The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize (The Billionaire's Legacy 8)

She frowned, her dark brows lowering, disappearing behind the thick frame of her glasses. “If you’re going to be this exasperating for the entire journey I can see it’s going to be a problem.”

“I don’t plan on being this exasperating for the entire journey.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. “I plan on being at least twice as exasperating.”

Her eyes flew wide. “And why is that?”

“Oftentimes I find life short on entertainment. I do my best to make my own fun.”

“Yes, well, I live in an estate with an old woman in her nineties. I make a lot of my own fun, too. But typically that involves complicated genealogy projects and a little bit of tatting.”

“Tatting?”

“You can never have too many doilies. Not in a house this size.”

He arched a brow, studying her face to see if she was being sincere. He couldn’t get a read on her. “I will have to take your word for that.”

“Don’t you have doilies?”

He lifted his shoulder. “I might in one of my residences. I can’t say that I ever noticed.”

“I could make you some. No one should have a doily deficiency.”

“God forbid.” He turned and began to walk away from her. “Aren’t you going to show me to my room?”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Aren’t you going to show me to my room?” he repeated. “We will leave early tomorrow morning for Isolo D’Oro. I don’t see any point in my staying elsewhere. You have a great many rooms in the estate. And they are replete with doilies, I hear. Which means you should be able to accommodate me.”

He turned his most charming and feral smile in her direction. Usually women shrank back from them. Or swooned.

She did neither.

“I did not invite you to stay. And it’s particularly impolite of you to invite yourself.”

“It wasn’t particularly hospitable of you to not invite me. I will put aside my pique for the sake of convenience, and a more companionable journey tomorrow. Now,” he said, his tone uncompromising. He excelled at being uncompromising. “Be a good girl and show me to my room.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHAT IS THIS?”

Gabriella came out of the bedroom positioned toward the back of his private jet. She was wearing her glasses, as instructed, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was also newly dressed in the outfit he had gone to great lengths to procure for her before his plane had departed this morning for Isolo D’Oro. Well, one of the palace servants had gone to great lengths to procure it. He had taken a rather leisurely breakfast during which he had checked his stocks and made sure that things were running smoothly back at his office in Manhattan.

“Your costume, Gabby,” he said.

Had she been an owl he was certain that at the moment her feathers would have been ruffled. “It isn’t very flattering.”

“Well, neither was the sweatshirt you were wearing when we met yesterday. But that did not seem to stop you from wearing it.”

“I was having a day at home. I had been sitting in the library reading.”

“Naturally.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You look like the type. That’s all.”

She shifted slightly, her frown deepening. “Yes, I suppose so. But I’m not entirely lacking in vanity. This…” She indicated the black dress pants, tapered closely to her skin—much more closely than he had anticipated—and the white blouse she was wearing, complete with a large pin that should have looked more at home on her grandmother than on her, but managed to look quite stylish. “This is not the kind of thing I’m used to wearing in public.”

She didn’t look like a princess—that much was true. But the outfit was not actually unflattering. The outfit was very nearly fashionable, albeit in a much lower-rent way than she was no doubt used to looking.