Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“You mustn’t tease him, Giana. His eyebrows are already drawn together.” Bianca looked toward Bruno’s twin sisters and tittered loudly until they joined her.

“It is a beautiful day,” Bruno said.

“Yes.”

“Are you enjoying your stay in Rome?”

“It has been most unusual.”

Giana stopped in front of a fountain, pulled off her glove, and glided her fingers through the cool water.

“You speak Italian quite well.”

“I am learning.”

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

“Grazie,” she said, and walked on. Was he going to start reciting poetry?

“My sisters tell me that you are engaged. Such a pity.”

Giana chanced to be looking at his eyes at that moment, and she saw an assessing gleam in their brooding depths. “Why is it a pity?”

“Because this Englishman met you first.”

“Yes, I suppose that he did.”

“I could make you forget him, you know.”

Giana felt a sudden urge to laugh. He spoke with such passion, his dark eyes filled with sincerity. It was so very trite, and he was so very young. She suppressed the laugh, feeling suddenly very ancient.

“I don’t think so, signore.”

“You are so small, so delicate, Giana,” he continued, his voice becoming deep and more impassioned. “This Englishman cannot deserve one of your poise, your sensibility.”

“Undoubtedly you are quite right, Bruno,” she said with a brilliant smile. She bit back a grin as he blinked rapidly at her.

“What else have your sisters told you about my fiancé?”

Bruno shrugged, palpably relieved at her neutral question. “That he will join your family’s business.”

“Actually, it is my mother. She is my only family.”

There was a look of incredulity on his smooth-cheeked face. “I . . . I did not know that your mother was a businessman.”

“I assure you she is not. She is a businesswoman.”

There was an appraising look in his eyes again, and a question, but she did not enlighten him. She knew all about Bruno Barbinelli, and his twin sisters, and his father, who was searching for an heiress to marry his only son.

She felt his fingers tighten about her arm. “I have wanted for the past two weeks, ever since I met you, to be alone with you. You are so exquisite, Giana, a small, innocent little bird who wants to be loved and tamed.”

“How about a dove, Bruno? I have always had a liking for doves. They are small and innocent, would you not agree?”

“You do not take me seriously,” Bruno said.

“You are very young.”

Startled, he exclaimed, “Young? I am twenty-three years old.”