the connection with her, and Salvatore was on my mind…
Thalia’s green eyes twinkled and she chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from the very handsome man who just left. I only wanted to say hello, and tell you I’m so grateful to know someone here besides Severo.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I did yoga with two girls this morning, but they only wanted attention from the boys at breakfast. It was mortifying.”
I pitied her, and nodded my understanding. “Perhaps we could sit near each other at dinner tonight,” I offered, not entirely sure why. “I only know you and Salvatore, except for the Catalanos, and they are busy hosting.”
“I would love to!” She suddenly looked mischievous. “Salvatore? The Duca di Brista?”
I nodded, my cheeks beginning to warm again.
She grinned and leaned against the doorway, folding her arms. “I wondered about that. He stood right here, you know, before coming to join you. He just stared at you for the longest time.”
He… what?
I blinked slowly, wishing my feet would move so I could leave or my voice would work so I could say something, but I just stared at her, not comprehending. He stood there and watched me?
“What… did he do?” I eventually said, slowly, like an idiot.
Thalia glanced behind her, then leaned forward again. “He smiled at you. Then he became almost cross and came to sit with you. And he smiled again when he walked away.” She reached out and shook my arm lightly. “Are you going to have a summer romance in an Italian villa, Lady Claire?”
I shook my head instantly, swallowing hard. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to be late for my bike tour, so I will see you at dinner?”
Thalia nodded, laughing to herself. “Of course. Enjoy yourself, Claire.”
I walked away, frowning a little. Why did that sound so teasing? Thalia didn’t know Salvatore, as far as I knew, and she hadn’t seen us last night, I was sure of that. How could she make a suggestive comment about us with so little information?
Had Salvatore really looked at me in a way to lead her to those ideas?
I smirked and lifted my chin, heading to my room for a change of shoes. I had no intention of having a summer romance with Salvatore, or anyone else, but if he liked what he saw, and what he had kissed, then I might as well let him enjoy the view.
And I happened to know my backside looked a lot more than fetching in these shorts.
I wondered if he did too.
Riding a bike through the Tuscan countryside was one of the best decisions I had ever made in my life. There were stunning views and incredible buildings, and I was constantly asking our local tour guide, Val, if we could stop for a moment so I could take things in and sketch them out.
The first four times Salvatore had made snarky comments about my lack of endurance or fussy nature, but once he saw me sketch things out, and snooped over my shoulder, he stopped mocking me and instead became my translator. I’d ask specific questions about the history or about something we were seeing, and Salvatore would rattle it off in Italian.
Or, at least, I thought it was a translation. He could have been insulting me in a pleasant tone and I would have no idea.
Val was an older gentleman, very tanned and fit, his hair a salt and pepper color, and his smile broad. He was passionate about his home and told story after story about the locals and the food and legends.
I was surprised how easy it was to laugh with him. I wasn’t the sort of girl that found humor in many things, but his manner was infectious and I couldn’t help myself.
We paused on a bluff to eat lunch, which Val had brought for us from a market we’d passed through. “You eat meat, yes?” he’d asked me, holding the sandwich out of reach with a warning look.
I laughed and grabbed at it. “Yes, I eat meat.”
“Brava,” he praised, handing it over.
I shook my head, laughing, and opened the sandwich while I went back to sketching the vineyards I could see below us.
“Why didn’t I know you could draw?” Salvatore asked from where he lay on the grass, an arm tucked behind his head.
I didn’t even spare him a glance. “You never asked.”
“How can I ask something I don’t know to ask?” he protested.
“It’s never stopped you before.” I looked up and scanned the vineyards again, adding a bit more shading to the last row. “Aren’t you supposed to be all-knowing with women?”
“You don’t count.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
He paused, then pressed up onto his elbows. “Did you just make a joke, fatina?”
I smiled at him. “I do have a sense of humor, you know.”
“Liar.”
“I do!” I insisted, taking a bite out of the warm and delicious panino, which was bound to drip its sauces on me if I removed the paper at all. “It’s not my fault that no one can see it,” I muttered as I went back to sketching.
“You hide it. You hide everything.”
I stopped and looked over at him, shaking my head. “Why do you sound so surly about that, Salvatore? Have you been trying to know me?”
He tilted his head, smiling as he considered me. “Quite frankly, yes.”
That didn’t make any sense. Salvatore had never taken any pains with me during the entire time we had known each other. We barely spoke unless we were in a small group, and even then it was limited. I’d spoken more with him in the last day then we probably had in the last six months.
But as he sat there, now in a navy short-sleeve shirt that put his body on perfect display, surveying me with his impossibly dark eyes, it was impossible to believe he could be lying.
I looked back down at my sketchpad, turned the page over, and began sketching something else. “I doubt that very much. We’re not even really friends.”
“I’m not entirely sure you know how to have friends, Claire. You’re like me in that regard.”
I glanced up at him, oddly not taking offense, though I probably should have. “You have several friends. Many more than I do.”
He shook his head, frowning. “Not really. I’m not a very good friend, anyway. Terrible with loyalty and commitment and all that.”
I chuckled and went back to sketching. “I can believe that. Lemon found you with another woman behind the club one night.”
“She did. And she’s not the only one who has done so. I’m not very good with relationships… of any kind.” He laughed to himself, though I didn’t hear any amusement in it. “Dante barely speaks to me anymore.
Nico does, but he’s too polite to cut me off.”
I snorted and continued to sketch, nibbling at my sandwich. “Nico’s not that polite. Trust me.”
Salvatore barked a laugh. “You tried to get his wife to betray him to a scumbag journalist for money. And you gave her alcohol.”
“You could say it was a test of her character,” I grumbled, suddenly focusing on the long lines on my sketchpad.
“And the vodka?”
I sniffed. “Everyone makes mistakes. I misheard.”
“Claire Sutherland,” Salvatore scolded, sitting up completely.
“Lady Claire Sutherland,” I interrupted firmly.
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You wanted Nico for yourself, and you know it.”
I gave him a hard look. “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, have never been able to, and are now spending time with a pair of brothers just as insincere and immature, all because no one else will let you near them.”
Those eyes hardened and narrowed. “And you’re so cold and heartless, so cruel and unfeeling, that you’ve alienated yourself from everyone. You’re pretending to be close to Rosalia just to have something to do with yourself.”
My grip on my pencil tightened and my teeth ached where they were grinding together. This lowlife with no filter was going to learn just how cruel and heartless I could be, and we would see just how much he wanted to stalk me after that.
But I couldn’t find the words. I looked back over the vineyards, and exhaled slowly. “You’re right. I don’t have anything do to. I don’t have anyone to see. I am completely and utterly useless, and so I came here. Not to pretend to be close to Rosalia, she doesn’t deserve that punishment, but in the hopes that she wouldn’t know me well enough to hate me. Then I wouldn’t have to explain to my family why I have less than half of the social engagements they do, or hear from my sister what everyone in all of Europe is saying about me. There, are you happy?”
I looked over at him, only to find him looking at me with a furrowed brow and leaning his arms on his thighs, fingers laced.
“Happy isn’t the word,” he slowly replied, seeming a bit lost in thought. He glanced down at the ground, then looked up at me. “I’m afraid to apologize for fear that you will laugh in my face for believing you.”
Somehow, that made me laugh, and laugh hard. “Oh, and I would, too. Unfortunately, that was the truth.” I snorted softly and returned to my sketch. “Ridiculous.”
“Wait,” Salvatore started, but he was cut off by Val, who had started rambling off quickly in Italian, gesturing to us.
“What?” I asked, looking over at Salvatore. “Is he telling us to get going?”
Salvatore smiled and got up. “More or less.” He came over and smirked when I clutched the sketchbook to my chest, then turned the pages to the sketch of the vineyard I’d finished. “Bella,” he praised warmly. “You have a gift, Claire. A real eye for detail.”
Something about his praise irked me, and I snapped the book shut quickly even as my face heated. “Yes, that’s why I can find flaws so quickly. A real eye for detail.” I got up and rolled up the rest of my sandwich, tucking it into my satchel.
“Claire…” he said softly, and my knees shook, just as they had last night.
But I couldn’t run this time.
He took my arm and looked at me closely. “Don’t put insults where there weren’t any, and don’t lash out at me for giving you praise. I may not do it often, but it’s always the truth.” He pushed a lock of hair behind my ears that had never been out of place in the first place. “You’re not ridiculous. Unless we are talking about how ridiculous it is that you can move so well in those heels of yours. You aren’t the useless one, I am.”
His words startled me, and I looked at him strangely. He wasn’t useless, was he? Perhaps ornamental, perhaps a waste of space, but hardly useless.
“What do you…?” I tried to ask.
He shook his head quickly. “And I think we’ve done enough flaw finding today.” He leaned forward and gently kissed my lips.
I should have slapped him. I should have been upset he had taken the liberty.
But I loved this soft, sweet kiss.
I couldn’t let him know that.
So I wound up slapping him anyway across his right cheek. Too little too late, perhaps, but it made me feel better.
“I didn’t say you could kiss me,” I scolded in a would-be harsh voice when he stepped back, ignoring the way that my stomach was fluttering. Besides, it felt so good to flutter…
He grinned, rubbed at his face, and winked. “I don’t believe I asked. Now get on your bike and ride ahead of me. I like the view.”
Good feelings gone.
“You are the worst…” I began, heading to my bike.
“I know, I’ve heard it all, don’t be unoriginal,” he interrupted before calling out to Val in Italian.
I glared at him, wishing I had the ability to shoot lasers or lightning or something. He couldn’t be sweet and then be rude and then remind me why I didn’t like him in the first place! He could not play me the way he played any other woman in the world.
I was Lady Claire Sutherland. A man had to work hard for my attention and affection, and especially for my kisses.
“No more kissing me,” I ordered brusquely, settling myself onto the bike. “I forbid it.”
He gave me a very slow, very sultry smile. “You shouldn’t have said that. I always want something more when it’s forbidden.”
I rolled my eyes and made a disgusted noise, then started pedaling away to follow Val. I had four more hours of this tour and he was not going to ruin it. He could ride behind me and keep his comments, complimentary or otherwise, to himself.
And I hoped he enjoyed the view.
CHAPTER FOUR
I skipped breakfast the next morning. I didn’t want to see Rosalia miserable about her brothers’ behavior. I couldn’t handle seeing Thalia and pretending we were friends, even though I remembered her at last. It had come to me halfway through the bike tour yesterday when I was in a fury about Salvatore.
Well, one of the nineteen times, at any rate.
Her father was an investor with my father’s primary charity and sat on the board for most of the banks in Switzerland.
I could not be rude to her.
But I could avoid her.
Not that that was the primary goal. Avoiding Salvatore was.
The rest of the bike tour had been beautiful, just as I’d expected it to be, and I’d stayed close to Val for the entire thing, wanting to forget about the man behind us and wanting to know more about the magic of this place. He kept up a steady pace of stories and information that distracted me almost entirely from anything else.
Almost, because Salvatore inserted himself into the conversations. Always in Italian, of course, unless Val had asked him to translate something for me. And I could hear Salvatore laughing behind me about something or other that Val or I had said. He never made any effort to join us, perfectly content to ride behind at his own leisurely pace. He stayed closer when we rode through town, but I didn’t see him until we got back to the villa.
Even then, he almost completely ignored me.
I wasn’t sure why that bothered me, but it did.
It was a free day, absolutely nothing on the schedule for anyone, so we could do whatever we wanted. What a relief to not be forced to stick to someone else’s schedule.
I’d overheard lots of different plans at dinner, with most of the girls planning on going shopping or laying by the pool. Some of the guests were taking cars down to the beach and spending the whole day there, while others were taking the train to Rome for a futbol game. The Catalanos all opted for the game, being major supporters, and Marco had gone with Rosalia.
Wise man. Maybe he could escort her to the evening’s wine tasting as well. That could go over well if he played his cards right.
The house was fairly quiet now, except for the girls at the poo
l, and I hadn’t yet seen Thalia or Salvatore, which I was grateful for.
My mother had called this morning, and, as usual, it left me in a sour mood. She wanted me to come with her to another charity event at a hospital, not to take an active part on the board or to represent anything, but in the hopes that I would meet the doctor in charge, who was apparently young, handsome, and from an extremely wealthy family. That all sounded decent enough, until she’d said, “And he doesn’t know anyone, so he wouldn’t care that you’re not popular anymore.”
The conversation had ended fairly quickly after that, thankfully before she could hit her stride with the inquisition.
“Who is at the party?”, “Are you being pleasant and warm?”, “Who have you talked with?”, “Anyone there we can make connections with?”, “Why don’t you just do something, Claire?”, “What have you done wrong now?”
“Why can’t you be more like Olivia?”
I scowled as I scooped up my supplies and went out to the front of the villa. That last question had haunted me from age four, and it only grew more agitating the older I grew. Olivia was not perfection embodied, I knew that all too well. But by comparison with her surly, cold, apparently much-less-attractive sister, she was the epitome of all things.
Settling beneath a group of Cyprus trees, I began a preliminary sketch, framing out the villa itself, fountain and all. It was a gorgeous setting, and with the bustle down to a minimum, I wasn’t likely to be interrupted or distracted. The scene would remain the same, with the rich blue sky above, dotted with stray clouds, and the mid-day sun provided a glistening sheen over the sandstone. It would be stunning in the golden hours before sunset, and I wanted to paint that as well.
Art had always been my retreat. No one knew that; not really. My family knew I had some abilities, but as it was not a constructive use of my time, I’d never been encouraged to do it. If there was something “more productive” to be done, that was what I was supposed to do. Events and calls and studying languages, manners, cultures, or even shopping were all to come before art of any kind.
The Royals of Monterra: Royal Rivals (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 4
