“No,” he said, his voice softer all of a sudden. “You prefer to gather facts.”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“You like to control the story.”
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t about me controlling a story. I want to know the truth.”
“That’s a lie, Gabby. You like to control the story. You like to hear it first. You like to decide what is done with it. You want to make sure that you are able to collect the information at the speed in which you can process it. You like to ensure that you are the one who gets to form the first opinion. There isn’t anything wrong with it. But it is the truth.”
She felt as though he’d run her through with a scabbard. It hurt terribly and made her feel exposed. As though he’d seen down deep into parts of her she’d never even examined before.
And the only reason it felt that way was because...it was true.
“Why is it you seem to think you know me so well?” she asked.
His dark eyes leveled with hers. “I recognized something of myself in you. On that same topic, I’m never entirely certain whether or not you amuse me.”
She looked down, clasping her hands together and picking at her thumbnail. “Not very many people find me amusing. I think they find me boring.”
“Now that, I can’t imagine. You are the farthest thing from boring. In fact, I find that to be one of your foremost negative qualities.”
She frowned. “Why would being entertaining be a negative quality?”
“Because I like boring women. Boring women are easy to sleep with and forget about. Boring women are the best kind.”
A rash of heat broke out over her skin, color flooding her face. “I’m not going to sleep with you so my....interestingness shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t making an offer.”
Shame washed over her. Of course he wasn’t. Of course he hadn’t meant that. But she was still talking and she couldn’t stop herself. “When I do make room in my life for that sort of relationship, I will most definitely be pursuing a man closer to my own age who has interests in common with my own.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. We have quite the generational gap between us.”
“It’s prohibitive. We won’t even like the same music.”
He chuckled softly. “But you don’t like popular music. You like classical music.”
This statement infuriated her, because it was true, too. Just like the last one. Was she somehow telegraphing her private thoughts via her eyeballs?
“And what sort of music do you like?” she asked.
“Classic rock.” He smiled. “You’re right, it isn’t to be. We’re too different.”
“Ah, well, just allow me to get the broom and dustpan so I can sweep up the pieces of my broken heart.”
“I would, but we haven’t the time for such carrying-on. We have a meeting.”
She blinked rapidly. “We do?”
“Yes. We have a meeting with the prime minister of Isolo D’Oro.”
“But... When?”
He raised his hand and looked down at his wrist, at the watch he wore that no doubt cost more than some people’s yearly salary. “In about ten minutes.”
She took in his perfectly pressed appearance. The sharp white shirt, and the rest, all an inky black to match his hair and eyes. He was like a dark angel come to life in Armani. And she was...well, she was wearing polyester pants.
“Wait a second! That isn’t fair. You had a chance to change your clothes. I’m still wearing the same thing that I was wearing on the plane.”
“Which is perfect. Because you are my assistant, not a lover. Not a princess.” He reached back into the closet and pulled out a garment bag. “So, in the next ten minutes, I would like you to make sure that you put this out for the hotel staff. The jacket I was wearing earlier. It needs to be cleaned.”
She sputtered. “I’m going to meet the prime minister of Isolo D’Oro in these ridiculous skinny...pants...whatever they are. And now I have to do your menial chores?”
“Well, Gabby, had we decided to go with the story that you were my current mistress I would have draped you in silks. As it is, I’m going to have to drape you in my dry cleaning.”
She sniffed. “You don’t have to enjoy this so much.”
He chuckled, a darkly amused sound. “Oh, yes, I absolutely do have to enjoy this. As I told you before, I’m accustomed to making my own fun. And I’m finding this quite unexpectedly fun.”
THE TROUBLE WITH meeting politicians was that they always came with an unreasonable amount of security detail and other various hangers-on. Of course, there were a few paparazzi, as well. But Alex knew that the prime minister was the quickest way to gaining access to the various historic sites they would need access to in order to find The Lost Love.
Most of the dining room had been cleared in preparation for his arrival, and it was almost entirely empty except for the three of them, seated at a table in the far corner.
When the man had finally arrived at the hotel restaurant a good fifteen minutes after he had said he would, he had spent an age pouring over the wine list and finding things disappointing.
Immediately, Alex found him insufferable. A pale man with a weak chin who clearly thought his time was precious, but had thought nothing of keeping Alex and Gabriella waiting. Or of insulting the hotel staff with comments about the wine, while not bothering to make a formal introduction.
Alex made it a point not to telegraph any of his irritation to the other man. As soon as the wine had been selected, Alex turned his focus to the business at hand.
“Alessandro Di Sione,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Prime Minister Colletti. This is my assistant, Gabby. A university student doing a bit of work experience. She’s come with me to help me on my mission.”
“And what exactly is that?” asked the prime minister, leaning back in his chair, his arms behind his head.
“I’ve become somewhat of an avid art collector of late. I heard that the collection here on Isolo D’Oro is beyond price. I’m interested in acquiring some pieces. Particularly those that belonged to the former royal family because of the...significance of the time period.”
“A historian and an art enthusiast?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said.
The other man smiled. “Which sorts of art are you most interested in?”
Alex hesitated. His grandfather was right. He probably was owed a refund on that expensive boarding school education.
“Portraiture primarily,” Gabriella interjected. “Oils on canvas, mostly. Though I know that there are some excellent marble busts. And also some paintings that depict the scenery. Some wonderful depictions of farms? I have heard tell—I mean, Alessandro has told me. He is quite enthusiastic about the painting of the geese.”
The prime minister laughed. “Yes. One of my favorites. I don’t think I could part with it.”
“Everything has a price,”