The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize. Maisey Yates

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