The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize Read online

  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 perha
ps 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.

  He did so hate having to employ charm.

  He had better end up in possession of the painting. And it had better truly be his grandfather’s dying wish. Otherwise, he would be perturbed.

  The door behind him clicked shut and he turned just in time to see Princess Gabriella, in her fitted sweatshirt and tight black leggings, headed toward him. She was holding her hands up beneath her breasts like a small, frightened animal, her eyes large behind her glasses.

  That was what had put him in the mind of her being an owl earlier. He did not feel the need to revise that opinion. She was fascinating much in the way a small creature might be.

  He felt compelled to watch her every movement, her every pause. As he would any foreign entity. So, there was nothing truly remarkable about it.

  “Well, my princess,” he said. “What have you learned?”

  “I know where the painting is,” she said, tucking a silken strand of dark hair behind her ear before returning her hands back to their previous, nervous position.

  “Excellent. Draw me a map on a napkin and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Oh. There will be no direction giving. No napkin drawing.”

  “Is that so?”

  She tossed her hair and for a moment he saw a glimmer of royalty beneath her rather dowdy exterior. And that was all the more fascinating. “No. I’m not giving you directions, because I have the directions. You are taking me with you.”

  He laughed at the imperious, ridiculous demand. “I most certainly am not.”

  She crossed her arms, the sweater bunching beneath them. “Yes, you are. You don’t know how to get there.”

  “Gabriella, I am an expert at getting the information I want. Be it with money or seduction, it makes no difference to me, but I will certainly get what I need.”

  Her cheeks turned a rather fetching shade of pink. He imagined it was the mention of seduction, not bribery, that did it.

  “But I have the key,” she insisted. “Or rather, I know where it is. And trust me when I tell you it is not something you’ll be able to acquire on your own.”

  “A key?” He didn’t believe her.

  “And the…the instructions on how to use it.”

  He studied her hard. She was a bookish creature. Not terribly beautiful, in his estimation. Not terribly brave, either. Intensely clever, though. Still, the lack of bravery made it unlikely that she was lying to him. The cleverness, on the other hand, was a very large question mark.

  It made her unpredictable.

  This was why he preferred women who were not so clever.

  Life was complicated enough. When it came to interactions with the female sex he rather liked it simple, physical and brief.

  He had a feeling his association with Gabriella would be none of those things and that only set his teeth on edge all the more.

  “I do not believe that you have the key, or rather, have access to it that I cannot gain.”

  “Okay, then. Enjoy the journey to Isolo D’Oro without me. I’m sure when you get there and find that you hold nothing in your hand but your own—”

  “Well, now, there’s no need to get crass.”

  She blinked. “I wasn’t going to be crass. I was going to say you hold nothing in your hand but your own arrogance.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I was imagining you saying something completely different.”

  “What can I have possibly—?” She blinked again. “Oh.”

  He arched a brow. “Indeed.”

  She gritted her teeth, her expression growing more fierce. “Crassness and all other manner of innuendo aside, you are not gaining access to the painting without me.”

  “Right. So, you know where it is, and you clearly possess the key. Why not go without me?”

  “Well, it isn’t that simple. I am a member of the D’Oro family. And while technically I can return to the island because I am only of the bloodline, and I never ruled, gaining access could still be a problem.”

  “I see. So, how do we play this? Wealthy American businessman on a vacation takes a beautiful…” He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to sweep over her, not hiding how underwhelmed he was by the sight. “A beautiful princess as his lover?”

  “Absolutely not!” She turned a very intense shade of pink, and he found himself captivated by the slow
bleed of color beneath her skin.

  “You have a better suggestion?”

  “I want to prevent scandal. I want to bring the painting back here with as little fanfare as possible. I don’t want you making a big production of things.”

  “And I assure you I will not. This is for a private collection and has nothing to do with causing embarrassment to the royal family.”

  She worried her lip between her teeth. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Excellent. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”

  “Excellent. No trust.” Her cheeks were getting redder. This time, he figured it was from frustration. “I want to go with you. But I don’t want to cause a scene. I can’t cause a scene. You have no doubt seen the kind of scandal my parents create in the headlines with their drug use, affairs, separations, reconciliations… The press would love to smell blood in the water around me and I just can’t chance it.”

  An evil thought occurred to him and it made him smile. “Well, if you don’t wish to go as my lover—”

  “I don’t!”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to come as my assistant.”

  “No one will believe that I’m your assistant. I’m a princess.” She lifted her little nose in the air, dark hair cascading over her back like spilled ink. Now she did indeed look every inch insulted royalty.

  “What do you typically look like when you go out and about? I imagine it isn’t like this,” he said, indicating her rather drab trappings.

  “I don’t go out frequently. But when I do I have a stylist.”

  “Your glasses?”

  “I normally wear contacts.”

  He nodded slowly. “Princess Gabriella D’Oro. I have seen pictures of you—it’s only that I would never have recognized you in your current state. The difference is remarkable.”

  He had an immediate picture in his mind of a glossier, more tamed version of the woman in front of him. Sleek and, actually, quite beautiful. Though not remotely as interesting as the version of Gabriella that stood before him.

  She waved a hand. “Between professionally fitted dresses, undergarments to hold in all undesirable lumps and bumps, makeup to cover every flaw, false eyelashes, red lips… I’m scarcely the same person.”