Page 19 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
He’s tall, salt and pepper haired, impeccably dressed in a dark suit and tie. He appears wide awake, though it’s after midnight. We obviously didn’t wake him.
He bows slightly, says, “Buonasera, Signor Dominic,” then turns his gaze to me. His eyes are an unusual shade of gray, like an overcast sky. With one swift up-and-down look, he takes me in. Then, in perfect English, he says, “And you must be the beautiful daughter your father so loves.”
I burst into tears.
Sighing, Dominic settles his arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “Si, Lorenzo. This is Luca’s daughter, Kimber. We’ve just come from the hospital.”
Even through my tears I see the look that passes between the two men. When Lorenzo’s face turns ashen, I decide not to dislike him as much as I already dislike my stepmother.
He crosses himself, murmuring, “Mio Dio.” Then he waves us inside, stepping back quickly to open the door wider so we can pass. “Come in, come in. Let me help you with your luggage.”
As Lorenzo takes my handbag and coat, he and Dominic have a quick, quiet discussion in Italian that must have something to do with the sleeping arrangements because at the end of it, Lorenzo says, “I’ll make up the spare bedroom.”
“Spare bedroom” is a running joke in the family. Il Sogno has ten bedrooms originally made to house the founder’s large family, only three of which remain in use—a master suite and two smaller adjacent bedrooms on the main floor. All the other sleeping quarters are on the second floor, which was closed off years ago to save on cleaning and heating costs. Aside from overstuffed sofas and many uncomfortable, stiff-backed chairs, the only other place to sleep in the house is in the small, stuffy, windowless “spare bedroom,” on a cot.
In the attic.
“What?” I say, dazed with grief. “No—I’ll sleep in my old bedroom.”
When Dominic and Lorenzo both freeze, I know before anyone says a word what’s happened.
Lorenzo delicately clears his throat. “Ahem. Unfortunately, that’s not possible, signorina, as that room is now occupied by Cornelia.”
I’m stunned. My father gave my bedroom away.
My bedroom.
My face flushes so hot I feel it all the way to the roots of my hair. “Well, I’m not sleeping in the attic. Give me some blankets, and I’ll be fine on the drawing room sofa for the night. I’ll check into a hotel tomorrow.”
Lorenzo makes another polite bow, murmuring apologies. When he leaves with my luggage, headed toward the drawing room at the back of the house, Dominic says, “It’s no
t your father’s fault.” He sends me a pointed look. “He didn’t have a choice.”
I grind my back teeth together so hard they’re in danger of shattering. The wicked stepmother strikes again. “So this Lorenzo is what—the house man?”
“Majordomo,” replies Dominic. “At least that’s what the marchesa calls him.”
“Who’s the marchesa?”
“Your father’s new wife.”
I’m dumbfounded. “She’s aristocracy?”
“From what I understand, she comes from a titled but impoverished background.” He waves a hand dismissively. “You know how it is in Europe, tesoro. There are as many destitute barons and counts as there are churches. Many of the old aristocratic families lost their fortunes, but no matter how poor you become, you get to keep the title.” He adds sourly, “It impresses people who don’t know any better.”
“I know you want to add like Americans, but I’ll have you know I met an aristocrat in New York and wasn’t impressed.”
Dominic pats my hand. “That’s because you have a good head on your shoulders. Now let’s get you settled so you can get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
With those ominous words ringing in my ears, I follow, exhausted and heartbroken, as he leads me deeper into the house.
I awaken hot and disoriented with a crick in my neck and a massive headache throbbing between my ears. I roll to my other side, open my eyes, and come nose to nose with an enormous black dog sitting on the floor next to the sofa.
Unmoving, unblinking, it stares down at me with a hungry look, as if it’s about to crack open its massive jaws and gobble me up.
I scream.
Startled, the dog jumps, then scrambles backward clownishly, its big paws fumbling and flapping against the floor. Then it turns around and streaks from the room, ears flattened, tail tucked, whining.
