The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize. Maisey Yates
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seemed to be in his presence. His formidable reputation afforded him a great deal of enjoyment. Though the fact that he took pleasure in making people quake in his presence was likely why he had so few friends. Not that he minded.
He had sycophants, he had business associates and he had mistresses. He had no room in his life for anything else. Nor had he the desire for them.
Unfortunately, he also had family, and with them came obligations. Family was, after all, how he found himself here now.
“Then it is decided. You will be my personal assistant, a college student, doing a work experience program. Traveling with me to Isolo D’Oro to take in some of the local culture and scenery while I negotiate a business deal.”
“I’m supposed to be your...intern?” She was positively incandescent with irritation now.
“Yes. Of course, Gabriella is a little bit posh for that. How about Gabby? It has a very nice ring to it. Don’t you think, Gabby?”
“I hate being called Gabby.”
“But I’ll wager you hate scandal even more. So, Gabby my assistant you will be, and we will not create any of it.”
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.”
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