Page 23 of Giorgio

He turned to look at her, feeling the familiar stirring at the sound of his name in her sultry voice.

“Yes?”

“I would like to learn your language.”

His eyes flared as he stared at her in surprise.

“I could hire a tutor…”

“No.” She shook her head. “I want to learn it from you.”

“I am not a tutor, Juliana.”

“Just simple words and then complicated ones.” She smiled at him, and he felt his heart turning over.

“Let me think on it.”

“Why is your English so excellent?”

“Years of attending Oxford and Cambridge.” He told her with a grin. “My parents wanted to ensure that I spoke as many languages as possible.”

“How many?”

“Five including my mother tongue.”

She stared at him in shock. “And they are?”

“If I tell you, will you promise to eat something and get some sleep?”

“I promise.” She told him solemnly.

“French, Spanish, English, Italian and Chinese and I know a smattering of German.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Is it? Now eat and then get some rest. I will check on you in the morning.”

She nodded and watched him leave the room, closing the doors behind him.

She took the chance to slide off the bed and hobble around as she took in the expensive paintings on the silk walls. Her mind might be a blank slate, but she knew quality when she saw it.

And everything in this huge and lovely bedroom was of the highest quality. A gasp escaped her when she stood in the open doorway of the bathroom. She was pretty sure that it was the biggest she had ever seen.

An antique claw footed bath stood in the center of the swirling peach and cream tiles. A shower, large enough to fit half a dozen people easily had more knobs than she probably knew how tonavigate. The sink was a double one with marble tiles and oval mirrors and recessed lightings.

There was a separate space for towels, and other accoutrements. She stood there staring around the room, her expression one of wonder and awe. He had said they owned department stores, and something was nagging at her as if she was trying to remember where she had heard the name Russo before.

Shaking her head, she hobbled over to the commode and relieved herself. Washing her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror in dissatisfaction. A man like Giorgio Russo would never be interested in a woman like her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She exclaimed. “Where on earth did that come from?”

Turning away from the unforgiving mirror, she hobbled back into the bedroom to see what was on the tray.

*****

“How is she?” Alfredo handed him the glass of scotch as he came into the room.

“Settling in. Thanks.” Taking his drink with him, he went to sit on a plump sofa near the fire. “She is a little overwhelmed. She was asking questions.”