Page 30 of Giorgio
“I think I know that one.” She repeated the phrase. “It means, I am American.”
“Excellent.” He said, pleased with her progress.
“Lei parla inglese?”
“Do you speak English?”
“Very good. Now repeat it.”
She did and her reward for a job well done was a beaming smile.
He introduced several other everyday phrases and very soon she was practicing them and getting his nod of approval.
“You are a natural.” He accelerated, much to her disappointment, indicating that they were ready to leave.
“I never asked.”
“Never asked what?”
“What type of work you do?”
He wondered if that was a trick question, and she had read up about him. “I play hard and party nonstop.” He told her grimly. “I am sure you will discover that for yourself soon enough.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” His head whipped around to stare at her.
“Why do you party so much?”
No one had ever asked him that before and he could not find an appropriate response. “I suppose because I can.”
“Are you happy?”
No one had ever asked him that before, not even his papa. And he resented her for being the first.
“What do you think?” He asked shortly.
“I think that you have a lot of money at your disposal, and you take life for granted.”
He stamped on the brake so suddenly; the vehicle was slow in gaining traction. They had arrived back at the house, the arched driveway, looming in front of them.
“Is that so?” His voice was menacingly soft, as he turned to look at her. “We met – what? A little more than a week ago and suddenly you think you know me?”
“Giorgio- “
“Why the hell wouldn’t I be happy?” He had not raised his voice, but it felt as if he had. Anger had brightened his dark eyes, reminding her of an obsidian glass she had seen somewhere.
“Are you?” She was determined not to be intimidated by him. She knew who he was of course, knew that he had been born with a gold spoon in his mouth. The home where he lived was the height of luxury.
She had not been given the tour, but she had seen enough of it to know that it was a veritable palace. And he was gorgeous, downright beautiful and women no doubt threw themselves at him.
Staring at her for a few pulsing seconds, he touched the button, and the engine sprang to life. Without a word, he drove into the cobbled driveway and stopped at the front door.
Muttering something in Italian, he shoved open the door and before he could open hers, the ever-present Aldo came hurrying down the steps. Giorgio said something to him in rapid Italian and had the man nodding.
Scooping her into his arms, he brushed past the man and bounded up the steps. Making his way along the passageway, he headed for the stairs.
“I would like to see the library,” she said tentatively. Without acknowledging her request, he made a sharp turn to the right and shoved open a pair of double doors.