gesture she seemed to do a lot. She had a very delicate frame; whether in glasses or ill-fitting clothing, that couldn’t be denied. She was like a strange, old-fashioned doll.
He was rather disturbed by the part of him that felt compelled to lean in and pull her from the shelf, so to speak.
“I suppose I would,” she said. “But that isn’t why I’m doing this. I quite like the idea of uncovering the truth, in an unbiased fashion.”
“And so you study your family history.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes had grown brighter when the subject was introduced. Strangely, he found he quite liked it. It was very interesting to make conversation with a woman about something other than shallow topics. And in this instance, it had been quite easy. Was she truly so different?
It made him wonder if the women he conversed with were actually as shallow as he imagined or if they thought him to be shallow. Strange that it should matter to him at all. It shouldn’t. Not when he purposefully kept those interactions as meaningless as possible.
He kept a wall between himself and others, using all manner of methods, and limited conversation with his lovers was one of those methods.
It didn’t matter what he thought of them. It didn’t matter what they thought of him. It only mattered how it felt when they were in bed.
“You will find this trip back to your homeland fascinating, then.”
He wanted to try out a bit more of that excitement. He wondered what it must be like, to possess that level of enthusiasm. God knew he no longer had the ability. He had seen what happened with passion. Had seen it firsthand when his parents were killed, lost forever in a storm of twisted steel and broken glass. He had no desire to be a part of anything like that. He led with his mind. He had relationships that were mutually beneficial for both parties involved.
They never ended in screams and accusations of infidelity. No. He always gave his women a gift, made sure he complimented their beauty, lied about how diverting he found their company and promised to cherish their time together always and to remember them fondly.
He never did.
The moment they walked out of his bedroom he forgot their names. He simply didn’t possess the capacity to care about people with any real depth. At least, people outside of his family.
He couldn’t see the value in it. He could only see the cost.
“I expect it will be wonderful. My grandmother has told me stories about the old family estates. About the palaces. But I’ve never been to see them myself. All I’ve ever seen are old, faded pictures.”
“Why exactly was the royal family expelled from the country?”
“Oh, there are a great many rumors of unfair taxation. Of my great-grandfather being a tyrant. Greedy. But I’m not entirely convinced. And certainly, that isn’t my grandmother’s take on the situation. Regardless, there was an uprising and the family had to escape in the dead of night. They’re lucky to have escaped with their lives. Most royal families don’t make out quite so well during violent depositions.”
“You speak the truth there.”
“I think I’ll be the first in my family to set foot on Isolo D’Oro since then. It’s probably a good thing that I’ll be incognito.”
“Probably.”
She smiled, her whole face brightening. It was like watching light shift over the ocean. The color moving from slate gray to a brilliant blue. “This is all a bit like a good adventure story, don’t you think?”
It reminded him of something his grandfather had said. About the whole thing being like a boy’s adventure. Why were people eternally attempting to excite him about something that felt like little more than a menial task?
“I consider it an errand,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips again. “One that I intend to do and do well, because as I said, I believe in business. In fairness. I owe my grandfather and I am determined to repay him. But that’s it.”
His dry response doused her smile and he cursed himself. “Well, I think anything can be considered an errand with the incorrect mind-set. And anything can be a game if you purpose for it to be.”
“All I need is a spoonful of sugar?”
She smiled. “It couldn’t hurt.”
“No, I suppose it couldn’t.” The plane began to descend, and Alex could see the scenery below growing larger. Could begin to make out the whitecaps of the waves on the bright water. “You had better buckle yourself, Princess. We are about to arrive in Isolo D’Oro. And that is the last time you will be called Princess for the foreseeable future.”
GABRIELLA WAS STUNNED by the view spread before her. Her grandmother had told her how beautiful her homeland was, but she hadn’t been prepared for the true splendor of it.
The city that she and Alex were staying in was filled with ornate, old-world architecture, the Mediterranean Sea spread out before it like a gem. It was a glorious mixture of old and new. High-rises being built in a new section of the city, dedicated to bringing much needed commerce to the nation. While the old historic districts remained unchanged.
She wanted to go out and explore. She did not want to cool her heels in the grand hotel suite that Alex had installed them in. But Alex had insisted that he had some work to do, and it would not do to have her wandering around the country by herself.
She supposed that she could defy him on the matter, but she honestly had such limited travel experience that she didn’t feel terribly inclined to do that. She was much more likely to stick close to the large American businessman acting as her escort, as she had a feeling he would be a little bit more accomplished at guarding her physical safety than she would.
Not that anything about Isolo D’Oro seemed menacing, but stories of how her family had escaped under threat echoed in her mind. It wasn’t something she could simply forget.
“How are your impressions so far?”
Alex chose that moment to come out of his bedroom. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a wedge of tan skin covered with just the right amount of dark chest hair.
She questioned that thought the moment it entered her mind. What on earth was the appropriate amount of chest hair, and how was she so certain that he was in possession of it? It wasn’t as though she was an expert on men’s chests or the quantity of hair on them.
How strange that she was putting so much thought into his.
“It’s lovely,” she said, turning her focus back to the view, and resolutely away from his chest.
“I’m glad you think so.”
She studied him closely. “Are you?”
He smiled and the impact of it felt like a punch in the chest. He was an irritatingly large presence. His every movement set the hairs on her arms on
