The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

Of course, if Giovanni asked, Alex had to comply. He owed him. Giovanni had raised Alex after the death of his parents. Had given him a job, instilled in him the work ethic that had made him so successful.

Without Giovanni, Alex was nothing.

And if his grandfather’s dream was to see his Lost Mistresses reunited, then Alex would be damned if he was the weak link in the chain.

Enough suffering in his family was tied to his pigheadedness. He would not add this to the list.

“As you wish,” Alex said.

“You’re turning this into a clichéd movie, Alessandro.”

“A quest for a hidden painting secreted away on an island by disgraced royals? I think we were already there.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_27e040ba-6311-55ee-a69d-1639f1658b4f)

“THERE IS A man at the door, here to see Queen Lucia.”

Princess Gabriella looked up from the book she was reading and frowned. She was in the library, perched on a velvet chair that she privately thought of as a tuffet, because it was overstuffed, with little buttons spaced evenly over the cushion, and it just looked like the word sounded.

She hadn’t expected an interruption. Most of the household staff knew to leave her be when she was in the library.

She pulled her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, untucking her legs out from underneath her bottom and stretching them out in front of her. “I see. And why exactly does this man think he can show up unannounced and gain an audience with the queen?”

She slipped her glasses back onto her face and planted her feet firmly on the ground, her hands resting on her knees as she waited for a response.

“He is Alessandro Di Sione. An American businessman. And he says he is here to see about...to see about The Lost Love.”

Gabriella shot to her feet, all of the blood rushing to her head. She pitched sideways, then steadied herself, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the servant, Lani.

“Fine,” Gabriella said, waving her hand. “The Lost Love? He’s looking for the painting?”

“I don’t know anything about a painting, Princess.”

“I do,” Gabriella said, wishing she had her journal on hand so she could leaf through it. “I know plenty about it. Except for whether or not it actually exists.”

She had never outright asked her grandmother about it. The older woman was loving, but reserved, and the rumors about the painting were anything but. She could hardly imagine her grandmother engaging in the scandalous behavior required for The Lost Love to exist...and yet. And yet she had always wondered.

“Forgive me, but it seems as though knowing whether or not something exists would be the most essential piece of information to have on it.”

“Not in my world.”

When it came to researching genealogical mysteries, Gabriella knew that the possibility of something was extremely important. It was the starting point. Sometimes, collecting information through legend was the key to discovering whether or not something was real. And often times, confirming the existence of something was the final step in the process, not the first.

When it came to establishing the facts of her family’s banishment from Isolo D’Oro, legend, folktales and rumor were usually the beginning of every major breakthrough. In fact, her experience with such things was leading her to odd conclusions regarding yetis and the Loch Ness monster. After all, if multiple cultures had rumors about similar beasts, it was logical to conclude that such a thing must have a grain of truth.

But until she was able to sift through the facts and fictions of her familial heritage, she would leave cryptozoology for other people.

“What should I do with our visitor, ma’am?”

Gabriella tapped her chin. She was inclined to have their visitor told that she and her grandmother were Not at Home, in the Regency England sense of the phrase. But he knew about The Lost Love. She was curious what exactly he knew about it. Though she didn’t want to confirm the existence of it to a total stranger. Particularly when she hadn’t established the existence of it in all certainty to herself.

She had to figure out what his game was. If this was just a scammer of some sort determined to make a profit off an elderly woman—and that was likely the case—then Gabriella would have to make sure he was never given entry.

“I will speak to him. There is no sense in bothering the queen. She is taking tea in the morning room and I don’t wish to disturb her.”

Gabriella brushed past the servant, and headed out of the library, down the richly carpeted hall, her feet sinking into the lush, burgundy pile. She realized then that going to greet a total stranger with bare feet was not the most princess-like act. She did quite well playing her part in public. A lifetime of training made a few hours of serene smiling and waving second nature. But when she was home, here in the wonderful, isolated estate in Aceena, she shut her manners, along with her designer gowns, away. Then unwound her hair from the tight coil she wore it in when she was allowing herself to be trotted out in front of the public, and truly let herself simply be Gabriella.

She touched her face, her glasses. She also didn’t go out in public in those.

Oh, well. She didn’t want to impress this stranger; she wanted to interrogate him, and then send him on his way.

She padded through the grand entryway, not bothering with straightening her hair or preening in any way at all.

He had already been admitted entry, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a man like him standing outside on the step. And she could see what kind of man he was immediately as he came into her view.

He was...striking. It reminded her of an experience she’d once had in a museum. Moving through wall after wall of spectacular art before entering a small room off to the side. In it, one painting, with all of the light focused on it. It was the centerpiece. The only piece that mattered. Everything that had come before it paled in comparison.

The journey had been lovely, but this man was the destination.

He was like a van Gogh. His face a study in slashing lines and sharp angles. Sharp cheekbones, an angular jaw roughened with dark stubble. There was a soft curve to his lips that spoke of an artist with a deft hand. Who knew that after so much hardened and fearful symmetry there needed to be something different to draw the eye. There was a slight imperfection in his features, as well, one peak of his top lip not quite rising as high as the other. It gave a human quality to Alessandro that was missing from the rest of him. Those broad shoulders, muscular chest and slim waist covered by his severely tailored suit. Long, strong legs, feet covered by handmade shoes.

Yes, everything about him was formidable perfection.

Except for that mouth. The mouth that promised potential softening. That hinted at the fact that he was a man, rather than simply a work of art.

She blinked, shaking her head. That was a lengthy flight of romantic fantasy. Even for her.

“Hello?” She took a step deeper into the entry. “Can I help you?”

His dark eyes flickered over her, his expression one of disinterest. “I wish to speak to Queen Lucia about The Lost Love.”

“Yes. So I was told. However, I’m afraid the queen is unavailable to visitors at the moment.” She resisted the urge to push her glasses up her nose, and instead crossed her arms, trying to look slightly regal, though she was wearing black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt.

“So she sent... I give up. What are you exactly? The resident disaffected teenager? Ready to head out to a mall or some such?”

Gabriella sniffed. “Actually, I am Princess Gabriella D’Oro. So when I say that my grandmother is not available to see you, I speak from a place of authority. This is my home, and I regret to inform you that we have no space for you in it.”

“Strange. It seems quite spacious to me.”

“Well, things are organized just so. Quite a few too many American businessmen have been by of late. We would have to store you in the attic, and you would just collect dust up there.”

“Is that so?”

“I fear you would atrophy completely.”

“Well, we can’t have that. This is a new suit, and I don’t particularly want to atrophy in it.”