Page 17 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“No,” Vasilios said, taking a drink. “That would be pointless.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“For one thing, he’s dead. Hating him would be a futile emotion and a complete waste of time. For another, Ricardo was simply as he was. Not a saint, by any means, and absolutely a fool—he was almost single-handedly responsible for allowing one of the most significant fortunes in Europe to slide into nothingness—but why shouldn’t he have been? What did he owe me, or anyone else? He acted as he saw fit.”

Gianni appeared then, pride on his face as he placed two plates down, a small portion of saffron risotto topped with crumbed zucchini flowers. “The chef will be making five courses. Enjoy.”

Emma sat up straighter, staring at Vasilios. “Did he say five courses?”

Vasilios’s smile was mocking. “You did suggest he could bring you anything he wanted…”

She dropped her head forward, but when she lifted it again, there was a look of amused helplessness in her face. “I though some fish, perhaps a salad…”

“Strap in,cara.I think it’s safe to say we’ll be here for the rest of the afternoon.”

5

THE FLAVOURS WERE DELIGHTFUL. Anytime Emma had tried to make risotto—and she had attempted it often when she’d been at university for the simple reason that rice was cheap and she was on a tight budget—it had turned into something that looked more like baby food. The meal Gianni presented was ever so slightlyal dentewith a subtle, divine flavour of saffron, enhanced by parmesan cheese, celery and walnuts. There were a few rocket leaves on the side that had been lightly spritzed in a balsamic vinaigrette, and the zucchini flowers were one of the nicest things Emma had ever eaten, their floral tops stuffed with goats cheese and the crumb coating golden and crunchy.

She moaned as she bit into one then silenced herself because Vasilios’s eyes had dropped to her lips in a way that made common sense completely impossible.

“You enjoy it?”

His accent was thicker, huskier, and it wasn’t until that moment that she fully grasped how well he spoke English.

“Where was your boarding school?”

His brows flinched together at the suddenness of her question but Emma didn’t apologise nor change her question.

“Why?”

“Curious,” she shrugged.

He took a scoop of risotto, chewed, swallowed, then eased back in his chair, a study of relaxation which was exactly that: a study.

It was difficult to articulate how she knew but there was something in the lines of his body, the set of his features, that convinced her he was being oh so cautious.

“I imagine it’s a matter of public record,” she said, when he hadn’t answered. “If I were to google you, the information would probably be on wiki or similar.”

“Have you googled me?”

She pulled a face. “Sorry to dent your ego but of course not.”

He laughed softly. “My ego is in good standing regardless.”

“I’m sure that’s the understatement of the century.”

“What happened to us trying to be friends?”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

He dipped his head once, by way of confirmation.

“Then don’t friends answer each other’s questions?” Something rang in the back of her mind. “In fact, didn’t you lure me to this lunch by promising exactly that? You said you’d answer any question I had and now you’re being coy.”

“Coy?” Another laugh. “I was only wondering why you were interested.”

“Your accent, if you must know.”

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