‘No, I wanted the villa.’ He turned to look out at the water so he didn’t have to see anyone from the family who’d made his life hell. ‘I always wanted the villa.’
He didn’t know why he’d admitted that to her—he presented it to everyone as the requisite luxury Italian holiday home string to his property portfolio.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Childhood dream,’ he muttered dryly. Thing was, it was true. He’d wanted it all his life. But it seemed the joke was on him. Walking into that villa this afternoon, he’d only felt emptier than ever.
‘But you also enjoyed stealing it from under your nephew’s nose,’ she added shrewdly.
Rafe smiled bitterly. He had, of course. Blocking Maurice’s interest in the villa had been a bonus point in the transaction.
‘You’re clearly not close.’
‘Clearly not.’ He straightened, determined to dismiss this conversation.
The fact that the villa had come with a pretty nymph in the garden was the one highlight of the day. He wasn’t squandering the possibilities by getting bogged down in the past now. ‘I didn’t bring you along to have you pry into my personal life,’ he said lazily, slipping back into Lothario mode. ‘Entertain me another way.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’re one arrogant ass, you know that?’
He did, actually. But he wasn’t used to his dates calling him on it—at least, not quite so soon in his acquaintance. And never with amusement—it was with anger that they’d hurl that insult at him. Frankly, right now he was using his vast experience of arrogance to keep her burgeoning curiosity at bay. He hadn’t brought her along to talk to him about those things but to look at and to laugh with and, yes, possibly explore the sensual promise he’d felt flare between them from the second they’d met. But he liked that she called him on it.
Struggling with conflicting emotions, he took a hurried couple of paces to catch up to her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He caught her hand in his and fell into step. ‘That was rude. I was uncomfortable talking about him. I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘That’s totally fair enough. But you could have just said that and I’d have respected it.’
‘Would you?’ he asked pointedly.
She looked at him for a moment and then grinned sheepishly. ‘I am hopelessly curious about people, so probably not.’
He grinned back, refreshed again by her candour. ‘You’re this curious about everyone?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded emphatically. ‘People fascinate me.’
That response was stupidly flattening, because he knew it was the truth. That was why she knew the gardener’s life story, why she knew the history of the village. Grace James was one of those rare people who was genuinely nice. Interested in other people, in their stories and their lives. But why be so interested—what was lacking in her own life?
‘People find you fascinating too,’ he said.
She laughed at that. ‘No. No, they don’t. And don’t feel you have to flatter me by arguing the point. Oh, look!’
He followed the direction of her deliberate distraction. Sure enough, she was watching other people again. He frowned at the scene going on at the edge of the palazzo’s private beach. A proposal no less. The fool was on bended knee, there was a trio of musicians and inevitably there was a guy with a camera filming the whole thing. Thankfully it only took a few moments.
Rafe watched Grace as she watched the happy couple kiss.
‘Public proposals are so vain,’ he muttered.
‘You’re calling them out for being vain?’ She laughed mischievously and sent him a look from beneath her thick lashes. ‘I think it’s romantic. With all those lights on the water, and the warm breeze and the full moon and the music...it’s perfect. They’ll never forget it.’
‘Of course they won’t, because it’s all been filmed for posterity. No doubt an edited clip will be uploaded onto the Internet before the night is over.’ He shook his head. ‘Such moments should be private. Not for show.’
‘Why, Rafael.’ She turned to face him, her eyes and skin illuminated by the soft warm glow of a hundred floating lanterns. ‘You’re a romantic.’
‘I’m what?’ he asked, startled.
‘A romantic,’ she marvelled triumphantly.
‘No.’ He tapped her on the nose with his finger. ‘I meant making a mistake like that should definitely be kept private.’
‘A mistake?’
‘Marriage,’ he growled.
‘Of course you’re against marriage. It would narrow the field too much for you.’
‘That’s right,’ he agreed wickedly. ‘Life’s too short to settle down and be with just one person for ever. How boring.’
‘Oh, that’s right, you’re easily bored. You’re a billionaire with a feeble imagination.’
‘Trust me, my imagination is all good.’
She shook her head and turned back to the couple. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s boring at all.’
‘You’re the romantic,’ he said. Of course she was. ‘You know it never works out,’ he said softly.
She looked back at him with amused speculation in her eyes. ‘Are you talking of your own relationships?’
‘Anyone’s. Everyone’s.’
‘So, let me guess...’ She studied him impishly. ‘You’re never getting married. Never having children.’
‘Absolutely not.’ He half laughed.
‘Because your parents weren’t happily married?’
‘My parents weren’t married at all,’ he said simply.
‘And you think that’s scandalous in today’s world?’ She grinned. ‘What do you think having unmarried parents means?’
‘That I’m a bastard.’ He winked at her. ‘You have officially been warned.’
‘You do know that lots of kids are born out of wedlock and lots of people divorce.’
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the stats. But his family situation had some extra spice that hadn’t stilled the gossips’ tongues. ‘My father was over seventy when I was born. I have nephews almost twice my age. My half-siblings were not impressed when my mother and I came along.’ And he shouldn’t be talking about this.
‘They made life tough for you both?’
Tougher than this pretty nymph could ever imagine. It wasn’t just the age gap between his parents but the education, background, social status...everything and everyone had made life tough. Especially for his mother. What they’d done to her he’d never forget, or forgive.
‘Did your parents love each other?’ she asked softly.
And there it was, that romantic nature of hers. The truth would crush all her idealistic dreams. ‘You think that love could possibly make a difference?’ He forced a laugh.
‘So handsome yet so cynical.’ She sighed.
‘Such a shame.’
He leaned closer, playing up so he could forget the past. ‘Handsome is a win, though, right?’
‘A very small one,’ she said, flattening him again.
But he’d seen the gleam in her eyes.
‘Not that small.’ He couldn’t resist any more and put his hands on her waist. ‘You’re going to deny we have chemistry?’
‘It’s probably because we’re polar opposites.’
That she didn’t deny it surprised him all over again. He’d been expecting playful outrage and a pout. Instead, he just got a steadying hand on his chest and an assessing look.
‘You’re crazy good looking,’ she said, her gaze narrowing on him. ‘Like, not-of-this-earth good looking. And confident. So I’m guessing you know what you’re doing when it comes to women. And I know I’m nothing like the women you usually bring along to these things. Given how much you like women, you probably would try anything once. For the novelty factor.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m not discerning?’ He couldn’t decide whether to be pleased by her compliment about his looks or insulted by her assumption that he lacked pickiness when it came to women. But then he realised it wasn’t only him she was insulting. ‘And don’t denigrate yourself.’
She looked up at him, that impish light flickering in her eyes. ‘Oh, I’m not. But let’s be honest, I’m not your type. Everyone here knows it. That’s why they’re staring.’
He didn’t like the thought that he was predictable enough to have a ‘type’, even though he knew he did. ‘That’s not why they’re staring.’
They were staring because she was a breath of fresh air—basically barefoot in those flimsy sandals, with her white dress gleaming in the light and her skin glowing in the radiance of all those lanterns. She was stunning. He—like the rest of them—couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She, however, didn’t appear to suffer the same problem when it came to him.
‘There’s a boat coming.’ She craned her neck to peer past his shoulder. ‘Everyone is walking over. Do you know who’s on board?’
He didn’t know, didn’t care. Just wanted her eyes on him again.
‘This party is non-stop drama,’ she said. ‘Are your “elite” events always like this?’