CHAPTER THREE

 

 

I woke up the next morning with a raging headache like I’d had too much to drink, but I knew I hadn’t. I hadn’t overindulged in anything at all the night before.

Except a certain Monterran who made my knees go weak with even the memory of his kisses.

I released a small cry of distress, grabbed a pillow, and pressed it to my face as I screamed.

Salvatore? Really? Of all the men I could have enjoyed kissing, it had to be him?

I was in sadder straits than I thought.

But that hadn’t been a kiss. That had been some sort of full-bodied symphony that our lips had started, but the rest of us had taken up. That had been something mad and wild, something utterly insane and completely inexplicable.

And absolutely unrepeatable.

There was absolutely no way I was doing that again. I was simply lonely and more desperate than I’d thought. I would just get a boyfriend when I returned to England, satisfy whatever needs I might have, and move on, as I always did.

It’s not the same thing, my mind and body taunted.

“It is!” I insisted through the pillow.

It wasn’t.

But I would go on pretending it was.

Anything else was unthinkable.

I sat up slowly, running my fingers into my hair, wincing when they tangled on a snarl. That was what I got for going to bed without doing anything to my hair, and…

I frowned as I felt for the pins I’d used to pull my hair back, and only found two of the five.

I turned and looked down at the pillows and mattress, but none were there.

Then where…?

I froze as the memory of the kiss replayed yet again, slowly and in great detail, and I could almost see the pins falling one by one from my hair as his fingers nimbly flicked them away to have a better grip.

A sighing sound met my ears, and I realized I’d made it. I caught myself and cleared my throat quickly, then looked around the room. My dress lay crumpled on the floor, as I’d shed it frantically as I’d entered, desperate to climb into bed without any more reminders of what had happened. Face full of makeup, hair completely in disarray, and no pajamas at all, just my underwear.

It had been quite a long time since I’d done that. If I ever had.

I slowly shook my head, took out my remaining pins, and drew the covers up to cover myself, shivering. It was Italy, but the house was kept surprisingly cool. That might come in handy later, if the weather turned as warm as I expected.

And there was a strong possibility that I would be spending a lot of time inside the house instead of out, if things were as bad as I feared.

I glanced over at the door where, sure enough, a folded piece of paper lay, one corner still under the threshold.

It seemed to glint in the morning light, daring me to come and see what I would be subjected to, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was brave enough to look. But the other alternative was staying in bed, and that wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

I refused to sulk in here, or to hide away like a terrified little girl.

Tossing aside the covers, I padded across the floor and picked it up, scanning the details quickly.

Today was a tour of Tuscany that had been arranged for us, whether by car or bike or by walking the countryside nearby. We were only a few miles outside of Florence, but all of Tuscany was at our disposal. That ought to be safe enough, and getting out of the villa would be a refreshing change of pace after yesterday. I ought to be able to maintain distance that way.

Then there was a free day of shopping and wine tasting, neither of which I was particularly keen on, a day of competition, a scavenger hunt, picnics at the beach, a night on the town, and our last day would be free during the day with a farewell formal to close out the festivities. I didn’t doubt that they would have another mischievous scheme planned out for that, but I was grateful to have brought a formal gown for the occasion.

All in all, it was a surprisingly relaxed schedule of events without too much to force us into ridiculous activities. And considering the behavior of the Catalano brothers last night, I expected less morality throughout the week.

Rosalia must have planned it all out, and her brothers were interjecting their stupidity into the mix. That was no great surprise, they had plenty of stupidity to go around between them.

I could only hope it wasn’t contagious.

Still, it had been a long time since I had seen Tuscany without some event to attend or agenda to keep to. I would enjoy seeing the sights and the countryside.

I showered and changed quickly, tossing on some of my more casual clothes and not particularly caring what anybody thought. If we could have a relaxed time of it here, then I was certainly going to relax.

Breakfast was a fairly standard European spread, nothing to write home about, but appealing enough. The only people in the breakfast room were two rather sluggish men who barely talked to each other, let alone to anyone else, and three girls in yoga pants and bra tops, obviously having just finished some sort of session. I never claimed to understand any of that, nor was I flexible enough to attempt any of it.

One of them I recognized from various other engagements I had been to from time to time, but her name escaped me. She was nice enough, I supposed, which meant I had very little to do with her. That was the way it worked. If I didn’t know their flaws, I simply hadn’t found them yet.

Apparently that wasn’t polite, and was why I had no friends.

Or so Olivia had told me.

I took my breakfast out onto the veranda and sat at a small table, enjoying the morning sun on my face and legs. The view was remarkable, and I could see fields and fields of wildflowers and sunflowers in the distance. I itched to go out and see them for myself, to perhaps sketch them so that I could paint it later, or at the very least, take pictures for reference. I hadn’t drawn anything in weeks, and here I could do so without being told it was a waste of time.

And I wouldn’t lack for inspiration, that was for sure. It was everywhere, and getting out today would only heighten that.

Others would take cars today to be driven on their tours, occasionally getting out to see something of interest. Those who didn’t want to go very far would walk, sticking to the areas close to the house and probably seeing a lot, but never quite enough.

I was going to take a bike. I wasn’t an amazing cyclist, but this wasn’t the Tour de France, and I wanted to experience Tuscany and Florence in all its glory, with all of the senses I could. I could walk the paths near the house in the evenings, when I wasn’t occupied by whatever event was going on, and I didn’t need to spend the entire day so close to the villa. I wanted to get away while I could, and any chance to avoid talking to anyone at the house was more than welcome.

I sighed as I finished my breakfast and leaned my head back, letting the sun warm my face.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

I shook my head before I recognized the voice, and by the time I did, it was too late. Salvatore was sitting at the table and eating his sausages before I could do anything about it. “Good morning, fatina,” he said between bites.

I took comfort in the fact that there were absolutely no fluttering sensations when he called me that this morning. Only a screaming irritation and a desire to kick him in the shins.

What a relief, I was back to myself.

“Good morning,” I replied, keeping my voice level and disinterested.

“Have you decided what sort of sightseeing you wanted to do today?” he asked, dabbing his napkin to his mouth, which I couldn’t stop staring at. Perfect lips must always be appreciated, and his were the most perfect I’d ever seen, let alone kissed.

I pretended to swat at a fly and coughed, wrenching my attention away from the mouth that I’d come to know too well too quickly. “What?”

A corner of his mouth lifted and he sat back in his chair, his almost perfectly fitted oatmeal-colored Henley open at the collar and exposing his tanned throat. “Sightseeing. You know, the tour. I thought I might take a bike, and wondered if you’d come along.”

I stared at him longer than I should have, but he’d asked me to do exactly what I wanted to do, except he was going to come along. How was I supposed to react to that? Pretend I wanted to do something else? Suffer through the inanity of everybody else at this house party in an attempt to avoid him?

That was entirely too much work.

“I was going to take a bike tour myself,” I told him quite plainly. “But I had no intention of anyone else coming with me.”

Salvatore seemed to laugh to himself. “That seems lonely.”

“I like being alone.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Only because you’re used to it.”

I opened my mouth to argue back when I thought better of it and smiled just a little. “What, exactly, to you mean by that, Salvatore?”

He shrugged and laced his fingers across his stomach. “You’ve made a mess of things, Claire, and nobody wants to see you anymore.” He tilted his head at me, smirking. “You’re all alone now, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here.”

I wondered if he would look so smug if his breakfast remains were all over his face and clothes. “And you cheated on the woman who is now married to the third in line for the throne of Monterra, and have alienated yourself from the royal family because you have the emotional capacity of a green olive.”

His smile flickered and he pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. “Touché. Although I am not completely alienated. I, at least, am still welcome there. And Lemon is perfectly happy with Dante, which is what matters.”

I barked a laugh and shook my head, looking away. “You’re going to sit there and tell me that is what matters?”

He chuckled and scraped his chair as he crossed his ankles. “Well, that’s what everyone says, at least.”

That was the Salvatore I’d known all this time, and it was a relief, oddly enough, to have him return to normal as well. I glanced back at him. “Why are you here? You look bored out of your mind.”

Salvatore glanced at me, then sighed heavily, his dark eyes taking on a hint of the morning light in them. “I am bored out of my mind. With everything. And everyone.”

“Well,” I scoffed, picking up my tea and sipping slowly, “that certainly explains why you are sitting here at breakfast having a chat with me…”

“Sad, isn’t it?”

I gave him a scolding look, and he returned it with one that dared me to contradict him. I just shook my head at him. “If you were half as charming as you think you are, you would have an entourage of females following you at all times.”

He took a bite of muffin and made a face. “They get in the way. I left them in Monterra.” He smirked playfully and tilted his chin down to look at me with a very serious expression. “Now, are you going to let me bike along with you or am I going to have to stalk you?”

I coughed into my tea and tried not to choke. “Stalk me?”

“Well, you can’t expect me to go around with anyone else at this party,” he said with a snort. “I’d rather enjoy the week as much as I can, and fighting with you is far better than pretending I can tolerate Severo or Antonio for five minutes together.”

He had a fair point, though I would have thought he and the Catalano brothers would be great friends. And so long as he knew we would be fighting, was there really any harm in it?

“This isn’t because of last night, is it?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him. “Because I’ll warn you now, I’ve forgotten most of it, I’d had a lot to drink, and…”

“Relax, fatina,” Salvatore interrupted with a rough laugh. “It was only a kiss, and it wasn’t that great.”

It wasn’t… That filthy liar, it was an AMAZING kiss, and we both knew it. I glared at him furiously.

“Do you know you look like the grumpy dwarf when you make that face?” he commented with a smile.

A sound that was half a snarl and half a screech came from my throat, but never formed into words.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Salvatore slapped his hands on his taut thighs and stood, pushing the sleeves of his Henley past his elbows. “I’ll meet you out front at eleven, Claire. And wear those shorts, they make your backside look rather fetching.”

I gaped soundlessly as he went back into the house, and put my head in my hands. Great. Now I was going to be spending the day with that irritating Monterran, knowing what his kisses could do, and try to find some rejuvenation for myself in the meantime.

How could I do that if I had to fight Salvatore the entire time?

I shook my head and left the table myself, heading back into the house when one of the yoga girls stopped me.

“You’re Lady Claire Sutherland, aren’t you?” she asked, her high ponytail annoying me right away.

I nodded, folding my arms. Either she couldn’t read facial expressions, or she was too thick to interpret them. She’d learn quickly, though.

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.