Page 18 of On His Bride's Terms

Primo led her deeper into the palazzo. Faye got a tantalising glimpse of vast canvases on the walls as they walked over faded ornate rugs. There was a big table with a massive vase of fresh flowers.

She suddenly realised they were standing at modern gleaming metal doors. Primo pressed a button. Faye let out a surprised huff of laughter. ‘An elevator? Isn’t that a little sacrilegious in a place like this?’

‘This was part of what they needed my money for. The oldest member of the family, the matriarch, is confined to a wheelchair now, so the palazzo had to be made accessible. They’re asset-rich and cash-poor.’

The elevator doors opened, revealing a very standard and modern interior. It was jarring after her feeling that they’d been transported back in time. The elevator ascended and the doors opened again into a large marble-floored entrance hall. There was a circular table there, upon which sat a piece of modern sculpture. Faye recognised the artist instantly, and would have stopped to inspect it more closely, but Primo was ahead of her, striding into a living area and turning on low lights.

She followed, and her jaw dropped. It was a vast open space with windows out to the canal on either side, as this palazzo was not adjoining any others. One side of the room was a sumptuous living space, and subtle dividers at the other end demarked a dining area with a big, generous table. Oriental rugs overlaid a traditional terrazzo floor. Everything was cream and gold and very, very, luxurious.

She looked up; the ceiling was ablaze with ornate frescoes. Cherubs and angels and clouds and skies. It should have looked ridiculous. It didn’t.

‘It’s...’ Faye struggled to find words to describe the beauty around her. She couldn’t.

‘It’s a little more...ornate than I would normally go for, but it suits the surroundings.’

Faye nodded. ‘It would have been criminal to turn this into a minimalist space.’

‘Drink?’

Faye realised that Primo had moved over to a drinks cabinet. She felt unsteady, as if they were on a ship. And, considering the water all around them, it wasn’t a totally ridiculous notion.

She relished the thought of some fortification. ‘Sure.’

He looked at her. ‘A gin martini?’

He remembered her drink of choice. She felt a little jolt in her belly but shook her head. ‘Too strong. A glass of prosecco would be fine, if you have it.’

He inclined his head and was soon approaching her with a flute of golden sparkling wine and holding a glass of what looked like whisky for himself.

He held out his glass.‘Saluti.’

Faye clinked her glass against his and echoed his toast. She took a sip. The effervescent wine bubbled down her throat. Perfectly chilled and fragrant. Like the excitement mixed with trepidation fizzing in her veins. She’d never felt like this before sleeping with other men. Not because she was so confident, but because none of them had ever affected her on such a deep, visceral level.

He lifted a hand and gestured towards his face. ‘If you don’t mind?’

Faye’s heart thumped. It would be ridiculous to ask him to keep it on.

She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

But as he unmasked himself she moved away a little, and looked at the canvases on the walls. They were all impressive, all originals, and did not follow any discernible pattern.

Faye stood before one. ‘You have a Renoir.’

Primo came and stood beside her. ‘As you can see, my collection is somewhat...eclectic,’ he said, and his tone was self-deprecating. ‘I can’t claim to have any great knowledge. I tend to choose something if I like it, rather than because it’s of strategic importance or because it fits into a narrative.’

Faye continued around the walls, taking in a snowy Dutch landscape. ‘Truly, that’s the best way to buy art—not because youshouldor because something is in fashion.’

‘Is that how you buy art?’

Faye looked at him. He was watching her, his face no longer hidden, a shoulder leaning against the wall. For a second she couldn’t breathe. He looked so beautiful.

How could this man really want her?

She was nothing that special.

She struggled to remember what he’d just asked her. Art. How did she buy art.

She shook her head. ‘Actually, apart from curating my own family’s collection, I don’t collect a lot of art. I’m too conscious of what my clients are looking for. I have bought pieces along the way, but invariably I end up selling them on.’

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